This fic was translated from the original French by RaeWhit and submitted with the author's permission. "Everybody Wants To Be a Cat" par Lychee. Thanks to my betas Cyrianne (French text) and JackieJLH (English translation). Reviews may be left here on Eros and Sappho, or submitted to Lychee directly by accessing her website from her author profile page and clicking on the link "Me Joindre".

Translator's Note: There is a sequel to "Everybody Wants To Be a Cat", which is a continuation of Harry and Severus' relationship, but is entitled "The Fox and the Ferret". The reader can guess the main pairing of this fic. It is still a WIP, with two completed chapters. If and when it is completed, I will translate and post it.



Chapter Four




"You can fuck off, Potter."

Did Snape really want to see him gone as much as that?

Hmm, yeah. But what was the point of saying that to him? On the one hand, he was sleeping—or pretending to be. And if the man had realized it, he would have woken him. On the other hand, Harry had known the man’s opinion of him for a long time. No reason to tell him again.

Still, it was weird.

His professor had sworn. Harry had never before heard him swear.

Then, Ron had distractedly told him that the man had been positively green when he’d discovered Harry unconscious on the ground.

He looked up at the brunette who had just burst into the common room.

“Hi, Hermione!”

“Hello,” was the very cold reply.

She was still angry with him over the incident with the egg. The presence of a seventh-year Hufflepuff at the table scratching out his homework for him probably wasn’t helping matters, either.

“Let it drop,” Ron muttered, his nose in a book. “Give me a chocolate.”

“I just swallowed the last one,” Harry said pathetically.

“You ate all of it!” exclaimed their friend, who seemed to forget her anger for a fit of indignation. “The cask of the Danaides, you know it? Never mind,” she added at their clueless faces.

“They say that people who eat lots of chocolate suffer from a lack affection,” Ginny remarked from a little further away. “They need to find someone.”

A nasty gleam shone in the brunette’s eyes.

“But Harry goes out every night,” she hissed. “Things not turning out the way you’d like?”

“Er...” he mumbled.

But she had already left.

“In my opinion, she’s furious at not being in on the secret,” Ron said as he continued to read.

“Or she’s jealous. She’s the one who needs a boyfriend. I’m going to suggest the chocolate to her….”

“Seriously? You’re going to tell her that?"

“Yeah, I’ll tell her that the day Draco Malfoy calls you ‘my love’.”

There was a silence.

“Anyway, I have something I want to ask her.”

***

“Hermioneeeeee.”

“I. Am. Very. Busy.”

Harry put on his most beautiful smile.

“But I need some advice!”

“Ask your Hufflepuff!”

He added little stars in his eyes to the smile.

“It’s not about a class.”

“Ask your dear Ron.”

He moved on to tearful mode.

“Buuuut…you’re the only one who can help meeeeee….”

She hesitated. Yes! Harry added just a slight hint of a blush. Hermione gave him a little smile.

“A problem with your love life?”

Harry gladly nodded his head. His friend was so predictable. Laughing up his sleeve, he continued, “It'saboutsomeoneIdontknowmuchaboutwhathethinksandIwaswonderingif….”

“What he thinks?”

Shite. Double shite. Triple shite. Quadruple shite.

“Harry, you’re talking about a boy?”

Hermione’s eyes widened. Uhhhhh-oh. His little plan to solicit her opinion without her guessing what it was really about was falling to pieces.

“Yes...” he stammered, when he couldn't think of anything else to say.

*Well, really, no…but I can’t tell you that!*

His friend took a deep breath. “Wow. That’s a shock. All right.” A big smile spread over her face. “Who is it?”

*Snape. NO!* "Er, I'd preferwellIdon'twanttoit'scomplicated.

Hermione laughed. "It doesn't matter. How can I help you?"

Harry carefully chose his words. “Let's say—and I ask you not to think of anyone in particular—that someone hates you. Now, let's say that you’ve just risked your life. Stupidly. And then this person, after ranting and raving, stays five whole minutes, sitting beside you without saying a word, and then leaves, saying, 'You can fuck off, Potter', in a very tired voice, knowing that you’re supposed to be sleeping, but that you’re actually not. So?”

