It was a highly circumspect Harry who left the classroom.
So the Animagus form, then, did not have an influence on the human being. Which meant….
He felt his hair stand on end, as he frantically searched for a logical explanation other than...that he had, quite simply, liked Snape's caresses.
*Euuuh…going to be sick….*
"Harry? What's wrong? You're so pale!"
The Boy Who Lived cast a mournful glance at his friends waiting for him in the corridor.
"What's wrong?" Hermione repeated.
"Errr…."
"What is it?" demanded Ron, curious.
"I…well, you see…I've…. Do you think that sometimes, unconsciously, you could willingly do things that would completely disgust you if you realized you were doing them?" he asked them, out of the blue. "And then completely regret them afterwards? Really, really regret them?"
His two friends gave him a cautious look.
"You French-kissed Malfoy?" Ron ventured.
Hermione nudged him with an elbow as she laughed, while Harry thought to himself with dismay that his friend was not too far off the track.
"No, never mind," he finished firmly as he followed them to the common room.
***
Harry rolled over in bed. It was impossible to sleep. To think that yesterday at this exact time he was…. He shook his head. No matter. Sleep.
***
No use…. He wondered if Snape thought about the cat and what had become of him. Although, there was no reason for Snape to be interested in a cat. Except perhaps if this particular one had demolished his lab. Or maybe if he had liked it too, when….
Argh.
He had just admitted that he'd liked it.
There are things in life that are painful. To admit that you've liked letting yourself be caressed by Snape would certainly be one of them.
*But it's not pooooossible!*
He mentally gave himself two or three slaps, then undertook to reconsider the problem—with a relatively cool head.
*1. Snape petted you while you were in the form of a cat. (Important to clarify.)
2. You liked it, just as any cat would. (ditto)
3. Problem. You are not a cat.
The big question, then, is: WHY? And there's the additional question of whether Snape is really a living being?*
No use. He was going in circles.
Harry, being a Gryffindor, and the primary characteristic of Gryffindors being that of preferring action to reflection ad infinitum, he decided to do neither one nor the other. Transforming himself, he threaded his way towards the dungeons.
The door was still open, like the man was waiting for him.
*Hold on here. You'd think I'm talking about a lover's rendezvous now…. I really have to take better care of myself. Must have something to do with my scar. Who knows? Maybe Voldemort cast a curse on me that would make me like…. Noooo. That's it, concentration, concentration….*
Snape was once again at his desk, but this time leafing through a journal, the title of which, "Filters and Potions", made the hair on the back of the Boy Who Lived bristle. The man hardly seemed passionate about it either, and flipped distractedly through the articles with the same bored demeanor as when he passed in front of Harry's cauldron during Potions class. He didn't seem to hold the journal's authors in very high esteem.
"Meow."
The man looked up at him, and his lips curved slightly. "There you are. I was wondering what had become of you."
Harry had his answer: so the man had thought about the cat.
*He thought about me, he thought about me, he thought about me, he…. What the hell do I care if he thought about me? So what? I don't give a shite! I don't give a damn! I….*
"Come here, you."
"Meoooow."
Harry found himself on the man's lap, letting himself be tickled. And loving it.
*Heeeeelp...* he had time to think one last time before starting to purr in ecstasy.
An hour later when he left Snape's chambers, staggering from rapture, he only had strength enough to drag himself to his bed, let himself fall onto it as he transformed, and then fell asleep with a blissful smile on his face.
***
"Harry? Harry!"
"Yeah?"
"You're going to choke it."
"Er…what?"
"Your Morvduduc. If you keep stuffing it with turnips, you're going to choke it."
Harry looked down at Hagrid's latest discovery, which it would be best not to describe in too much detail, and abruptly ceased his affectionate stuffing when he saw the turnip purée coming out of its ears.
"What's gotten into you?" Ron asked with a cautious look. "You've got a sudden passion for Morvduducs?"
Harry put the beast rather hastily on the ground—SPROTCH—then ran a nervous and, as it turned out, drool-covered hand through his hair.
What had gotten into him, quite simply, was that he was impatiently waiting for the next night. And that, very understandably, terrified him. As much as he could be terrified by the memory of Voldemort or Dementors, they represented something almost normal alongside what was happening to him now.
There it was. Seventeen-years-old, after having managed to avoid tobacco, alcohol, and drugs, he was now addicted to Snape's hands.
