The Producers

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’ll be back and my peaceful solitude will be shattered once more. No doubt falling out of the fireplace clutching an armful of bloody presents from his adoring public and wearing a Weasley Christmas Special.

Snape amused himself awhile with various scenarios in which Mrs Weasley could put her knitting needles to good use, and none of them included making horrific jumpers.

Christmas Eve. Snape looked around their chambers and noted the distinct lack of decoration befitting the time of year. He wasn’t usually so adverse to celebrating; the past seven years had seen him cajoled into having some manner of glitter laden inanimate objects strewn about the place. Thanks to Potter, he reminded himself.

What are you going to give him for his present? You know what he really wants...

Snape had a rather unpleasant image of himself jumping out of a ribbon wrapped box, completely naked save for a Santa hat, shouting Merry Christmas at a gobsmacked Potter.

The boy doesn’t even know himself what he really wants. Until a month ago he hadn’t even entertained the idea of being intimate with another man. Now he thinks I should settle down with him and pledge undying love.

Now that really was worthy of a hearty laugh. Undying love indeed. Snape briefly experienced the resurrection of long buried memories and promptly decapitated them. He had done his fair share of love. He had given his love freely and paid the price. He would not be so easily damned again.

A wave of longing mingled with nausea crept over him. Charles. Why couldn’t the bloody man just have done what he was supposed to do? Stay neutral, and be what Snape needed him to be? Just there for him when that familiar old itch needed a good scratch. Why did he have to confuse sex with love? Even Potter had disjointedly deciphered the difference between the two. Surely Charles could have done the same if he’d wanted to. But he hadn’t wanted to. Eternal bloody optimist, thinking that sex would eventually turn into love.

Well he’d had to learn the hard way and so would Charles. And Potter. Both romantic fools. Bugger the pair of them.

Not yet you haven’t.

‘Go away.’

Merry Christmas to you too.

***


Harry wondered just how foul a mood Snape might be in when he got back. He’d had nearly three weeks to brood on their parting argument, be harassed by lingering students and probably would had to have put up with endless requests for his rather stale company from the other teachers. Harry smirked. ‘Serves him right,’ he thought fondly.

Oh. Yes. And the small matter of the charmed CD player. And the letter. Not his finest moment to be sure, but he excused himself on the grounds of feeling mentally fragile at the time he wrote it and cast the spell.

Not to mention very bloody angry. Though that had mostly dissipated now, and left in its wake a creeping feeling of apprehension. It was certainly hard to stay angry with someone who had spoken such shockingly vulgar words with the specific intent of having him baulk at the very idea, only for it to backfire spectacularly. Harry silently prayed that Snape had not noticed just how aroused he was before he turned to hide his shame and Flooed away.

It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m going home.

A warm feeling spread through his stomach. He’d had such a lovely stay with Ron and Hermione. It had almost been like old times, the three of them falling easily back into their long held roles. The fact that they now shared a bed hardly registered with Harry. They were just as they always had been; Hermione chiding Ron over one thing and another, Ron looking abashed and Harry offering his token ‘Sorry mate,’ look. Fred and George had visited several times during his stay, entertaining them all with their newest gadgets and products and they had gone to the Burrow for Sunday dinner where Mr Weasley had prompted Harry to explain the fundamental use of a pencil sharpener.

All in all, it had been perfect.

But he’d missed Hogwarts. And Snape. Gods he hadn’t let that one slip! The pair of them would immediately have thought he was under the Imperius curse. They didn’t understand his oddball friendship with Snape, but they had always respected it enough, as long as it didn’t mean they had to respect the man himself. Ron still held bitter resentment against him, as though he had been the only student Snape had ever ridiculed. Harry had never bothered trying to explain that it was all just a facade intended to keep the students in their place and that in private Snape was, well, just Snape.

