Clouds roiled about the ceiling, dark and threatening. It looked like a good storm was brewing, and Harry glanced up at the ceiling, distracted from the Sorting. He hoped to catch that first flash of lightning before the rain started to fall. It was a rare chance to be out in a full storm without getting wet, here in the Great Hall. Some of the newly sorted First Years at the Gryffindor table looked up uneasily. They were going to get quite a shock when the rain started, and disappeared right above their heads. In a good downpour you could hardly see the person across the table.

Harry wondered what he would have made of a storm his first year at Hogwarts. He gave an encouraging smile to an obviously Muggle-born new Gryffindor, but she jumped at the first flash of lighting and didn't notice. Darn, he'd missed it. Oh well, there was plenty more where that came from. It was a wonder anyone could follow Dumbledore's speech.

Professor Dumbledore was telling everyone the Forbidden Forest was off limits (a fat lot of good that ever did, Harry thought) and finally, he had a few words for them all. Harry glanced at Ron next to him. They had their forks ready, and a bet on. They leaned forward, poised.

"Crumpet! Persimmon! Fluke!" Professor Dumbledore said triumphantly, and the feast began.

Harry's plate appeared, heaped with turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, roast beef, corn on the cob; pumpkin juice appeared on his left, while the wonderful aroma of fresh baked rolls wafted down the table. But Ron had already dug in first, and was grinning from a mouth that was stuffed far too full. Hermione rolled her eyes in disgust. All right, all right, Harry owed him a Chocolate Frog. Harry made a strategic grab as the basket floated by a second time. Harry was just eyeing a Bakewell tart, wondering if he dare eat dessert first, when Professor McGonagall touched his shoulder. He was only thinking about it! But she had other things on her mind.

"Mr. Potter, Professor Dumbledore needs to see you in his chambers," she said. "You can finish your dinner first, of course."

Ron gazed after her as she returned to the teachers' table. The rain chose that moment to start and she disappeared behind its curtain.

"What was that about? You don't think you're in trouble already, do you?" he whispered, as much as one could whisper with a mouth full.

Harry shrugged. He couldn't think of anything he'd done yet.

But curiosity nagged at Harry throughout the feast. Not that it affected his appetite. His plate was clean even before the last trace of the feast magically disappeared. He never ate this well at the Dursleys', and always made up for lost time whenever he had the chance. Mrs. Weasley had chortled a year ago that he had a hollow leg. Well if he did, there was a lot more of it now. He had finally caught up to Ron's height. But he was still as thin as ever, and might always be, judging from photos of his father. Though the Dursleys certainly didn't help.

An hour later, while the other Gryffindors trouped up the tower to learn the new password, Harry stood nervously with Prof. McGonagall at the gargoyle which was the secret the entrance to Dumbledore's study.

"Butterscotch!" she said. "Now, go on up without me, Mr. Potter. Apparently, this is concerning a private matter." This made Harry even more curious than ever.

Classical music played as Harry stepped into Dumbledore's outer chamber. Dumbledore's quarters were at once familiar, and new, as things had been rearranged and new wonders added since his last visit. Prof. Dumbledore sat in a wingback chair facing a roaring fire. The wings of the chair waved gently in time with the music. On a small table by the chair was an orchestra of tiny stringed instruments. They had arranged themselves in neat rows, and were playing by themselves as Dumbledore conducted with his wand. They came to the final crescendo at the end of the piece. Professor Dumbledore bowed to them and clapped.

"Uh.. Professor Dumbledore?" Harry interrupted tentatively.

"Harry, come in, come in!" He gestured to the instruments and explained. "Rehearsal."

The instruments started packing themselves up, chatting amongst themselves, with a squeak of chairs, various musical riffs and laughter. "I realize we've just had our feast, but would you care for some popping soda? I have lemon, and oh yes -- cherry, here it is. Never known a young man to ever stop being hungry - or thirsty. I'll have one myself. Always nice to have one after rehearsal. It went well this time, don't you think?"

Harry nodded absently as he watched the instruments hop to the armchair and each bow to Dumbledore as they left. He gratefully accepted the soda, and the staccato popping sound soon filled the air like small fireworks. Professor Dumbledore smiled.

"Nothing like a good popping soda. Well, what can I do for you, Harry?"

"You asked to see me...?" Harry said.

"Oh, yes, yes of course," Dumbledore frowned and sighed, "that."

"It's a serious matter, Harry..." Dumbledore looked thoughtfully at him.

"It seems you have encountered Voldemort in one form or another every year at Hogwarts. We are forced to assume that the sun will rise in the east, and the boomslang will shed its skin in spring. There are those who feel you need extra protection this year - "

Harry opened his mouth to protest but Dumbledore put up his hand.

"Now, now, Harry, it's already settled. The arguments have been argued, and there's no use in starting another one. There has been plenty of that already. You will be having extra classes. Private tutoring, to prepare you in case Lord Voldemort puts in another appearance. These classes, I fear, I am not qualified to teach you myself, or I would, gladly. But we do have one who is highly qualified in such matters..."

"One would hope you will prove better at the Dark Arts than you do at Potions, Mr. Potter."

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin at the all-too-familiar voice behind him. Professor Snape emerged from the shadows by the door.

"I am uncertain which is the greater waste of time: teaching you, or having to save you, yet again," Professor Snape continued, looking at Harry with disdain.

Snape must have been there the whole time. Or at least Harry thought so. He fervently hoped Snape couldn't walk through walls. Then what Snape had said finally sunk in. The Dark Arts...? Harry felt a faint chill. Though if he were honest with himself, he had to admit he was a little curious. Professor Dumbledore was speaking again.

"You will have to keep these classes 'under your hat' as they say. You will be Professor Snape's only pupil in this. Two evenings a week. You may have to miss a few Quidditch practices, I fear."

Extra classes? Alone? With Snape? Missing Quidditch practice? This was getting worse and worse, Harry thought. Snape turned to Dumbledore, ignoring Harry completely.

"Are you certain there might not be others who could benefit from my knowledge? Competent students, perhaps? If there are any, other than say, Granger?" Snape made a noise of disgust.

"Yes, Miss Granger is quite competent, isn't she? But I'm sure Harry will do fine." Professor Dumbledore stood and patted Harry's shoulder. Harry was still in shock at the bad news. It couldn't possibly be worse. "No doubt many could benefit from your assistance, Severus. I do. Nearly every day. But is not my policy to teach Dark Magic here at Hogwarts as you know. I have only been convinced that this is a singular and very unusual case. I admit - nothing we have tried thus far has worked. Until now we have mostly been saved by Harry's good luck. We can't count on that again."

Dumbledore turned to Harry. "You do understand why you must keep this a secret, no matter how hard that might prove?" Harry nodded. Malfoy would give his eyeteeth to learn Dark Magic. "Good. No one, not even your friends, must know."

"Good luck to you, Harry." Dumbledore's eyes sparkled. "And to you, Severus."

Snape stalked out with a bare nod to Dumbledore. One of the violins narrowly missed getting stepped on, skittering out of the way as Snape crossed the threshold. Harry knew how it felt.

But was it Harry's imagination, or did Dumbledore seem worried when he looked at Snape?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The moment Harry dreaded finally came, towards the end of Potions class a few weeks into the school year.

Harry had almost managed to forget the looming class on Dark Magic, immersed as he was in the flurry of Quidditch practice, new classes and the excitement of seeing all his friends again. He had certainly hoped Snape had, as one week, then another passed without a word about it.

"Mr. Potter," Snape said darkly. "Please see me after class today."

Harry's heart sank to his toes. Ron and Hermione looked at each other, aghast, and some of the Slytherins snickered and elbowed each other to look in Harry's direction. Snape smiled at them.

Ron whispered, "Harry... Snape's really got in for you this year! You didn't do a thing!"

"Sh," Hermione hissed at Ron under her breath, "don't give him any excuse to take points, too. Do be careful, Harry."

She looked worriedly at Snape. Professor Snape had always been unfair, had always favored the Slytherins, but he had never given punishments for no reason before, however thin his excuses had been in the past.

"It's okay," Harry said. "I think I know what it is."

"What is it?" Ron asked. Hermione looked puzzled.

"It's... it's fine," was all Harry could say. The two looked at each other with surprise.

But of course it wasn't fine, not with Snape as a teacher. He was spared more questions, because at that moment class was dismissed. Gryffindors and Slytherins started packing up their books and wands, flooded past and edged between Harry and his friends. Snape crooked a finger at him, and Harry shrugged at them apologetically. At the door, Hermione hovered uncertainly, and Ron gave him a cringing smile. Then the door to the dungeon separated them and fell slowly shut.

"Follow me," Snape turned in a swirl of black robes, without looking back to check if Harry actually did follow. "Bring only the wand. Nothing else you own is up to this."

With a backward glance at his books, Harry trailed Snape. Snape wove a circuitous route through the castle dungeons. Dust lay thick on the floor of the last passage, and they came to an ancient wooden door with large, old-fashioned hinges. It looked big enough to have been built for Hagrid. With a Spell and password, it opened onto the cavern where the first years arrived every year from across the lake. Or big enough for a boat, Harry realised. Snape gestured to one of Hagrid's boats.

"Get in."

Snape stepped in, and Harry clambered into the bow. Snape untied the moorings and murmured something unintelligible. The boat shot forward as if powered by an outboard motor. Caught off guard, Harry was thrown back into his seat. Hagrid was never so abrupt.

"Try not to drown yourself on the first day," Snape sneered, and he steered their boat through the cavern and out onto open water.

Harry looked over his shoulder, and up. He had forgotten how enormous the towers and battlements of Hogwarts looked from the water far below. It occurred to Harry that he hadn't been this way really, since his first glimpse of Wizarding School seven years before. It was impressive.

Ahead, the sun hung low over the dark Forbidden Forest shrouded in twilight. Snape urged the boat faster with a word.

Spray spit over the bow, showering Harry where he clung to it as the boat skipped forward. Snape casually, lazily, turned the boat to avoid the lunging arm of a sea monster, and then steered a course for the furthest bank, heading directly for the Forbidden Forest. Harry held onto the bow a little tighter.

As they moored at the dock, Snape barely paused long enough for Harry to scramble out of the rocking boat.

"Quickly - child - we have barely enough time left before nightfall!" Snape said irritably.

Harry muttered under his breath, "I'm not a child..." but otherwise held his peace.

At the edge of the Forbidden Forest Harry instinctively reached for his wand. A twig snapped to the left, and something scampered away. Otherwise, it took Harry a moment to realise what was so strange - there wasn't a sound. Not so much as a cricket chirp. Snape didn't even pause at this unnatural silence, but drew his inky black cloak about his shoulders and virtually melted into the twilight, striding briskly along the narrow trail. Harry scrambled to keep up before he lost sight of Snape entirely.

They followed this trail for a while, then turned onto one less well-tended, hardly more than a game trail. Snape muttered Spells under his breath as they hurried, and turned left than right, avoiding more promising trails for the most rutted. On his own, Harry would have been quickly lost.

Once as they passed an intersecting branch, sparks broke over Harry's head. He stopped, startled.

Snape turned and hissed at him. 'Keep close!'

There was a low rumble, like a growl and Harry felt the ground shudder. He leapt out of the way just as wooden spike-like teeth snapped out of the forest floor, nicking his heels.

Harry followed Snape very closely after that. If Snape noticed, he gave no indication.

They finally came to a dim but otherwise rather ordinary clearing. In the middle was a boulder about the height of a table; on it was a bud vase. Beyond that was a low rock wall.

Snape turned dramatically, while Harry paused warily at the edge of the clearing, wondering what all-important role a bud vase played in Dark Magic.

"We have come here," said Snape portentously, "because the Dark Arts cannot be practiced in on the grounds of Hogwarts proper; even less so in the castle itself. There are many protections against it -- I'm certain even you can appreciate the reasons for this. I suggest you not come here unless you are with me, nor bring any of your little friends, as no doubt you are tempted to do. The penalty is more than detention. I have arranged some rather... unpleasant... surprises for those who might think to interrupt, or spy, on our class."

Snape looked pleased and self-satisfied, and Harry had no doubt that if Snape had thought of them, these 'surprises' were very nasty indeed. Snape would enjoy that.

"Now ... " Snape suddenly had Harry's full attention. "Let's take off your training wheels. Dark Magic is advanced from the very outset; there is no beginning or children's level. I will show you what real Magic is."

As Snape muttered a low sonorous incantation, he seemed to grow in menace and power. His eyes rolled back and blazed. The simple Potions master Harry knew was gentle and harmless compared to the man before Harry now. Professor Snape aimed a spell at the rock wall beyond, swinging his wand with an unfamiliar hurling motion.

The rock wall cracked, broke apart, and crumbled into a pile of dust. Snape viewed his destruction calmly.

"Age, Potter," he said, with a small look of triumph at Harry's stunned face, "just age. A thousand years in a moment to be exact. The Dark Arts have twice the power of the... simple... magic you have been learning all these years. Dark Magic is so... unconstrained. You have not lived as a wizard until you have experienced it. The likes of Dumbledore - they do not understand. But you shall."

"Of course, so much power takes years to learn. But you will begin with this." And he handed Harry the bud vase. Harry turned it over in his hands, mystified. It seemed perfectly ordinary. Then Snape plucked a handful of fresh, pretty pink rosebuds from his robe and dropped them into Harry's hands.

"You will age these till they are blackened twigs."

Harry blinked stupidly at Snape, hoping for an explanation of some kind.

"Well? Imbecile. Put one in the vase. I don't want you to miss and wreck our only table," Snape gestured to the rock.

It was hard to say whether the next hour was more frustrating for Harry, or for Professor Snape. The first problem was proper wand position and gesture, which was entirely different for Dark Magic. Snape corrected Harry again and again, grumbling and muttering things such as "should have learned this in the first year" and "short-sighted school masters." He was trembling with irritation by the end, though fortunately most of it did not seem to be directed at Harry.

Finally, once Harry had the gesture, the wand position, and the incantation down (this last was not too different from what Harry knew), Harry aimed the spell over and over again at the pink rose bud.

Nothing happened.

It didn't seem to matter whether he missed and hit the table or not. The spell just... fizzled. The rose bud didn't even open, let alone turn black like it was supposed to. And Harry had a hard time wanting to kill it.

"You are holding back, Potter," Snape said in bored frustration.

"But... but what if it's too much?" Harry wondered aloud. He quickly regretted asking any questions in this class.

"It's supposed to be too much!" Snape was out of what little patience he owned. "Tender-hearted Fool! The spell is meant to do damage! That is the point."

Snape gathered his composure, grumbling, "... why couldn't I have Malfoy, he would excel at this... even that insufferable Granger..." Snape took a deep breath.

"Look here, Potter." Snape drew Harry uncomfortably close with a vise-like grip, breathing down his neck. "Through some cruel prank, a twisted joke of fate, I am stuck with you. You, of all persons, as my sole student. The sole inheritor of all my knowledge. I do not know whether to laugh or go mad." Harry though privately he was doing quite well at the latter. His arm was starting to go numb. "Somehow, I must manage to sieve all my experience and knowledge of the Dark Arts into that teeny, tiny, little brain of yours. Now I may be gentle and accepting in Potions class -

- at this Harry goggled -

"- but I will not be so tolerant here! You will learn, Potter. If I must kill both you and I in order to do so. Bear in mind the order of that, by-the-way.

"Class dismissed," Snape said wearily, and released Harry, "I can tolerate no more of this today."

Harry followed Snape, staring miserably at his back as they followed the path through the Forest back to the boats. Snape's disappointment was palpable in every line. If there was one thing Harry hated, it was letting someone down. Even if that someone was Snape. Harry wished he could be back at Hogwarts faster. He fervently looked forward to Arithmancy... Divinations... Charms... any normal wizarding class, with his whole heart.

Over the next few weeks, Harry's second and third classes in Dark Magic were no better. His fourth was, if possible, worse. All that improved was Snape's sarcasm, which increased in its accuracy and sting with Harry's every mistake, as there seemed more and more ground for Snape's opinion.

"I would call you an abysmal failure, and give up, Potter, if it were acceptable under the circumstances."

"Do it again!"

"Do try at least to have an effect. Of one kind or another. Even Mr. Longbottom, despite his capacity for destruction, usually manages to accomplish something."

It became clear that Snape wasn't just being unfair this time. Harry slowly came to the dawning conclusion that he was genuinely bad at the Dark Arts. Nothing he did went right. Or rather - wrong. Things in Dark Magic were supposed to go wrong. Harry began to feel sorry - or more sorry than he had - for Neville Longbottom, who was bad at everything. Except Herbology. Now Harry knew what it felt like. He began to happily visualize Snape dressed in Neville's grandmother's clothes, stuffed vulture hat and all.

What made the class even harder was the fact Harry could never practice - of course, since Dark Magic wasn't allowed on Hogwarts' grounds. And Harry couldn't even come to the clearing where it was taught without getting snared by one of Snape's booby traps. He couldn't ask for help from his friends. He was sworn to secrecy by Professor Dumbledore. And Harry wasn't even allowed to study his notes where others could see. Worst of all, his Quidditch was falling off, because of all the practices he was forced to miss for Snape's class.