"I'VE HAD IT! MEEWHYYYYMEEEE?"
Everyone turned towards the Boy Who Lived who was sobbing in the arms of his best friend. Ron gagged him by stuffing a Morvduduc in his mouth, and then dragged him a little distance away. He let him carefully spit out the revolting, purple gelatin, then grabbed him by the shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes.
"Go on. Now, tell me."
***
Harry quickly churned out his sad 'little story', pulling his head into his shoulders in anticipation of the screams that Ron was sure to unleash. But his friend, after gracing him with a completely incredulous look, contented himself with just staring at him thoughtfully.
Harry timidly questioned him. "Ron?"
"It's okay," his friend reassured him. "I'm not shocked…. Well, yeah, but it's still okay…. A little surprised, mind you, but…." He looked at him again, strangely calm. "So? What are you going to do?"
Harry looked at him despairingly. "I don't know! You think it's time for the men in the little white coats?"
Ron looked skeptical
"But what am I going to doooo?" Harry lamented.
"First, we have to know if it's only with Snape," Ron said wisely. And when Harry looked at him as if he didn't understand, he said, "Transform yourself."
Harry glanced around them, and then obediently took his Animagus form.
"Cool!" his friend enthused while extricating him from his pile of clothes. "You think I could manage to learn it too? Er…yeah, okay, we'll talk about that later," he told the imploring face of the cat. "Don't move."
He went to work, scratching the cat's ears a little hesitantly. After a minute of bothersome tickling, Harry re-transformed and shook his head.
"No, it's not the same. When it's Snape, it's soooo much better—he has the gift of knowing exactly where…." His ecstatic smile faded, and he looked morosely at the redhead.
"Start by getting redressed," Ron advised him impassively as he held out his clothes. "You're completely starkers."
"Oh yeah, you're right…. I haven't completely mastered that yet…."
He slipped behind a tree. "We could ask Hermione," he suggested finally. "She'd be sure to have an idea."
"The first thing she'd probably do would be to tell Dumbledore that you're an Animagus," Ron replied. "Me, I think you should just wait for it to go away. There's bound to come a point when it won't happen any more."
"You think so?"
Ron gave him a reassuring smile. "You're not going to spend the rest of your life getting tickled by Snape, are you?"
Harry made a face and nodded. "Yeah, it'll pass. Thanks, Ron."
"Don't mention it."
They went back to the rest of the class, who were collecting the last of the Morvduducs scattered over the lawn. Harry left to apologize to Hagrid, while a curious Hermione approached Ron.
"What happened?" she demanded.
The last of the Weasley boys gave her a hilarious smile. "Nothing. Anyway, you wouldn't believe me."
***
So the following night, Harry went in search of his Potions professor—in his cat form, of course.
No time was wasted, and five minutes after his arrival he and Snape were lolling on the couch, trading tickles and scratches. Harry felt all his concerns slip away. It was too perfect. Period.
"Don't put your claws in my shirt," the man scolded.
Harry answered by voluptuously pushing his head against the man's cheek, and then let out a genuine howl of happiness when Snape petted his stomach. The latter burst into laughter.
A little later, rolled in a ball on the stomach of the man sleeping on the couch, Harry noted that he loved not only the ex-Death Eater's hands, but also his warm aroma. And while on the subject, he found the man much better without his kilos of black robes, clothed simply in his shirt and trousers.
He yawned, stretched out, and fell asleep.
***
Snape was returning their papers.
"You got in really late last night," Ron whispered.
"I fell asleep," Harry mumbled.
The redhead concealed a smile.
"Potter."
Schlack.
Harry grabbed his paper—of which he already knew the outcome—then glanced at his professor walking through the rows of grief-stricken students to return to his desk. Hmm. The thought came to him that he was undoubtedly the only one to have seen the man laugh. As if the others would even be able to imagine that Snape knew how to laugh.... He felt strangely pleased at this thought.
"Your paper is covered with ink." Ron looked surprised. "He gave that back to you? Not surprising that he gave you a…."
"It wasn't me," Harry said as he smiled. Well, actually yes, but….
He raised his hand.
"Mister Potter?" Snape asked dryly.
"Sir, my paper is covered with ink. I can't even…."
"You will find the meaning of the word 'accident' in the dictionary, Mister Potter," the man replied with exasperation. "Now, today's potion…."
