Dark Beginnings

Dumbledore had returned to his office – no doubt to avoid Snape’s wrath – and after half an hour and no sign of either Draco or Dr Litworth, Snape stood and moved into the workroom that adjoined his personal quarters.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, leaning in the doorway and watching idly.

“Madam Pomfrey asked me to make her a large batch of Pepper-Up potion.” Snape replied, lifting down a jar of capsicum seeds, “She predicts a flu epidemic this winter.”

Harry nodded, “Good thing she doesn’t rely on Professor Trelawney; she’d be predicting an epidemic of bubonic plague!”

Snape surprised him then by laughing quietly. It was a soft, genuine chuckle and it immediately softened the man’s face.

“And what would the enigmatic centaur predict, do you think?” Snape asked.

Harry shrugged, “Dunno. Nothing so trivial as flu or even bubonic plague. He seemed to deal in big things like wars and stuff.” He sighed and stretched a little, “I’m glad I don’t take Divination anymore!” he added.

“Hm.” Snape responded noncommittally, “If you’re not doing anything, Potter, you can crush these seeds for me and then slice those chillies.”

Harry nodded and approached the workbench without comment. He picked up the mortar and pestle and began to grind the seeds into powder, giving the task his full attention.

“Be careful with those chillies,” Snape cautioned when he’d finished the first task and was ready to move on to the second. “They have a mildly magical quality and can produce some unexpected results if ingested raw. Be sure to wash your hands well when you’ve finished.”

“What kind of unexpected results?” Harry asked, slicing the first chilli thinly and evenly.

Snape smirked, as he looked sideways at him, “They affect your inhibitions.” He explained delicately, “If Dr Litworth raised her eyebrows at finding you in my rooms, I hate to think how she’d react to find you naked and squirming on my workroom floor.”

“What?” Harry gasped, turning bright pink, “I’d -? You mean, they make you -?”

“Quite.” Snape nodded with an even broader smirk, “You get my point.”

“I’ll be careful.” Harry promised. For some bizarre reason, hearing Snape talk about him squirming, naked on the floor was enough to draw a blush all by itself. Deciding not to dwell on that though, Harry lifted the knife and started slicing with careful precision.

After another hour of almost silent work, they finished preparing the potion and Snape set it to simmer quietly.

“That won’t be ready until tomorrow morning.” He advised, rinsing his hands.

“Is there anything else you need to make?” Harry asked, half hopefully.

Snape blinked in surprise, “Don’t tell me, after all this time, that you’ve finally developed a liking for Potions?”

Harry shrugged, “No. I still prefer foolish wand-waving,” he grinned, throwing Snape’s own words from first year back at him, “but I like chopping, shredding and stuff. You don’t think when you’re focused on something like that. Especially those chillies.” He added, flushing a little again.

“Indeed.” Snape nodded thoughtfully. “And I dare say you have a lot that you would wish to avoid thinking about, eh, Potter?”

There was a long, drawn out moment of silence and then Harry sort of shook himself and turned to appraise the workroom.

“Well, if you don’t need any more help, I think I’ll make a start on my homework!” he announced briskly, failing utterly to look up at Snape’s face.

Snape’s eyes narrowed suspiciously; he’d seen this attempt at diversion before. “Potter, I appreciate that you want to keep your personal life personal but, you know, harbouring these traumatic experiences -”

“No!” Harry half shouted, “I’m fine! Yes, I was forced to do some stuff – but that’s over now! I just want to bury it and forget it!”

Snape raised one dark eyebrow and regarded Harry silently for a moment. “That’s possibly the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.” He said in a deathly quiet voice, “Not to mention dangerous. Potter, for our magic to be stable and under control, we have to be stable and under control. So burying your trauma won’t work – you need time and help to come to terms with it.”

“Time!” Harry nodded, pouncing on the word, “Yes, time! I need time to sort things out for myself.” His eyes were wild suddenly, his body poised on the balls of his feet, ready for fight or flight, Snape saw.

“And help!” he emphasised. “Potter, you cannot hope to deal with this on your own. At some point, you will need assistance. If you don’t feel able to speak with the Magical Psychologist that the Headmaster provided, then tell him. Talk to him if you think that might be easier. Or what about Professor McGonagall? She, after all, is your Head of House.”