He could only imagine the look of sheer unadulterated horror Ron would display if he had dropped into the dinner conversation that Snape made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up whenever he was close by. That his voice tied Harry’s stomach in knots and that an electrically charged jolt of pleasure had surged through him when Snape had inadvertently brushed his fingers, the night he had told Harry he was gay.

That night. It had all fallen into place for him that night, even if he hadn’t realised it at the time.

He had a sneaking suspicion that Hermione wouldn’t be too shocked by his admissions.
But now was not the time to confide in her.

Harry turned to hug his friends one last time as they chorused a Happy Christmas in unison and picked up his rucksack.

His chest tightened imperceptibly as he pinched the Floo powder between his fingers and threw it into the hearth.

***

Snape was beginning to bore the pants off even himself. He’d taken to walking the grounds just to escape the suffocating silence he’d once enjoyed in his chambers.

Now it mocked him with the echoing of ghostly words, words of his, words of Potter’s, words of bloody ridiculous Muggle songs. There was no getting around the fact that the place was Potter-less.

The boy will get a hex as his Christmas present he decided as he turned back down a corridor and paced onwards to the dungeons.

The bottle of scotch purred invitingly at him and well, since it was Christmas Eve, why the hell not?

Content with the full glass in his hand, he sat on the settee and for the umpteenth time silently cursed it. Definitely time to get a new one.

Bored stiff, his gaze fell to the impressive bookshelf and all that it contained. It really was in dire need of a good sort out. At least no one could accuse him of being uneducated, that was for sure.

As though drawn by some invisible force, he found himself looking at the pile of neatly stacked papers that still resided atop the cabinet.

Well, well.

Potter’s personal library of ego inflating claptrap. Snape pulled his wand and expertly floated the bundle off the shelf and onto the sofa next to him. Perhaps the boy would appreciate receiving them back as a poor alternative to a real present.

Snape set his drink down and picked the sheaf of papers up, trying not to sneer as he remembered that particular trait of his personality had already been mocked.

For want of anything more exciting to pass the time, he began to read.

Snape stalked the corridors of Hogwarts with grim determination. One might be forgiven for thinking that monetary rewards were on offer to the Professor that found the most students out of bed on any given night. He and Filch were most certainly in the running to scoop the jackpot.

Snape groaned. It was evidently the ramblings of a disturbed mind. One very much detached from reality. Everyone at Hogwarts knew Filch was a lazy bastard who never so much as stepped a foot outside his broom cupboard after curfew. With grim determination, he read on.

Never in his wildest dreams though, could he have thought he would be so lucky as to stumble across Harry Potter hiding under his invisibility cloak.

A genuine smile cracked Snape’s lips. Stumble across Harry Potter indeed. That was certainly not fictitious imaginings.

Snape managed to regain his balance before spinning on one foot, eyes searching frantically the length of the corridor, looking for the offending student.

“Come out. Now.” His smooth sexy voice echoed off the walls.

Snape read the last line again, just to be sure. Sexy? He smirked. And continued reading.

A dishevelled head of hair accompanied by two saucer green eyes floated disconcertingly in the corridor.

“Potter!” he barked. “Take off that cloak this instant and come with me.”
The disobedient, rule breaking adolescent dropped his gaze ashamedly and pouted. Professor Snape bit back the urge to slap the insolent brat.

“Too right,” Snape muttered to himself before allowing his smirk to relax into an amused smile. He’d bet his last Knut that Potter hadn’t read this one yet. It certainly wasn’t going to give him any airs and graces.

Snape strode masterfully through the echoing corridors, followed by the whimpering insubordinate.

On reaching his dungeons he threw the door open, causing it to crash into the wall behind; the man really didn’t know his own exquisite strength.

Potter limped in behind him and he spelled the door shut, long elegant fingers moving the wand gracefully through the air.

Snape sat himself up a bit on the sofa and reached for the tumbler. Certainly couldn’t fault this author for their astuteness. Loathe as he was to admit it, he was actually starting to enjoy the little fantasy piece.