"Well, I certainly will, but that still won't help me to read what you've written, so…."
"That's enough, Potter. You may leave." Snape impassively indicated the door.
"Okay." Harry calmly gathered his things, got up and passed through the silent class, opened the door, then turned back. "Good day, Professor."
Then he promptly left. Snape hadn't even looked up.
The class recommenced.
"That went rather well today," said Hermione philosophically.
***
"No. I must work, too. Leave me in peace for a while."
Harry turned away ungraciously and left to hole himself up under the bookcase.
"It's not worth sulking over," Snape added as he sat at his desk.
A royal silence was his only answer.
At the end of a quarter-hour, Harry had squashed twenty-some spiders and was starting to be bored stiff. He was seriously considering the idea of leaving Snape high and dry for the evening, but in addition to the door being shut and it being out of the question that he'd stoop to ask the man to open it for him, he had a visceral desire for the man to pick him up in his arms. He let out a huge, inward sigh.
*I hope you're right, Ron, and that this will go away….*
Knock knock knock!
Harry stuck out the end of his nose and saw the Potions Master look up in surprise.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!
"Enter."
The man who burst into the room was easily the last that Harry would have ever thought to see again, and even more unlikely, at Hogwarts. Lucius Malfoy settled himself unpretentiously into the best armchair of the master of the premises, who calmly put down his quill.
"Lucius."
"Good," the other said coldly. "I see that at least you remember me."
"How could I forget you?" Snape said softly. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm here to make a proposition."
Intrigued, Harry came out from under his bookcase.
"A proposition," Snape repeated slowly. "And what would this proposition be?"
The Malfoy heir leaned forward, his eyes shining. "You know very well, Severus. Voldemort left behind a perfectly designed organization, which is just waiting to be utilized. This would be surprisingly easy! He sought too much to seize power, when he could have contented himself with becoming as rich as Croesus and Midas combined!"
The professor gave an ironic smile. "And the fact that I spied on all of you for years doesn't alarm you?"
Malfoy shrugged his shoulders. "It wasn't against us that you bore a grudge, Severus. Him. Against him alone. I know it very well," he said with a malicious smile. "I even know why." And when the ex-Death Eater paled, "You miss him, eh? It's true that you were good together…. But he's dead, Severus. He killed him, and you'll never see him again…."
Harry decided that he truly didn't like Lucius Malfoy, and that all of this had gone on for too long. In one leap, he was on his lap and unceremoniously sank his sharp, pointed teeth into his wrist.
The man let out a scream and slapped him soundly. Dizzy, Harry dropped to the floor, and then saw the man's cane raised in menace. But Snape had quickly gotten up and arrived, seizing it in mid-air.
"That's enough. You're going to make stains on my rug." He bent down and picked up a trembling Harry before turning to his guest.
"You have a cat now?" Lucius asked sarcastically as he massaged his wrist. "What a picture of domesticity…."
Harry spit in his direction, his fur standing on end.
"I very much appreciate his intelligence," Snape replied, looking pointedly at the bite. "To return to your proposition, Lucius, it's 'no'. And if I feel that you're going too far, don't even hope that I'll turn a blind eye."
Malfoy Senior gave him a furious look. "A threat?"
"Oh no. I would never dare. Well, I imagine that you have other things to do besides chatting with me?" added the master of the rooms courteously as he opened the door.
The visitor left with a last murmur of warning. Snape closed the door behind him and then fell into an armchair with a sigh. He looked down at Harry, still in his arms, who was watching him curiously.
"Bravo. You've earned a half-hour."
The cat very nicely licked his chin. The man, without paying him too much attention, absentmindedly unbuttoned and rolled his sleeve to his elbow. The Dark Mark of a Death Eater, a pale pink scar, was spread out on his forearm. Snape rubbed it gently with his fingertips, as if reassuring himself of its reality.
Harry placed a paw on the man's arm and bent over in fascination. He had only seen it once, and that from afar. But he easily recognized the skull and the almost life-like snake that writhed out of its mouth. He looked then at the man he hated most in the world, and he twitched at the sight of the man's sadness and fatigue. Snape seemed less hard, less inflexible, less unapproachable. A little younger. When his whiskers brushed the pale skin, the ex-Death Eater started, his face impassive as he looked at the cat again.
"Well, to bed."