Harry sighed, calming a little, and scowled at his shoes before shaking his head. “They all treat me the same,” he growled exasperatedly. “To them, I’m just ‘Poor Harry’ or ‘That Poor Boy’.”

Snape carefully assumed a blank expression; he could indeed hear Professor McGonagall referring to him as such and, no doubt, Potter had heard her.

“You though,” Harry said then, “you don’t speak to me like I’m five,”

“Even though you act like it sometimes,” Snape interjected, earning himself a frown of irritation.

“And you don’t try to cajole me or analyse everything I say.” Harry added, “Ordinarily, you don’t seem to give a damn about what I’m feeling!”

“Mind your attitude, Potter; remember to whom you are speaking.” Snape drawled but his heart wasn’t in the rebuke. The boy – man, he corrected himself and not for the first time – had demonstrated his ability to share with the Potions master already today. After two weeks of refusing to talk with anyone else, that had to be significant.

And, considering the ordeal he’d been through – and that was only the tiny amount he’d revealed to Snape – it was ludicrous to imagine that Potter hadn’t been forced to grow up in a very short space of time. No wonder he was sick of the baby talk.

The young man then surprised him by giving an apologetic shrug and muttering softly, “Harry. Call me Harry.”

“What?” Snape blinked and then narrowed his eyes, “Why?” he asked as he raised an eyebrow and sneered just a little.

Potter sighed and lifted calm, green eyes towards his Potions master, “Because I want to know that you’re thinking of me when you talk to me.”

Snape frowned and shook his head, “I don’t understand,” he said with disdain, “who else would I be thinking of?”

“My father.” Harry shrugged, “Every time you call me Potter, I can never be certain if you’re talking to me or to my father. I know you hated him; I even got an idea of why you hated him – when I saw your memories, you know? And, just for the record, I don’t blame you – it was a shitty thing for him and S-Sirius to do to you.”

“Language.” Snape chided softly, watching him with fathomless eyes. “So you think I’m putting James in your place whenever I speak to you?”

“I know you are.” Harry said confidently, “I can see it in your eyes. The hatred. The anger.”

“Maybe I just hate you,” Snape’s lip curled nastily but the young man only shook his head.

“You don’t hate me. You don’t have any reason to hate me, other than for being James Potter’s son.” He took a deep breath, “So get over it. Bury the hatchet, spank your inner child or anything else that Dr Litworth would tell you to do and, for God’s sake, call me Harry!”

Snape surprised them both then by laughing out loud. A moment later, though, and he sobered. “You stumbled over Black’s name.” He pointed out, “And earlier, you said that you were responsible for his death.”

“Amongst others.” Harry muttered darkly. He stared down at the mortar and pestle that he’d used earlier and carried it over to the large sink.

As his student stood, rinsing away the traces of capsicum seeds, Snape watched him silently.

“You are not responsible.” He said, spelling out his words carefully and succinctly, “You weren’t responsible for Black falling through the veil. That was Bellatrix Lestrange.”

Harry’s shoulders twitched at mention of the woman’s name and a tiny frown line appeared between Snape’s eyebrows.

“And, before you say it, no you weren’t even responsible for Black being in the Ministry in the first place.” He added then, “He knew the risks; knew that his life could be forfeit for saving you and yet he -”

“He wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t gone to the Ministry myself!” Harry cried, dropping the mortar and pestle with a heavy clang. He shot a swift look over his shoulder at Snape and went on, “I should have come to you in the first place! I know that now! But I was a-angry and…and ashamed! I’d seen my dad bullying you, humiliating you and…and I couldn’t come to you. Couldn’t ask you for help – even if I’d thought of it in time!”

His shoulders shook as he fought to hold himself in place at the sink; his fingers were white where they gripped hard at the white porcelain.

“S-so I went off on another stupid mercy-mission with this…this…idiot ‘Saving People Thing’ that Ron and Hermione told me I had. And once again, I screwed it all up. I screwed it up and Sirius had to come and save me and now he’s dead. He’s dead…he’s dead…he’s -”

Snape moved without thinking. If he’d thought, he would have remained where he was but the young man’s words and his tortured, broken voice galvanised something within him and propelled him forward. Without a sound, he grabbed Harry’s shoulders, turned him around and pulled him in close. Then, wrapping his arms around the young man’s underfed body, he pressed Harry’s head against the soft folds of his black robes.