The excuse Snape had for his sporadic absences a couple nights a week was that Harry had detentions. A lot of detentions. The Slytherins were overjoyed. Meanwhile the Gryffindors became as quiet as mice in Snape's class, shocked into submission. There were angry mutters and plans for revenge in the Gryffindor common room, many of which were stopped by Professor McGonagall.

As Snape's first test drew near, Harry grew desperate. He started carrying his Dark Arts notes with him everywhere, tucked in his book bag, studying at every opportunity. No one would ever look for them there, he was sure.

It was in Potions class that disaster fell.

Harry's bag was on the floor, slightly open where he had taken out his potions kit. Harry was stirring a Calming potion, trying to get it to turn a proper fuchsia - Ron's was looking a strange green and they couldn't figure out what they'd done to it - when Snape suddenly stopped at Harry's cauldron. At that moment, Harry remembered where his notes were. He shut his eyes, praying hard that Snape wouldn't look down. Don't look down - please, don't look down. Snape stooped, and ever so slowly, seized the scroll of notes.

"What's this?" Snape hissed at the back of Harry's neck. "Potter. If you cannot be trusted to keep these from wandering around, then you must do your homework from memory! No doubt, our hero Harry Potter can manage to recall a few simple spells?"

Simple spells? It was the hardest class Harry had ever had! Harry watched as his notes, his only lifeline in Snape's impossible Dark Arts class, disappeared into the folds of Snape's robes. He followed Snape with his eyes as he stalked back to his desk, and closed the precious scroll of notes into one of his drawers. There was a whir of several different locking mechanisms and spells, and the drawer clicked shut.

There was nothing for it. Regardless of the consequences, Harry had to get help. He had to get those notes back.

The dungeon ceilings arched up into darkness. Stone shelves lined the walls; jars of various sizes and shapes, some tall, some squat, rested upon them. The largest ones, big enough to hold small children, were set on the stone floor. What little light there was came from the phosphorescent mould that lined the jars, giving the chamber a sickly green glow. Strange, unnamable things floated in the containers. One of the largest suddenly wobbled, as if someone had knocked into it. A hand inside squirmed like a startled fish. A disembodied voice cursed, and something steadied the jar.

"Sh!" another voice said; and then: "Alohomora!"

A drawer in Professor Snape's desk pulled open, seemingly of its own accord.

"Harry, I wish you would tell me what we're looking for." Anyone who knew the Gryffindors would immediately recognize the voice of Ron Weasley. The next voice then would come as no surprise.

"It's... it's a scroll," said Harry Potter's voice. "My notes. I can't tell you any more than that."

"Okay. But you've been really strange lately - I never see you!" It was an odd comment coming from someone who was currently invisible. "You're even missing Quidditch practices."

"Sh! I've had detentions..." Harry's voice said.

"Without me?!" Ron's voice complained.

Inside the drawer they found various items confiscated by Professor Snape. There were rubber wands, fake mushrooms (that would explode if dropped in a potion); bouncing balls that turned into mice and quickly tried to escape. There were several decks of cards playing a hand of poker in the drawer. They cursed and grumbled at the interruption of their game: "move along, lads, yer too young for this, heh, heh." The other cards laughed. A cheater's deck flashed a player's hand to the one across it, which quickly folded.

Harry Potter's invisible hands fumbled through the contents, finally finding a scroll buried in the back. Another set of hands opened a lower drawer, finding only a book.

"Woohoo," breathed Ron's voice, "someone's a right fool for bringing this to class - look at these pictures... they're all naked!"

"Put it back, Ron," said Harry's voice. Suddenly he yelped, "It's [It's] got me!"

The leg of the desk had come to life and wrapped around Harry's leg. There it froze to wood again. Ron backed away, coming out from under the Invisibility Cloak.

"Oh sh**... hey, look at this."

Ron picked up a set of keys that were in the lower drawer where he found the book. They fit the lock in the upper drawer. The desk leg, recognizing the proper key, uncurled and let Harry go.

"Harry. That was close. Let's get out of here before anything else decides to attack," Ron whispered, glancing uneasily at the jars. He picked up the scroll Harry dropped and disappeared back under the Invisibility Cloak.

Upstairs in the empty Gryffindor common room, Harry noticed Ron was still carrying the book he found in Snape's drawer. It had the name 'The Book of Eros" stamped in florid letters across the cover, and Ron was eagerly pawing through it already.

"I don't believe you took that," Harry said.

"C'mon, let's have a look! Snape won't know who took it," Ron said. "This spell needs hair of a virgin - "

"That's an easy one - we've got you," Harry joked, and Ron cuffed him.

The next day, after another look at those pictures, they decided to skip Divinations class, figuring there was no difference between lying about being sick, and lying about seeing something in their Numerology charts. The homework would be easy enough. It was the same as Astrology, only much less complicated.

Ron sprawled out on Harry's bed with the book propped up on the pillow, while Harry drew the bed curtains. The people in the pictures writhed on the pages before them, various spells were scrabbled on the margins. Others were written between the lines if you tipped the book a certain way.

"Wow. This is a very dirty book," said Ron. "What a find!"

Harry had to agree.

They gaped at the photos of different people doing all kinds of things to each other, with each other, in all different positions. Ron stopped at a picture of two witches together, his eyes popping. When Harry finally got him to turn the page, he smirked as he noticed Ron bent the page to mark that one.

"Look at these spells. I never thought of using magic for stuff like this. Here's one - 'when you need an extra hand.' Hold on, let's try it," Ron said.

Harry wondered if this was such a good idea, but Ron worked the spell, and a hand appeared in midair, apparently waiting for instructions. It took several minutes for Ron to look up the counterspell and banish it.

Harry was interested. "How 'bout this one? 'Erotic massage, with a twist.' "

He tried it. Ron said it was quite nice, until he felt a sharp smack on the rear.

"Who would want that?" Ron asked, a little annoyed, as Harry banished the spell. Harry shrugged.

"Here's another weird one..." Before Harry could stop him, he said "Sado-Immobilius!"

Leather straps appeared suddenly, wrapped around Harry's ankles and wrists, and tied him spread-eagle to the bed.

"Get it off me! Now! Get it off!" Harry fumed at Ron.

"Hold on, hold on... keep your shirt on," Ron chuckled as he said the counter Charm. The ropes disappeared into wisps of smoke.

Freed, Harry struggled up, and looked for something equally embarrassing he could set on Ron.

"Here's tickling!" said Ron. "I should have used that a minute ago."

Harry ignored him, he had found what he was looking for.

"Strip-Ease," he explained, and flicked his wand, saying the incantation.

"Hey!" Ron complained. The spell started to rip his shirt off. But Harry already had his finger on the counterspell. He was just kidding. The rips vanished, and Ron gave Harry a dirty look.

"It's nearly lunchtime," Harry observed, a little surprised. It hadn't seemed like that long. "I think we missed study hall."

"I guess time flies..." Ron shrugged, " - got one more for you."

"No- !" said Harry, thinking of the leather straps.

"Don't worry - this one you use on yourself. Watch!" Ron said, "Phallus Erectus!"

And with that Ron had the biggest hard-on Harry had ever seen, sticking straight out.

"Need anything hung up?" he asked, turning sideways.

Laughing, Harry scrambled up and tried it on himself. He couldn't do the hanger trick, his always went up, rather than out. Then they heard people coming through the portrait downstairs. Lunchtime. Quickly Ron looked up the counterspell.

"Uh..." Ron started paging madly through the book. "I can't find it."

"Give me that!" But Harry couldn't find it either. They stuffed the book under Harry's pillow and rolled over onto their stomachs as the other Gryffindors clomped up the steps.

So Harry and Ron carried jackets with them to lunch, strategically placed as they sat at the table. They wolfed down their food, barely tasting it, and launched themselves from the table as early as possible. "Quidditch practice," Harry lied on their way out.

Back in their room, Harry reread the spell.

"It says it 'wears off naturally.' I guess we just have to wait. Good thing we have Potions and Care of Magical Creatures this afternoon. We'll be standing up all day."

"Yeah," Ron rolled his eyes, "except I'm sure Snape has X-ray vision."

Yet even by the end of dinner their condition was unimproved. By this time Ron was very upset. Outside the portrait opening to the Gryffindor common room he complained.

"Harry, this can't go on much longer. I have to pee, and... well... I can't! I'm going to explode!"

Harry agreed the situation was dire, trying not to laugh.

"What can't go on, dear?" The fat lady in the portrait asked sleepily.

"Mellifluous," Harry said and portrait swung open, "- nothing." He decided there'd better not be any portraits around when Ron and he took another peek at that book. He hadn't forgotten how quickly the word had spread of his being entered into the Tri-Wizard competition his fourth year. He supposed if he had nothing to do but hang on a wall all day, he would gossip, too. Maybe.

That night, once Seamus and the others were asleep, Harry and Ron tiptoed down the tower stairs with the book. Harry led the way to the attic above the Owlry. The room was dusty, and empty, with a wood floor and no portraits to be found. Or any decoration for that matter.

"Nice place," Ron said.

"Lumos!" A ball of light appeared above Harry's wand. He cracked open the Book of Eros and located the spell, reading between the lines this time. " 'It wears off naturally..." Harry turned the page, "... after use."

"Use?!" Ron squeaked, "You don't think - ?"

Harry stared.

"Maybe..." Ron suggested, making a pumping gesture, "... you know?"

Harry shook his head, tipping the book to the left. "It gives three options... vaginal..."

Ron brightened. "Hey, maybe we can ask Hermione to help out. She's a pal."

Harry privately thought Ron would like that.

"Sure, she'll help. With a Severing Charm," Harry pointed out. Ron cringed.

"Well, it's definitely the spell at work - that thought should have shriveled me up, right here and now. What are we going to do?" Ron sounded desperate.

"Well, it says here 'vaginal, anal...' - " Harry continued. Ron sat on his hands and backed away from Harry.

"Don't even think about it!"

" - 'or oral.' " Harry finished the sentence, glaring at Ron. "I'm sorry, it just doesn't say anything else. But we could try it."

Ron rolled his eyes. "We could."

After several minutes of trying, they gave up in exasperation. Harry picked up the book again.

"I don't understand it... Hey. Ron." Harry eyes ran down the table of contents. "This is from the 'For Both of You' chapter. There's an entirely different spell for just one person. And it does the exact same thing!"

He pointed to the page. Sure enough, the chapter heading read 'All for Him.'

Ron gaped. "Wha - how was I supposed to know that?!"

"You could read the book!"

"I'm not Hermione!"

Harry groaned and put his head in his hands.

"What do we do now?" Ron asked.

Harry gave him a long deadpan stare.

"You're mad! No... no way!" Ron answered emphatically.

"All right then," Harry snapped the book shut and crossed his arms. Ron was not much help. "We'll just sit here until you think of a better idea."

The room was silent for several minutes. Harry could practically hear Ron's brains frying, as he struggled to think of another solution. For a bit it even seemed Ron was willing to wait until a small miracle stumbled on them in the attic.

Then, Harry heard Ron let out a heavy sigh.

"Okay... I can't think of a thing, 'cept I need to pee. Badly. Soo... right." He turned and wagged a finger at Harry, " - but don't you ever tell a living, breathing soul! Or a dead one either," he added as an afterthought.

"Me - ?" Harry couldn't imagine ever wanting to admit this.

" - and especially - Don't Ever Tell Hermione!" said Ron. To that Harry whole-heartedly agreed.

Harry suggested maybe they could use a memory erasing charm. Then it would be like it never happened.

"But, er, if you can't erase your own memory, then for one of us to use the charm, they'll have to remember what it was they were supposed to forget."

Ron nodded sagely. "Right. Of course. Harry - what are you talking about?"

"You can't enchant yourself, right?"

"We did with this," Ron pointed out.

"That's different... I think... somehow," Harry pleaded, "please don't confuse me or I'm gonna forget."

"Okay."

"The person who casts the spell has to know what they're erasing, right?"

"Sure."

"So... the last person left has already had their memory wiped: he won't know what he's supposed to erase! It'll only work on one of us."

A light of understanding went on in Ron's eyes.

"We just have to decide who will remember." Harry thought about it a moment. He knew little enough about his past as it was. "I think I will. I don't like the idea of forgetting any more than I have to."

"Well, I have lots of things I'd like to forget. Like the time Fred stuck two blowcrackers up my nose and..."

"I think we'd better just do this, for right now anyway. It's getting kinda late." Harry started pulling off his robe while Ron looked away, red-faced.

"Oh. Yeah. Probably I'd better not make Swiss cheese of my memory. Not with Fred and George around."

Harry yanked his underwear down to his knees, pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, and looked at himself. He decided the spell must be some kind of engorgement charm, because he'd never been so huge. It was practically prodding into his navel.

Ron was slow and fussing about taking his clothes off. Harry thought he was being stupid - they'd never been shy around each other before. For a moment it seemed Ron had forgotten how to work a zipper and got his robe stuck on his head. He finally pulled it off, his red hair a disheveled mess, ears pink. He sat in front of Harry with his arms close together like he was afraid to show his bare chest. As if Harry hadn't seen him a thousand times. He looked as if he'd rather be anywhere else in the world but there.

Ron's face hovered over Harry's lap, then he paused.

"Could you... lie down... or something? It feels strange having you stare at me like that."

By some unspoken agreement they understood they weren't going to touch each other any more than was necessary. Harry complied and made a comfy pillow out of his robe. For what seemed a long stretch, Ron still did nothing. It was getting cold in the attic.

"Well," Harry said impatiently, "hurry on. The sooner we get this over ... oh."

Harry didn't finish his sentence. Ron's mouth was like hot silk, the warm sensation enveloping him. Ron's breath tickled his hair. Harry thought he was going to melt into the floorboards. Then Ron moved, hitting all the sensitive spots in one pass. Harry leaned up. You couldn't help but look when your friend was doing something like that to you. He saw red hair bobbing up and down on him. Then Harry jumped at a sharp pain.

"Hey! Watch the teeth!"

"Shorry," Ron glanced up, his voice slurred around his mouthful.

Harry glared at him suspiciously, then began to relax again. He fell back to the floor, and closed his eyes, his mouth relaxed in a silent moan. After a minute or so, Ron stopped, far too early. Though anything short of forever would have been too soon to Harry's mind at that point. Harry lay there a moment, breathing heavily, trying to recover himself. Ron didn't notice as he wiped his mouth and sat up.

"Well, that should do the trick," he said. "It'll fade any minute now. Let's take care of me and then we can get out of here."

Harry's head was slicked and wet, and felt a little cold now in the open air. But it showed no signs of 'fading' as Ron put it.

Harry struggled up reluctantly. Ron sat waiting for Harry with casual, matter-of-fact patience. He'd certainly overcome his earlier shyness. Harry looked up at him a trifle warily, guessing from Ron's careless indifference he had no clue what was in store for him either. Ron noticed Harry's hesitation and offered:

"Do you want me to lie down?"

"No," Harry shook his head, "doesn't matter."

He started to take his glasses off, but then thought the better of it. He noticed in this position Ron's erection was stretched out straight across the floor. "Oh, well, I guess you had better I suppose." So Ron grabbed Harry's 'pillow' and lay completely flat.

Harry didn't mind Ron leaning up on his elbows to watch, in fact, he was rather looking forward to the look on Ron's face when he felt it. Harry didn't take his eyes off Ron for a second as he lowered his mouth to Ron's lap. He was surprised at how little of it he could fit in his mouth, but that didn't seem to matter, because Ron's eyes went very round and dark, and his jaw slowly fell. He let out a big sigh when he finally started to breathe again. His chest rose and fell heavily. Ron let his head loll back on his shoulders with a moan.

That was fun. Harry was glad he'd gone first; he would not have missed that for the world. But the next moment Harry had a little trouble with Ron. Ron was trembling, responsive. Harry gagged on him once or twice. It was too graphic for Harry's sensibilities, so he backed off. He was a little worried Ron would come in his mouth.

"Okay, well, er, that should do it," Harry said.

"Do what?" Ron sat up, sounding frustrated and annoyed at the sudden halt. "It hasn't done a thing."

And he was right. Their conditions were unchanged. Harry didn't understand. He adjusted his glasses and reached for the book.

Ron groaned and fell back to the floor, complaining, "Put the down the book..."

Harry ignored him, and curled up with the Book of Eros in his lap.

"It says the effects wear off naturally..." he puzzled.

"Isn't it obvious? Naturally, Harry, naturally!" Ron made a frustrated noise. "Let nature take its course. You had me so close, too."

Harry glanced up without moving. He had noticed.

"But it doesn't say..."

"Of course not. Don't you get it? Everything in this book is in the margins, between the lines. Gosh, Harry, you're a great wizard and all... and you're pretty smart... but, in this... well... you're just... thick." Ron grabbed the book away from Harry.

"Do you think this wizard's gonna spell it out for any kid who picks up his book? I bet there's even weirder stuff in here, if only we knew the right words to say," Ron looked at the Book of Eros disappointedly.

They leafed through a few more pages. Ron came back to his favorite picture of two witches waving at him from the page while they went through their eye-popping gymnastics. Then Harry reread the passage. He had to admit, Ron was probably right.

"Ron, how'd you get to know so much about this stuff?" Harry asked, somewhat suspicious.