“Do you know what happens to disrespectful children who are caught out of bed after curfew?” Snape stooped low to peer into Potter’s blotchy face.

“No sir,” he whispered pathetically, stone walls resounding the words back twice as loudly.

“Well I’ll tell you shall I?” he sneered handsomely.

Gods, they really couldn’t resist flogging that dead horse. No matter. He could overlook one minor infraction. Especially one with the word handsomely on the end.

“Actually Sir,” the boy dared to interrupt, “I’m not a child. I’m sixteen now and if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to be addressed as a man.” The utter absurdity of the statement did not go unnoticed.

“A MAN, Mr Potter? What right do you think you have to demand I treat you as such?”

Yeah, go on, give it to him. Snape egged his alter ego on. Disrespectful little toad. About bloody time someone put him in his place.

“I’ll show you how much of a man I am sir,” the defiant boy assured stridently, before pulling his wand and casting a disrobing spell on himself. The moonlight through the window lit up his pale naked body and the Professor drew in a strangled breath.

Snape dropped the papers in his lap and exhaled loudly. Merlin, was there only ever one way these shameful stories ended? He cautiously picked it up again. At least the boy was of a relatively reasonable age in this one. Not that it deflected the fact that he was still depicted as a student. Still, might as well finish the damn thing now.

In his nakedness, Potter seemed to revel, free of the constrictions that clothing appeared to have. He crossed the distance between them in two long strides and urgently began to tug at the buttons on the Professor’s robes.

Overcome with an impulsive urge he had not acknowledged before, Snape grabbed Potter’s face with his hands and mashed their lips together, sampling for the first time the sweet taste of youthful lust.

Snape dropped the wad of papers again. If he was going to carry on reading, he might well have to retire to his bedroom where he could successfully draw out a little lust of his own. A strong insistent poking in his trousers was becoming impossible to ignore. He gamely attempted to struggle on, despite the discomfort.

Potter pulled the robes off Snape with surprising roughness and began to push him back until they bumped against the desk.

“Need you, now,” the boy whispered urgently, panting as he threw himself down and gripped the desk with his hands, raising his moonlight painted bottom in the air.

He grunted in satisfaction as...

As what? Snape turned the page over but there was nothing there. He rifled through the other stories but they were all self contained, no loose pages between them that were the conclusion to this particular narrative. Story of my bloody life he cursed. Talk about anti-climatic. He wondered if his story self was just as exasperated as he was for not being able to carry out whatever it was that had the downright suggestive Potter grunting.

Well, the boy had deserved punishment of some kind for his forwardness.

He carried on looking through the pile of papers next to him, the offending half finished one still sat in his lap, fruitlessly searching for the rest of it.

Gods, this was frustrating. Leave it to Potter to aggravate him in his absence.

As if by the sheer thought of his name alone, a loud pop emanated from the fireplace and a familiar figure materialised.

***

The sudden sound made Snape jump and the papers he had been rooting through scattered.

Harry stepped out onto the rug and took in the scene before him.

Snape was sitting on the sofa with a scotch by his feet; nothing unusual there. But he was surrounded by falling pages and wads of paper. Obviously not marking, since he habitually did that at his desk. A broad grin lit Harry’s face as he realised exactly what he had been doing. Or rather, reading.

Snape tried to avoid the beaming teenager’s gaze and hastily attempted to gather the papers into a messy pile.

“And there I was worrying you’d have nothing with which to occupy your time in my absence,” Harry couldn’t resist parroting Snape’s own words back at him.

“I was merely preparing them to be wrapped. Since you are so desperate to have them back, I thought they would make an ideally inexpensive Christmas present,” he glared mutinously, ignoring the unexpected rush of complex feelings the boy’s appearance had stimulated.

“Really,” Harry said with as much disbelief as could intone. He noticed one particularly dog-eared document laying in Snape’s lap and snatched it before his sudden movement could be anticipated.

Snape protested and beckoned for him to give it back.