Hermione stared at him for a good twenty seconds, and then replied in a wise voice, “So, you’re leaving school in two months. Maybe it's time for you to make up your mind.”

***

Honestly, Hermione was darned intelligent. Really, that was why he’d gone to see her in the first place….”

He was ensconced on the Potions master’s lap, who was seated in his armchair going distractedly over a paper. Yes, Hermione was intelligent, and usually gave good advice. But this time….

You’re leaving school in two months. Maybe it's time for you to make up your mind.

Make up his mind…. Make up his mind about what? To admit that he would gladly fail his classes to be able to spend another year on his Potions professor's couch? Pointless; he’d admitted that a long time ago. To throw himself at the man? Hmm, let’s see…. To stop all of this?

No…that he couldn’t do.

He jumped when Snape sent his paper to the devil and took him in his arms.

“It’s nice being a cat, eh?” the man murmured. “No worries. No rubbish to correct; no old goat to obey; no staring, dumbfounded wastes of a brain with raging hormones to try to teach…. No major problems to face, aside from finding someone to feed you twice a day. You’re happy, aren’t you?”

Harry must have looked sufficiently to the contrary for the man to be skeptical.

“You don’t seem like you are. If it makes you feel any better, we’re both in the same boat,” he sighed.

Harry looked at him with curiosity. Snape hesitated.

“No, never mind. It’s stupid.”

*Okay, it if makes you feel any better, we really are in the same boat...* the adolescent thought bitterly as he gave him a consoling rub with his head.

“Let’s go. Bedtime.”

***

Harry was daydreaming over his plateful of scrambled eggs, thinking of happy things like suicide, death, the why and how of his life, his Potions professor’s bed.... Damn.

“So, ready?” Ron asked cheerfully as he sat down beside him.

Harry gave him an uncomprehending and barely interested look.

“Hey! You remember today’s the start of the mock exams, right? This morning: Transfigurations. Afternoon: Divination. Tomorrow morning: Herbology. Tomorrow….”

Fuuuuck.

With resignation, Harry sank back into his mesmerizing introspection.

***

Wonderful.

He had survived. Once again, Harry Potter had survived—the mock exams. Well, almost. It was Friday at three in the morning, and Harry was cramming for his last and worst day of these bloody exams that he’d forgotten about—one wonders why. In this case, History of Magic and…Potions.

Won-der-ful.

***

Blue—no, green—no, blue—unless it’s actually red.

What color was this blasted potion supposed to be?

He knew that Snape, even if he wasn’t saying a word, was watching every move that he made. Harry knew that if he looked up at the man, his chances of remembering which blasted color would be next to nothing.

Okay, blue.

He poured with one hand—almost—and then closed the final vial, and waited.

It took a long time. It took a very long time. Damn—wasitnormalthatittookso—

Blue.

Snape didn’t say anything. Shite. He’d been wrong. Anyway, he didn’t even remember which potion this was, but that was how things usually turned out, and now he would get told off, and then Snape would be a bastard, and then perhaps he’d throw himself into the man’s arms, who would then agree to scratch his head?

*DAD, MUUUUUUUM! HELP MEEEE!*

“Not bad, Potter,” his professor said with a distinct note of disappointment.

Harry blinked his eyes. No, he hadn’t slipped into another dimension. Snape had actually paid him a compliment.

“Do you intend to dawdle here much longer?” The cold voice pulled him out of his befuddlement.

“Er…no, no….” He emptied his cauldron into the sink, rinsed it with water, and then grabbed his things. “Thanks. Goodbye,” he stammered.

Snape didn’t reply.

***

*IT’S MEEEEE!* “MEOOOOOW!”

Harry bounded into the Potions Master’s rooms and jumped immediately onto his lap.