He shrugged. "There are seven kids in my family."

Ah. Good point.

Then Harry leaned back in anticipation. "Well... I guess it's my turn again."

"What?!" Ron protested. "That's not fair! I was this close. And I still am. I bet if you did me now it wouldn't take but five minutes!"

But in the end Ron grudgingly relented, and two amber eyes looked at Harry from between his knees, this time knowing exactly what he was about to do to his friend. Harry couldn't wait. He settled back on the comfortable couch they'd made for themselves. They'd stretched Ron's longer cloak underneath them, and bunched both their robes up as a pillow. Ron guided Harry to lay flat, and straddled his thighs. His erection bumped up against Harry, and then slid between his legs. Ron held it there a moment, as if daring Harry to say anything about it. Harry knew full well what Ron was about, but he was feeling generous. After all, he got to go first.

Then Ron reached up, leaned over and gently plucked Harry's glasses off his face. Strangely, that was the most intimate, most erotic thing Ron had done that night. It left Harry breathless, blinking and dazed. Ron must've felt it too, because he lingered a long moment, still holding Harry's glasses like he'd forgotten about them. Then he chewed his lip, swallowed, and turned back to business, flushed to his ears. He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'Hermione...', but he laid Harry's glasses delicately on the book, as if they were made of spun sugar. He was surprisingly gentle, extra careful not to use his teeth this time.

For some reason this left Harry with butterflies in his stomach, and Harry couldn't decide if he liked this time more or less than the first. He was keenly aware of the hard rod between his legs. Gingerly, awkwardly, Harry reached down and touched the blur of Ron's feathery red hair. Ron paused a moment and looked up, stirring those beautiful tingly butterflies into motion again in Harry's stomach. He decided he liked it more.

Harry fell back to the pillow, feeling strange and light-headed. He had the sudden feeling this was all a very bad idea, but was glad there was nothing he could do about it now. It was taking a long time, probably because he was distracted, and Harry had a thought. He began to roll Ron's hard rod between his legs, and Ron's breathing picked up; he pressed himself into Harry eagerly. Soon he was gasping a little too loudly. Harry grinned as he shushed him. Ron clambered up onto Harry's chest - they were no longer careful not to touch anything more than the necessary places - and asked in a stage whisper:

"But you haven't come yet."

"So?" Harry grinned, tongue between his teeth. Ron lit up like it was Christmas. He pulled himself the rest of the way onto Harry's chest. Harry used his hands a moment, then took Ron in his mouth. He exulted - almost laughed - at Ron's swift and total loss of self-control. Ron's face was a rictus of sheer joy, and he started moving faster. Too late, Harry dodged as Ron yelled. Ron's shout had been loud enough to wake the dead, Peeves, the Bloody Baron and every other ghost in the castle.

They sat there silent a moment, listening, their hearts pounding; but no sound came.

"Guess I needed my glasses after all - windshields," Harry joked finally. He wiped his face with what he hoped was Ron's robe.

"You don't have any wipers though," Ron said, making a wiping gesture with his fingers. His voice was still a little husky.

Then he breathed at last, "whoa ..." and Harry chuckled.

They lay on the floor quietly. Ron asked, in a surprisingly soft voice:

"Harry... do you think...? Well... nevermind," Ron changed the subject. Harry wondered what he had been about to say. "I... just - what are you learning in those classes with Snape, anyhow?" Ron hadn't watched Harry as he asked, but was running his fingertips from Harry's chest to his thigh and back, curiosity in every line of this body. It tickled in a pleasant sort of way.

"I'm not supposed to tell," Harry answered absently. Ron's warm fingers wandered to more sensitive areas, exploring. Then Ron stopped.

"Yeah..." Ron sighed heavily and turned away.

"Dumbledore swore me to secrecy, Ron." Harry explained. "It's to help me next time I meet Voldemort. -- sorry, I mean -- He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Not even Hermione gets private classes in magic," Ron's voice was muffled in his arm.

"Oh - wonderful. I get an extra hour with Snape. He's worse than in Potions! At least there he can spread it around, pick on somebody else for a minute or two."

Ron sat up. "I saw those notes of yours -- "

"What -- ?"

"- half the stuff in them, you have to get in Knockturn Alley. I know. My Dad's done raids for that sort of thing."

"And you want to learn Dark Magic?" Ron's eyes goggled. Harry belatedly realized what he'd revealed. He tried to explain. "Look, Ron, I have to learn it. Dumbledore says it's the only way I can survive Voldemort next time."

"Dumbledore has you learning Dark Magic?" Ron asked, incredulous. "Him? I don't believe it! He won't teach it at Hogwarts. He's done... Harry, he's done all sorts of things to weed it out. He even tried to stop them from teaching it at Durmstrang, and some of the best Aurors come from there. It - doesn't sound like him."

"I know. It's weird." They were silent a moment.

"That's pretty cool though," Ron said.

"Yeah," said Harry glumly, thinking about the test he was going to fail next week. Usually Snape was happy when he failed, but this class was proving to be an exception for one reason or another.

"Can you - can you teach me some?" Ron asked a little nervously.

"I think I'd better not," Harry said. "I'm bombing out. Completely. I haven't done a thing right the whole class. I'd probably get us both killed."

"Oh." Ron was impressed. He got up and started pulling on his underwear. Harry made no move to get dressed. "Well, no surprise Snape knows Dark Magic..."

"Ron - where are you going?" Harry asked a bit crossly.

Ron looked down at Harry's lap, still larger than life. He pulled his underwear back down.

"Sorry, Harry. I completely forgot!"

Twenty minutes later, two rumpled young men sorted out whose robe was whose, and found their respective shoes. There was a brief scurry when they couldn't find Harry's glasses, but a simple locator charm aimed Ron's wand right at them - once they had stopped panicking and thought of it. The glasses had been knocked off the book. Harry's hair stood up at more angles than usual, while Ron's was static-y and clung to everything. He had trouble brushing it out of his eyes. Ron wiped gingerly at a spot on his collar. Harry lingered a bit, tired, but wishing the night were longer. He wondered when he'd ever have anything like this again. Just as they were about to leave, Harry stopped:

"The Memory Charm - !"

"Uh... yeah, it's okay. It - it sounds like too much trouble anyway, right?" Ron said evasively, trying to flip the hair out of his face. He peered out the attic door, checking to see if the coast was clear. Harry was willing to bet Ron hadn't forgotten at all, but didn't mention it. He stood behind Ron, very close, looking over his shoulder. He noticed Ron didn't move away.

"Right," Harry said.

Harry awkwardly fumbled as he hefted the Book of Eros; the cover fell open to the first page, which they'd never bothered to read. Harry stared at it dumbfounded.

"Ron, look at this!" he grabbed Ron's robe.

On the bottom left-hand corner, in neat letters, was written the name: 'Severus Snape.'

It gave an address of a flat that was not at Hogwarts.

It was Snape's book.

"Now that I can't picture!" gaped Ron. "Or I can - but I think I'm going to go blind imagining it!"

Then Ron winced as he thought about it. "I guess we'd better put his book back, before he notices it's gone." Ron did not relish the idea of another trip back to Snape's attack desk.

"Oh, I think there's no hurry." Harry smiled slowly. "Do you really think Snape is going to complain he lost a book like this?"

"Hey - yeah. Brilliant!"

The fat lady in the portrait was fast asleep when they returned to the Gryffindor tower. It took them several tries and Harry hammering on the picture frame to wake her, and she was none too pleased.

"Mmmph - it's five o'clock in the morning... if you haven't slept by now, why even bother? Can't you sleep somewhere else?" she complained, pillowing her head on her hands and turning away. But she did let them in. She was always a softie.

Harry woke the next morning feeling mellow, relaxed, and grateful it was Saturday. It was nice to have a peaceful morning to sleep in. He felt a sort of warm glow from the night before and wanted to enjoy it.

A toad whizzed by directly over his head, and then fluttered up for a perfect two-point landing on the bedpost. He heard a squeak, "Hey, you give him back!"

It was Neville Longbottom. Harry assumed someone had decided to practice transformation spells on Neville's toad, Trevor. For a toad who had just learned how to fly, Trevor was pretty good at it. As Seamus approached cautiously, Trevor swooped over Ron's bed, disappearing into the draperies.

"I think we have to catch him first. Maybe we shouldn't have started with the wings..."

"Close the window! Close the window!" someone else shouted.

Ron was snoring loudly, curled up in the bed next to Harry's. He was oblivious to the chaos around him.

"Hey, Harry, you're up. Wow, you two can sleep through anything! You shoulda' seen the last thing we turned Trevor into - " said Seamus.

" - I've got him! I've got him!"

The hapless Trevor squirmed and fluttered, but was returned to normal. He lunged and took a jump. He landed on Harry's covers looking somewhat disappointed.

"Sorry, Trevor. I guess toads aren't meant to fly," said Harry, as he handed him back to Neville. Neville shot a dark look at Seamus and huddled protectively over Trevor as he carried his toad back to his box.

Halfway through lunch, Ron wandered in, yawning and rubbing his eyes. He looked generally grumpy and disgruntled. He sat down next to Seamus, staring at the food that suddenly appeared on his plate as if it had insulted him.

"Flying toads... can't you let a guy sleep!" Ron complained bitterly, stabbing into some chips with his fork.

Later that afternoon Harry suggested to Ron that they have another look at the Book. But Ron was still in a foul mood and brushed Harry off irritably. So they played a game of Three-Dimensional Pool instead. The balls, no more than three inches across each, were suspended in space in a kind of Sphere with a permanent Hovering Charm. The goal was to knock all of your pieces into the centre of the Sphere, while preventing your opponent from doing the same. Ron was still in a bad mood, but everything seemed fine until he missed an easy shot. Suddenly he swore, threw down his cue and stormed off.

"Ron - it's just a game!" Harry called after him, but Ron slammed the door as he left.

The following day was no better. Harry learned from Neville that Ron was going to Hogsmeade with Fred and George, even though it wasn't an official Hogsmeade weekend. Harry caught up with Ron and asked him about it.

"And I'm not invited?" Harry asked Ron, stunned.

"Uh, yeah, sure. I just - just didn't know you wanted to come," Ron said lamely.

"You thought I wouldn't want to go to Hogsmeade?" Harry was incredulous.

But Ron hardly spoke to Harry the entire trip, and kept Fred or George between them whenever possible. He was very nervous and dropped things in Zonko's Joke Shop - not a safe place to drop anything. Harry suspected he knew what was wrong, and wished they had used the Memory Charm after all. Ron acted like Harry was going to jump all over him - which frankly, Harry would like to do and had thought about a lot since the incident with the Book - but that didn't mean he was going to! Finally Harry pointed out:

"You know what, Ron? You were there, too. And we could always have used the Memory Charm."

"You - remember something I can't? No. No way! I couldn't give you that kind of advantage!" Ron said.

"What do you mean, advantage?" Harry asked, feeling suddenly strange.

"You know..." Ron tuned beet red and looked away.

Harry turned and left, shocked as much as he was angry. He wasn't at all sure what Ron meant, but he had a feeling he should be insulted. After all, Ron was his best friend. Harry refused to speak with Ron after that, and Ron continued to avoid him. Hermione sat between the two of them at breakfast Monday morning, as they sat eating in stone cold silence.

"What is wrong with you two?" she asked in frustration.

But of course they couldn't explain, now could they?

Ron started spending all of his time with Hermione after that. He went with her to the library. He helped carry her enormous collection of books between classes, even dropping them off when they didn't have class together. He hovered over Hermione in the common room.

"What 'cha reading?" Ron asked.

"Homework." Hermione said absently.

"Oh.... yeah?" Ron asked (as if this were the most surprising thing in the world, Harry thought contemptuously), " - really? So... what's it about?"

"Our assignment for Charms tomorrow. Oh, don't tell me you haven't done it yet? We've had all week! I'm just polishing up the rough edges. I just can't remember if it was the Witch of Windsor or Malmsbury that invented simultaneous Hovering Charms..."

Ron looked surprised. Apparently he'd forgotten it. Come to think of it, Harry had, too.

"Oh." Then his eyes brightened. "Can... can you help me with it?"

"It's on page one hundred and forty-seven," Hermione answered shortly. Ron sat looking at her. "Well? Get your book. You have to do your own reading, Ron."

Harry smirked.

But to Harry's surprise, moments later Ron hunkered down behind the enormous Charms Workbook, though he spent more time watching Hermione over the edge of it than reading. Harry sighed and went upstairs. Thanks to Hermione's reminder he had both Charms and Dark Arts homework to do. Hardly anyone was around, and it was a perfect opportunity to do his Dark Arts essay... but Harry couldn't bring himself to do it. He paged through the Book of Eros instead. But it just wasn't as much fun without Ron.

Later that evening, Ron came stomping up the stairs.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked.

"Nothing." said Ron. And he lay down on his bed, turning his back to Harry. He wouldn't say anything more.

Outside Charms the next day, Hermione seemed very annoyed with Ron.

"...well I'm sorry, but you weren't studying! You were just pestering me with questions. You could have looked all those up! Now stop bugging me, Ron Weasley!" She [She] flounced off to her next class, leaving Ron gaping in the hall.

Suddenly, Harry felt much better. And he felt a little guilty about it, too.

Later that night, Harry had the Book of Eros out. His drapes were drawn, and the blanket tented over his head for an extra measure of security. He heard Ron's steps.

"Harry?" Ron asked. "What're you doing?"

"Nothing," Harry mumbled. He felt a little awkward and strangely vulnerable, because Ron could probably tell from his voice it wasn't 'nothing', and knew exactly what he looked like doing exactly this kind of 'nothing.' Harry hoped he would go away.

There was a long pause.

"Harry?" he asked tentatively. " - you still got that book?"

"Uh-huh," Harry said, trying to keep the huskiness out of his voice, without much success.

"Can I borrow it?"

Harry passed the book through the curtains.

"Going to try it with Hermione?" he couldn't help asking, slightly sarcastic.

"No," Ron said, firmly. His voice was sullen.

So they had something of a truce, passing the book back and forth between the curtains. Harry lay awake listening to Ron's breathing, imagining that Ron did the same. Harry thought for a while. It hurt to say it, but he had to, because they were his best friends.

"Ron..."

"Huh - yeah?" Ron asked.

"Maybe you should... I dunno... back off a little with her? Let her breathe?"

There was a long thoughtful silence. Then Ron said:

"Thanks."

The two of them skipped the next official Hogsmeade trip, the Book of Eros being much more interesting at their age than Zonko's Joke Shop or a Shrieking Shack that hadn't shrieked in a long time. Rosmerta's butterbeer was still excellent, but their eyes tended to wander to what the adults were drinking with more interest.

When the coast was clear, Ron and Harry drew the curtains on their respective beds.

"Hey, Harry - what spell are you using?"

"Nothing right now," Harry admitted with a little guilt, not wanting to say he'd just been listening to Ron's breathing. That had been plenty.

"You should try this one."

"Oh?" Harry perked up. Was this an invitation?

"Yeah. C'mere."

Harry slid off his bed with some trepidation, pulling up his pants just in case. The last time Ron had sounded like that... well, it hadn't turned out too well. He poked his head through the bed curtains. He was disappointed to find Ron fully dressed. Oh. Harry clambered up onto Ron's bed, checking to make sure the curtains were closed behind them. He read the spell Ron was pointing to and laughed - was that really possible?

"You want to find out?"

After several minutes of different spells...

"Hey - Harry..." Harry glanced up at Ron. His eyes were bright, almost feverish. His face was a little red.

"You want to... put this away?" Ron suggested, turning a little brighter red. Harry's eyebrows rose, but he just nodded quickly, and waited. Ron glanced around as if listening for any visitors, though everyone was gone. Then he put his hand to his belt and started unbuckling it as Harry watched, revealing a familiar sight. Ron's smile was a little toothy and bright.

"I think I remember how - " Harry joked, teasing him. Ron huffed a sigh and rolled his eyes in exasperation. Then just before he bent to Ron's lap, Harry asked, "are you gonna forget to do me again?"

"No! - c'mon, Harry," Ron pleaded in anxious frustration.

After a while the room slowly became pitch dark, and it was stuffy under the blankets, though they ignored it. Ron was as good as his word, and Harry decided to reward him for that. After an hour or so, Harry asked into the shadows in front of him, where he could vaguely make out a warm shape that was Ron:

"So what did you mean, 'advantage'? Harry asked.

"I dunno know, Harry - I guess it made sense, at the time," Ron breathed.

Harry woke, realizing that he had fallen asleep. The bed curtains were all closed, and glowed faintly from a morning sun that touched them on the eastern side. He glanced over and found he was still in Ron's bed. A hand rested lightly across his chest, and Ron's face burrowed deep into the pillow beside him.

Ron's auburn lashes brushed his cheek, longer than Harry remembered. Though Ron blinked a lot while he talked, so it was hard to be sure. Harry imagined those lashes fluttering open, and Harry having to return to his own bed, and he wasn't ready to do that yet. Harry stilled his breathing, was as quiet as he could be. Ron's freckles were delicate on creamy pale skin. He had freckles on his arms, too, and only a little hair on his chest, that also a dark red. Harry examined this, and a dozen other details he'd never noticed before. Harry decided he liked the shape of Ron's mouth, which was a small pink bow, and the way he curled up on his side sleeping very softly, without stirring.

