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The Unexpected Side Effect of Draught No. 9	By : lovetoseverus Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 25605 -:- Recommendations : 5 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 17
- 18
- 19
Chapter 18: Writings On The Wall

As he lie in the grass, the wet earth below him cooling his skin, a pair of warm hands smoothed up his legs. A grin stole across his face but he did not look down. The rain had just started, and he closed his eyes against the drops that twirled from the sky, pattering his bare face and chest and arms.

The questing fingers slowed, but did not stop, causing his body to tense and release in tune to their touch. His heartbeat stirred and he inhaled softly, knowing all too well what was coming next. This delicious torture was part of their routine, after all.

Lips and tongue followed the fingers now, tracing the ridges and hollows of his groin, mapping every inch of the sun-drenched skin. As the rain pooled, it was tasted and licked from the surface of his flesh, setting his senses afire. He shivered, opening his eyes to blink around the downpour.

Stealing a downwards glance, he saw a head dip lower, dark hair curtaining the face even as it fanned out against his abdomen. A hand and mouth were around him instantly, simultaneously, and he bucked up into the wet heat. He felt engulfed, surrounded; held on the very edge of ecstasy until he thought he could endure no more, and then, only then, was pushed headlong into white, searing lights, crying out in a moan of pleasure.

Harry awoke with a start, panting, his eyes snapping open. Casting his gaze about the room, he recognized it as his own; the bed he was lying on, empty; the scene he had just left, a dream. Frustrated and aroused, his skin still tingling with the touch of his phantom lover, he slid his hand down his abdomen and under the waistband of his pajama bottoms. His cock was hard and heavy, aching for release, and as he pressed his warm palm against the shaft, he sighed, nearly trembling with anticipation.

Closing his eyes, he wet his lips with his tongue, trying to redraw the scene in his mind, willing it to never end. It had been a man again – the same one from the dreamscape, in fact. Harry squirmed against his hand, wanting to go slow, to savor it, but he felt only an urgency that would not be subdued by any amount of bargaining. Remembering the feel of another body pressed to his, the other man’s passion evident, insistent, the intensity of Harry’s own arousal spiked. He began to stroke himself firmly, roughly, and came in matter of moments, groaning loudly into his pillow.

He had barely regained his breathing, his body pleasantly languid and flush, when his Floo went off. Startled, he bolted upright in bed, panting for another reason altogether. There, in the fireplace across from his bed, was the face of Severus Snape – who, for a fleeting moment, stared at him with a look Harry didn’t care to decipher before it slipped back to its neutral mask.

“I’ve disturbed you – I apologize. Perhaps I should call back.”

Harry scrubbed a hand over his face and willed himself not to blush at the picture he must make. “No, it’s all right, I’m awake.” He surreptitiously gathered the blankets around him, making sure his groin was covered and no evidence of his morning activities was visible on his chest. With a quick glance, he confirmed all was clear.

“I wondered if I might take a few moments of your time this afternoon, once my classes conclude. I know it is not our regular day, but I do not wish to wait with this.”

Curious, but too disoriented to press further, Harry simply nodded. “Yeah, of course. Should I just come through to your quarters?”

“That would be preferable. Four o’clock?”

“I’ll be there.”

With a nod, Severus closed the Floo call, and Harry flopped back onto his bed with a loud sigh. Glancing over at his clock, he saw it was twenty to nine.

Just then, the Floo went off a second time.

“Yes?” he answered mechanically.

“Harry?” It was Hermione’s voice. “Are you there?”

He sat up in bed again and caught Hermione’s gaze. She smiled.

“Did I wake you?”

“No, Severus did that.” Strictly speaking, this was not the truth, but he wasn’t about to share what had really happened with Hermione. But when he looked back over at her, he realized his mistake anyway: she was biting her lip, trying to stifle a smile.

“That’s not what I meant,” he sighed, which only made her grin in earnest.

“Whatever you say, Harry. Anyway, you really should consider closing your Floo.”

“And miss having you burst into my bedroom unannounced?” he teased.

“I’m not the one who left my Floo open.”

“Yeah, yeah. Shouldn’t you be at school?”

“I am. I’m in between classes at the moment, so I wanted to try and catch you. Ron and I are wondering if you’d like to join us for dinner. We want to talk to you about something.”

For the second time that morning, Harry’s curiosity was piqued, but he was still too fuzzy to process a response. He was never quite sure if he should be concerned when Hermione danced around things, but decided it was probably something good or she would have just come out and said it. “Yeah, great. When?”

“How about six… at The Grecian?” She smiled again, no doubt knowing her suggestion would be well-received given it was now one of Harry’s favorite places.

He was suddenly reminded that he’d already be at Hogwarts in the afternoon to visit Severus. “You don’t have to indulge me, we could just eat in the Great Hall.”

She shrugged. “We could, but Ron has been asking to go, and… well, you’ll understand soon enough. So… see you there?”

Harry rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. “Okay. Six. See you guys then.”

“Great! Bye, Harry.”

“Bye,” he answered, but Hermione had already disappeared.