“Potter, I swear to Merlin if you don’t hand that back right now I will Incendio the lot of it.”

Bloody papers. Far from tidying them into a neat pile they were scattered farther and wider than they had been before.

Harry danced around the room, delightedly reading the last paragraph as quickly as he could, lest Snape suddenly make a dash at him to retrieve it.

“Need you, now.” The boy whispered urgently, panting as he threw himself down and gripped the desk with his hands, raising his moonlight painted bottom in the air.

He grunted in satisfaction as...

“Phew!” Harry fanned himself theatrically and left the safety of the far side of the room to sit on the sofa.“That’s pretty hot stuff eh? I mean the whole teacher takes student over a desk thing isn’t exactly imaginative, but it’s bloody effective.”

Snape had collected the papers into some semblance of order and gave them to Harry.

“Merry Bloody Christmas, Potter.”

Harry grinned before returning his attention back to the stack of papers and turning the illicit one over in his hands.

“Where’s the rest of it?” he asked, looking up suspiciously and receiving a warning look.

“The rest of what?” ‘Must not sneer, must not sneer,’ Snape chanted in his head.

“This one, the one you were reading, what have you done with the rest of it?” Harry wasn’t entirely sure that Snape was guilty, but he hoped like hell. How attractive the notion was, Snape secretly harbouring graphically sexual stories about the pair of them together. Naked. On a desk. Shiver.

“I can assure you I most certainly am not in possession of your dubious smut.” Snape looked genuinely affronted. And perhaps, a smidgen guilty too.

Harry was momentarily confused before comprehension lit his features.

He reached a hand underneath the settee and felt around, fingers finally clasping round something that rustled as he pulled it out.

“Here it is,” he said victoriously. “Must have got left under the sofa that night.” He didn’t want to dwell on what had transpired during the rest of that evening. The memories weren’t particularly pleasant to review. “I’ll just put the pages in order.”

Snape resisted the overwhelming urge to snatch them out of the Harry’s hand, and instead tried not to look envious.

When he had finished, Harry beamed at him with all the saintly goodness of a soon-to-be fallen angel, and placed the story on top of the others.

“Right, I’ve got to pop out. Hogsmeade. Need to get some last minute stuff for Christmas.”

‘Good,’ thought Snape, ‘perhaps it’ll give me time to finish that damnable story.’

‘Not so good,’ his brain reminded him. ‘What if he bumps in the Farmer girl?’

“Shit,” Snape muttered, intending for only himself to hear.

“What’s up?” Harry sat back down, looking concerned.

“What on earth can you possibly need to purchase for Christmas? A present for your girlfriend?” he said, more unkindly than he’d meant to, slight panic coursing through him at the thought of Potter running into the enraged girl.

“Yeah, I was thinking of getting her a great big diamond encrusted engagement ring,” Harry bit back.

Bloody Snape. Did he really have to be this disagreeable all the time?

“Well don’t come asking me for handouts when you’ve spent your last Knut on her.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t. I probably have more money than you anyway.” Harry jutted his chin out.

Snape couldn’t help an amused snort. The boy was probably right. Between his parents inheritance and the money he made from people merchandising products in his name he probably never needed to work again.

“Well at least now we know what her interest in you is.”

Touché, Snape old fellow, you’re doing just great. Exactly what you wanted after three weeks away from the boy, another blazing row. Very clever.

“Yeah you must be right, I mean, who would find Harry bloody Potter attractive for any other reason than his bank statement!” Harry spluttered.

‘You do.’

Snape closed his eyes and willed the voices to leave him alone. Both the one in his head and the one tangibly close on the sofa. This was not how he had envisaged welcoming the boy home.

“Harry...”

“No really it’s fine, but just so you know, just because you don’t want me, doesn’t mean no one else will.” Harry cursed himself for being so emotional as he felt angry tears prickling his eyes.

“I do.”