Harry meowed in protest; what about his dose of tickles?
"Not tonight. It's too late."
"Meoooooow…."
"Sorry." He set him back down on the floor, then scratched his chin. "Unless you want to stay here tonight?"
Harry leapt in the air with enthusiasm.
***
*Mmm. He felt good…in the warmth.
***
He no longer knew where he was, but he felt good. He stretched. Oh. He was in a bed. With comfortable sheets…. And there were arms. Large, welcoming… It felt good. He felt really, really good.
***
The Other moved. He heard a sleepy sigh.
The Other.
What Other? He frowned. Where am I?
Harry opened his eyes and almost let loose a scream as he found himself nose to nose with a very familiar face. His heart beating wildly, he remembered what he was doing in Snape's bed, and hastened to verify that he hadn't accidentally re-transformed. No. Whew.
He glanced over the shoulder of the still-sleeping man and noticed that it was 6:15 AM according to the alarm clock. Shiiiite. He'd need to get going very, very, very quickly if he wanted to make it back to his dormitory.
He slid furtively from the bed and made his getaway, running like a maniac. Hopefully he wouldn't meet anyone…. Luckily the corridors were deserted. He slipped into the common room, re-took his human form, pulled on his clothes stashed in the corner, then discreetly climbed the stairs up to his room. Unfortunately, Dean, the early-riser of the group, was already up, pulling on his shirt.
"Hallo!" he whispered softly. "Where were you?" he added, the living incarnation of Indiscreet Curiosity.
Harry opened his mouth, searching frantically for a plausible story to blurt out, then settled for a conspirator's wink.
Caught in the act.
"A girl?" Dean asked, no longer in a whisper. "Hey guys, Harry's got a girlfriend! Guys, wake up!"
In twenty seconds, the entire room was up and bombarding the poor Boy Who Lived with questions. Harry was about to throw himself from the window to escape when Ron saved his life once more, pushing the others aside manu militari, and then led him from the room.
"Super discreet," he grumbled. "Everybody's going to wonder who you spent the night with. Well, anyway, that's what they're guessing," he added with a slightly ironic smile.
"I did not spend the night with…!" Harry choked out.
"In the literal sense, yes," Ron corrected. "As for the rest, I don't know the details."
Harry was about to retort a sharp reply when he realized that his friend was making fun of him. He aimed a nudge of his elbow that Ron ducked as he laughed.
"I'm hungry," the Boy Who Lived muttered.
"Let's get dressed and go eat. And after, you're explaining to me how to become an Animagus."
***
Harry followed Ron and Hermione absentmindedly towards their next class, thinking of the night before.
What was this story about someone killed by Voldemort that had pushed Snape into switching sides? Malfoy Senior had spoken of a "he". So, a man. A man that Snape would have loved? "You were good together…." A man who would've loved Snape? Snape preferred men? Oh, the tidbits he was learning….
In any case, if that's what it was, and given the ex-Death Eater's mood after Malfoy had left, he understood better why the man had hated Voldemort. And why he seemed so hard.
Even if he was adorable when he was sleeping....
*What are you thinking? You really need a detox cure, my little 'Arry….*
A spitefully mocking voice pulled him from his thoughts.
"So, Potter, it seems you've found yourself a little girlfriend? A Mudblood who really wants you?"
First Malfoy Senior, now Malfoy Junior. Harry sighed inwardly. "At least I have offers," he replied. "Now, let me pass."
Draco shot a furious glance at the few impudent souls who had dared to snigger, and then turned back to the Gryffindor. "You're not telling us who it is, Potty? Me, I thought you'd brag about it all over the school. Unless you're ashamed of it?"
Curious students were gathering around them.
"My private life is no business of a moron like you," Harry told him off. "Let me pass."
The blond acted as if he hadn't heard him. "Ohhh. But now I understand. Actually, it's just a story to cover up your…virginity?"
The Slytherins howled with laughter while the Gryffindors gathered round, clenching their fists.
"You see, Malfoy," Harry quietly replied. "My sex life—it's like my parents. I'd rather not have them at all than be ashamed of them."
In the silence that followed, Draco's scream could be heard in the tallest tower of the school. "I forbid you to insult my father! You hear me, I forbid you!"
The blond had thrown himself on Harry and punched him in the nose with his fist. Frightened, the students moved away from the two adolescents, who were now viciously pummeling one another. No one dared to intervene, until the feared and well-known voice coldly rang out.