“Meooooowpuuurrr….” *You missed me, didn’t you?*

He let out a growl of surprise when the man stood up abruptly from the couch, seizing him by the skin of his neck. He was about to give the man a half-indignant, half-playful swipe of his paw when he froze at the look on the ex-Death Eater’s face, who had lifted him up to eye level. A made-in-Snape look, a look that made you instantly understand that you’d be better off on the far side of the planet. But alas…

“Game over.”

…you are not there, but here.

*I’m screwed.*

“A cat without a master,” the man began. “A cat intelligent enough to understand what one says to him, and even what one does not. A cat that one doesn’t come across during the day. And a cat that is missing during the entire duration of the mock exams, only to spring up like a flower just four hours after the last session.” He wore a slightly bitter smile. “I was stupid, but in the end you were worse off than me. Some little worries over revisions, perhaps?”

If Harry had been able, he would have shot himself in the head without hesitation.

Before he could move a muscle, Snape had set him on the floor, taken out his wand, and pronounced the counter-spell. Harry then found himself sitting on the rug at the man’s feet.

Naked, of course.

Harry had never, ever been able to surprise Snape. He now made up for this fact beyond anything he could have ever imagined.

They remained the way they were, looking each other straight in the eyes for a good thirty seconds. Harry was terrified, and Snape was obviously having difficulty…breathing, thinking, swallowing…with everything. The man finally took a big breath.

"Potter, I—you—give me one good reason not to cast a Cruciatus on the spot."

"If you do that, I'll scream. They'll find me completely naked in your rooms, and you'll be in trouble," he mumbled.

It was the first thing that had come into his head. Snape stared at him coldly, then grabbed his wand.

"All right. The Killing Curse, then."

"And my body?" he tried feebly.

The man remained impassive, but Harry thought he saw an almost imperceptible sparkle in his eyes. An optical illusion, most likely.

"Don't trouble yourself over that, Potter," was the reply. "I have cauldrons large enough to cook you whole."

"I'm happy for you," he replied miserably.

Then he shut his eyes, his head drawn into his shoulders, waiting for the curse, vaguely regretting not having said goodbye to Ron and Hermione, not having thanked Dumbledore for all he'd done for him, not having punched Draco Malfoy in the nose one last time, not—

"Up."

He opened an eye, and saw that Snape was a standing a little further away and watching him coldly. Harry was going to promptly obey, but….

"Um…." He glanced at the man shyly. "You wouldn't have...er…something that…."

Snape tossed him a soft throw draped on one of the armchairs. Harry awkwardly wrapped himself in it.

"Thanks," he murmured.

A rather uncomfortable silence ensued. Harry stared at his feet, thinking distractedly that the rug was as comfortable under his cat paws as it was under the bare soles of his feet, and that he could even roll on it in his human form like he already had in his cat form, and that…. He blushed as red as a beet. Snape must have noticed this, for he finally spoke in a dry voice.

"So, Potter, are you going to tell me the reason why you've insinuated yourself into my private life for almost a month, in your Animagus form that, it must be noted in passing, is not registered with the Ministry, which already presents a more than valid reason for sending you to Azkaban?"

This was starting wonderfully, Harry lamented to himself.

"I'm obligated to answer?"

"Yes, I think so," was the dry response.

"Why? You can't take points—they'd ask you for the reason, and I think you'd be in a lot of trouble," he risked.

The man approached him, his manner menacing.

"Perhaps, Potter. But I assure you that I can easily arrange for you not to receive the good grade in Potions that you need for your entrance into the Auror Academy."

"That's blackmail," he protested.

"Excuse me, but I am the one who has just discovered that my cat is, in reality, an Animagus—and what's more, one of my students. So, what was it? A new prank of the valiant Gryffindors?"

"No!"

Snape raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"I…well, I…." Harry really didn't know what he could tell the man. "It was nice. Coming here. In the evenings," he simply stammered.