Harry would wake Ron a little later, before anyone got back from Hogsmeade and found them there. But for now, Harry put his head back on the pillow and shut his eyes, content.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In the Forbidden Forest, Harry ducked as Snape casually stunned an overgrown grappling vine that made a grab for Harry. One of his booby-traps probably. Then they turned the corner, and Harry very nearly groaned aloud as he saw the familiar cauldron already set up in the clearing, a small green fire playing eerily at its base. Wonderful. A combination of his two worst subjects: Potions and Dark Arts.

Snape on the other hand was positively chipper. For him.

"Today I have decided to allow you something... a little easier," Snape said. Harry rolled his eyes. Of course it was easier for Snape - he loved both these subjects. "But do not expect me to show such mercy and compassion in every class."

As they started the brew, Snape didn't explain what they were making. Not that Harry cared. He followed Snape's terse instructions as he chopped, stewed, boiled and stirred whatever this Dark Magic potion was.

It actually wasn't so bad. No more than any other Potions class. And they were outside, in a pleasant breeze. It would be great if all Potions classes were outside, Harry decided, especially the really smelly ones, like the Bolyvorg Potion (which could either add or remove warts, depending on what you wanted), or worse yet, the Smoking Hellsbane, which smelled like the bathroom after Mr. Dursley left. As an added bonus, Snape actually seemed to be in a good mood. He limited himself to a few caustic comments, small and sharp as paper cuts, but stayed intently focused on the actual content of the class. Well, why wouldn't he be in a good mood? For once in a Dark Arts class, Harry hadn't done anything unusually wrong.

Even if this had been made in the dungeon, though, this potion would not have been bad at all. It was a pleasant sort of unidentifiable shimmery color, and it smelled... well... rather good for a change. Fruity. Snape's hand flicked out and dropped in the final ingredient. Harry saw something red flutter into the cauldron. The potion changed to a sunset reddish colour, and the boiling abruptly stopped.

"Smells like you could almost eat this," Harry commented, as he gave it a final stir.

"You can. Have some," Snape said dryly.

It was a sign of just how pleasant the lesson had been that Harry automatically lifted the stirring spoon to his mouth to taste, without really thinking about it. Then he caught a glimpse of Snape: there was a glint of humour in his eyes. Harry stopped, the spoon still poised. Anything Snape thought was funny was bound to be poisonous.

"Go on..." Snape said smoothly.

"But - "

"Drink it!" Snape commanded, and took a menacing step closer. Harry touched his tongue to the spoon. It was sweet. His tongue didn't swell up, no warts appeared. He looked down... he hadn't changed colour. He wasn't choking from poison, nor did he feel sick. Maybe he'd gotten away scott-free with such a small taste.

Then Harry felt a vague sort of disorientation, an unfocused heady euphoria, sweeping through him. The skies seemed bluer, the grass greener. It was such a lovely day. Birdsong lifted his heart.

"Some kind of happiness serum?" Harry ventured a guess.

Snape looked frighteningly pleased. "A Love Potion."

Harry gaped. But he hadn't thrown himself at Snape in panting physical need, and, well, Snape could hardly want that anyhow...

"Love Potion... what does that have to do with Dark Magic?" Harry asked.

Snape snorted disdainfully. "What you are thinking of is a simple aphrodisiac. That's all you are familiar with I'm sure... a little hair of goat, some musk, eye of newt. A Squib can make it. But a genuine Love Potion - " Snape scooped and held up a vial of Harry's potion to the light approvingly. Harry would have been a lot happier about that approval if he hadn't just eaten some. Harry noticed now that Snape was wearing gloves. " - that causes head over heels, romantic addiction, the truly tortured love, is far more rare...

"Of course it is Dark Magic. It is a form of madness. And quite dangerous -"

Harry began to feel worried, and a little queasy.

" - too much of even one ingredient, and one can lose one's sense of reason, of reality... permanently."

Harry swallowed. Snape looked at Harry, up and down appraisingly, painfully drawing out the silence.

"Well," Snape said. "Congratulations, Potter. You are still sane it seems. I believe we should mark this day on our calendars: this is the first Dark Arts' class you've ever passed."

But Harry noticed there was still a glint of dark humour in Snape's eyes. It occurred to Harry... could Snape have somehow found out that he and Ron took his Book of Eros?"

Harry felt dizzy all night, and into the next morning as well. At breakfast he sat and stared the lovely owls, swooshing about, until he shook his head and realized his scrambled eggs were getting cold.

"Are you learning anything in your class?" Ron asked him.

"Yeah. Not to drink anything Snape gives me, not even if he tells me to," Harry said.

Ron snorted. "Thought you already knew that."

The spinning had finally stopped. Fortunately, Harry managed to never actually say any of the awful florid poetry that had come to his mind at odd moments, comparing red hair with the rays of the sun and whatnot. The effects of the Love Potion appeared to have finally worn off.

His next Dark Arts class turned out to be a ruthlessly hard pop essay quiz, so it was held at Hogwarts, in the dungeon where they usually had Potions. Harry racked his brain, but could only remember half of what he'd been taught the last few weeks, in various unrelated bits and pieces.

There was a persistent drip, drip, drip sound you never noticed when the dungeon was full of Slytherins and Gryffindors, and you weren't trying to concentrate on a test. Harry's quill scratched over the parchment. Snape sat at his desk, scowling at the stack of scrolls he was grading and making liberal use of a blood-red ink.

Harry suddenly realised that he was almost out of time. He wrapped up the last half of his essay on methods of various forms of death and destruction in the final ten minutes.

"Time," Snape said.

Sweating a little, Harry handed it in. Snape's glance said that he didn't expect much, and boy, he was right about that. But then Snape leaned back in his chair, and pursed his lips, reflectively.

"There is an antidote, of course," Snape offered, as if Harry would know exactly what he meant.

"An antidote...?"

"To the potion."

"Oh. Uh. Right. Will that be on the next test?" Harry asked.

"I have some of it here," Snape said, holding up a small vial, "if things have been getting a little... warm... for you. Or Mr. Weasley. Love Potions can be so embarrassing. Or so I hear."

"Oh. I was a little dizzy for a bit, but it went away." Harry decided not to mention the poetry. It had been too awful.

Snape sat up. "What?"

"I'm fine. Really."

Snape's eyes narrowed suspiciously, as if he were trying to detect a lie.

"That's impossible. I did a Litman test on that potion - it was perfect. How did you - ? How could you - ? You could not have ingested an antidote by mistake, it is very complex... unless....

"...No. Can't be. But it's the only possible explanation. - Oh. Oh my...."

Snape's laugh was long, high, and mellifluous; it rolled up and down musical scales, rang off the dungeon walls... and sent a chill down Harry's spine. Snape, leaning over his desk, leered at Harry.

"There's only one possible way that potion could not have worked," Snape smirked knowingly at Harry, scanning him uncomfortably now from head to toe, as if seeing him for the first time. "Well, well. Who would have thought? It appears, dear Mr. Potter, that you have few dark secrets of your own after all. And so young, too. How sad. At this rate, no doubt by the time you are my age, you will have a full complement of skeletons rattling around in your closet."

Snape gave another bark of laughter, and leaned back in his chair with a languid satisfied smile, muttering as if to himself, "...wouldn't it be wonderful if James also... no, that would be too much to hope, he had Lily after all...."

Snape turned his attention back to Harry, who stood rooted in place, wishing for some Dark Magic to open a chasm beneath his feet so he could fall through. Snape was enjoying this immensely.

"A Weasley. Really, Harry - " Harry blinked at the familiar use of his first name " - even in this you show an appalling lack of taste. But don't worry. Regarding our 'little secret.' You can trust me... as much as you ever have."

~*~*~

Snape did not allow Harry to forget their 'little secret' for a minute.

That evening at dinner, Harry felt an uncomfortable prickle on the back of his neck, like he was being watched. He turned and found Snape, gazing at him from the teachers' table. Snape raised his wineglass in a silent toast to Harry, and watched him over the rim as he slowly drained the glass. Harry's face burned, and he lost all appetite. He jumped as Ron put his hand on his shoulder, with what Harry thought was too-obvious concern.

"You sick or something?" Ron asked.

Harry glanced back at Snape, who had blessedly turned to speak with one of the other teachers.

"I'm going to be," Harry said.

~*~*~

Snape was just as bad in Potions, two days later. If not worse.

"Harry," Snape said in a silky voice, as he prodded the roots Ron had chopped for their team, "are you satisfied with Mr. Weasley's... assistance? Is it up to par, do you think?"

The Slytherins giggled, understanding from Harry's obvious discomfort that somehow Professor Snape had devised some new torture for the Gryffindors. They leaned forward to listen, eagerly. Harry couldn't think of a single answer to this that wouldn't be embarrassing, so he waited silently, hoping Professor Snape would let it pass.

"Well?"

Harry gave in, and nodded, blushing furiously.

"I am so very glad to hear it," Snape smirked.

As they were leaving, Hermione whispered, "that was strange. What's going on, Harry? What did you do?"

"Yeah, he's got something on you, that's clear," Seamus added, hefting his cauldron into its case.

Harry just shook his head. But behind Hermione he saw Ron freeze, and mouth the word: No! Shortly thereafter Ron cornered him between the gargoyles in the hallway outside the Potions dungeon.

"How'd Snape find out? He did, didn't he?" Ron asked anxiously.

Harry hurriedly explained, about the Love Potion, the fact it couldn't work if that's how you already felt. Ron's response was not what he expected.

"You - you're in love with me?" He was stunned and suddenly nervous.

"What -? Oh, I dunno. I haven't thought about it. But that's not the point," Harry continued, confused.

But Ron had a very strange expression on his face. He made an excuse and left in a bustling hurry, nearly catching his bookbag on the gargoyle. He stopped to untangle it, then scrambled away with a glance.

Trust Snape to really foul things up, Harry thought. Then he had that itchy feeling on the back of his neck again. Harry turned, and discovered Snape had just come out from the dungeon, and was standing in the doorway, looking at him. There was a flicker of sudden understanding in his eyes.

He had heard. All of it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Potter."

A bit of light trickled into the Potions master's office from high window slits, outlining the harsh angles of his face and sharp nose, in this stone room. Those angles were echoed painfully in the spartan décor of his office, in the teachers' corridor upstairs. It was as neat as a pin, without a single personal item; not a waving photo of family, nor even so much as a spotted cactus could be found. Harry would've thought there'd at least be a Slytherin banner.

Harry stood in the doorway, wondering why he was here. Was Snape going to spring another Dark Arts test on him? Or maybe - it was too much to hope - tell him the Dark Arts class was to be cancelled, forever? It was just like the sadistic Snape to let him stand there long enough work up a cold sweat.

Snape didn't look up from his scrolls, continuing to write as he finally spoke, in casual measured tones.

"Potter. I don't presume to know the details of your sordid private life, nor do I wish to know." Harry listened cautiously. He agreed with that, his mind recalling Snape's erotic Book of Eros. He certainly knew more about Severus Snape's personal life than he ever wanted to know. "But a word to the wise. Never, ever, reveal your true feelings. Not unless you know for certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they are returned.

"And if necessary," Snape's black eyes met his briefly, before returning to his paperwork "...lie."

Harry stood there a moment, unsure what to think.

"You may go, Harry, unless you wish to become a permanent fixture in my hallway. I could use a new gargoyle or two."

~*~*~

For the rest of the week Harry puzzled over what Snape had said. Harry couldn't see how Snape's advice could get him into trouble, though he couldn't imagine any other reason for it. It couldn't be that Snape actually wanted to help him. Though maybe he just felt guilty. Perhaps that was it.

He longed to talk it over with, well, not Hermione in this case, but... Ron.

Never mind what the Love Potion said, Harry didn't really believe it. He just wanted his best friend back. Harry didn't think a Potion could know something he didn't. But he knew better than to try to talk to Ron.

Besides, while Ron didn't seem mad exactly, this time, Harry discovered he was suddenly never alone with him. And even when they were teamed together in Charms or Potions, Ron spent most of the time staring at his feet.

It was a stroke of luck that after a late Quidditch practice, Harry jumped through the portrait hole to find the common room empty, except for Ron. He was parked alone in the corner in front of his chessboard; a pleasant fire warmed the colors of the room and glinted in his hair. Ron was consulting a book 'Chess - Muggle Strategies vs. Wizarding: Which are Better?' attempting to coax his complaining chess set into trying some Muggle moves.

"Chess is chess!" Ron argued with a small but irritated-looking Bishop which stood with its tiny hands on tiny hips. "Even you agreed that Bishop to Queen's four is the same, whether it's Muggle or Wizard strategy."

"Eh, reading that newfangled stuff. Your grandfather would never approve!" The Bishop waggled its finger at Ron. Harry snorted and pulled out the chair across from Ron.

"Want an easy win?" Harry offered.

Ron closed the book with a snap, exasperated. "I'm certainly not winning here. I tell you, you'd think I was asking them to fight a dragon, bare-handed! It's not even all that different, just variations on a theme..."

Ron blinked and glanced up, either just noticing it was Harry, or only now remembering why they shouldn't be here. Ron's eyes quickly took in the room, and widened as he saw they were alone.

"Uh - no, no - thanks, I... I was done for the night." Ron swept bickering chess pieces back into their box in no particular order. "G'night." Ron scrambled up the stairs where Harry could hear Seamus and Neville laughing. Well. So much for that.

~*~*~

The library was no better. Among the rows and rows of shelves, Harry spotted Ron, sitting slightly away from everyone else. They weren't exactly alone this time, so that should be okay, Harry supposed as he sat next to Ron.

"Hey," Harry whispered, dropping his textbooks with a soft plunk.

Ron blushed and stared into his book, nodding briefly to Harry. After a few minutes he got up to get another book, which he checked out at Madame Pince's desk.

With a sigh, Harry watched him leave. He flipped through his copy of 'If the World Could Talk: Animating the Inanimate', grumbling to himself, "Dammit, Ron. You liked it, too."

"What was that, dear?" the book muttered sleepily.

"Nothing," Harry told it, wishing he could animate Ron. He'd had more conversation out of this book than Ron all week.

~*~*~

Fortunately, after their little 'talk', Snape had stopped teasing Harry about Ron. Potions was no worse than normal, and in the Dark Arts classes he was almost even polite.

Snape had chosen a Saturday afternoon for their next Dark Arts class. Normally this would have annoyed Harry, but as it was, it came as a welcome distraction. After all, it wasn't as if Harry had other plans.

The clearing in the Forbidden Forest was nowhere near as scary in the daylight, and the Forest itself seemed almost normal, if you discounted the eerie silence and impossible size of the trees. But Harry was used to both by now, and was even getting the hang of the trails as he led the way to their 'classroom.'

Snape apparently had given up entirely on teaching Harry the Dark Arts. He set a beaker of water on the rock, gave some bored brusque directions as to how it would be transformed into crystal - here's the theory, the gesture; this is the Spell. Do it. Then he set up residence with his back against a tree, and stared absently off into space while Harry set about accomplishing nothing.

Harry threw spells at the beaker for a full forty-five minutes, uninterrupted, with no results. Oh well, he thought, at least he was getting the theory of the Dark Arts down. Harry glanced over at Snape, who had passed up any number of opportunities for sarcasm, and wondered if he was okay. He hadn't even noticed that Harry had stopped.

Harry picked up a pebble, and on a whim, tossed it at the beaker. He missed. So he tried several times until he heard the plunk of one going into the water. At the sound Snape turned. Alarmed, Harry held up his wand hoping Snape would mistake the sound for a Spell. Or something. But Snape simply resumed his complete disinterest.

Feeling guilty, Harry heaved a bored sigh and got back to work. He threw another Spell.

The rock suddenly frosted over in a puff of cool smoke. Stunned, Harry took a few steps closer and touched the beaker. His finger nearly stuck to it - it was frozen solid. Of course, the water ought to have turned to rock crystal, not ice, but Harry was out of the habit of expecting anything to happen at all in this class.

"Professor Snape?" Harry ventured, feeling more like Neville Longbottom than ever. Imagine having to admit to Snape you messed up! But the beaker was quite stuck to the rock, and Harry couldn't shake it loose.

Snape didn't appear to have noticed, shrouded as he was in his own dark thoughts.

"Professor?"

"Hm?" Snape shook himself. He looked nothing if not wistful. And sleepy. "Hm. Lost in the past. I have far too much of it for my comfort. Must be getting old..."

"You? You're not that old," Harry said. "In fact, you look like you're a lot younger than the other teachers."

Snape blinked at Harry and grunted, though whether that was assent or disagreement it was hard to tell. "As McGonagall never fails to remind me..."

Suddenly it seemed rather... odd... to be reassuring Snape, of all people. But it was no stranger than Snape giving him advice. Snape glanced up at the sky and changed the subject.

"It's late. Class dismissed. Come," he gestured to Harry, crossed to the rock and reached for the beaker. It stuck fast.

"What's this? A little prank?" Snape snarled. "Playing with Flickwick's Freezing Charms in my class, are we?"

"No! That... that just happened," Harry said lamely.

"Then Unfreeze it." Snape folded his arms, and glared.