Grabbing his wand, he flicked it at the fireplace, closing the Floo. He slumped back onto his bed and stared at the ceiling for a while, one arm draped over his forehead. He tried to think about the day ahead of him – of seeing Severus, and then Hermione and Ron, wondering what everyone wanted to talk to him about – but despite his best efforts, all thoughts kept leading back to one: the abstract visuals of a dark-haired man who could play his body like a fiddle.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

It was only half past three, but already Harry was feeling restless, having been staring at the clock for the last hour. He wanted to get on with his afternoon. The last time he had seen Severus, they had parted on a bit of an awkward note, and now the closer it got to four o’clock, the more he just wanted to get that next first visit over with. Finally making a decision, he hopped into his fireplace.

After swirling in a green blur for what felt like an interminable amount of time, sitting rooms and shop fronts whizzing past his vision, the Floo finally deposited him in Severus’ antechamber, where he landed unceremoniously on his arse. Grumbling, Harry stood, dusting off his denims and t-shirt.

And my pride, he thought irritably.

Looking around, he saw that the antechamber was illuminated, but empty; he was half surprised not to see Severus reading on the sofa, waiting for him. However, he immediately became aware of the stirring, plaintive tones of music streaming out from the door to the bedroom. It seemed to fill the room around him, the notes tickling at Harry’s senses, luring him on to explore the source of the sound.

When he reached it, he could barely believe what he was seeing: there, seated on a cushioned bench, was Severus… playing a polished, black piano. As he struck each deep, lush chord with his left hand, his right found purchase in a mournful, sweeping melody. His head dipped in rhythm to the music, his hair falling forward to curtain his face. The result was beautiful and mesmerizing, and Harry found all he could do was stare, moving quietly to lean against the doorframe to the bedroom.

Something must have creaked or alerted Severus, for he immediately halted the song.

“Wait, no, don’t stop playing,” Harry pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper, as though talking at full volume would break the spell hanging over the room.

“Too late,” came the terse reply.

Harry frowned. “I didn’t know you played the piano.”

“You’re early.”

“I didn’t know you played the piano,” Harry repeated, ignoring Severus’ attempt at distraction.

Severus sighed and gently dropped his hands to his thighs. “Few do.” When Harry didn’t act appeased by his response, he continued. “I think only Minerva and Albus knew. Old meddlers were always trying to get me to play in public.”

A small grin pulled at Harry’s lips; he could only imagine those conversations. “Well why didn’t you? You’re very good.”

“Potter,” Severus started, exasperation evident in his tone. He paused then, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “I don’t expect you to understand this.”

“Understand what? That you have a part of you that you’d rather not share? Something that, if you could just keep it to yourself long enough, then maybe you’d have one thing that’s all your own, unspoiled by the world?”

Severus’ head snapped up and he stared at Harry.

Harry plowed on, unfazed. “My entire life has been played out before the eyes of the Wizarding world. Believe me, I know what it means to want to hold onto something personal… something protected. It’s all I’ve got some days.”

Severus looked away. “I apologize. I... was quick to assume.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s okay, I’m used to it.” He paused to assess Severus while the makings of a sly grin graced his lips. “I would still like to hear you play, though. I mean for real. Since you did just insult me and all.”

Severus snorted and eyed Harry again. “Perhaps.”

“No, there’s no ‘perhaps’ about it. You owe me.” Harry marveled a bit at his audacity, but found it only made him grin wider. He watched as Severus’ eyebrow inched up towards his hairline. Before Severus could object, however, he rushed to continue. “If it makes you feel better, I won’t watch, just listen. You can play in here and I’ll sit out there.” He gestured to the sofa in the antechamber.

“You genuinely desire to hear me play?” Severus asked warily.

Harry pushed away from the doorframe and took a step into the room without breaking eye contact. “Yes. Really, I do.”

Severus eyed him, eyes narrowed, clearly attempting to discern his sincerity. He must have seen the confirmation he was seeking, because he gave a resigned sigh. “Very well. What would you like to hear?”

“What were you playing before? When I came in?”

“Elégie, third opus.” He turned back to face the keys. “Rachmaninoff.”

“Can you maybe play something that isn’t so brooding?”

Severus scowled. “What did you have in mind? Certainly not that rubbish your generation calls music.”

“No.” Harry snorted. “I was thinking something more classic, maybe George Harrison. Know anything?”

The eyebrow again. “You like George Harrison?”

“Yes. Why should that surprise you? I grew up with Muggle radio.”

“It’s not that. I simply took you for the type to fawn over the Weird Sisters, or some other such inanity.”

Harry laughed and approached the piano, leaning against its side. “Sadly, no. Much to the dismay of my friends, let me tell you.” Then he stopped, tilting his head to the side a bit. “You know, you actually look a lot like George. Has anyone ever told you that before?”

Severus scoffed. “No.”

“Well, you do. Especially in his later Beatles years.”

“If you are quite done?”

Harry grinned. “Yes. Sorry, please proceed.” He wasn’t quite sure why Severus was resisting the comparison to George Harrison; he had meant it as a compliment. It was true that Severus seemed to have a low opinion of himself – Harry had picked up on that quite awhile ago – but he didn’t really understand why. Severus may not be traditionally handsome, but he was not unattractive…

He was pulled from his thoughts by Severus’ next words.