At first, Harry resisted this offer of comfort and pulled away, pushing at Snape’s chest. The tears that stung his eyes were yet another source of shame and he couldn’t – wouldn’t – cry; not again, not in front of Snape. The man would think he was nothing but a weak child, incapable of controlling his emotions. He was a man now, he angrily told himself, and men didn’t cry. So he wouldn’t give in – even if he no longer hated the Potions master, even if…

Looking closely at his face, Snape gently swatted aside the hands that were pushing at him and pulled Harry in once more. And suddenly the small boy that dwelt still within Harry’s breast came to the fore. This child inside wanted – needed - comfort, needed to be held tight and needed the chance to pour out some of the hurt.

So he buried his face in Snape’s robes and hugged back, his body shaking with nerves and released tension.

They remained like that for several long minutes and, at first, the fierceness of the embrace continued unabated. Then, however, Harry finally relaxed into it and Snape’s arms loosened slightly.

Harry sniffed and Snape made a face, trying not to think about snot on his robes. As he stood there, he wondered what on earth had come over him. In far too many years, he had always avoided physical contact – with everyone. He had cut himself off from old friends, old lovers; preferring to remain coldly austere and thus remove the risk of pain through emotional entanglement. And yet, here he was, offering comfort to a severely disturbed young man. Snape shook his head a little and decided to have a long hard talk with himself, just as soon as he found the time.

A further few minutes and Harry mumbled something unintelligible. Snape placed his hands on the young man’s shoulders and pushed him back an inch or two.

“What did you say?” he asked.

“I said I couldn’t breathe.” Harry laughed weakly and blinked his eyes clear of the tears he refused to shed.

A quick glance downwards told Snape that there was no snot and he sneered sarcastically at himself.

“…sorry…” Harry mumbled then, although neither of them knew what for. He looked as if he was thinking about stepping away. Snape, however, pushed aside his own embarrassment and told himself that he knew better than a sixteen year old. With that in mind, he brought Harry in close again; this time gentler.

After a moment, he said, “Of course, if you dare to tell another living soul that I was ever this soft or pathetically understanding, I will personally turn you into a daffodil, Potter. Is that understood.”

“Harry.” Harry corrected and chuckled softly a little before finally stepping away.

He took a few deep breaths and then moved through into the sitting area, giving Snape a last, quick glance.

“Harry.” Snape murmured in quiet agreement, rescuing the abandoned mortar and pestle.

*~*~*

Jenna toyed briefly with the idea of walking the same route with Draco that she had with Harry. But then that didn’t seem right and, in any case, Draco took the lead and led them around the other way, past the greenhouses.

“It continually surprises me,” she began as they walked side by side with perhaps a foot or two between them. “Hogwarts just doesn’t change – at all!”

‘What would you change?’ Draco wrote, looking questioningly at her.

“Nothing. But things do change, don’t they? If I went back to where my parents live - back to where I grew up - the place would be almost unrecognisable. Buildings get pulled down, new ones get built. People move away and new ones take their places.”

Draco listened politely for several minutes as Jenna went on in this vein and then, with a soft sigh, he wrote:

‘Dr Litworth, if this is a roundabout way of telling me that it’s okay that my father disowned, disinherited and tried to kill me – and that I have Severus Snape now, instead – then you’re talking rubbish.’

Jenna stopped and looked at him, her dark eyes watchful and careful. “For starters,” she said eventually, “it’s Jenna, not Dr Litworth. ‘Dr Litworth’ sounds very grown up and I’m really far too childish to wear it comfortably.”

Draco didn’t write a reply but stood, regarding her with shuttered grey eyes.

“And secondly,” Jenna went on, “I’m not trying to trick you. I’m not going to spout off a load of stories and anecdotes and then turn round and say ‘Ta-da! You’re cured, Sonny-Jim!’”

Draco blinked. He didn’t think he’d ever been referred to as ‘Sonny-Jim’ and wasn’t sure he wanted to start now.

“No, Draco,” Jenna shook her head. “Helping you isn’t going to be nearly so simple.”

‘Maybe I don’t want help?’

Jenna tilted her head and looked at him through narrowed eyes, “You’re comfortable with things the way they are?”