"I - I don't how..." Harry said.

Professor Snape gave a snort of disgust, and performed an elementary Unfreezing Charm. Harry could have told him that wouldn't work. As it didn't. He tried several other Charms, with no more success, growing increasingly irritated. Finally they just had to leave the beaker there.

"Well. It's certainly a Darks Arts Spell. If I didn't know it was impossible, I would say you were spending nights in the Restricted Section." Snape eyed Harry up and down suspiciously, then stared down at the offending beaker. "It seems to be permanently fused."

"I don't know how you managed to foul that up. Normally I would consider this an unmitigated disaster. But in your case, it's quite the improvement." Snape motioned for Harry to precede him.

"Perhaps I should ignore you more often."

They walked in silence down the narrow Forest trail, skirting patches of early evening sun that touched the trees. Snape showed no sign of ignoring Harry however. A shiver crept up Harry's spine, and he glanced back to find Snape's eyes boring into him. As Harry clambered over fallen rotted logs and slick moss, he felt the weight of that unblinking gaze, all the way to the water's edge.

At the boat, Snape told him, "I'll give you a pass to the Restricted Section." Harry blinked at him in amazement. "Don't look happy," Snape said wryly. "Your next assignment is to get my beaker back."

~*~*~

Upstairs in his bedroom that evening, Harry chewed his lip, his mind wandering from the dreadfully dull Arithmancy story problems. Who cared how many Peruvian wizards it took to cast a Sleeping Spell that would knock out a Spanish Wyvern? Were Spanish Wyverns more powerful than any other ones? There were too many variables. He suspected these details were added just to confuse him. He kept coming back to the same sentence, realising he had read it three times - without even seeing it.

He had the book spread across his knees, sitting up in his four-poster bed. He wished he had Ron to complain to about his homework.

The fire was lit, but most of the torches were out. All the other Gryffindors of his year were downstairs in the common room. Harry could hear whooping laughter, and a cacophony of indistinct voices. He had told them he wanted some quiet, but really, he couldn't stand how Ron was avoiding him. Again. He thought about what Snape had said. It seemed unwise somehow, to take advice from Professor Snape - after all, he was hardly what one would call a 'people person.' But the more Harry thought about it, the more he made sense.

~*~*~

"You know, probably it was just too small a dose to work right," Harry told Ron in Charms class a day or two later.

"Oh, sure, yeah of course - I figured that," Ron answered, brushing it off. But he looked very relieved. He sat next to Harry at lunch, for the first time in a week.

And who could know? Maybe it was even the truth.

Now Harry was comfortably stretched out on his bed, robes abandoned for jeans and a T-shirt. The bed was an unmade mess, over-flowing with Ron's magazines. As Harry flipped through a back issue of Quidditch Today, he sighed contentedly, happier than he'd been in a long time.

Ron had put a Veneer Charm on the window between their beds and tried to use it as a mirror. Ron wasn't very good at these though, and the thing was still rather see-thru. Ron preened and fussed at his hair, brushing it first one way, then another. He'd abandoned robes for Muggle clothes as well, jeans and a T-shirt that looked a little too small.

"How's this?" Ron asked, squinting at his almost-mirror. He gave his hair a few tentative swipes.

"Huh? Fine," Harry said absently from behind his magazine, without looking up. "Look at this rubbish. They say here that the Aegis Arrow formation renders the Flying Tortoise completely ineffective, but look how bunched up their Chasers are! Way too vulnerable to Bludgers. Maybe if you put everyone in armour, perhaps..."

Ron brushed his hair the other way. "How 'bout this?"

"Fine." Harry glanced up and shrugged. He saw no difference. "I suppose if you had a good Beater defence -- but it would really overwork them. You could only use it late in the game...."

Ron parted his hair on the right, feathery red bangs sliding into his eyes. "Well, what about now?"

"You look ridiculous."

"Yeah." Ron scowled at his tenuous reflection, and mussed his hair irritably.

"But I suppose with the two new dragons we have as Beaters," Harry continued blithely, "we'll just cook our opponents and not worry about strategy."

Ron stood back from the mirror and posed; Harry stifled a laugh. "All right. How's this look then?"

"It looks the same as always and Ron, you're not listening!" Harry complained and dropped the magazine to his lap.

"Yes I am. Dragons as Beaters. Good idea. You'll need 'em this year," Ron answered, brushing the hair behind his ears.

"Yeah, with all the injuries... You know, Ron, if you like, you can try for the second string Chaser..." Harry offered gingerly. He didn't want to get Ron's hopes up of course, but Ron had wanted to be on the Quidditch team for as long as Harry could remember.

"Nah. Half-way through Seventh year? Not much chance of it," Ron said, with careless disinterest. He ran his fingers through his bangs and tousled them a bit. "How's that, eh?" He peered at the 'mirror' with satisfaction, standing sideways.

Ron? Not interested in Quidditch?

"Ron, it looks the same." But Harry glanced up for a moment and realised well, actually, his hair looked a lot better. And that T-shirt was way too small. It rode up a little, revealing a flat stomach. Harry blinked.

Ron seemed to think it looked good, too. "Lunchtime! C'mon Harry, I'm starving!" Ron took down the Charm in a shimmer of silvery sparks, and made for the stairs with a... swagger?

Ron took the steps two at a time, and tagged the archway as he jumped the last three. No one else could reach that. If Harry didn't know better he'd say that Ron was showing off. With a devilish grin, Ron held the portrait door for Harry, bowing in an overly polite courtly gesture. Harry rolled his eyes and cuffed his shoulder in disgust, and shoved Ron through the portrait-hole first. "Wanker. Go on...."

Ron fairly skipped down the corridors. Harry had to hurry to keep up with him as Ron almost flew down the steps. He grabbed the banisters and swung at each turn, landing with a thump. Harry trundled down the stairs behind him with light quick steps.

The jeans were too small as well, Harry noted as he descended the last flight at a slower pace. Especially where his thigh met the curve of his... Harry wondered if his eyes might not just burn a hole in them. But at least they were long enough in the leg for a change. When did he get those, Harry wondered.

At the bottom step Harry smirked at him, probably standing a little closer than he should, "Ron, uh, won't those cut off the circulation in your legs?"

"Nah. They stretch out." Ron tossed his hair. "They're okay, right?"

Harry had nothing to say.

Over lunch, Ron ate as eagerly as ever, but he paid as much attention to the people around him as his food, glancing up from his plate as he shovelled it in. Which was definitely unusual. Harry watched as Ron gave a rakish smile to a group of Gryffindor fourth years, and Harry was surprised to see that it worked; and just who else grinned back. Some fourth year girls giggled, whispered behind their hands to each other; then giggled some more. Harry rolled his eyes and Ron chuckled. But there were older girls, too.

"Hermione, did you want som'more tea?" Ron leaned over. Hermione just nodded blankly.

A group of girls detached themselves from the Ravenclaw table, and Ron hurriedly wiped his mouth and got up. He patted Harry on the back, "See you later." He nodded to Hermione. "All right?"

"Ron, you haven't finished lunch!" Harry complained.

"I'll nick something from the house-elves," Ron said as he tossed his napkin to his plate. He waved, "Hey... Miranda, wait up!"

Hermione answered weakly, "Um, see you..."

Ron paused uncertainly. He walked backwards a few steps. Then he trotted after the Ravenclaw girls, with a last glance over his shoulder.

Hermione commented, "Ron looks different somehow...did he change his hair or...?"

Ron had caught up with Miranda right under the Great Hall archway. Her friends made a half circle around him as they chatted, and he leaned a forearm against the doorjamb; the T-shirt rode up a little more. Then from the Great Hall entrance Ron aimed a brilliant smile - that smile - back at Harry as he left.

Oh, wow... Harry dropped his fork.

Harry ploughed into his lunch with renewed focus. He decided that if Ron Weasley discovering girls had been bad, it was nothing compared to a Ron Weasley who had discovered sex.

Harry shook his head. For some reason, he couldn't help but feel a little pleased with himself. He wondered just how he'd look in a pair of those jeans, and grinned rakishly at the spot Ron had last stood.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Gryffindor common room was a complete and utter disaster, Harry decided. It looked like someone had hit a Fotomat with an Exploding Charm. Every table, chair, stool, and even much of the floor was taken up with Hermione's project. There were moving, waving, smiling photos just everywhere. Dozens more were stuck to the walls with various gluing spells, or hovering in midair.

Hermione had her wand handy and she was gloweringly ready to use it should anyone decide to move or otherwise touch her pictures. Even Dean wasn't such a fool as to tamper - tempting targets though they were - not with that deadly wand aimed in his direction. Neville attempted to walk around, and found himself levitated over The Project and set down gently by the door.

"I wasn't gonna touch it!" Neville complained.

"We're both safer this way," Hermione said curtly.

She was making a photo album for her parents for Christmas. She had taken a lot of their old Muggle-style photos, made new prints, and developed them wizard-fashion so that they were all moving. It was a nice gesture, Harry thought, but certainly a lot of work. For once he was grateful the Dursleys had never given him more than toothpicks and old socks. At least he wasn't obligated to get them anything extravagant in return.

Ron was sprawled out among the stacks, eyeing the pictures in his hands warily and looking somewhat confused. He gave Harry a helpless look, as Hermione scolded him.

"No, Ron - those need to be organized by year! The others by vacation. Now get it straight, or I'll just have to do all of it myself!"

Harry couldn't see why Ron didn't take her up on her generous offer. But somehow Hermione had suckered him into this. Ron struggled on gamely.

Harry took pity on Ron, set aside his Firebolt and helped for a bit. There was one photo Harry particularly liked, of a grinning three-year-old Hermione, her hair poofed like an angry cat's. She was on a swing and came right at you. It was a great action shot. But after less than an hour, Harry lost patience with the never-ending project, though Ron seemed ready to stick it out until the bitter end. Ron hovered over Hermione anxiously.

"Have fun," Harry smiled to him. He picked up his Firebolt and waved goodbye to the exasperated Ron. This was not how Harry planned to spend his Saturday.

Harry had been lucky. The Dark Arts classes had been inexplicably cancelled at the last minute. Several times now Harry had been ready to leave for class, and Professor Snape had waved him over to explain, picking at a hangnail:

"Harry, I need to reschedule again. I am far too busy this week." The excuses had been invariably weak. Not that Harry minded at all.

"Oh, well. That's okay."

Then Harry would feel the lingering glare at his back; but when Harry looked, Snape had always turned away in time, before Harry caught him at it. Harry supposed that Snape was disappointed now that he had actually done something - well, not right, but at least something - in the Dark Arts. Although he had seemed pleased at that time.

At first Harry had studied furiously after hours in the restricted section, terrified this halt might mean an excruciating test. But none had come, and Harry began to slack off and enjoy his unexpected break. Harry felt a momentary pang of guilt that he hadn't done anything about that beaker yet. But it had now been nearly two weeks since he'd had to endure a Dark Arts class. The normal school schedule seemed a breeze by comparison. Best yet, Snape had stopped teasing him about Ron and seemed, if anything, to be avoiding Harry.

Harry quickened his pace through the corridors. He didn't have Quidditch practice for at least another hour, so he could get some training runs in beforehand, to work out the kinks at last. Snape's Dark Arts class had put quite a dent in his practice time.

Not a soul was on the Quidditch field. The stands were completely free of people, the grass a soft spongy green. It was grey and there was a slight mist, an almost-rain, but otherwise the conditions were perfect, with only a low wind. The grounds were slightly veiled in soft grey.

He did a running kick-off from the field, an illegal manoeuvre in games, but it gave him exhilarating height as he soared. He executed several kick-turns, barrel-rolls, skimming the stands, then pushed himself high above Hogwarts until the pennants were mere flickering dots below. He turned, and, making a vertical arc that left his stomach in midair... he let himself drop.

Harry moulded himself to his broom handle as tight as he could, and steered for the ground at maximum speed. It was easy to spin like a top in this kind of manoeuvre, which lost your line of sight with the ground. That's how you crashed. Harry managed to hold it to only one or two spins, and the hotter air of the ground rushed by him at incredible speed as he pulled out of it, within inches of hitting the dirt. The blood rushed to his ears. He saw something black, out of the corner of his eye, but whizzed by it too fast to see. Harry was breathless with joy, and whooped, pumping the air with his fist! Oh, he'd missed this!

Then Harry caught sight of something white, arcing through the air. A practice golf ball. Harry took off after it, and snatched it all too easily. But another soared - high, too high to have simply been thrown. This one zigged and zagged, avoiding Harry's outstretched hand nimbly. He trapped it from below. Two others zipped, going in opposite directions. This took more planning - Harry's mind raced. An impossible catch. Whoever threw them meant for him to miss. Both were falling quickly. He dove for the furthest one, with the lower arc. Then, in a ground-skimming sweep, he just barely caught the other, executing an end-to-end flip and skidding to a stop in mid-air. He spun around triumphantly to hold up his captures to whichever teammate had thrown them for him. But it was no Gryffindor who threw them, Harry realised with a shock.

It was Professor Snape. His black figure gazed thoughtfully at Harry from across the field.

Snape raised a black-gloved hand and the golf balls launched themselves from Harry's possession. They flew directly across the field to him, bobbing and dancing in the wind. He caught them. Then Snape gave a slight mocking salute, turned, and strode back to the school. The golf balls followed, floating idly behind his head.

What was that about?

He didn't have time to wonder, as his teammates poured onto the field.

"Was that Snape?"

"He's not spying for Slytherin, is he?"

"No," Harry said absently. Though he wasn't sure how he knew.

~*~

The Gryffindor Quidditch team laughed and stomped their way through the Hogwarts main halls, smelling of rain and the outdoors, voices loud from shouting to each other from airborne brooms. They were dripping wet, and tracking in more mud than was safe, given Filch's hopeful predilection for torture. But they had plenty of company, and there was already a fair puddle outside the Gryffindor common room. If any of the other houses wanted to learn where a common room was located, all they had to do was follow the mud on a rainy day. Harry laughed, and hoped they didn't bring disaster on Hermione's photo album.

But it looked as if she had finished. There were no photos to be seen, and both she and Ron were gone. She must have worked Ron like a slave! Harry grinned to himself. But he was a trifle disappointed. He wanted to talk to them about Snape's appearance on the Quidditch field, and it seemed like ages since he'd seen them. He'd been too busy, what with the Dark Arts, and the trouble with Ron and all. After the Quidditch practice he felt like he'd just come back to life somehow, in a way he hadn't felt since the Dark Arts classes had begun.

He waved his teammates on to the showers without him, and hunted around for signs of where his friends might have gone. Colin Creevey was perched precariously on a windowsill, magicking raindrops with a Magnetism Spell and moving them into a snowflake pattern. There were already various smiley faces, blinking at him, and a complicated dragon squirmed and scowled on an upper pane. Colin was rather good at this stuff, Harry observed.

"Ron and Hermione - ? Out on another date," Colin answered without turning around. "Hermione wouldn't go 'till they finished those pictures."

"Another date? When was the first?" Harry was astonished.

"First? Try second and third. Where've you been?"

Studying for Dark Arts classes, Harry growled to himself. Wow, he'd missed a lot. Harry had had no idea.

~*~

"Fourth date," Ron grinned at him from his bed the next morning. "I don't think we got back until eleven o'clock! Hermione was frantic! She kept thinking that we would get locked out!"

"You could have always stayed at Hagrid's..." Harry suggested somewhat lecherously. It was one of the places he and Ron had found when they were playing around with the Book of Eros. Quite cosy, when Hagrid was off in the Forbidden Forest or Diagon Alley. Harry was starting to miss Ron and that Book already. But his friendship with Ron had just recovered, and he wasn't going to chance anything messing it up again.

"Oh, I thought of that - ! " Ron wiped his face as if trying to remove his grin. He was not succeeding. "But she's, you know, not ready for anything like that yet." Then a look of concern crossed Ron's face.

"You're okay with this, aren't you?" Ron lowered his voice and glanced about cautiously. "We were uh, just - you know - fooling around, right?"

"Well - you're okay, right?"

"Yeah. Sure. Of course! Who wouldn't be?" he said and sighed. "Hermione...."

"Then of course I am," Harry lied.

~*~

The real test came a week later, late at night in the Gryffindor bedroom. Harry woke to soft, wet sounds. Kissing. And a familiar whisper. Two familiar whispers. Coming from Ron's bed. His bed curtains were drawn.

Apparently Harry had slept through most of it. Thank God.

"I can't find it!" one voice whispered, more loudly than they should have in a room full of sleeping Gryffindors.

Ron's head poked out from behind the curtains. He felt around on the floor, and retrieved what looked to be a bra. He glanced up, saw Harry, grinned and put his finger to his lips. Harry inwardly groaned. Ron had those familiar bright glazed eyes, a look Harry knew quite well.

Are you Crazy?! Harry mouthed to Ron.

Ron nodded eagerly, and disappeared back under the curtains.

Moments later, Harry saw Ron and someone with fluffy hair, fuzzier than usual, back-lit against the window by the door.

"See?" Ron whispered, "I told you - these guys can sleep through an Oroborus Bomb."

"Okay, but honestly, if - !"

"Sh!"

"See you tomorrow...."

"Yeah." Ron stood staring after her a moment.