The words were spoken so softly that Harry wasn’t sure he’d even heard them. He tried to block out the rushing sound of blood in his ears.

“What?” he stammered, looking at Snape with wide fearful eyes.

Snape kept his head bowed low and racked his brain. Why had he said that?

“I think it would be best if you did your shopping now.”

“No, tell me what you said,” Harry reached out a hand and clutched at the charcoal robes.
Snape yanked his arm away and jumped up, seeking a refuge from the oppressive atmosphere that was stifling the room.

“I didn’t say anything,” he lied, “Now really, you should get on with your chores.” He sat down at the desk and took up his quill, wishing for the first time ever that he actually had some marking to do.

“I heard you,” Harry accused. “You said...”

“JUST GO Potter, I am not ready to discuss this.” Snape kept his eyes trained on the barren desk.

Harry threw his arms up in resignation. “You’re seriously fucking twisted you know that?” he yelled before throwing himself into the fireplace.

The loud crack as he Flooed away shifted something long dormant within Snape. Had he been a romantic, he might have said it was the last brick of an stone aged wall finally being torn down. But he wasn’t, so the thought never crossed his mind.

***

Harry stomped around Hogsmeade. It felt good to stomp.

Infuriating, irritating, infernal bloody man. Why couldn’t he just give in to what he was so obviously feeling?

A startling thought crossed Harry’s mind.

What if this had all become a game? What if he had become more interested in the thrill of the chase than actually catching Snape? Because it would appear that the man had no real intention of being caught, which meant that for all Harry’s pursuing, he wasn’t likely to have to deal with the consequences.

No, that idea was ludicrous. It was far more than that. He needed only to remember how he thought his chest might implode with the sheer joy of seeing that familiar, oddly compelling face again. Before another bloody row.

Harry groaned inwardly and picked up his pace, striding determinedly towards his destination.

Once inside the shop, he was overwhelmed by the vast array of choice that presented itself to him. He tried to imagine he was Snape, and which one he would like best, before finally settling on a grand but inoffensive piece and paying the shopkeeper, who assured him it would be delivered tomorrow morning.

The beauty of magic, Harry thought to himself, remembering the one time he had been dragged out shopping with the Dursleys, who had still been waiting for their furniture to be delivered three months later, and certainly not on Christmas morning.

Feeling rather pleased with himself, he decided to pay a visit to a shop he knew he could purchase some rather rare scotch. Something else he knew Snape would appreciate although certainly it would be pointed out to him that it was less a present and more a payback, but still...

Harry turned right and headed down the main street, feeling sadly nostalgic that he no longer had the urge to rush into the sweet shop and buy as many chocolate frogs as he and Ron could carry.

A bobbing blonde head was a few paces in front of him and he forgot all about chocolate frogs.

“Flora!” he yelled. The blonde head continued bobbing although Harry was sure he had detected a moment’s hesitation at the hailing. He thought he had shouted quite loudly enough for her to hear. How odd...

Sprinting forward, he playfully caught her arm.

“Hey, didn’t you hear me?” he asked, feeling genuinely happy to see her again.

“Oh I heard you alright,” she said coldly, piercing him with her icy blue eyes. “I heard you loud and clear.” Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Well then, why didn’t you stop?”

“I don’t know who you think you are, or why you thought I’d even care, but if you think it’s okay to use Professor bloody Snape to do your dirty work for you, you’re even dumber than you look.” She wrenched her arm from him and started to walk away.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Flora spun gracefully on her heel and brought her face so close to Harry’s he could feel her breath ghosting his cheeks.

“I heard you, Harry. You told Snape you didn’t want to see me. Using the man as some bloody messenger to your own end. You’re pathetic,” she hissed.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about!” Harry protested. “When was this? I haven’t even been around the last few weeks.”

“Right. Course you haven’t. God, Harry, at least have the bloody balls to admit what a low life you are.” Shaking with rage, she left Harry standing and stalked away through the snow.