“I prefer classical, but, by virtue of ‘owing you one’, I shall indulge your up-tempo sensibilities for a moment.”

Harry watched as Severus’ hands stroked lightly over the keys, a bouncy, jazzy tune resulting from his practiced ministrations.

“My sensibilities? I’d say you know this one fairly well on your own,” Harry accused.

“Do you know it?”

“Yeah,” Harry enthused with a smile. “Love this one.”

As Harry listened, the incongruity of it all suddenly hit him, and several things he thought he knew about Severus were now having to be rewritten in his mind. He watched in awe and amusement at the fact Severus seemed to be enjoying himself with the iconic tune, his fingers deftly trilling the notes as though he really would have been more at home on a parlor stage versus the seclusion of his dungeon quarters.

Harry also understood why Minerva and Albus had encouraged him to play publicly – really, he was amazingly good – and performed by rote, too, as Harry had not yet seen a single sheet of music.

Eventually, the energy of the song became so infectious that Harry could not keep another thought in his mind, and the irresistible urge to sing along hit him. He followed the tune in his head until he could find his spot, and then sang the last verse in accompaniment to Severus’ playing:

“I wanna cross you off my list

But when you come knocking at my door

Fate seems to give my heart a twist

and I come running back for more.

“I should hate you

but I guess I love you

you got me in between

the devil and the deep blue sea.

“You got me in between

the devil and the deep

the devil and the deep blue sea.”

Harry found he couldn’t help moving in rhythm to the music, grinning widely around the words, tapping out the beat of the song with soft thumps of his hand. As the song ended, he marked the final note with a nod of his head and then chuckled.

Severus sat for a moment before gently lowering the lid over the keys. “Your singing is appalling,” he deadpanned, to which Harry barked out a laugh.

“Yeah, I know. But it’s part of my charm.” He flashed a toothy smile.

Severus shook his head in amusement (or what passed for it on Severus’ face) and stood. With a flick of his wand, the bench nestled up against the piano while both retreated into a cabinet that was flush with the wall. When the doors closed around it, it was completely hidden from view.

“Ah, so that’s where you keep that! I knew I couldn’t remember seeing it in here.” But before the words had even left his tongue, Harry cringed, knowing he had just given himself away.

Severus looked suddenly uncomfortable. “You have been in here before?”

Harry kicked himself mentally. Fuck! he thought, and quickly blurted an explanation. “Only once, when I woke from an Evochi session and went looking for you. I just popped my head in, is all. It was dark, I didn’t see much, but I feel like I would have remembered a piano.” He felt his face flush. Getting the chance to look around Severus’ bedroom, even for a moment, had been an unexpected surprise – one he still thought about to this day.

Severus didn’t seem entirely convinced, but regardless, he let it go.

“Follow me, please,” he said, and Harry did, all the while hoping he hadn’t just ruined the delicate balance of trust he seemed to share with Severus.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

“I believe I have done it.”

“Sorry?”

Severus emerged from behind his desk and pulled out the chair opposite Harry, joining him at the table. Gently pushing aside the open books, he set a new one down and pointed to a passage near the bottom of page about halfway through the book.

Harry leaned forward, narrowing his eyes to read. After a few moments, his head snapped up, eyebrows dancing near his hairline.

“So… this means… we can both do a session? We can link them?”

The hopefulness and excitement in Harry’s tone pinged tightly in Severus’ heart. “That is my hope, yes.”

“Brilliant! When can we try it?”

The smile Harry gave Severus (or the situation, he wasn’t sure) had somehow just made all the long days and hours of research worthwhile. “Soon. I wish to cross-reference a few points, but it seems sound. Shall we say Sunday, November the first?”

“Works for me. What session are we going to do?”

“I will leave that up to you. I am simply following your lead.”

“Hmm, so no dragon hunting or anything?”

“No.”

Harry laughed. “Spoilsport.”

He scarcely avoided the rolled parchment that whisked past his head.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

As they made the short trek back to Severus’ quarters from his classroom, and to the invitation of tea that had been on offer, Harry began thinking of his most recent Evochi session. He must have had quite the look of concentration on his face, for he noticed Severus kept glancing sideways at him.

“You are thinking again.”

Harry smirked. “Yes, I do that from time to time.”

“Imagine that.”

The sudden urge to give Severus a friendly shove came over him, but he stopped himself just in time, realizing that was more the type of thing he’d do with Ron; with Severus, that seemed too… well, he didn’t know what exactly, but he guessed Severus would not take well to having his personal space invaded like that, even in jest. He shook his head and grinned instead.

“I was just thinking about my last Evochi session. I can kind of understand why people would rather do the virtual realities. I mean, the dreamscape was great, but…”

“But?”

“But it was a little creepy. It was definitely me, but I was trapped inside my own head. I couldn’t create or control anything, just as you said, but I didn’t realize how weird that would be. I’m not sure I’d want to do that again.” He grimaced as Severus smirked. Bizarrely, it was an expression contained almost entirely in his eyes.

“Did you try a dreamscape once? Is that how you knew what I’d experience?”