Harry was furious. How could Ron do this? Here? Of all places! How dare he even consider - ! He wanted to let Ron have it, right there and then, but knew he wouldn't be able to keep from waking everyone else up. So Harry turned his back on Ron, slamming his shoulder into the pillow.

"Weasley." It was Seamus' voice. "Never again, you got that? Not here. I won't say anything to the others this time."

That was his cue. Harry spoke up, "Look, Ron, this isn't going to do Hermione's reputation any good at all, if you pull things like this. Think!"

"Oh, my opinion's gone up," said Dean from the opposite side of the room, "Waaaaaaay up. In fact, it's raised its hand!"

The dark room filled with guffaws of laughter. There was a suppressed giggle from Neville Longbottom's bed. Everyone was awake. Hearing even Neville, Ron moaned and put his head in his hands.

"Don't tell her! Damn you, don't tell her!" he groaned.

"Hey - we're Gryffindors, right?" It was Seamus again. "And we stick together. But Weasley, if you do anything like this again - all bets are off."

There were noises of agreement throughout the room.

"If you don't mind - " Dean slipped off his bed with a thump. " - have to have a shower." There was more laughter.

"Leave some cold water for the rest of us!"

"Geeze, Ron.... I can sleep through an Oroborus Bomb alright - but that?!"

Surprisingly, that last comment was from Neville, startling another burst of laughter and a round of applause. Ron threw the covers over his head, muttering, "If one of you tells her, I swear, I will kill you.... "

~*~

The next morning, Harry decided he was going to have a private talk with Ron. Aside from discussing the night before, he had a lot to say to Ron. Even if he wasn't exactly sure what it was.

Frustratingly, Ron was already gone before he woke. Later, he kept hovering over Hermione in the Gryffindor common room, then again downstairs at breakfast. They disappeared together into the library afterwards. Harry couldn't get a moment alone with him. It was very annoying.

Harry tried again at lunch, with no greater success. Harry almost thought Ron was sticking by Hermione just to avoid him. Harry almost burst with frustration.

Hermione and Ron chattered next to Harry at lunch as if they were the only people in the world. As Harry picked at his dessert, he felt that familiar prickle, and glanced up. Professor Snape was watching him again.

Harry shot him a look over his glasses that said: Go away!

Snape tilted his head to the side, in a subtle kind of shrug. If you say so, it said. Snape glanced aside.

But somehow, Harry didn't have the energy to yell at Ron anymore. Or... whatever. He left Hermione and Ron to their conversation, suddenly aware that Ron hadn't been avoiding him today. He had just been more wrapped up in her than he had ever been in Harry.

Today, he simply hadn't noticed Harry. At all.

Suddenly Harry was very glad he had followed Professor Snape's advice.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Snape sat on the boulder they used as a table for the Dark Arts class; Harry sat on a low stool Snape had summoned for today, his chin in his hands. Harry had known his good luck couldn't hold. At some point the Dark Arts classes had to resume.

The clouds above them were streaked with sunset red and pink, the Forest black about them, and there was a brisk wind. Harry's breath froze in the air in front of him. It was unlikely they would unfreeze anything in this cold, Harry mused. A chill was starting to sink into Harry's skin. Usually they kept active, as Harry fired spell after ineffective spell at some supposedly doomed object. The beaker remained stuck to the rock like an accusation. But tonight, Snape simply sat, looming darkly in front of him, his face a sharp landscape of more subtle shadows in the twilight.

"Harry, we need to have a little talk," Snape said in his most professorial manner.

"Is this about Ron?" Harry asked, and then winced suddenly, wishing he hadn't been so open. The last thing you did with Snape was to give him an advantage.

It seemed a slight smile flickered across Snape's face, though it was hard to guess in this light; but he said only, "No."

"Harry, I'm under the impression you feel the Dark Arts are somehow dark and evil, despite the benefit of our classes."

"Well, aren't they?" Harry said, in spite of himself. It seemed safer than usual to ask questions, though one could never tell.

Snape made a satisfied sound. "Yes. They can be. And I will not lie to you: they usually are.

"But the Dark Arts are not in themselves evil, Harry. That is an ignorance perpetrated by the ignorant. They have been in my family a very, very long time, and I flatter myself to think I perhaps understand them a bit better than the likes of the Minister of Magic. Maybe, even more than our beloved Professor Dumbledore." His smile was grim.

"It is not the type of magic one uses that corrupts the mind; not the power itself, but the quest, the desire for power. Voldemort - " Harry noticed with a small shock that Snape didn't fear to use his real name either. "- he would have been a danger no matter what form of magic he practiced. Trust that I know, Harry. He could twist anything to his ends. Willful ignorance, Harry, letting the other side know more, learn more, than you is deadly. Letting them have an advantage - simply because we have the weaker stomach - is nothing less than suicide. This is what you of all people must learn."

Snape produced from a pocket in his robes a small furry vole. It nibbled cautiously at Snape's hand, then sniffed the air experimentally. Harry gasped with sudden understanding - so far all they'd hurt was a few vases and rosebuds. No....

"Sublimino!" Snape pronounced.

The vole toppled and lay completely still in Snape's hand, as if hit by the Avada Kedavra curse. Harry suppressed a whimper, looking up in appalled shock at Professor Snape. Snape's eyes were blacker than the night falling around them.

"Ah. You think it's evil. But it is not what you think at all, Harry."

Snape's face was eerily outlined by stars; some creature rustled and stirred the branches behind them, but Harry paid it no notice. The vole didn't move or breathe.

"I'll tell you a story. A wizard, a very nasty wizard, was keeping Muggles for experimentation. He didn't want to feed them, these Muggles, while he, ah, kept them - stored them is the better word - between experiments. He was a madman, long caught and dead for his trouble, but... he devised this spell. To stun them, to Suspend all life functions. Indefinitely. Until the counter spell is applied:

"Revivo!"

The vole perked up, stirred. And it sat up in Snape's hand, sniffing for food. Snape's long fingers delicately caressed it. Snape looked down at Harry.

"This spell is now used by every Medi-Wizard in the field, throughout the Wizarding world. A patient with wounds so severe they are draining him of blood is Suspended, until he can be brought in for treatment.

"Is that evil, Harry?"

And the Avada Kedavra curse, Harry wondered, can you say that has benefits? But he said nothing. Because he very much feared Snape would say yes. Even about the Three Unforgivables. Thinking of how his parents had died, Harry found he resented even the thought. Nor did he believe it for a second.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry returned to the Gryffindor rooms very late that night, and lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. He thought of the last moments of his mother's life, his only memory of her other than the photo album Hagrid had given him. Up until tonight, he had been starting to think Snape was okay. In a strange, Snape-ish sort of way. Harry traced every wooden beam with his eyes, all the way down to the fireplace and the windows, but sleep would not come. Finally he shook Ron awake and told him what Snape had said. Ron's eyes grew big.

"Thanks, Harry. I'm going to have nightmares now!"

"But what do you think?"

"That he's a loon! You know that. Wow, I don't envy you those classes, at least - not anymore. Not with Snape as a teacher," Ron shuddered.

"I mean about what he said."

"Well. He is right about that Suspend Spell. Everyone uses it. Charlie uses it on injured dragons - their blood's poisonous, you know. One gusher'll kill. But - Harry, I dunno. You should talk to Hermione about it. She's good at this sort of thing."

"You know I can't tell Hermione!"

"Well... um, you can tell Hermione a lot of things, Harry...all sorts of things, you - you'd never think," Ron mumbled. He sounded a little evasive all of the sudden. Harry was instantly suspicious.

"What do you mean by that?"

But Ron wouldn't answer, and pretended to be asleep. After several tries Harry gave up. He supposed he would find out soon enough. At least worrying about it took his mind off Snape.

~*~

The next morning at breakfast Hermione was in a wonderful mood. Her hair bounced as she cheerfully plunked down next to Ron, and gave Harry a warm smile. A very warm smile. Then she shot a knowing look at Ron, who blushed and avoided looking at Harry altogether.

She kept this up all through breakfast, glancing over her copy of The Daily Prophet at Harry with warm looks. She was acting very strangely.

Harry got junkmail as usual, from various different stores in Diagon Alley. Because he paid for his own things instead of his parents buying them for him, he got all of the advertisements. He neatly ground a particularly loud one under his heel. He opened a letter and it announced:

"SALE!!!"

- before he could crumple it to shut it up The entire school turned in his direction.

He could tell that the next letter - which was flashing a painful orange! yellow! pink! - was another sales brochure. He ripped it up without opening it. The store wasn't one he recognized anyway; someone had sold their mailing list. How else would he get advertisements from Knockturn Alley? At least those were quiet. They smoked and threatened the reader: "If you miss this Event, you will regret it the rest of your life." The burning letters smouldered, then burst into blames and burned a hole in the tablecloth. How anyone thought you could attract customers by sending them rude notes, Harry had no idea.

Harry wafted the smoke away from his breakfast, and caught Hermione smiling at him again.

"What?" he finally asked her. Ron looked distinctly uncomfortable. "What is it?"

"Oh. Nothing. Nothing at all," she beamed and stood. "Now you two behave yourselves." She left with a wink and a knowing shake of her head.

"What was that all about?" Harry turned on Ron.

"Look, Harry, it.... it just slipped out, you know? I borrowed the Book and all, and I was explaining about it and - "

"I thought we were never going to tell Hermione!!"

"Yes but - "

"Don't ever tell Hermione, you said!" Harry shoved his plate away in disbelief. How could Ron be so stupid?

"But, but - Harry, she's fine with it," Ron's face heated, "a little more than fine actually. I think - well, she likes it. A lot."

Hermione waved to Ron and Harry from across the room. Harry slumped with his head in his hands. Unbelievable, he thought. Of all the stupid gits....

"Well, we're all friends, aren't we?" Ron blinked.

I'm going to die, Harry thought.

"We were just - you know - goofing around a bit, that's all...." Ron muttered.

"Still, maybe the three of us sometime.... " Ron continued. Harry gave him a steady look, picturing himself and Hermione worshipping at the golden shrine of Ron Weasley. Ron took his point, "... or, well then - maybe not."

Strangely, he was more upset with Hermione than Ron. Things had been going just fine, until she started cosying up to Ron. But that wasn't quite fair, or even true, Harry told himself. Snape's love potion had already put a dent in his private life. If Snape hadn't... Harry shook his head, realizing he was trying fix the blame somewhere, or on someone. He was going in circles. It was just a run of bad luck, worse than usual. But the worst had been done, and now he just needed time to assess the damage. At least Malfoy didn't know.

It was odd, come to think of it, that Snape hadn't slipped this knowledge to his own house. But he had kept his word and other than a few snide remarks, kept it a secret. Better than Ron had, Harry thought ruefully. Even if Snape wouldn't in principle tell the Slytherins, he easily could have hinted broadly enough for Malfoy's dirty little mind to figure it out. Yet he hadn't. Strange. But then everything about Snape was strange.

At least Harry didn't share any class but Arithmancy with Hermione today. They had assigned seats, so that left her - 'G' - far across the room from Harry - 'P'. Sitting at his desk he groaned inwardly as he saw his classmates turning in their homework scrolls. He hadn't finished their assignment for Arithmancy! And he'd left it in his room to boot. "Accio: Homework!" Harry caught the scroll, and scanned down it. It had many cross-outs and was rather messy, but, well, at least half of it was done. He sealed the scroll quickly, and waited till the end of class before he turned it in.

Just when Harry thought his day could not get any worse, Snape pulled him aside before Potions. He whispered in Harry's ear, a little too close. The purr of his voice sent a chill down Harry's spine.

" 'Detention,' Harry. Seven o'clock." Snape sounded rather pleased with himself. Never a good thing. "You will travel alone and meet me there this time. I have some - special preparations - I need to complete for this particular assignment."

Snape had a strange gleam in his eye as he said the word 'preparations.' It was the look that people got when heard the word 'present,' or that Ron had when you said 'Chudley Canons.' Plus, the class wasn't going to start for a full two hours later than usual. What kind of preparations were so special they took so long? It was right over the dinner hour, too. Harry couldn't start skipping meals on top of missing Quidditch practice, and everything else. He felt hungry just thinking about it.

This did not bode well at all.

The cavern was strangely dark and cold. Water slapped the boats against their moorings, a dull clatter that echoed under Hogwarts castle. Harry didn't bother to light any of the torches, but it felt strange to be here, alone, at this hour. Usually there was still a fading sunset glazing the surface of the lake, with Snape hovering, well - before it had seemed threateningly, but now Harry felt he was naked without Snape's dark protection at his back. At least by now Harry knew the way to the clearing in the Forbidden Forest. No doubt Snape was waiting for him for their class. Harry was late. It was after seven already.

Harry stepped into the boat, holding the dinner roll in his mouth as he manoeuvred the oars into their locks. He didn't have Snape's Propulsion Spell, so he was forced to row. But he decided he could take his time as he crossed, and eat on the way. He was late anyway. Harry pushed the boat off into the dark. Faint wisps of mist clung to the cavern walls. Harry awkwardly used an oar to push the boat off a tree stump that stared out of the water, its vestigial branches reaching like claws. Past it, was open water.

Now to keep an eye out for sea monsters, Harry thought, biting into his roll. He fumbled the oar back into place.

His supper finished, Harry began to row, keeping his eyes peeled all about him. A slimy black tentacle skimmed the surface of the lake near the boat. Harry heard the slosh of a slight wake. Then something scraped the bottom of the boat, where nothing ought to have been. Harry dropped an oar with a splash, his wand out. A long moment passed. The boat rocked gently from Harry's sudden movement. But the lake remained still, and whatever it was didn't trouble him further. Nonetheless, Harry rowed faster, and wished he'd eaten while he was still on shore.

Harry tied the moorings, gratefully climbing out of the boat, but more grateful still that Snape would be with him on the return trip. Harry had never noticed how dangerous just coming here was, not when he had Snape available to guard him. Professor Snape had made him feel like a blundering idiot every time he wandered into some trap, but actually, it was bloody dangerous in the Forbidden Forest after nightfall. Snape only made it appear easy. Harry adjusted his cloak about his shoulders, and followed the familiar winding path to the clearing, where he and Snape practiced the Dark Arts.

None of the usual traps sprang on Harry as he cautiously followed the path. Perhaps Snape had disarmed them. Here and there, however, Harry noticed a splash of some silvery liquid on the leaves and the ground. It reminded him of unicorn blood, something he hadn't seen since his first year at Hogwarts. But on closer inspection, it was darker, more greyish, the colour of quicksilver, and writhing slightly. It looked alive. Harry didn't touch it, and carefully walked around. Years at Hogwarts had taught him some caution with strange magic. And this was stranger than much he had seen.

There was a large splattering at the edge of the clearing, and a silvery moon-like glow ahead. Harry parted the leaves on the edge of the clearing and stopped. Cold.

Professor Severus Snape stood with his back to Harry, rigidly black against a silver glow that spread from the cauldron before him. A thick viscous liquid bubbled in it, without any fire under the cauldron that Harry could see, unless the fire was the same colour as the glow. The liquid occasionally reached out of the cauldron, only to fall back. A glowing mist steamed about Snape, a vaporous silver cloud.

"You are late." Snape bit off the short syllables coolly. But his voice was quiet, his eyes fixed on the cauldron as though it bore careful watching. Harry imagined it would.

Harry stepped into the clearing, carefully edging around the silver-grey quicksilver splash.

"Be careful not to step on it. It is highly poisonous, and rather malignant. It fought me all the way here. I can keep it at Hogwarts, but what we're about to attempt of course...."

Snape's voice remained that eerily focused calm. Harry wondered what he meant by 'fought,' though he was unsurprised the liquid was dangerous. It sure acted dangerous. But Snape was still talking.

"I don't know why I missed it, Harry. But it is painfully obvious to me now. I made our class too easy. I tried to explain mere theory," Snape said, "all without showing you the real thing."

Easy? Harry's eyes widened at the thought. Snape's presence should have been reassuring, but his mood seemed strange. Talkative. Not like him at all. Harry stayed near the far edge of the clearing.

"Naturally, it didn't work. I should never have listened to Dumbledore's warnings. Go slowly, he said, be careful, Severus. But you are like me, Harry. In more ways than one. If it is too easy, you simply get bored. You have not been trying. And that is my entirely my fault for being so blind."

Not trying? Like Snape? Harry's mind wasn't quite grasping this. They both had black hair, but there the similarities ended. Unless Snape played Quidditch.

"It's been like teaching music through lecturing about the notes. Essays. Simple spells. When the beauty of the Dark Arts is the challenge, the very danger of it! It is the sharpest tool. One unwise move, Harry - " Snape gave a short derisive laugh, " - there's good reason there are no incompetent Dark Wizards. The fools do us all the favour of weeding themselves out."

Weird shadows, silvery and liquid, played about Snape's face.

"How little you understand me, Harry. You see merely a Potions Master. After my father's death I experimented with my grandfather's books. My grandfather had taught me some, before he was killed by a misguided Auror. Not every Dark Wizard gave a brass Knut for Voldemort. My grandfather was a Scientist," Snape glowered at the cauldron.

