...years and six months

December

14.

“Are you busy?”

“Yes.”

“Do you need help?”

“No.”

“I--” Looks around the lab. “Can I cut the--?”

“No.”

“Is there any cauldron--”

“Potter,” puts the stirring rod down and goes to the chopping board, “What do you want?”

“You’ve been avoiding me for the last several weeks, and--.”

“Was I? Then, let me get on with it. Out.” Slams the knife down.

“No, please, I wanted to apologize.” Pleadingly, “Please, the things I said that night--. And then you were injured--. I am sorry. For what I said. It was absolutely uncalled for and not true.”

“Potter, I am not interested. Get out.” Proceeds with chopping without looking at him.

Stubbornly, “You can’t throw me out.”

“Can’t I?” Shoots a glare at him. “Oh, of course, the great Harry Potter always does exactly as he pleases.”

“No! No, it’s not what I meant to say.”

Sneers. Scoops the chopped roots and throws them onto a scale. Resumes chopping.

“Come on, Snape, you know me better than that.”

“Apparently, not.”

Sighs. Runs the hand through his hair. “Snape, I am sorry.”

Sneers, “Of course.”

“Look, there is no logic, Snape. You always say I am an idiot, and yet you get upset when I actually do something idiotic.”

The knife movement falters for a moment.

Presses on, “Come on, in a spirit of a season--.”

“What season?”

“You know, the holidays.”

Throws more chopped roots on the scale. Then takes the weighted pile to the cauldron, and slowly adds the roots to its boiling content. “Potter, if you are referring to Christmas, the blasted insanity is still three weeks away.”

Grinning, “Yeah, but the spirit, Snape, the spirit--.”

Takes the stirring rod and scowls into his cauldron. “Potter, I am working on a highly experimental and extremely volatile potion. Unless your groveling is more important to you than your limbs and health, then by any means, do go on.”

“Um--. All right. I see your point. How about I’ll stop by your rooms later? You know, to grovel some more?”

Shoots him a glare.

Smiles and leaves.

Puts the stirring rod down and swears.


15.

“This is the second night in a row you are here. Aren’t you supposed to be--somewhere else?”

“What, you’re tired of me already?”

“Perish the thought.”

Smiles lopsidedly, “Right. I know I haven’t been around much lately.”

“No need to apologize. I rather enjoy my peace and quiet.”

“Right.” Takes a sip of his drink. Then another one. “Right.” Looks into his drink. “You see--. I--.”

Stretches his legs closer to the burning hearth. “Potter, what’s with the stuttering?”

“Right.” Glances at him. “I broke up with Michael.”

Arches an eyebrow.

“Didn’t seem to--didn’t feel right any more.” Shakes the head. Looking at him, raises the hand as if to stop an argument. “Just don’t say ‘I told you so,’ because it’s not--.” Stops. Frowns.

Waits for continuation. Then curves the lip in a half-sneer.

Silence, interrupted only by crackling of the fire in the hearth.

“All right, you can say it.”

“Well, actually what I wanted to say--. Potter, if you insist on basing your choice of partners solely on the merits of their asses--or faces--.”

Indignant, “I do not!”

Smirks.

Calmer, “I do not. Not entirely.”

Looks at him with mocking reproach.

“Snape, you are just too straight to understand the value of a man’s ass.”

Scowls.

“Right. Sorry.” Runs the hand through his hair. “But there was more to it with Michael than his--you know. Even Hermiony thought so.”

“What does Ms. Granger have to do with it?”

Shrugs. “He wrote her a letter. After the announcement in the Prophet about--.” Swallows. “The announcement about exposés.”

Arches an eyebrow.

“I recon he decided since in a way she got us together in a first place, she would--I don’t know--be more accepting of his apologies. So he wrote to Hermiony saying what a mistake it was to talk to the Prophet, and how sorry he was, and--. She thought I should give him another chance.”

“Must have been some letter.”

“Must’ve.”

For a long time watches the fire in the hearth.

“So, the holidays in Alps are cancelled.”

“What are you going to do with yourself for two weeks then?”

“I just booked a portkey to Australia.”

“Australia?”

“Yeah. Want to get as far away as possible from it all.”