He shrugged and wrote: ‘I can’t talk. My father tried to murder me and if I step foot out of Hogwarts in the next ten years, he’ll probably try again. And, without the full use of magic, I probably couldn’t stop him. No, I’m not comfortable with things the way they are but how, exactly, are you going to help with that?

“I can’t.” Jenna replied honestly, staring back seriously, “But I can lend you a shoulder to lean on while you’re coming to terms with it.”

Draco sneered, his eyes cool. ‘I don’t need to lean on anyone. I can cope. Thank you.’

Reading this, Jenna pursed her lips and frowned a little. “Okay.” She shrugged and walked on a few steps before turning to look back at where the blond young man was still standing, watching her. “It’s a nice afternoon, though,” she said, “and you’ll have to go back to lessons if you don’t remain with me. Wouldn’t you rather come for a nice walk?”

After a moment, Draco nodded and smirked, writing, ‘Anything’s better than McGonagall’s Advanced Transfiguration!’

Jenna laughed and led him on across the grounds and down towards the Quidditch pitch.

“Do you play?” she asked, looking at Draco and noting his height and build, “You’d make a good Seeker.”

Draco grinned and wrote, ‘Yes, I’ve been the Slytherin Seeker since second year. Harry’s better though!’

“Harry’s the Gryffindor Seeker?” Jenna raised her eyebrows, “And you’re telling me he’s better than you? What happened to the age-old rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin?”

‘Alive and kicking still, but Harry and I are sort of above all that.’

“Uh-huh.” Jenna nodded, giving him a knowing look, “So how long have you two been going out?”

Draco bit his lip and then replied, ‘I never said we were going out!’

“My mistake,” Jenna smiled amicably and looked up and down the deserted pitch. “Fancy a practice?” she asked then with a child-like glint of hope in her eyes, “Or would you rather sit over there in the Stands?”

‘I’ll fly.’ Draco wrote. ‘But I can’t open the Broom Shed.’

Jenna smirked and drew out her wand, “Allow me,” she said and cast the complex opening charm on the Shed.

Draco grinned and hurried inside, finding his own broom easily and then selecting the Slytherin Keeper’s broom for Jenna.

‘Do you want to play or just fly?’ He asked, tapping his pad and then putting it inside his pocket.

“Um…” Jenna looked about, “Let’s just fly for now but bring a Practice Snitch and we might play in a bit. Sound good?”

With a grin and a nod, Draco straddled his Nimbus 2001 and took off. As soon as the wind was blowing through his baby-fine hair and bringing the scents of autumn to his nostrils, he was in heaven. Nothing felt like this!

A whoop and a rush of air was the only warning before Jenna roared past him at break-neck speed. He watched as she haired up towards the far end and then flipped and turned on the spot, before zooming back towards him.

“God, I missed this so much!” she shouted gleefully, her eyes dancing with pleasure and her hair caught by the wind.

Draco, of course, couldn’t reply as he needed at least one hand on his broomstick. He grinned though and mouthed, “You play?”

Jenna nodded and did a back flip, mid air. “I was a Chaser. Always wanted to be a Seeker but I was too tall!”

Draco nodded and smiled before producing the Practice Snitch. With a sideways look, he saw that Jenna was adjusting her robes and not paying attention. So Draco chose that precise moment to lob the Snitch far down the field.

“Hey! No fair!” Jenna yelled as he tore after it with a silent laugh. She flew after him and was almost on his tail when he reached out one hand for the Snitch. A split second later, however, and the Snitch swerved away from his outstretched fingers and the chase resumed.

Jenna and Draco flew, shoulder to shoulder, trying to push the other aside and gain the advantage. At one point, Jenna anticipated the Snitch zipping to the right and she was there, ready to catch it.

Draco, though, was used to playing against the best Seeker and so he darted in from underneath her and snatched it almost from her fingers. For a fleeting moment, her felt her fingernails against the back of his fingers but he’d won and he was ecstatic.

“That was brilliant!” Jenna enthused as they landed on the grass once more. She checked her watch and made a face, “But I have to go.”

Draco nodded and took her broom, carrying it back to the Broom Shed for her.

“I’ll be back on Wednesday,” Jenna said then, following him. “Can I see you as well as Harry?”