"I levelled entire rooms in our house by my experiments, my mistakes. Accidents I barely crawled away from alive, alone in that rotting manor; I doubtless would not have survived were it not for the house-elves."

A bit of the silver liquid on the ground reached for Harry. He edged away, deeper into the clearing, paying more attention to the quicksilver liquid than to Snape's speech. Snape didn't seem to notice.

"But I learned, however slowly, without him, Harry. Things that even Voldemort doesn't know. My grandfather's research. And a little of my own. Voldemort has miscalculated if he thinks Dumbledore would not let me teach you. Books are merely a starting place, a crutch for those who don't dare go further. This," Snape indicated the silver glow, "is my own."

"Come," Snape said softly. There was a strange light in his eyes, something like Ron with the Book of Eros.

Harry stepped forward with trepidation, keeping a careful watch on the reaching quicksilver behind them, which Snape ignored, his eyes only the cauldron.

"I did all the preparations. It starts with a simple levitation spell. Just follow my lead, Harry," Snape said evenly.

He touched the liquid with his wand, and it followed like a fountain, a rippling banner into the air, suddenly sparkling and marvellous. Harry had never considered levitating a liquid before.

"... don't let it touch anything you don't want it to," Snape said smoothly.

Harry tried it. The quicksilver liquid sprang up easily with a touch, trembling in what felt like a breeze, though Harry knew there was no wind.

"You'll want to have it all suspended in the air, before you start the incantation. Beautiful, isn't it? It's malleable. And deadly. It can maim. It can destroy. Or trap. Depending on the shape you choose for it."

The liquid pooled in flashing silvery drops. It was difficult to control, Harry discovered. He found that instead of holding up one fluttering line of the stuff like Snape, it broke apart. He was trying to hold up a dozen, then a hundred, then a thousand gleaming drops, all around him.

"... now the gathering incantation, repeat after me..."

Harry's concentration shook with the effort of keeping it all up in the air. He started losing control; one or two drops sagged to the earth. He struggled to force them back up, and others floated too close to him. It didn't look right, but he was completely absorbed in keeping it away from him and in the air.

"Now swirl the liquid over your head like a whip - this is one of the easiest shapes. Now! Incendio!"

The banner lit like a blaze over Snape's head. Snape's black eyes mirrored the quicksilver flame, entranced and glorying in its beauty.

Harry tried gamely, but only a little at the end of his wand followed his lead. The rest floated around him like autumn milkweed.

"Incendio!" Harry imitated Snape as best he could.

On the other side of the sudden blue-white blaze, he saw Snape's head turn in shock.

~*~

Harry stirred in the darkness. No. Not quite darkness. There was a faint bluish light... that came from... from... himself. Harry heard a moan. Then he recognized that it was his own voice. St. Elmo's fire ran lazily up and down Harry's arms. Strange. He watched it dance, slowly, lighting the bed slightly.

"Don't move," commanded an urgent voice, distantly familiar.

But Harry couldn't help shake his head and wonder where he was. He tried to sit up - and the light increased and ran like water down his arms, as he heard someone race to his side. Peculiar -

"Harry - !" Snape said. But there was a jolt and a flash.

~*~

Harry woke again, to the sound of voices. It was daylight. He was under a black duvet. The sheets... felt like silk. The room about him was unfamiliar. High ceilings. White walls. The furniture was all of dark wood. Through the doorway he could see a small kitchenette. That looked promising. Harry was suddenly hungry. He could now make out Professor Snape's voice, though he couldn't hear to whom he was talking.

"He is indisposed. As am I. Yes, of course he's all right! We are merely working on these special classes of his. Yes, they are going well - or they were until you interrupted, just to 'drop by.' He can catch up on his other homework later. Good day to you!"

Harry heard the door slam. So these must be Snape's quarters, Harry thought idly. Nice. Somehow he expected something creepy, stuffed spiders for cushions maybe, Goya prints, decorative electric chair perhaps? But this was positively normal, elegant even.

He didn't care what got rid of the visitors, only that they went away. He was so tired.

Harry looked down at his arms. There was no more blue fire, [I'd suggest a comma here] he noticed with relief. And he no longer felt like a thirty-watt light bulb. Pretty as it was, it had not been a comfortable feeling, watching yourself glow in the dark. He shut his eyes and sleep won over hunger.

What seemed like only moments later, Harry felt a firm weight settle on the bed next to him. He opened heavy eyes and murmured a protest. Snape, he saw, was wrapped in a dark robe, his black hair hung in lank strands on his face. He looked even more haggard than usual, dark circles and lines etched in his face, as though he hadn't slept in some time.

"Busybody. McGonagall's been sniffing around," Snape scowled. He put an arm around Harry's shoulders and helped him to sit up. In his hands was a bowl of something steaming that smelled wonderful. "Here. It's been a day and a half. You have to eat. I've Sealed the quarters, in case Minerva tries to push my welcome again. That leaves out the house-elves. You will have to suffer through my cooking. Tell me if you are too weak to hold it up - I will spoon-feed you if I absolutely must, but you will not spill on my duvet!"

The stew was excellent however. Harry managed not to spill any, as he didn't like the idea of being fed like a baby by Severus Snape. Harry was nearly through the bowl when a thought occurred to him.

"Have you eaten?"

Snape snorted. "I will. There hasn't been much time. I did not fancy your becoming a cinder in my bed."

Harry stopped mid-bite.

"Indeed. It was a near thing. You are quite fortunate, Harry, that I had nearly the same 'accident' years ago. Otherwise I would not have known how to tend you." Snape took his empty bowl and set it down. He held Harry's eyes, as if to impress the lesson on him.

"Harry, listen to me. While this may be partially my fault, perhaps I should have been watching you more closely - " Harry bit his tongue. Snape hadn't been watching at all. " - you must have complete control in Dark Magic! Not a whisker, not a hair can be out of place! The Dark Arts... cannot be undone. They are not like the simple little school hexes you've hitherto learned. For those, there are always counter charms, if not twenty such. But the Dark Magic, it is too extreme for counterspells. It is permanent. Like walking off a cliff. The best I can do is to repair the damage."

Harry looked at his hands, noticing for the first time the spider web of criss-crossing bluish scars that ran over his skin. It looked as though he had been sliced to ribbons. He pushed up his sleeve urgently - realizing now he was in a black satin nightshirt, probably Snape's - and saw the scars were all over his arms, his chest... everywhere.

"They are looking much better. Now," Snape said wryly. "But no, you are not quite your usual pretty sight. It will require a couple more days to heal, I believe. I can stall Minerva for at least that long." Snape scanned him, and his eyes settled briefly on Harry's chest. Harry realized his nightshirt was open, and buttoned it with a blush.

Harry felt suddenly very tired, as if merely eating had sapped all his energy. His head drifted back to the pillow. He heard rather than saw Snape stand and pick up his bowl, and walk across the room; heard the Charm as Snape conjured a cot, blankets and some pillows.

A last thought occurred to Harry as he drifted off to sleep... Snape, you have really screwed up this time, haven't you?

He didn't think he had said it aloud, but Snape answered.

"Yes. Do me this one favour, and live. I owe Dumbledore a great deal, and I'd rather not repay it by losing him his famous Harry Potter."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In the middle of the night Harry's arms tingled; the hair stood on the back of his neck. He stirred, opened his eyes. He saw the blue fire flutter like a ghost, tracing the scars on his hands and arm -

" - Snape?! Professor!" He sat up, forgetting this made it worse.

"Stop shouting..." Snape growled half asleep. He turned, glimpsed the blue glow and threw back his blankets. "Merlin's bollocks - "

Snape snatched a potion jar from the nightstand, and pried it open with shaking hands. He scooped out something that glowed eerily like Harry's arm and reached for Harry. Harry flinched away.

"It absorbs the charge," Snape said sourly, grabbing Harry's hands. "Here."

He took up a finger full of the stuff and rubbed it into Harry's skin. Harry blinked at him, uncertain.

"Don't look at me like that." Snape glanced up. "We have done this a dozen times already. It should be somewhat easier with you awake and cooperative - I emphasize cooperative. How is it you suppose these scars have healed so quickly?"

Snape snapped up his wand, and with a command lit the candle. In the warmer light the potion did not look quite so poisonous and intimidating. Slowly, as Snape soothed it into Harry's skin, the arcing fire eased and subsided.

Snape continued stroking up Harry's arm to his shoulder, then started on the other hand. His touch was deft and cool, and surprisingly gentle. Harry began to relax. Snape's hands worked more slowly along his other arm, kneading Harry's bicep and shoulder. Then Snape started to pull off the nightshirt Harry was wearing. He stopped.

"You will probably... prefer to continue this yourself," he hesitated.

Harry just waited. Snape nodded, briefly, and pulled the nightshirt up and over Harry's head, the candle flickering.

He directed Harry to lie on his stomach. Harry snuggled in among the blankets. As Snape started with his neck and shoulders, and smoothed his way gently down Harry's back, the tension and fear eased out of Harry.

It felt so nice... Harry's mind drifted. It had been a long time since Ron had touched him like this. He didn't realize how much he missed it until now, as he drank it in.

Moments later, Snape stopped with an irritated sigh. He leaned ruefully on an elbow and brushed the lank hair out of his eyes.

From Harry there came a soft snore.

"You can finish it yourself tomorrow then," he told the insensible young man, and replaced the lid on the potion.

~*~

At first Harry smelled something faintly unpleasant, medicinal, and he stirred. Next he was aware of daylight pressing on his eyes. He didn't want to open them. But the fact he was hungry, too, nagged him until he finally woke.

Snape's pillow was downy soft and tried to convince him to stay in bed, almost successfully. Harry looked about Snape's bedroom. There was no sign of Snape or his cot. He must be teaching, Harry supposed, though he wasn't sure what day it was. He winced, wondering how much homework he'd have for the classes he'd missed. He decided it wasn't worth worrying about.

The potion for Harry's scars was on the bedside table, the lid carelessly replaced. That was the source of the medicinal smell. Harry tightened it, wrinkling his nose. It didn't do much good. Snape's apartments were pretty chilly, and Harry couldn't find his clothes anywhere. He finally gave it up and wrapped the nightshirt closer. He did find his wand.

The scars seemed thinner, fainter, and more flesh-coloured today. But the biggest difference was in how much energy Harry had. He felt a little bit shaky, but otherwise he was almost normal. And hungry. For lunch? Breakfast? Well, that depended on what time it was. It seemed rather late, based on the soft grey light that came from high overhead windows, he guessed it was nearly noon. There was a persistent ticking sound from the kitchen. On inspection, this clock didn't show the time however. The hands had pictures of the Hogwarts Professors, and words such as 'Pleased,' 'Smug,' Bored,' and 'Annoyed' around the face. Professor Flitwick's picture was down at 'Irate' and ticking like a bomb. Harry wondered what anyone could do to make Flitwick mad.

The kitchen was small, a little cold, but comfy, with wood counters and a small table. At it were two ornately carved chairs. Feeling a little like a burglar, Harry raided the refrigerator.

Harry plucked up a terse note from Snape that hovered inside: "Eat - then go back to bed!" it scrawled, then the letters disappeared.

The fridge contained a variety of potions, neatly labelled: 'Choking Potion,' 'Wart Serum,' 'Bolyvorg,' and a dozen others of a poisonous or otherwise unpleasant sort. Harry dearly hoped none of them ever spilled, as he pulled out the makings for a sandwich. He nearly stepped on an untouched saucer of milk on the floor by the sink.

When he was done eating, he went to wash up, but the sink snatched the plate from his hand started washing it.

"Uh... thanks," he said to it, startled.

He glanced at Snape's note and noticed it had changed. 'Biscuits are in the jar in the cupboard. Leave me some.'

With a plate of biscuits, Harry felt a little more welcome, though the note was a tad like having Snape watch over your shoulder. He explored Snape's living room.

There was a huge fireplace, with an ornate black candelabra on the mantle. Every wall was covered in bookshelves, and there was a large black leather-upholstered chair and love seat. A large picture of a crow over the fireplace blinked at Harry, eyeing him suspiciously.

"I won't break anything," Harry promised it. The crow seemed unconvinced.

Framed sheets of music were on the walls; Harry accidentally discovered these played if you bumped them. He looked apologetically at the crow. A small Celtic harp stood on a pedestal in the corner. Harry reached for the strings, when he noticed a brass placard: 'Cursed since 1871.' Beside it was an enormous book on Curse Breaking from the Hogwarts library Restricted section. Harry wondered if Snape was having any luck. He supposed not. The book was long overdue.

Harry noticed there were a lot of restricted books on Snape's shelves, nicer copies than they had in the Library. Right out and available. But recent experience made Harry a little less curious than he normally would be. There were other books in all different languages, Latin, French, Italian... tons of journals on Potions. There was little to interest Harry. The rack next to Snape's chair looked more promising. There was a much-thumbed copy of a trashy Romance novel by a popular witch - Snape had the whole series - copies of the Daily Prophet, The Apothecary Journal vol. 561, and several biographies of obscure wizards. They all had bookmarks in them; it looked as if Snape read numerous books at the same time.

Then a book on one of the shelves caught Harry's eye. Maybe it was slightly askew, or the cover looked a little different. Or perhaps it was the letters sticking out of it. In any case, as Harry pulled it off the shelf a number of postcards tumbled to the floor, and some folded letters. He opened one of the letters. "Thank you, you devil, it was a complete surprise - " it started. Harry had an attack of conscience and put the letter away. It seemed personal. Postcards however, as everyone knows, are fair game. "Wish you were here!" they said, and had photos of a young wizard with long blond hair, about the same age as Harry. He wasn't handsome, his eyes were a little watery and too close together, but he had an open, genial face. He grinned at Harry and blew a kiss from the top of the Eiffel Tower. Harry turned to the book. It had an inscription on the inside cover:

Thought you'd like this, you dirty Bastard! Happy Birthday!

Love,

Torvald

Harry opened the book. It was all pictures.

Paging through Torvald's gift, Harry suddenly understood why Severus Snape had kept Harry's secret about Ron. It made complete sense.

Harry picked up and set his plate of biscuits on the coffee table, and carried the book to the love seat for a closer look.

~*~

Harry startled awake in a tangle of nightshirt, book and biscuits at the sound of a door slam. Snape's footsteps approached. He realized, too late, that he had the book in his lap. Snape eyes went to the book immediately, and he stood glowering over Harry. After a moment he spoke:

"Of a thousand perfectly innocent books on my shelves, how the devil did you manage to find that one?" Snape folded his arms.

Harry had no answer. Snape snatched away the book and opened it.

"You didn't read Torvald's letters," he said. It was a statement, not a question.

"No," Harry managed, "I - I don't read other people's letters." He tactfully omitted the postcards.

There followed a heavy silence. Snape placed the book firmly back on the shelf. Harry cringed. He couldn't remember falling asleep; when had he done that? He had been looking at the pictures, and his fantasy must have blended into a dream. Harry guiltily followed the living embodiment of that fantasy with his eyes, as Snape stalked into the kitchen.

Harry heard finally, "Did you think, at the very least, to leave any biscuits?"

Harry nodded, then realizing Snape couldn't hear a nod, answered aloud: "Yes."

"Small favours..." Then Snape said in a tight voice: "Go to bed, Harry."

Harry hesitated at the bedroom doorway. He had to know.

"Torvald... is he - is he your boyfriend?" Harry asked quietly.

"Did I ask you to blunder into my personal life?!" Snape stormed. The crow in the photo batted its wings at Harry. "I would rather you had played that harp!"

Harry fled into the bedroom, though he had at least part of his answer.

Shortly afterwards Snape extinguished the lights in the kitchen. Harry pretended to be asleep as Snape readied for bed. Harry felt very bad that he had ever brought it up. Snape invoked the cot again, and two pillows plus a blanket dropped out of the sky. Then Snape curled under the blanket. Harry heard a heavy sigh.

Finally, Snape relented.

"No, Harry. He's not," he said softly into his pillow. "Not anymore."

"Wake up, Harry."

Harry groaned and threw his arm over his eyes. "Can't it wait, Ron..."

"Well. This marks the first time a Snape has ever been mistaken for a Weasley. No doubt my ancestors are churning in their graves," Snape said. Harry opened his eyes reluctantly.

Snape was bundled in his robe, a study of shades of blue and shadow beside the bed. The bright moonlight made a metallic sheen on his hair. Harry simply stared for a moment.

Snape made a curt commanding gesture. "Up." He held out the jar of the glowing blue potion. "We forgot something."

Snape mentioned nothing of the reason for their distraction. Harry winced and caught Snape's dark eyes in an apologetic glance. Snape pursed his lips and made a dismissive gesture: forget it, it said.

They didn't bother to light the candle this time. The potion was almost easier to see in moonlight, leaving a slight glowing film where Snape applied it, a glimmer that gradually disappeared into Harry's skin. Now that Harry was used to it, he thought it looked kind of cool. And at least in the dark the ugly scars seemed to be nearly gone.

Harry's eyes scanned the room; the bright squares of light on the floor and walls were nearly the same colour as what was being spread on his arm, though brighter. It was probably a full moon, or close to it.

They were quiet for a while, until curiosity got the best of Harry. He just wasn't one who could let a question be.

"What happened? With Torvald, I mean."

Snape glanced up, then continued spreading the potion on Harry's chest.