*Yikes. Yiiikes. Yiiiiiiiiikes.*


"Very flattered," Snape said, in a tone that expressed the exact opposite. "Mister Harry Potter, then, finds it 'nice' to transform into a cat and spend his evenings with his Potions professor? Which the professor, naturally, knows nothing about…."

Harry swallowed.

"Are you fucking with me, Potter?" Snape screamed, furious this time. "Answer me!"

"N—no, sir. I'm sorry, sir. But if I'd told you, you wouldn't have let…."

"Assuredly," was the sarcastic reply. "Get out of here now, Potter."

"But I—"

"Really, Potter. Leave," was the icy reply. Implied: before I kill you once and for all.

Harry hung his head and started for the door. "I'm sorry," he repeated again, once at the threshold. "I didn't want…."

"Get. Out." Snape's voice was actually shaking with rage. With rage?

The door closed behind him. Harry stood there, immobile for a moment, staring at the wall in front of him, and then turned around and knocked.

"WHAT NOW?"

Harry timidly pushed the handle and stuck his head through the opening. "Well, while we're on the subject… I mean, since you're already screaming at me…I wanted to thank you for having saved my life innumerable times," he declared softly.

Snape was ashen, his eyes flashing as he walked towards him. "That's it, Potter? Are you finished?" he articulated as he struggled to remain calm.

"I really meant it, you kn—"

Schlack.

A hand firmly pushed him out and the door slammed in his face. He stood for a moment, again without moving, and then knocked once more.

A string of swear words poured out as he quickly opened the door and slipped inside. Snape, a glass in his hand, looked at him like he was really going to vaporize him.

"I wanted to tell you that you have exquisite hands."

The man was dumbfounded, so Harry took advantage of the opportunity.

"And that you're positively attractive when you're sleeping."

"Potter…."

"And since I'm confessing it all," Harry continued as he tried not to think too much—if he had even thought a little, then he would've taken off at a run, "well, I took advantage of you sleeping to spend several nights—six exactly—in your arms, in my human form. Oh, and then I leafed through your photo album. I—I 'm truly sorry about your friend. Malfoy's a bastard; the father as well as the son. I adored getting tickled in your arms. Then Dumbledore recognized me that time when he came. And you really have a sexy voice. And I apologize for trashing your laboratory that first night. And then…. I wanted to ask you why you told me to fuck off in the infirmary, because you seemed really sad, but I guess you're not going to answer me. Well, I'm going now. I'll just give you back your blanket…."

He let the blanket fall simply to the floor. If Snape had looked shocked just minutes before, it was nothing compared to how he looked like now. Harry sighed and turned away, wondering idly exactly how many tenths of a second he had left to live.

"Potter…."

The man sounded like he was choking. Harry sent a quick prayer to Saint Guidinou—patron saint of wizarding students, and especially of their problems of the heart. Every adolescent at Hogwarts had learned to call upon him, more or less rapidly according to their needs. In short, he sent him a quick prayer, crossed his fingers, and then turned back.

And collided head on with Snape, who was moving towards him.

It was perhaps not intentional, but it had the end result of being effective.

Without even thinking, Harry stretched out his neck and kissed the man. What followed might have taken place in a dream, but it was simply too unbelievably—no words to describe this—unbelievably 'to scream for' to be in a dream. In one move, Snape's hands slid down to his buttocks, and—

"Ohsiirmmpphh!"

Snape's tongue, Snape's hands, Snape's body—Harry fainted.

***

He awakened in a large, familiar bed and glanced around, a little lost. What...?

Oh.

He buried himself under the blankets, his heart pounding wildly. Snape. Snape had kissed him.

And he had fainted.

Poor idiot.

"Awake, Potter?" The cold voice made him startle.


He poked his head out from under the blankets and saw the man in question, ever impassive, as he entered the room.

"Er…yes. How...how long was I out?"

"About ten minutes."

Harry digested this. Okay. Snape had carried him to his bed, not to the infirmary. It would seem that the man had some explaining to do. All right. Now what?

"I'm sorry," he murmured contritely.

"Sorry for what?"

"For fainting."