Draco didn’t reply until after he’d finished putting the brooms away. Then, turning, he wrote:

‘Is there much point in seeing me?’

“I don’t know,” Jenna shrugged, “but this has been fun, hasn’t it?”

Draco looked slowly at her wind-swept appearance and nodded with a smile.

‘Yes. Although I don’t think you can help me. After a moment’s thought, he added, And I don’t think Harry wants to be helped.’

“Has he said anything?” Jenna asked with a little frown.

‘I know he doesn’t want to talk about his abduction.’ Draco wrote, looking sombre. ‘He doesn’t want people to know what happened to him.’

“Do you know what happened?”

Draco nodded but she could tell from his expression that he wasn’t going to tell her anything.

“All right,” she said then. “Well, I’ve got to go but I’ll definitely see you on Wednesday for another game, okay? And leave me to worry about Harry.”

Draco shrugged, perhaps to tell her that that was okay or perhaps to say that there was nothing to worry about at all.

*~*~*

Harry really didn’t want to go to dinner. He didn’t want to leave Snape’s quarters and he didn’t want to leave Draco who had arrived back from flying with Jenna, looking wild and wind-swept. He had come into Snape’s sitting room with flushed cheeks and a true smile and had swooped down on Harry and kissed him.

Harry, who had been immersed in his Defence Against the Dark Arts homework, had enthusiastically returned the kiss before remembering that Snape was only in the next room.

So they had settled together quietly and had spent the rest of the afternoon working and occasionally talking silently.

And now Harry was walking dejectedly towards the Great Hall, knowing that Snape and Draco would be along in a few minutes but knowing too that Draco would sit at the Slytherin table and didn’t want anyone to see them together.

“Harry!” Ron’s voice interrupted his thoughts and he turned to see his friend hurrying down the marble staircase. “Harry, where’ve you been all afternoon?”

Before Harry could reply however, Ron suddenly flushed and winced, “Oh, yeah. Sorry – I forgot. You had to see that doctor woman, yeah?”

Harry nodded, not bothering to correct him. He was a bit nonplussed at Ron’s jovial welcome. After all, he had good reason to never speak to Harry again but…

“Care of Magical Creatures, Harry, was brilliant!” Ron went on as if nothing was wrong, “Hermione wouldn’t think so, mind – she’s still showering off all the mud, I think!”

“Mud?” Harry frowned, allowing his friend to lead the way to the Gryffindor table.

“Yeah. Hagrid rescued five Nogtails when they were chased off some farm,” Ron explained, “Well, they’re as happy as pigs if you keep ‘em in a muddy old sty but they’re impossible to catch and,” he sniggered, “Hermione got a face full of mud!”

Despite himself, Harry sniggered too and it seemed that things were normal between Ron and himself. Suddenly he had his friend back and, although he liked Hermione, Harry realised just how much he’d missed Ron.

As they sat down and helped themselves to the large dishes of sausage casserole and mashed potato, Dean and Seamus sat down, giving Harry curious looks before helping themselves to dinner. Harry was half way through his dinner, when his eye was caught by the sight of Snape and Draco entering the Great Hall.

Draco nodded at something that Snape said and then he looked across the Hall, straight into Harry’s eyes. The blond young man’s hair was still ruffled from his earlier flight and a hint of his smile still lingered about his mouth and eyes. He looked eminently kissable.

“Harry,” Ron said then, pulling Harry’s attention away from Draco, “about before – you know, in Potions?”

Harry nodded warily.

“Well, look, I don’t want to fight with you about it. You said some things that really…” Ron sighed and scratched one of his reddening ears. “Anyway, can we put that behind us?”

Again Harry nodded but he didn’t feel quite as happy as he might have. After all, Ron wasn’t apologising for anything and, in fact, he was putting the blame on Harry but saying that he magnanimously forgave Harry.

And what – exactly – had he done wrong, Harry thought? So he’d laughed at one of Snape’s jokes – it had been funny. He was starting to think that the Slytherin Head of House understood him better than his own Gryffindor friends.

“Do you want to come to the library with me, after dinner?” Ron asked, looking hopeful, “I need some help with that Defence Against the Dark Arts assignment. I know Professor Fraser explained about Snarling Jerras, but do they only attack if they’re hit with a Cruciatus curse or is it any curse? And I didn’t understand that bit about people keeping them as pets, either. I mean, why?”