"What's going on here?"
Snape pushed through the students and seized the two troublemakers by their collars. "Gentlemen, the cause of this disturbance?"
"Nothing!" the two enemies cried out in chorus before throwing each other an icy stare.
"I see." Snape turned to the spectators. "Would someone care to enlighten me?"
"I'll flatten the first one who opens his mouth!" Malfoy cried, without taking into account the look on Snape's face.
When the students hesitated and looked at each other questioningly, Ron's voice cheerfully intervened. "The same goes for the Gryffindors."
Astonished, everyone turned towards Ron, completely ignoring Snape, whose lips were now just a very thin, white line. The silence was heavy.
"Actually," stuttered Crabbe suddenly, "Potter fell on the floor, and Draco was helping him get up."
"Are you joking?" Draco snorted haughtily. "Me? Help Potter? I'm the one that fell."
"But they lost their footing and Harry fell on Malfoy," Hermione quickly added.
There was a long silence. Then Snape, whose eyes had gone as cold as ice, murmured just two words. "General detention."
***
The Gryffindors were sitting at a table on the left side of the room, pretending to work while they shot dark looks at the Slytherins, who were sitting at a table on the right side of the room, pretending to work while they shot dark looks at the Gryffindors.
"What got into you, to help Malfoy?" Harry whispered to his friend sitting opposite him.
Ron raised an eyebrow from his seventeen-page parchment that Snape had assigned them. "Well, Malfoy wasn't very enthusiastic about the whole school knowing you'd insulted his father—not outright, certainly, but still an insult. On the other hand, it seemed highly unlikely that you'd want the whole school knowing that you were out all night. So I thought to myself that it was a good idea."
He went back to his homework.
"But it's all going to come out anyway!"
"True, but at least you won't have to describe the whole thing to Snape. I don't think that either one of them would've appreciated that. You have to know when to compromise with the enemy, you know," Ron said distractedly without looking up.
Harry blinked his eyes, then turned to Hermione, who had followed the conversation with alarm.
He bent to murmur in her ear, "I'm a little worried about Ron right now."
The brunette nodded.
The room emptied little by little, the students handing in their homework at the last desk as they left, where Filch watched them with about as much sympathy as a bulldog lying in wait for the postman. With a sigh, the three friends, the last to leave—Harry and Ron, because they had nothing to write, and Hermione for just the opposite reason—finally left the room, their stomachs growling with hunger. They came face to face with Draco Malfoy, who seemed to be waiting in the corridor.
Before they could even put up their guard, the blond came up to them, and….
"Thanks," he told them, unfriendly, before stepping around them. He stopped, however, three paces away to turn back and face them.
"That doesn't apply to you, Potter. Just those two. Especially Weasley…."
He left without turning back, leaving them dumbfounded.
"Draco Malfoy thanked us?" Hermoine asked, getting the words out with difficulty.
Harry was flabbergasted. A smile played on Ron's lips.
"Okay. I'm going to get something to eat," the Boy Who Lived finally muttered. "Who wants to come to the kitchens with me?"
Hermione shook her head. "I'm going back to the common room. I still have some homework to do," she declared.
"I'm coming with you—I have some things to do, too," Ron added before turning to Harry. "Try not to get caught!"
Harry left them, all alone on his nutritional expedition. At 11:30 PM—bloody Malfoy and bloody Snape—Ron's advice was more than warranted. Especially if he really wasn't going back to his rooms.
And of course, since bad things never seem to happen just one at a time, he had only gone ten meters when he almost collided with his Potions professor.
"I'm sorry," he quickly stammered.
The man only gave him a distracted look, then a vague, "On your way, Potter". He continued on, casting preoccupied glances around him, as if he were looking for something. As if he….
Harry had to struggle to hold back a silly smile. "Hey, a cat!" he remarked out loud.
Snape pivoted quickly on his heels. "Where?" he brusquely asked.
"I saw him run off, over there," Harry replied with a polite but curious look. "A black cat…. You know it?"
"No," the man dryly answered as he strode in the direction that Harry had just pointed out.
Harry waited until the sound of his footsteps had disappeared, then burst into laughter.
Then he realized that the desire to follow the man was so much stronger than the desperate plea of his stomach. He swore under his breath.