He looked for a moment into those two black, bottomless pools, and then understood.

"Ahh. Oh, that. No, I'm not sorry," he mumbled as he looked away, very aware that the man must have had time to recover his sang-froid, and so….

*I'm fucked. I'm fucked. I'm fucked. I'm fucked. La la la la laaaaa.*

But no Avada Kedavra came to strike him.

"How long since you've had something to eat?"

Harry thought about this. With the last revisions, whenever he had a moment…. "Last evening?"

"And slept?"

Whoa. "The day before the day before yesterday morning?" he risked timidly.

His professor didn't comment at all. He glanced at his watch, and then stood and headed for the door. "I'll wake you tomorrow morning, around six."

This information had barely registered in the adolescent's brain when he fell fast asleep.

***

Mmmm.

Really, the sheets on this bed were so comfortable.

Harry rolled over on his side, seeking the warm, soft, comfortable body beside which he usually spent his nights. He shouldn't linger very much longer. He would have to retransform soon. But where was that arsehole?

"Severus," he mumbled, groping in the sheets, his eyes still closed.

Then the memories of the night before flashed through his mind in a micro-second, and he sat up abruptly, completely awake. He saw that Snape was indeed there—if not in the bed, at least settled into a chair—studying him with an expression that made him suddenly swallow his saliva (whether from fear or in arousal, he wasn't sure).

"Good—good morning," he stammered, before realizing that he was still naked.

"Good morning," Snape finally said without seeming to pay attention to his embarrassment. "It's a little after six, and I suggest that you return to your dormitory."

It was his usual voice: cold, bored, and horribly sensual.

"Potter?"

Harry blinked his eyes. "What? Oh, yes, I'm sorry. I'm going. Thanks." He grabbed his glasses from the bedside table, and then turned to the man.

"Thanks…for last night."

If Snape understood, he didn't show it, content with waving his hand as if chasing away a fly. "Yes, yes. Go on now."

Harry sighed and transformed into the cat. Snape had the decency to appear impressed.

He jumped from the bed and headed for the door, but changing his mind as he passed by the chair where his host was sitting, he jumped to his lap, stood on his hind paws, and nibbled at his ear. He felt his professor hesitate, lift his hands as if to push him away, but then bury the long, delicate fingers into his fur, pulling from him little sensuous shivers. Purring properly, he re-transformed and sat on his professor's thighs, his naked torso against the man's chest, trembling under the hands that slid along his hips.

He murmured into Severus Snape's ear, "Do you really want me to go?"

A half-sigh, half-grunt was his only reply, so he smiled before he kissed the man; he was no longer sleepy at all, and this time it was so much better.

***

Several days later….

"Harry? Harry?"

The brunet turned to Hermione with a charming smile.

"You're impossible right now! What's the matter with you?" she asked with exasperation.

He didn't answer, happily chewing his mouthful of steak. He was very hungry. As it turned out, he had ended up with an average of ten—point—five on his mock exams—not very good—and he didn't give a fig about it. There were more important things in his life now. For example….

"Do you know where Ron is right now?" his friend went on. "I don't see him."

He shrugged. Ron was old enough to take care of himself.

Some cries coming from the direction of the Slytherins made him look up. A crowd had gathered at one end of their table.

"Oh, he's too cute!" squealed a voice that his ears regretfully registered as Parkinson's.

"Where did you find him, Draco?"

In between two uniforms, Harry caught a glimpse of Malfoy, who was holding something in his arms.

"At the entrance to the Forbidden Forest," the blond replied with a truly happy smile.

"Are you going to keep him?"

"Yes, I think so. He doesn't seem wild…."

Wonderful euphemism. The little fox that nestled in his arms really didn't seem wild. To be precise, he seemed to adore the slender hands that were stroking his head, and seemed to be positively in bliss.

"No," Harry breathed.

The little beast opened a lazy eye, noticed him, and then gave him a stunning wink. Then Malfoy carried him out of the Hall.


FIN.
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