“Okay.” Harry smiled, “I’ll let you see what I put in mine, alright?”

“You’ve done yours already?” Ron stared at him in amazement, “When did you do that?”

“This afternoon.” Harry replied, still thinking about Draco lying beside him on the floor as he’d worked. He’d lain perfectly still and hadn’t interrupted once with his telepathic thoughts, but had insisted on resting right up close against Harry, shoulder to shoulder. And now, Harry found, he could still sort of feel where Draco’s body had moulded comfortably against his ribs.

“Cool.” Ron nodded, “Hermione hasn’t even finished her assignment yet so you’re ahead of her. Be a change, won’t it? To give Hermione help with her homework?”

Harry frowned a little, “Is Hermione going to be in the library too then?” he asked, feeling a distant curl of irritation.

“Well, yeah.” Ron looked surprised, “I mean, we haven’t had any time together since yesterday morning…Harry, where are you going?”

Harry was getting to his feet, pushing aside his empty dinner plate. The curl of irritation was getting bigger and was demanding his immediate attention. He’d thought Ron had understood, thought he’d realised that they needed some time to be just mates without Hermione occupying all of Ron’s attention.

“I’m not going to be able to make it,” Harry said curtly, holding tightly to his temper.

“What?” Ron stared at him, clearly not understanding.

Across the Hall, Draco had watched Harry almost constantly and, seeing him get angrily to his feet, he left his dinner and walked slowly over. The Slytherins sent him taunts and catcalls but he ignored them.

“Harry, I don’t get it? What’s wrong now?” Ron demanded, staring up at Harry.

“You don’t know.” Harry shook his head, “You honestly don’t get it, do you? Hermione has you well and truly under her thumb, doesn’t she, Ron? Wherever she goes, you follow. I’m amazed you didn’t go with her to take a shower!”

Ron’s cheeks reddened alarmingly, “Harry, that’s a bit personal, don’t you think? I mean, I’m not going to discuss what -”

“Oh, please!” Harry growled, “I didn’t mean that! I don’t care what you two get up to; you could shag her sideways over the dinner table and I wouldn’t care.”

“Harry!” Ron gasped.

“What I care about is the fact that I haven’t had ten minutes to talk to you without Hermione either being there or you dragging her name into our conversations.” Harry stormed.

“Hey, Harry, back off!” Seamus interrupted then as Dean nodded beside him.

“Yeah, Harry, give Ron a break! It’s been really tough on him lately!” Dean added then.

Ron, however, was looking vaguely panicked and was shaking his head.

“What’s been tough on him?” Harry asked in a deceptively quiet voice.

“Well, with you gone, Ron and Hermione were going spare!” Dean explained, “They were really worried about you. But since you came back, you’ve spent all your time in the sodding Slytherin dungeons and haven’t had any time for Ron except to holler at him in Potions.”

Seamus nodded and was about to add his own views when Harry drew himself up, looking furious.

“I haven’t had any time for Ron?” he exploded, “Oh, poor Ron and Hermione! They were so worried! Don’t give a damn about what I was going through then, eh, Dean?” He felt Draco approach him from behind but didn’t turn around. “None of you know what it was like! None of you can even imagine what it’s like to be a slave to Voldemort.”

Draco put his hand on Harry’s arm but he shook it off, just as the three boys stood up.

“How could we know what you went through?” Ron demanded, matching Harry’s anger, “You don’t talk. You’d rather spend time with your boyfriend there than with any of us.”

It was clearly meant as an insult; a means to further rile Harry. Ron had no idea that Harry and Draco were…that they…

“Yeah?” Harry raised one eyebrow, his tone dangerous, “Maybe you’re right.” And with that, he turned and looked at Draco. Ignoring Draco’s questioning look, Harry then took the other young man’s face in his hands and kissed him.

The kiss was deep, intense, open-mouthed and Harry felt Draco tense momentarily, before giving a little sigh and melting against him. It was, he had to admit, a truly stunning demonstration and Draco responded automatically, tilting his head back and surrendering to Harry as if they were anywhere but in the Great Hall. However, as he slid one hand up Harry’s back and touched the back of his skull, he asked silently:

‘What are you doing? Have you gone completely insane?’