“Australia seemed to be the right choice.”

“Isn’t it?” Takes a sip of his drink. Shivers. “It’s summer down there, should be nice. Care to join me?”

Arches an eyebrow.

“Right. Sorry I asked.”

Sneers.

“I am scheduled to leave on Christmas day, so--.”

“You still have over a week – plenty of time to find company.”

Glares at him. Then smiles.


16.

“Snape, are you there?”

“Potter?”

“Oh, thanks Merlin, you are in.”

“What is the matter?”

“I need your help.”

“My help? In what? Weren’t you leaving right after breakfast?”

“Yeah, but--. Snape, I’ve got a problem. Could you pop in my rooms for a couple of minutes?”

“Your rooms?” Hesitates for a split of a second. “All right. Step aside, I am coming through.”

“Ow!”

“Haven’t I told you to step aside?”

“Yeah. Still, your elbows--.”

“Potter, what is that dreadful signing? Do you have your wireless on so loud?”

“No. That is actually the problem.”

“The singing?”

“I’ll show you.” Gestures to follow him to the bedroom.

Frowns and walks after him.

Points at the piles of clothes thrown around the room.

Stands for a moment, listening to the singing. “The twins?”

“Probably.” Scowls at his pants that suddenly begin humming ‘For he is a jolly good fellow’.”

“Have you tried--.”

“Snape, I went through all the spells I know. I am desperate.”

“Hmm.” Walks around the room. “Have they all started singing at the same time?”

“I don’t know. No, shirts first. I think. I was getting ready this morning, opened the shirt draw, and--.” Swears under his breath.

“And they all do ‘For he is a jolly good fellow’?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.” Walks around some more, eyeing carefully the piles of singing clothes.

“Snape, my portkey is in two hours.” Gestures around the room. “I can’t travel like this.” Rips off his jacket that has just started a new round of ‘For he is--’ in a low masculine voice, “Oh, shut up already!”

Gets the wand out and accios all the shirts in one big pile in front of him. “The shirts, you said, started this?”

“Yeah.”

“I am going to need this one too.” Points at his t-shirt.

“Right.” Takes it of and throws in the shirt pile.

Spends several minutes waving the wand and muttering something under his breath. Then turns to him, “What did the twins give you last night?”

“Right.” Runs the hand through the hair. “A WWW t-shirt. You know Molly wouldn’t let any of their stuff in her house. George told me to stop by the shop later. For the rest of my Christmas gift.”

Looks at him pointedly. “Potter, where is the t-shirt?”

“Oh, about that--.” Bites the lip. “I destroyed it.”

“Pardon?”

“I thought it was a culprit, and as soon as I get rid of it, the rest would stop--.” Trails off.

Gives him an exasperated look.

“I know, I know, I am an idiot.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

“But I did check it for spells and such--.”

“Yes, it makes me feel so much better.”

“Look--.”

Interrupts, “Tell me exactly what you did with that t-shirt the moment you opened the twins’ gift. Try to remember if you still have some wrapping, or the string, or the card. Anything at all.”

“Oh, right.” Runs the hand through the hair again. Starts slowly, “So we got to the gift opening right after deserts. Kids went first, then--.”

“Potter, I am not interested in your Christmas saga.”

“Right. So, I unwrapped the t-shirt, got rid of the paper. No, Molly did. Put it in with my other gifts, you know, the Weasley’s sweater, a bottle of wine--. ”

Listening, goes around the room, pointing the wand at different articles of clothing.

“When I got back, I put the t-shirt and the sweater in the draw, and the rest--.”

Looks at him with a sneer, “Potter, you put the twins’ gift in your dresser?”

Resentfully, “I checked the damn thing, didn’t I?” The pair of sock at his feet take a high note in the end of ‘--nobody can deny’.”

Smirks. “Apparently.” Then, sternly, “I need to see everything you wore for dinner yesterday. And the gifts.”

Fishes from the mountains of clothing as speaks, “A jacket, trousers, robes. Here is the last Weaseley’s sweater.” Then, blushing slightly, “The underwear from last night is in the hamper. You want it too?”

“No.” Runs the wand over each item.

“The cloak, and the wine, and picture frames are here.” Beckons him to the living room.