***

As soon as Harry had left, Snape evacuated his desk and resumed his position on the sofa. He tentatively picked up the unfinished composition and leafed through the pages, making sure they were all present and correct this time.

When he was satisfied, he resumed reading and backtracked a little for good measure.

“Need you, now.” The boy whispered urgently, panting as he threw himself down and gripped the desk with his hands, raising his moonlight painted bottom in the air.

He grunted in satisfaction as smooth hands ran along the length of his spine, applying a dizzying pressure that orchestrated waves of pleasure.

The Professor felt his own dizzying pressure inside his pants as it strained to be released and he leant forward, nudging the boy’s arse with his impatient cock.

Potter gripped the desk harder, “Oh god, yes sir, do it!” the boy wailed.

Snape allowed himself a cruel smile as he considered his options, limited as they were. He could, if he wanted to, calmly step away from the boy and leave him trembling with his unfulfilled desire obscenely plain between his legs.

‘No!’ Snape practically shouted at the page, ‘that would be totally self sacrificing!’

On the other hand, he could teach the boy a lesson he’d never forget, about what unmerciful acts could befall a young man that had a distinct lack of esteem for his Professor.

‘Yes!” Snape nodded fervently, ‘that course of action is far more prudent.’

Needing very little consideration, the Professor slid a hand over Potter’s hip and delved below it, finding a hard length of flesh that caused his own to fill with delightful pleasure.

“Oh God,” the boy yelped, thrusting his pelvis forward to increase the friction.
With his other hand, Snape began rubbing the cleft of arse that his cock was seeking out, finally using a single finger to wickedly tempt the flesh to give way.

It appeared that however willing the boy was, his arse was most certainly not. Snape encountered heavy resistance as he forced a digit into the searing heat and tightness, as Potter let out a strangled groan. It was plainly obvious that the boy had never so much as played with his own arse, never mind had anyone else touching him this way.

Snape smirked at the revelation.

Snape fanned himself with the papers. This was seriously hot stuff. ‘A virgin Potter,’ he thought, ‘Yes, that would be a rather erotic revelation.’

‘Idiot,’ his brain complained.

“You’re all mine, boy,” he growled in a low voice.
“Yes sir, oh yes, all yours.” Potter was panting loudly now, barely able to formulate the words.
“Well what do you want? Tell me. Beg me.”

Gods, he’s Potter baiting, thought Snape, and in the most obscenely erotic way ever. Making the brat beg for it. He felt a surge of admiration for his story-self.

“I...I want you...sir... inside...now, please!” he gasped, his whole body gyrating as though he were having some kind of fit.

“As I thought. You really are a disgusting little piece of filth, Potter Take your punishment like a man and brace yourself,” Snape barked, shredding his pants to the floor and spreading the pale cheeks as wide as he could.

The cold dungeon air assailed the boy’s inflamed and already protesting arsehole, causing him to gasp, just as Snape pushed inside him, and the cold air vanquished into red hot bursts of delicious pain.

Snape put the text down and fiddled with the top buttons of his robes. It was surely far too hot to be the middle of winter. He was desperate to continue reading, but not being the indulgent sort, decided to give himself a moment to regain composure. After all, you couldn’t rush perfection. It had to be allowed to breathe, and be savoured, like a fine wine.

Snape wasn’t sure he could take much more perfection before he shot his load like a pubescent schoolboy afflicted with premature ejaculation. No, he definitely couldn’t read the rest of it now.

Picking up the papers with a trembling hand, he reunited them with the others before pushing the stack underneath the sofa. Out of sight, out of mind he told himself grimly.

***

Harry tried to make sense of the shocking exchange that had just occurred.

He racked his brains to think of something he might have said or done to cause such an extreme reaction, knowing deep down he was innocent of any wrongdoing.

And what had Snape got to do with it? Why would he tell her...

Somewhere in Harry’s brain, a light bulb flickered. Granted, it was one of those energy saving ones that came on very dimly and took a while to reach its full blinding potential, but eventually it got there.