Severus pushed the door to his quarters open with one arm and waited for Harry to precede him. “Indeed.”

The temptation to ask Severus what he had experienced pulled strongly at him, but Harry resisted – barely – knowing all too well he would probably be denied an answer. Reluctantly, he switched topics.

“So why didn’t I wake up groggy like the other sessions?” He suddenly had the acute and embarrassing memory of his post-dreamscape erection, but promptly pushed that from his mind, hoping Severus wouldn’t broach the topic either.

“In a dreamscape, you are effectively asleep the whole time, very much like a regular dream. Instead of performing the action, as you would in a virtual reality, you are simply observing – a comparatively idle activity which does not tire the mind or the body. Thus, you emerge from it feeling rested.”

“I did, I just thought something was wrong.” He felt his face heat slightly. Not wanting to give any more pause to the thing he knew they were both thinking about, he quickly moved on.

“Where did I go in my dreamscape?”

Harry was settling himself into a chair when he looked up. Severus directed a withering look at him, and Harry chuckled.

“Sorry, I mean is it a real place? Someplace that exists outside of my mind, too?”

“It is possible. However, if you would trouble yourself to include some semblance of detail with your vague line of questioning, it might assist me.”

Harry laughed deeply. “I’m really bollixing this up, aren’t I? Let me start again.”

“A splendid idea.”

“Have you always been this funny?” Harry asked, genuinely stunned.

“Focus, Potter.”

Harry smiled indulgently, but fully intended to return to his observation at some point. “Right. Well, I’m not sure if my description will help, but it was a tropical location. The locals had black hair and a medium tone to their skin. Sorry, I don’t know how else to explain that,” he hastened to add. “Everyone spoke Spanish – including me.” He paused, realizing he was still confused by that. “I also harvested pineapples and sold them at a nearby village market. Oh, and there was a rainforest and a beach. And mountains.”

If Severus seemed surprised by his dreamscape locale, he didn’t show it, but then Severus didn’t typically give away much on his face. “Sounds like Central or South America.”

“But where would that have come from? I’ve never even been out of Britain!”

“I cannot be certain. Although the mind is powerful, you described this place with such consistency in fact that it makes me think the reference was not entirely mind-invented – perhaps a book, photograph or film is responsible. Can you not recall any tropical locations or visuals you may have seen?”

“Not really. I mean, I’m sure I’ve seen pictures of tropical places before, but nothing specific comes to mind. Nothing recent that I can think of, anyway.”

“Perhaps you will remember in time. Regardless, even if the location is make-believe, the message is not. Should you ever get the impulse to travel, you may want to start with someplace tropical.”

Harry smiled to himself, thinking about how nice that sounded. The notion of a vacation was so very foreign to him, but only two months ago, he was determined to set out on some solo travels. Perhaps after his Evochi sessions were over, he would revisit that.

“Pineapples, you said?”

Harry looked up. “Yeah. Why?”

“Intriguing.”

“Why is that intriguing?” Harry echoed.

“Pineapples are the international symbol of hospitality and graciousness. In the early American colonies, they were extremely hard to come by, so if your host had procured one, it meant they had spared no expense in welcoming you to their home. Being a harvester was often considered a rare and specialized craft, even though the fruits are actually quite easy to cultivate given the right conditions.”

“Um, okay. And?”

“It is intriguing that you should opt for such a unique profession.”

“You mean about as far away from Dark wizard chasing as it is possible to get?”

“Precisely.”

“No wonder I enjoyed it so much. The pineapples, I mean. Or at least I think I did.” Harry pondered it for a moment, feeling a sudden rush of pleasant thoughts enter his mind. He had enjoyed every aspect of his dreamscape life, as well as the people in it. And there it was: that same sinking feeling he got whenever he thought too long on all that he had experienced. There was a question begging to be asked, but he knew he didn’t want to hear the answer.

Still, he had to know.

“Do you think the place in my dreamscape exists for real? Exactly as I pictured it?”

Severus eyed him carefully, as though calculating what prompted the question. “Did you encounter people in the dreamscape who appeared to be special to you?”

Astute as always, then. Harry looked down, hoping he wasn’t blushing furiously. He wasn’t going to mention that one. “Yeah. One was a young girl named Elena. I think we went shopping every day in the village market. She was an orphan.”

Nodding, Severus set his teacup down. “Harry, you must know that any people or specifics you encountered were manifestations of your mind. It is not surprising that you would connect with an orphan given your own history. That is not to say this place does not exist somewhere in the world, but take caution not to lose yourself in the fantasy and forget the point of the exercise.”

Harry sighed. “I know. It was just so real,” he uttered mournfully, drawing out the last word. Frowning slightly, he leaned back into the cushions of the chair and lost himself in his thoughts.

For a while, they simply sat in companionable silence, Severus sipping his tea while Harry stared off into space, until another question that had been nagging at Harry earlier came back to him. He finally decided to voice it.

“How long have you been playing the piano?”

Severus looked up at the non-sequitur and stared at Harry. For a moment, it looked like he was preparing a scathing remark, but then his expression softened slightly. “Why are you so interested in this?”