"How are things progressing between you and Weasley?" he asked, smoothly.

Harry was taken a little aback at his prying. Then he got the point. Oh. After a moment Harry decided to answer anyway. Fair was fair. He had certainly pried enough into Snape's life.

"He, uh... he's with Hermione," Harry admitted.

"Hm." Snape grunted thoughtfully. "Yes. I thought I noticed him slobbering all over her during Potions."

Harry snorted. He had to admit it was a fairly accurate description. Not to mention that Ron was, after all, a rather wet kisser.

"You can do better than that," Snape glanced at Harry. "With those eyes - much better."

Harry blinked. Was that a compliment? He lay still, more than a little surprised. Feeling Snape's cool stroke, delicate and precise, and so very... thorough... along his side, something dawned on Harry. He kept it to himself, with a small victorious sense of satisfaction. They were quiet a moment longer.

"He had nice hair. Torvald," Harry observed neutrally. Snape merely grunted.

"I like long hair," Harry said idly, his hand grazing a lock of Snape's, that had stuck to the potion on his arm. It was softer than he had imagined. Snape raised an eyebrow. His eyes were jet black and intense. Difficult to read.

"Mine was longer than his," Snape smiled slightly, reminiscing. He returned to smoothing the salve across Harry's chest and shoulder. "I was forced to cut it. For work. It kept becoming an unexpected 'extra' ingredient in my potions. Sometimes they would merely be discoloured. At other times the results were... spectacular."

Harry laughed, a trifle too loudly for the joke. Snape glanced at him suspiciously. His ministrations had reached Harry's neck and face. Harry nibbled at his fingers.

"The antidote is not edible," Snape admonished, pulling the potion away. Harry lay back on his pillow and behaved himself. A little.

"You know, I thought of something," Harry said, deliberately casual, with a sly glance. "I could have done this myself. You didn't need to be putting this stuff on me anymore."

Snape paused. There was a bit of tooth revealed in his wry moonlit half-smile.

"Nor did you need to let me," he pointed out.

"The scars are everywhere," Harry noted, amusement sparkled in his eyes. "How far did you go?"

Snape didn't answer, but looked down into Harry's growing smile, and froze.

"I am... thorough," Snape said carefully. He didn't move. His face hovered over Harry's.

"I'll bet," Harry said. The space between them seemed very small.

"How far were you going to let me go now?" Snape asked. Harry didn't answer, but his response was an admission of guilt. Snape's lips parted in shock, surprisingly pliant under Harry's. Harry's heart beat wildly at his daring.

"I'll bet..." Snape murmured, as he slid his arms around and seized Harry's shoulders with a shuddering sigh, and deepened Harry's kiss. His hands shook. He finally dropped the potion to the bed.

After a long while, Snape broke away and murmured into Harry's cheek, his rich, low voice tickled Harry's ear.

"Tell me if you don't want this..." he bit at Harry's jaw. "...but tell me now..." nuzzled his neck and hair with a throaty snarl. "...while I can still stop." Snape pulled back a little and his teeth were fierce and feral in the cool light.

Harry's answer wouldn't come out, it was unintelligible, so he pulled Snape closer to answer, opening his mouth to devour him, trying to pull him out from under the voluminous robe. Snape's face was carved in moonlight. His breath came in low gasps, and he crushed his cheek to Harry's hair. His hands travelled expertly over Harry's back, slipping underneath the shirt.

Snape tore himself away for a moment, and Harry heard a faint rustling of fabric. Then Snape climbed in under the sheets. Harry felt a bare smooth chest, and bare skin. All the way down. His wiry, slightly broad shoulders, his long waist... and oh, that was it. Snape expertly manoeuvred their bodies together. This wasn't two boys fumbling in the dark. This was a man. Who was gloriously nude beside Harry. He couldn't get over all that expanse of silky skin. Snape was cool as ivory, and so very smooth.

Snape's eyes allowed and followed Harry's exploration; his mouth was curled in a small, amused half smile.

Then Harry climbed on top and tangled their long legs together, just to feel as much of him as he could. There was a slight cough of surprise from Snape. A fleeting thought told Harry that Snape hadn't expected him to take the lead.

"I shall take your aggressive mauling of me as a 'yes,'" Snape said with rumbling humour, before he seized Harry again.

Then his firm grip reached down and wrapped around Harry, stroking him; he felt oil warmed in Snape's hand, a spreading warmth. Snape whispered hoarsely, indicating what he held, "Just you bear in mind - this is mine," as he lifted his legs slightly and guided Harry toward his goal.

At first, it was too much, the wash of sensation.... Harry waited for his thrumming heartbeat to catch up with his breathing. Then it intensified but became easier as he began to move. Snape threw his head back on the pillow, black hair tangled over his face; his smooth chest bare to the air, spread out before Harry. The sight made the blood sing in Harry's ears, he was almost embarrassed to see Professor Snape like this. Oh, God, he was beautiful.

The silky Adam's apple bobbed as Snape swallowed, breathed; and Harry gasped as he felt Snape relax under him. Professor Snape's mouth made a little 'o', almost protest but mostly need - he had to stop thinking 'Professor,' it was too weird - and at the hunger in Snape's face, Harry surged forward. As he began to move, with a gasp at just how this felt, Harry bit his lip to not groan out loud, not knowing why, except it seemed irreverent with this elegant man, sprawled with boneless grace beneath him... oh, God...

Harry had thought Snape's eyes were closed, but two slivers glimmered up at him. Watching Harry. And then Harry did moan -- he was being watched with such hazy desire. And he wanted - so wanted - that catch in Snape's throat, the lips parting and that gasp! Wanted to make Snape's chest rise and fall, like that, his hands clutch at the sheet, too - yes. To breach the distance there was still between them. And he so wanted to be more than just a fantasy fulfilled, that Harry clenched his teeth, cursed and breathed, said:

"I. Am. Right. Here!" ...and didn't know why he said it, exactly.

To his surprise though, those eyes grew aware and present. Harry lost himself, and came, hovered on the edge of bliss and almost pain, his mind disappearing into a vortex. When Harry blinked and recovered his wits, Snape's superior smug smile was there, though with more heat than Harry had ever seen. And Snape chuckled.

"No shit," Snape answered him.

Harry never dreamed Professor Snape could swear - Curse, yes - and so crudely even. Then Harry laughed, as he realized that it was the only thing he hadn't imagined his Professor doing. It was all suddenly so real, and so different, than anything Harry had expected. He fell sideways onto the bed, next to the miraculously real man beside him.

"Fuck..." Harry laughed weakly, his hands on his face. "This is not what I ever pictured."

"Nor I."

And that last was so like Snape it gave Harry something to centre on, that Snape was still Snape, for all that he was more. Harry lay on the bed panting, and let his breath catch up with him. He wondered blearily what he could use to clean himself. Certainly not the silk sheets.

"Severus." Snape's quiet voice startled Harry out of his haze.

"Hwa... ?"

"You called me 'Professor.'" Snape's mouth twitched and eyes gleamed with odd humour. "So formal."

"I did?" Harry said, surprised. Snape snorted.

"'Professor' is not my name. Though some days it may as well be," Snape said sardonically.

He leaned up on an elbow and swept the tangled black hair off his face. Harry decided he preferred it messy, though at the moment he wanted to straighten it himself. But he hesitated for some reason, despite all that he'd already dared. There was a difference between a moment of passion, and continuing on purpose.

"Severus..." Harry made his name a caress, and cuddled into the pillow next to him. Severus...

Then delicately, Harry ran his fingers through the black tangle, smoothing it. Severus' mouth softened in invitation; he grunted at the touch. Harry trailed his fingers down Severus' shoulder... his arm, to his waist... Harry felt sleepy.

"I was surprised... I pictured you...well, differently...."

"You were 'picturing' me?" Those eyebrows flicked upward, lightly. "Do tell." Severus had that feral look again. With recent associations, it made Harry break into a cold sweat, and blood pound and rush to - well, he wasn't sleepy anymore. He was rock hard. Severus leaned closer. "How, exactly, were you 'picturing' me?"

Bastard. He knew the effect he was having.

"Well... um... not on the bottom..." Harry was embarrassed.

"Do you want to be on the bottom?" Severus asked softly.

It was the hand that snaked around Harry's thigh at this moment that made Harry blush.

Severus' lips drew back in a broadening smirk at Harry's conspicuous silence, revealing brilliant uneven teeth.

"Practicalities," Severus explained. "I, ah, was in no mood to slowly navigate virgin territory."

Harry smiled slightly. "Huh. Not exactly virgin..."

"Who - ?" Severus frowned slightly, puzzled.

"You know..." Harry shrugged.

"Ronald Weasley went that far!?" Severus spluttered. His bare shock dissolved into a bark of laughter. "I don't know whether to be more impressed with his unexpected... flexibility... or your powers of persuasion. Though I strongly suspect the latter."

Harry decided not to mention it was only the once, and Ron had been hell to deal with afterwards.

"Well..." Severus reached for the oil. He picked up the potion jar and set it on the endtable with a clunk. Harry feasted on the sight of Severus' long body, sitting up on his knees, languidly stroking oil. "This promises to be more fun than I imagined..."

"You've been 'imagining' me?" Harry's eyes sparkled up at Severus impishly. He was guided onto his stomach.

Severus made a noise of disgust. "Oh, shut up, you know I have..." he growled into that ticklish spot on the back of Harry's neck.

Harry was about to protest over his shoulder that, really, he'd had no idea, but saw Severus lick his lips, and froze. Silky cool fingers wrapped around Harry and stroked.

Harry tried to remember to relax as Severus' subtle, delicate finger probed, circled, then smoothed gently along the crack of Harry's arse. An erotic torture. Promising...

"Oh god... mercy..." Harry whimpered.

Severus purred, "I thought you knew... I have no mercy..."

Harry never, ever dreamed he'd be glad of that.

~*~

Hours later, Harry snuggled in against Severus' side, feeling cosy and smug. They had not yet bothered to straighten out the blankets, but instead had stolen the ones from Snape's cot. It didn't look like he was going to need it.

"What happened to him? Torvald, I mean," Harry asked.

"This is bordering on an obsession," Severus muttered irritably. He settled Harry's weight a little closer and sighed. After a long moment he spoke.

"He died. Killed by an Auror." Severus stared up at the ceiling with an unreadable expression.

"Like your grandfather?"

"No - !" Snape snapped. "Grandfather didn't deserve it. He was no Death Eater."

There was a long silence. Harry was shocked. In the pictures Torvald looked too, well, friendly to be a Death Eater. And something else troubled him.

"But I thought Aurors brought people in to the Ministry for judgment. To be sentenced. Mostly anyway." He swallowed at the thought of that sentence. He didn't like to imagine the smiling Torvald in Azkaban.

Severus had a strange look in his eyes. He stroked Harry idly.

"Yes, well. You are an innocent - in some ways. Moral sensibilities change with the times, with fashion, Harry. To hear the Ministry speak of it now, you would think their Aurors coddled Death Eaters in swaddling clothes, and fed them candy till they confessed. I assure you, that was not the case.

"I wish you would stop asking about him. Go to sleep, Harry."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry woke in a larger bed than his own four-poster, tangled in the slippery black duvet. He was wearing nothing more than the sheets, which were a thin, decadent silk. He fumbled for his glasses. With a glance around the room, his memory of the night before came back into focus, as well as that of last few days.

"The shower is over there," Severus said tersely, without looking up.

He was already up, already dressed, sipping his morning tea. His dark robes cascaded over the chair in the kitchenette attached to his private quarters at Hogwarts. He went back to his tea. Beside him was a stack of scrolls. He picked up a curled black quill and made a note on one of them.

Harry watched him. He found it hard to reconcile this cold man with the intensity of the night before, but he saw nothing else to do but obey. Severus made no attempt to ease the awkwardness of their situation. Harry wished for a distraction. He wanted to hide, somewhere, or perhaps get very drunk. Almost as much as he wanted to watch in morbid fascination as Severus went through his morning routine, just like a normal person. It was something Harry had never imagined. There was one thing Harry didn't want to do, and that was parade around Snape's private apartments in the nude.

"Can I - do you... have a robe I can borrow?" Harry asked, embarrassed.

Severus grunted assent, and indicated his own robe, hung up by the dresser. It was black. Of course. Harry climbed out of bed and caught Severus watching him out of the corner of his eyes as he put it on. Harry hid a smile as he tied the robe. Well. Not so cold after all.

"There is some toast. And tea," Severus said in a bored, laconic voice. "I don't go to the main hall for breakfast. I don't like loud noise, especially not in the morning, so try to keep that in mind."

Harry had never noticed that Professor Snape skipped breakfast, but he couldn't recall a single morning he'd seem him there, come to think of it. Severus continued with what sounded like a well-prepared speech.

"Harry Potter. Do not dream to expect any special favours from me. No matter where you've slept, no matter what bed you've warmed, you are the same as any other student." Severus' chest heaved. "Last... evening... doesn't change a thing between us."

It was the dumbest thing Harry had ever heard him say. Even he had to know that was impossible. Harry decided to ignore the suggestion of a bath. Or anything else Severus would suggest. He was clearly barking mad.

Harry wandered over to the kitchenette, and picked up a cup. He noticed Severus' was empty so he picked it up as well.

"You take your tea black, I suppose?"

It was an easy guess. Severus glanced up at Harry with casual wariness, and nodded as Harry poured and set his cup on the table. Harry plunked down in the chair in front of him, stretching as he crossed his ankles.

"I like mine with sugar."

"I am sorry, but I do not keep any sugar about. I haven't a child's sweet tooth."

"I'm no child," Harry muttered.

Severus looked up from his papers. His eyes swept Harry's barely covered form. His own bathrobe was a little large in the shoulders, but otherwise fit him. They were of a height. The young man was all leg; the soft skin of a thin but well-formed chest peeked out from under the robe. His black hair was untidy, and Severus would have mockingly suggested a comb, if he didn't know it always looked like that.

"Yes. Thankfully. Seems I haven't fallen to utter depravity just yet."

"You...ah," Harry licked his lips nervously as he leaned forward a bit, "you... probably shouldn't be doing this with a student."

It was unwise, and probably not even safe to bring it up, but it had to be said. Harry braced himself. Severus sat back in his chair, and said with a haughty glance:

"A fount of wisdom you are this morning. All of the sudden. What were you doing last night then, Mr. Potter, my moral guide and conscience?"

Touché, Harry thought.

"I suppose you think you might reveal these fascinating facts about our Potions Master? My 'eccentricities' are known by many, if not all. But how will the Harry Potter fan club react, if they knew about you? Hm. Once again you are not thinking, Harry. Fortunately for you, I am." With that, Severus went back to his parchment.

That went well, Harry decided. No severed limbs or hexes. Harry wished Severus' quarters had eye-level windows, as he looked about the walls, bored. He rethought that, remembering what they had been up to last night. No, probably no windows was better.

"Grading papers?" he finally said to break the silence.

Severus graded another essay and didn't look up. "Yes. For some reason I didn't get much work done last night."

"How'd I do?" Harry asked.

Severus was amused. "Badly."

"I meant on the Potions test."

"I most certainly meant the test," Severus said wryly, with a glimmer of a smile.

"Oh. Oh well." Harry couldn't help but feel pleased at the backhanded compliment. "At least I've got 'Care of Magical Creatures' to make up for that."

"Yes. It is so unfortunate that one has to earn one's A's in my class."

Or be a Slytherin, Harry thought. But he suspected that even in this, what passed for an afterglow with Severus Snape, he didn't dare say it aloud. Then, as if Severus had heard his thought anyway, he put down the quill and ordered:

"Take that off."

Harry blinked.

"The robe. Take it off."

Severus' black hair swung as he stood and helped Harry pull the robe to the table. Harry awkwardly complied, too surprised to do otherwise. He was grateful the kitchen was warmer than the rest of Severus' quarters as he stood shivering in his skin. But Severus was eyeing him with a clinical glance.

"Hm... The bruises have healed mostly. The 'other' scars are nearly gone; unnoticeable. Good. Fresh bruises from last night, but that can't be helped... well, well, lucky you, Harry. You are now fit to return to class. No doubt you will have plenty of homework to catch up on from these last four days. Should keep you out of trouble."

Harry put the robe back on, feeling somewhat violated, like he'd just had a prostate exam in the Muggle world. Professor Snape scooped up his graded tests, and swung his cape on in an elegant swirl of black. At the door he paused, turning to the young man, in his kitchen, wearing his robe.

"That is a good colour on you, Harry. Very dramatic, a fit setting for the eyes, " said Severus, "but I like you better without it."

And with that, he strode out the door to teach his first class, saying casually over his shoulder.

"Do not be late for Potions."

Severus Snape could make Harry feel so very good, and so much like a squashed bug, all in the same moment. It was a little like being at the Dursleys' in a way. Only he hated the Dursleys. Harry didn't know what he felt for Severus.

All the same, Harry hunted around Severus' kitchen. Sure enough, he found the sugar bowl. It was full. He knew Severus had lied about that. He left the sugar bowl in the middle of the kitchen table, just to make his point. Harry then made himself another cup of tea, this one with sugar. He didn't care if he was late for his next class. Or Potions.

Especially not Potions.