‘Probably.’ Harry replied, unable to keep himself from pulling Draco’s body close.

It had gone suddenly very quiet throughout the whole of the Great Hall, although Harry might have ignored that if Professor McGonagall hadn’t interrupted them, sounding immensely offended.

“Potter! Malfoy! When you have quite finished making a public spectacle of yourselves, you will explain to me the meaning of this outrage!”

*~*~*

Sitting at the Head table, Snape had been keeping an eye on Draco to make sure none of the Slytherins attempted another attack. Whilst, in the past, he had been an eager champion for anything the students of his house held dear, he felt that he could now quite happily drown the lot of them in the lake. When all the world believed that Slytherin students were darker than dark, it did nothing for their cause when they lived up to such beliefs by threatening the life of one of their own. In truth, he was still furious for the original attempt on Draco’s life and was still trying in vain to convince himself that Voldemort, Lucius and selected other Death Eaters were really to blame.

Anyway, he had kept his eyes on Draco and observed him gazing across at Harry with a steady, watchful air. Then, when Draco suddenly got up and walked cautiously towards the Gryffindor table, Snape had followed his gaze and witnessed Harry’s argument with Weasley, Finnegan and Thomas. He tensed, hoping against hope that Harry would control both his temper and his natural tendency towards Dark Arts.

Considering the emotional day that the young man had had, Snape was quite prepared to bet his life that Harry wouldn’t be able to cope with very much more.

“Severus,” Dumbledore chose that moment to lean towards him, “I wonder if we could have a little chat after dinner?”

Snape bit back a sharp retort and flickered his dark eyes at the Headmaster. “A chat?” he repeated.

“Just a few words concerning Harry and Draco,” the old man smiled genially.

Snape sighed and frowned, “I had hoped to take this evening to -” he paused and stared into the twinkling blue eyes and promptly gave up. “Yes, Albus.” He said and looked back towards the Gryffindor table in time to see Harry reach out and pull Draco into a distinctly passionate clinch.

He snarled and started to get up. What were they thinking of? As if there wasn’t enough attention on them already…

“Severus,” Dumbledore’s hand was heavy on his arm, “I believe Minerva has the situation in hand.”

Sure enough, Minerva was marching towards the two of them. She looked ready to spit nails, in Snape’s opinion and he dearly hoped that this, on top of everything else, wouldn’t push Harry over the edge.

“Albus, I’m not sure that chastising them in the middle of the Great Hall is such a good idea.” He muttered urgently, his eyes still on Harry and Draco.

They stood before Minerva now; Draco looking calm and in control and Harry looking anything but.

“She is Harry’s Head of House, Severus.” Dumbledore pointed out, watching too.

“And I am Draco’s.” Snape stood up once more.

The Headmaster said nothing and so Snape strode smartly across the Hall to Minerva’s side.

“…you owe everyone here an apology, both of you!” Minerva was saying. She glanced swiftly at Snape and then said, “Detention – tomorrow evening. Report to Mr Filch at seven o’ clock.”

Snape opened his mouth to intercede but the look Minerva shot at him forced him to rethink that strategy. The woman looked almost as ready to boil over as Harry. Without another word, she marched out of the Hall and Snape sighed.

Beside them, the Gryffindor table began to come to their senses. Weasley, Finnegan and Thomas were still staring open-mouthed at the two young men and the rest of the students were murmuring amongst themselves.

“Brilliant!” Snape hissed sarcastically at Draco and Harry, “Well done, both of you! Go to my office – I want to speak to you both in private. I’ll be along shortly but the Headmaster wants to speak to me; can either of you think what that might be about?” he added with a sneer.

Draco sighed, still looking calm but also vaguely apologetic. Harry, meanwhile, was staring flatly at Weasley, Finnegan and Thomas.

Then, with a little smirk that was worthy of any Slytherin, he looked over to where Weasley’s sister was looking horrified and said, “Sorry, Ginny. In answer to your question of a week ago - I think you’ll only ever be a sister to me.” He looked then at Draco and ran a fingertip down his neck, “I definitely prefer men.”

As if this wasn’t just too much, Snape thought to himself in stunned silence, Harry then laughed and walked away, leaving Weasley and his little posse howling for blood as Ginny looked both angry and despairing.