For Harry’s part, he couldn’t understand why Severus was being so defensive about it – after all, they had just shared something of a duet (Severus playing, Harry singing) not forty minutes ago. Though, if he ever hoped to get an answer, he figured he’d have to try and smooth the ruffled feathers.

“I don’t know, to be honest. I suppose because you allowed me to see that side of yourself. And you’re really good. I’m actually shocked you didn’t just Obliviate me.”

“I still might.” Severus’ tone sounded dangerous, but when Harry looked up, he saw the light dancing behind Severus’ eyes.

Ah, he’s joking. I think.

Harry tried to reassure himself with that not-so-reassuring thought before deciding to just laugh it off (though it came out more nervous-sounding than he would have liked). It did nothing to dampen his curiosity, though.

“So. How long have you been playing?”

“You are but a dog with a bone, Mr. Potter.”

“Yup.” Harry grinned, sensing the mood was lightening.

Severus sighed and briefly looked upwards in thought. When his gaze returned to Harry’s, he said, “Twenty-six years next month. I was a second-year student and had stayed at Hogwarts over Christmas break. One night, I was exploring a dungeon storeroom and happened upon the piano. I had never played an instrument before, but quickly discovered I had an ear for music and could replicate anything I heard. I began sneaking into that room to play on a regular basis. To say I was taken with it would be an understatement. Eventually I restored the piano, and it has been in my possession – and my quarters – ever since.”

“Wow, that’s amazing,” Harry breathed. “Do you think you could you teach me sometime?” The question was out before he even knew what he was saying, somehow making him feel every bit the second year student Severus was when he found the piano.

“I have nothing to teach. I do not read music, so unless you have suddenly acquired an ear for it, I’m afraid I cannot help you.”

“Damn,” Harry said, and was surprised when he realized he meant it. Then he smiled, gesturing casually as he spoke. “Well, I do know loads of songs. I could always just sing along with you while you play…”

“Merlin help us.”

Harry threw his head back and laughed, the sound rich and deep in Severus’ small antechamber, both arms clutching his abdomen. He didn’t care a bit that it was at his own expense.

And from the corner of his eye, he would forever swear he could see the beginnings of a smile on Severus’ face.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

“Harry! Lovely to see you!” a familiar voice exclaimed.

Harry was rooted to the spot just inside the door to The Grecian. The artwork and murals before him – all depicting tropical destinations and imagery he suspected was most likely Greece – had brought back Severus’ words about where his dreamscape imagery could have come from.

“Harry, dear, are you all right?” Mrs. Whitby had moved to stand next to him, her face a picture of concern.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he turned to look at her. When recognition returned to him, he smiled. “Yes. I was just… looking at your artwork. It’s… I like it.” He also remembered his first visit to the restaurant, and the feeling of contentment that had settled over him just being in the same room with all the vibrant decor.

Mrs. Whitby patted his arm. “Well, you enjoy it for as long as you wish. When you’re ready, Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley are waiting for you at a table in the back.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks…” he said distractedly as she bustled away. Although Greece was definitely not the place he had visited in his dreamscape, if the murals and artwork were to be believed, it was certainly an option to consider. He smiled at the thought, and then headed for the back of the restaurant.

“Harry!” Hermione jumped out of her seat as he approached the table and wrapped him in a swift hug. He smiled back at her, and then gave Ron a nod before taking his seat across from them.

“Hey, mate,” Ron greeted.

“Let’s order first and then we can talk,” Hermione asserted, pushing a menu towards Harry. Ron already had his open on the table before him.

“Yeah, good, I’m starving,” Ron agreed.

“You’re always starving, Ronald.” Hermione rolled her eyes.

Ron shrugged at Harry before they both hid their faces – and their grins – behind their menus. Fortunately, Harry already knew what he wanted to order, so the gesture was, in fact, rather moot. It allowed his thoughts to wander.

His afternoon had been decidedly pleasant, if not a bit unexpected. Okay, a lot unexpected. He was still trying to reconcile the acerbic Potions professor with the man he had just spent the last couple of hours with. It was hard to believe they were even the same person.

Has he always been like that and I just never tried to see him as anything else? Or did I just see him as the person he wanted me to see?

Harry understood now, of course, that some of it had been essential for Dumbledore’s plan to succeed. If he and Severus had seemed on good terms with each other, Severus’ role as a spy could have been compromised, not to mention he may have lost favor with his Slytherins and their parents – something that might’ve proved equally as disastrous.

Yet underneath the noses of everyone, Severus had always protected Harry, even saved his life, right up until the very end. (Or what Harry had thought was the end, until a stroke of inspiration hit him after viewing the memories. He’d sent his Patronus to Madam Pomfrey, informing her of Severus’ whereabouts and the nature of his condition. Under the circumstances, she was the only one Harry felt he could trust. Severus had remained in Madam Pomfrey’s care until she outdid her usefulness, and then had him transferred to St. Mungo’s for the duration of his recovery. It was there he had got stuck in a room with Harry…)

So did he ever really hate me? Or was all of that just an act?

“Harry?”

Ron’s voice caused him to snap his head up and notice the waitress, who wore a pleasant, expectant look on her face. Her quill was poised above her small notepad.