He groaned. Un. Fucking. Believable. The meddlesome misery had pretended Harry was home and didn’t want to see Flora. He imagined Snape having a hushed conversation with himself outside Harry’s bedroom; he must have done, if Flora was convinced she had overheard dialogue between the two of them. Harry could almost have laughed at the ridiculous notion, if he hadn’t felt so violated by it.

Harry had had quite enough of arguing with Snape to last him a lifetime. It occurred to him that they hadn’t so much as had a crossed word until he had moved in, and even then, the first few months had progressed smoothly. Until he had challenged Snape on his apparent homophobia and had been humiliatingly proved as wrong as it was possible to be.

That, he realised, had set in action this whole sorry mess. But one thing was now patently obvious; Snape had deliberately tried to sabotage his budding relationship with Flora, and there could only be one reason why.

Couldn’t there? Surely Ron hadn’t been right all along about Snape, about his vindictive streak, that he took genuine pleasure from making others suffer. Harry had always thought Ron was being overly dramatic about that, but now he wasn’t quite so certain.

Regardless, arguing with the man evidently got him nowhere, so he would just have to try another tack. A tack that would play him at his own cruel games.

The corners of Harry’s mouth twitched as a plan began to formulate in his head.

***

Snape was on his hands and knees beside the bookcase when the Floo delivered a gift laden Potter onto the rug.

He braced himself for a barrage of insults and abuse, absolutely certain in the knowledge that his luck could not be abundant enough to ensure Harry hadn’t run into the girl.

Snape tentatively looked up and fleeting relief flooded through him when Harry beamed down.

Although... a tiny imperceptible glint of something in the boy’s eyes made his blood run a little colder. The beam on first glance seemed genuine enough, perhaps even a little playful, but on closer inspection... Snape was shocked to see a hint of malice in it.

Something was definitely afoot, he could smell it. He hadn’t spent years and years teaching malodorous bratlings without being able to recognise the stench of something rotten and spiteful pervading the air.

He had been rumbled.

“Did you have a pleasant shopping trip, Potter?” he enquired smoothly, burying any outward sign that he might be tense. He had not experienced this quietly seething side of the boy before.

“Yeah, got everything I needed,” Harry said, carefully adding, “And I ran into Flora too.” He scrutinized Snape’s face which remained completely deadpan.

Damn the boy was good. Anyone other than Snape would have been fooled by this display of bonhomie.

“And how is Miss Farmer?” he enquired, a sudden mental image of himself balancing perilously on a cliff edge firmly inserting itself into his mind’s eye.

“She’s fine, Snape, why wouldn’t she be?” Harry narrowed his eyes a little through his glasses.

“No reason, no reason at all, just making polite conversation.” Shit. That was not like him at all. He never questioned anyone’s wellbeing if he could help it. If Harry had any lingering doubts about his culpability, they were surely confirmed now.

“How very... polite of you. Right, I have some things to do before dinner. I assume you’ll be attending the Christmas Eve feast tonight?” Snape hadn’t even given it a thought.

“I suppose I am obligated to do so. Will you be present?” he asked, a little hopefully.

“Oh most definitely,” Harry said, beaming widely again.

Snape swallowed a hard lump. That beam was unquestionably fake. A yelling, red faced Potter he knew how to handle; an ominously silent one confounded him.

“Excellent. Well then. Best you get on with your...things.” Snape waved him away and turned back to face the bookcase, continuing to sort through the piles of books that needed cataloguing.

Harry allowed himself a congratulatory smirk. Snape might be able to mask the emotion in his face, but his body language spoke volumes. He knew he had been found out, and Harry squirmed delightedly at his new found ability to invoke the uneasiness Snape was experiencing right now. The tables were turning, and Harry was determined to teach him a valuable lesson on the consequences of sticking one’s considerable nose where it didn’t belong.

***