Checks every item. Finally, exclaims, “Ah-ha!” Pulls a piece of tinsel from the cloak.

Doubtfully, “This?”

“Yes, Potter, this.” Eliminates it with a jab of the wand.

The singing stops abruptly.

“Wow.”

Shakes the head.

“Snape, you are a genius. I owe you a huge one. Anything. Just name it.”

Glances at him. Suddenly notices he has no shirt on. Coughs. “Why don’t you start with covering your--.” Nods at his bare chest.

“Oh, right.” Rushes back to the bedroom. Calls out, “How did they do it? I mean, was it some kind of transmission spell? Have you ever seen anything like that?” Pops his head out, “You’ve got to admire those two.”

“Potter, I should go.” Steps to the fireplace.

“No, Snape, wait, I want to ask you something. Let me just--.” Disappears in the bedroom again

Stops at the hearth and looks at the pictures on the mantel. Stunned, “Potter?”

“I’ll be right out!” Calls out from the bedroom.

“Potter, you have my picture.”

“Yeah, a student snapped it at a Quidditch match.” Comes out of the bedroom, buttoning the shirt. “A bit out of focus. And you forgot to smile. Still--.” Grins.

“Why do you keep it here?”

“Why not? Everybody has pictures of their friends and family on display.”

“I am not your family.”

Grins wider. “Snape, don’t worry, being my friend doesn’t make you--you know--gay.”

“It’s not--.”

There is a loud pounding at the door. Muffled cries, “Open up! Open up immediately!”

Stiffens.

Looks at him surprised.

The door bursts open, letting in two Aurors. “In the name of the Ministry of Magic!” Two wands point at Snape. A moment later his wand flies in the hand of one of the Aurors, his hands bound behind his back.

“What--what is going on?” Looks at Snape, then at Aurors. “What are you doing here?”

Scowling, stares at a spot over Aurors’ heads.

“Oh, Mr. Potter, our sincere apologies, but we have to escort this criminal out of Hogwarts.”

“What?”

Nastily to Snape, “Get a move on it.” To Potter, “No worries. He’ll be dealt with duly.”

“Wait! Are you arresting him? On what grounds?”

Grinds the teeth. “Potter, stay out of it.”

Gets between the door and the Aurors leading Snape. “You can’t just take him like that!”

“I’m afraid you are wrong, Mr. Potter.” One of the Aurors pulls a parchment out of the pocket. Skims over it. “Ah, here. Mr. Snape is charged with the use of unauthorized spells - Article 12, repeated use of magic - article 36, and,” smirks at Snape, “resisting arrest – Article 5. All the named offenses have been committed in the last half an hour.”

Confused, “What is this? What are those articles?” Turns to him, “Snape? What does it all mean?”

Glares, repeats forcefully, “Potter, stay out of it.”

Stuffs the parchment back in the pocket, takes him aside. “You see, Mr. Potter, Mr. Snape here is a convicted war criminal. Although, his sentence was suspended, he has to fully comply with every provision of his probation or face a prolonged stay in Azkaban.”

Glumly, “What kind of provisions?”

Growls, “Potter!”

Smirks at Snape’s outburst. “Oh, Mr. Potter, there are a number of them – restriction on employment, on use of magic, on spending. He didn’t mention it to you, didn’t he? Hmm, I recon Headmistress McGonagall is covering for him too.” Shakes the head. “But don’t you worry, Mr. Potter, he is under a strict surveillance, as you can see. And if we catch him with a sufficient number of infractions, we’ll be finally able to put him in Azkaban.”

Looks at him. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Barks, “Because it’s none of bloody business, Potter!”

An Aurors shoves Snape to the door, “Shut up!” Then hisses, as they walk, “Wait till we get to the station. I’ll show you how to speak properly to the Hero of Wizarding World.”

The other Auror, following them out of the rooms, “My apologies again, Mr. Potter. Enjoy the rest of your day, and Merry Christmas!”

“Wait, I’ll go with you!”

Turns, “There is no need. If you want to file a complaint against Snape, you can always owl it to our main office. Good day!”

As the door closes behind the Auror, races to grab his cloak and rushes out.