“Uhh, sorry. I’ll have the moussaka. Must have got distracted by all the delicious things on the menu.” He smiled, and Hermione and Ron chuckled briefly along with the waitress. If any of them had been bothered by his lack of attention, he seemed to have smoothed it over well enough.

His thinking was to be halted now, anyway, for as soon as the waitress walked away, Hermione pounced.

“So, Harry…” she started, shooting a glance at Ron. “We wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Sure,” he said, taking a drink of his water.

But instead of talking, Ron and Hermione immediately started whispering under their breath at each other, and Harry found himself looking back and forth between them, trying to figure out what was going on. When finally the whispering slowed, they each urged the other to speak first, gesturing and making strange faces.

Eventually Harry grew impatient with the bizarre spectacle. “Oi!” he said, and they both stopped and looked up. “Will one of you just tell me what is going on, please?”

Hermione sighed and nudged Ron, who flushed.

“Uhh, mate, we were… I was wondering if you would be my Best Man. In the wedding.”

Harry blinked for a minute, trying to decide what had been so difficult about that. Was he missing something?

“Yes, of course I will. You asked that as though you expected me to say no.”

It was Hermione’s turn. “Well, we were afraid once we told you who the Maid of Honor was, you might.” She cleared her throat.

“I assumed you would ask Ginny,” Harry interjected matter-of-factly.

“Well, we did, and she accepted, but we’d completely understand if you would rather not be the Best Man since so many of the duties will be shared between you two.”

Harry shook his head. “Honestly, you two. It’s fine. I’m totally fine with it.” Then he paused. “Unless Ginny has an objection to it?”

“No, no, she… well, she sounded a lot like you do right now, actually.” A faint pink dusted Hermione’s cheeks as she gave a small smile.

Ron had since flushed scarlet, which had the effect of hiding his freckles (no mean feat, it is worth mentioning). His lips were set in his lopsided, sheepish grin, and Harry found the only thing he could do was laugh.

“So this is what you two have been worried about? And the reason you had to get me out of Hogwarts, in case I reacted poorly and made a scene in front of Ginny?”

“Yes…” they answered in unison. Hermione was quick to apologize, though.

“I’m sorry we’ve been acting so silly, Harry. Honestly, we didn’t really know how you would feel about it. We haven’t talked to you very much since your relationship ended, and you haven’t offered any information, either, so…” She paused and took a deep breath. “We just didn’t want it to be awkward, for either of you.”

“Well, thanks, I appreciate that. But honestly, you have nothing to worry about. Ginny may have been heartbroken in the beginning” – Ron scowled slightly at this, Harry noticed – “but on some level we both knew it wasn’t going to work out. She knew it, and I knew it. I think the war changed all of us…” Harry finished, trailing off a bit.

A soft hand touched his, and when he looked up, Hermione was smiling at him. “As long as you’re okay with this.”

“Yes. You two are my best friends, and now you’re getting married! I had better be a part of it!” He grinned while looking at the pair of them.

He remembered he hadn’t been quite so pleased when he first received the invitation, but that had less to do with the actual event and more to do with it being sprung on him. He had always thought Ron would tell him in secret first before asking Hermione. Yet, knowing Ron as well as he did, he knew it wasn’t in his friend’s nature to plan ahead for anything (so why a marriage proposal would be any different, he didn’t know). Ron had always been a spontaneous person, but Australia must have been something special to inspire such a romantic overture.

Perhaps I’ll visit one day and see for myself. Maybe I’ll even get engaged there.

At that thought, images of Harry’s dark-haired dreamscape lover floated through his mind, and he was about to indulge himself in those remembered visuals when Hermione spoke again.

“There’s a few more details about the wedding I need to share. You may recall this from the invitation, but the date is November the twenty-first. About a month from now. Will that still work?”

Harry nodded while breaking off a hunk of bread and dragging it through the hummus.

“We are doing our bridal wardrobe through Madam Malkin’s, so I’ll need to make an appointment for you to be fitted for formal robes.” She could tell Harry was about to interject, and held up her hand. “I know you already own formal robes, but our wedding party is all coordinated together, so it’s important you get the ones we have picked out.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed as he chewed.

“There’s one last thing. We didn’t put this on the invitation because it was meant to be a surprise, so we’re in the process of sending out a follow-up piece to everyone with the specifics. We are doing the ceremony and reception together at the same location, and we’re hoping that no one will have a problem traveling a bit.”

“What do you mean?”

Ron suddenly grimaced – an expression Harry took to mean Hermione had probably just elbowed him. “Mum really wanted to set up the party tent in the back yard again, like we did for Bill’s wedding, but ‘Mione and I… well, we really wanted to get married where I proposed. So, we’re doing everything in Australia.”

Just then, the waitress arrived at the table with their dinners, setting each plate down in turn, followed by a large salad to share and refills of their drinks.

Harry was grateful for the short reprieve; otherwise, he feared all he’d have been able to do in response was sit there, gaping like a fish.

Australia? … Australia!

The idea was as exciting as it was overwhelming. For a moment it brought to mind his feelings of heading to the Quidditch World Cup for the first time, yet this was completely different. It would be Harry’s first real trip outside of Britain, save for his recent dreamscape (though he doubted that really counted), and he had only just been thinking about visiting Australia not five minutes prior. The whole thing was quite surreal.

Once the waitress had stepped away from the table, Hermione looked over. “Harry? Say something.”

“Yeah. Wow, okay. Sorry, you just sort of stunned me with that one.”

They both smiled at him, but Hermione was most effusive about it. “Isn’t it just the most romantic thing ever?” She squeezed Ron’s hand, which made his ears go pink.

“It’s brilliant!” Harry beamed back at them.

As everyone picked up their forks and began to tuck into their food, Harry’s mind wandered to Australia again. It wasn’t just visiting he had been thinking about, it was about getting engaged. He wondered briefly if he would ever get that opportunity, particularly if this newfound interest in men panned out. He wasn’t sure what the rules were for gay marriages in Wizarding culture – he’d never had reason to pay attention to them before.

For a fleeting moment, he considered asking Hermione (he knew she’d know) but figured it would be obvious why he was asking, and decided against it. He also wasn’t sure if he was ready to have that conversation with (or in front of) Ron yet.

It was then he really lamented the fact that his lover – fake dreamscape lover, he chastised himself – wasn’t real, as it would have been nice to bring a guest to the wedding and share the trip with someone.

It was also then that Severus came to mind. Harry dismissed the idea quickly, though, citing the man’s teaching schedule as prohibitive for pre-holiday travel.

Besides, he wouldn’t want to accompany me to a wedding, of all things, Harry scoffed mentally.

As dinner rolled on, Ron and Hermione continued to make idle chit-chat, and Harry smiled and nodded along with them, half listening, half lost in thought.

“…. so I told George he should make them for the shop. We’ll see if he actually does it, though,” Ron was saying.

George.

Harry felt his thoughts pull him in the direction of the George Harrison song he and Severus had shared earlier, as well as the revelation of Severus-as-pianist. As the scene repainted itself in his mind, he saw Severus’ head dipping over the keys, the passionate intensity with which he played, his black hair swinging forward to shield his face, his dark shirt rolled slightly at the sleeve…

Stealing a downwards glance, he saw a head dip lower, dark hair curtaining the face even as it fanned out against his abdomen. A hand and mouth were around him instantly, simultaneously, and he bucked up into the wet heat. He felt engulfed, surrounded; held on the very edge of ecstasy until he thought he could endure no more, and then, only then, was pushed headlong into white, searing lights, crying out in a moan of pleasure.

Harry felt a ripple of arousal go through his body and he clenched his teeth. Why did these visuals seem to assault him at the most inconvenient of times? He discreetly adjusted himself under the table and attempted to refocus on the conversation, hoping it would be enough to block out further thoughts of that morning’s dream, as well as imagining Severus in that capacity.

Ironically, and unhelpfully, his mind began supplying him with song lyrics.

I wanna cross you off my list

but when you come knocking at my door

Hermione was giggling about something Ron had done and Harry watched absently. He remembered the feel of the polished piano underneath his fingertips, and the rich sound it had produced, seeming to wrap everywhere around his senses.

Fate seems to give my heart a twist

and I come running back for more.

Harry cleared his throat and took another drink, trying his best to focus on what Ron was talking about. But no matter what he did, his mind kept pushing him back into the welcoming depths of words and music… and Severus.

I should hate you

but I guess I love you

Harry froze. Surely not, he thought wildly.

you got me in between

the devil and the deep blue sea.

He mentally panicked a bit, trying to force the lyrics from his mind.

No, no, no, no, he thought. It can’t be.

Yet wouldn’t it be just like Severus to say things cryptically? Exactly the type of mysterious message that would make even professional code-breakers at the Ministry stand around scratching their heads?

For some reason, the thought of that amused Harry, and he began to chuckle.

“See, ‘Mione, I told you he’d think that was funny!”

Harry smiled, thanking his good fortune that he was still managing to keep up with the conversation (or at least giving the impression that he was) even though his thoughts were waging a war with his attention, and winning.

That song was probably just one of the things in Severus’ repertoire. After all, I was the one to suggest George Harrison.

But that thought did little to calm him, and even less to silence the nagging voice in his head that continued its speculation.

But what if that song wasn’t an accident? Severus didn’t seem to be the type to act without carefully calculating every conceivable aspect of a situation, so maybe it was intended to deliver a message. If so, then why this? Why now? What had changed?

Harry had felt regard from the man before, but could not remember seeing any indication that Severus had developed softer feelings for him. And if so, how did Harry feel about it? He had to admit, after the afternoon he’d had, his perception of Severus was rapidly changing. Perhaps there were still other surprises waiting for him.

Harry was saved from further rumination as the waitress returned with the bill. Just as Hermione was starting to reach for it, Harry swatted her hand away.

“No you don’t.” He grabbed the folio and slipped money inside of it before either Ron or Hermione could try and negotiate it away from him, and then sent it right back with the waitress.

“You sneak,” Hermione said with a smile. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, thanks for dinner, mate!” Ron added.

“No problem. Congratulations officially!” Harry raised his glass in salute even though his mind was still miles away, busy with contemplations of song lyrics and marriage proposals and a certain tall, inscrutable Potions Master.

SSHP-SSHP-SSHP

He had seen Harry enter the restaurant – an unexpected, heart-pounding moment in which his conversation had stalled mid-sentence – but between the proprietor’s welcome and Harry’s fascination with something on the walls, he felt it would have been intruding to make an attempt at conversation. It was just as well, as Harry only lingered for another minute or two before retreating to the back of the restaurant, eventually disappearing behind a curtain that one of the waiters had pulled closed.

Although his own dinner was complete a half hour ago – his friends now gone, perplexed as to why he wished to stay behind without them – Marcus contented himself with sipping his water and twirling a straw between his fingers, hoping he’d get another glimpse of Harry. It was foolish and pathetic, he knew this all too well, but he felt compelled to stay, as if held there by some force.

Or at least that’s what he told himself.

When the curtain in the back finally opened, his heart nearly jumped out of his chest. He saw the table where Harry had been sitting with his friends; at present, the three of them were winding their way up to the front of the restaurant, laughing about something. Marcus noticed the comfortable familiarity Harry shared with them, and longed to be a part of it.

As was common, some of the patrons whispered and pointed discreetly as they walked, but Marcus suspected it was more for Harry than for the other two.

The proprietor stopped them near the register and beckoned Harry towards her with her arms. As he leaned over the counter to give her a warm hug, Marcus couldn’t help but admire the view. Harry’s dark denims sat low on his hips, but as he stretched into the embrace, the fabric tightened around his arse. His t-shirt also rode up, revealing a swathe of bare skin around his lower back.

To Marcus’ shock, it revealed a glimpse of what looked like feathers, indelibly imprinted in a blue-black ink.

Harry had a tattoo?

A pang of desire snapped through Marcus at the newfound knowledge, and his hands clenched tightly in response, as though trying to ward off the impulse to go over and explore every inch of Harry’s body right then and there.

Thus, it was not surprising that he almost missed when the scene changed before him. Ron and Hermione had waved, leaving the restaurant together, but Harry remained, still chatting with the proprietor.

Knowing he may not get another opportunity like this, Marcus slowly rose from his seat and made his way to the counter. The proprietor saw him coming first, and gave him a knowing – if not patronizing – smile, but politely excused herself from the conversation just as Harry turned to look at him.

The electric green of his irises was even more stunning and hypnotic up close, and for a moment, it robbed Marcus of his ability to speak. Fortunately (for him), he recovered quickly, swallowing his nervousness and reminding himself to breathe.

“Hi. Harry. I… I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Marcus. Marcus Braham.” He extended a hand in greeting, hoping his slight tremble would not be visible.

To his utter delight, Harry accepted it. “Hello,” came the reply, before their hands were released. Harry had a strange, almost guarded look on his face, but Marcus was in no frame of mind to decode it.

With his pulse hammering in his ears, Marcus scanned about for some topic of conversation. He couldn’t believe it: in all that time he had sat at his table, waiting for this moment, it had never occurred to him to decide what to say to Harry should he get the chance to talk to him. Mercifully, an idea came quickly – one he knew would be common ground.

“Are you following the contenders for the Quidditch World Cup this year?”

Harry seemed a bit puzzled by the question, but answered regardless. “Some of my friends are, but I’ve been too busy.”

“Do you still play?”

“Not really, no.”

“Thanks again, dear, I’ll see you next time!” The proprietor was waving at Harry from the door to the kitchen, her wide smile cementing the wrinkles around her eyes. Harry returned her smile, lifting his hand in parting, before returning his gaze to Marcus (though the smile had faded considerably when it settled back on him).

She’s probably trying to rescue Harry from this conversation, Marcus thought irritably.

He shifted back and forth on his feet, feeling the moment rapidly slipping away from him, and tried desperately to save it. “Well, if you want to play again, let me know. A group of us have formed some inter-House teams and we get together on weekends. We’d love to have you,” he affirmed.

He cringed immediately at his choice of words, hoping it hadn’t come across nearly as needy and ridiculous as it sounded.

“Thanks for letting me know,” Harry answered.

“You don’t even have to play for Gryffindor if you don’t want.”

Harry’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

Oh, you bleeding idiot! Why wouldn’t Harry want to play for Gryffindor?

“Well, I should probably be going. Nice meeting you.” Harry offered a half smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and then slipped out the door. The soft crack of Apparition could be heard just before the door clicked shut.

“It was nice meeting you, too…” Marcus said to himself, sighing wistfully, staring at the spot Harry had just vacated. He idly rubbed his hand, fancying he could still feel the touch of Harry’s warm palm in his.

- - - -

A/N: A special nod to George Harrison’s remake of “Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea” for inspiring portions of this chapter. It really is something of a Snarry anthem to me (as well as one helluva good song).

Also, the full name of the song Severus was playing is Elégie in E Flat Minor, Op. 3, No. 1, by Sergei Rachmaninoff (he may also be credited as Sergey/Rachmaninov).
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The Unexpected Side Effect of Draught No. 9