Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Love is Cold	By : CruelHero Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 9211 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of the characters associated with the Harry Potter universe. I make no profit from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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                Chapter Four



Rain fell down in sheets outside. Harry watched a zillion droplets rolling down the decorative glass of the tiny window in his room. The view overlooked a dreary street, full of random magical folk bustling along past the many shops, some with umbrellas, some with drying spells, all of them with a better attitude about the rain then him.

Harry sat in a chair beside the fire and lifted his drink to the sky in a mock toast, blaming the bloody weather for his troubles. He counted the hours until he could leave England again.

He should have been home by now, but the welcome party for Ron and Hermione’s new baby had been pushed back a day on account of the storm. And since Mrs. Weasley insisted on having sunshine for the Twin’s special fireworks display, that left Harry to stay at a crappy, over-priced tavern rental, where he would almost certainly bathe in an awkward and miserably stew of his own making, because he absolutely refused to apparate more than twice.

And staying at the burrow was not an option.

Harry’s magic had been misbehaving more than usual lately. It was better if he stayed away from everyone. He didn’t want to have to explain what was happening and burden their happiness. This trip was about his friends and their child, not him. Besides, he didn’t even know what was happening. How could he be expected to explain it to them?

He wanted to go home, not because he didn’t want to spend time with his closest friends- he truly did. In fact, he regretted only seeing them when something important happened, but he had issues. Issues that being in London complicated and he really, really didn’t want to deal with them. Ever. Hence why he ran in the first place.

He left to gather rare ingredients because he craved action and danger. He brewed potions to sell because he enjoyed working with his hands. And even though, at the time, he chose those things without a single thought for Snape, more and more they reminded Harry of him. He couldn’t leave behind what he felt and he couldn’t understand why he wasn’t able to shake Snape from his head.

In fact, Harry could summon up his every issue into three simple things: horrible memories from the war, guilt, and Severus Snape. Every problem he had ran in a circle in his head, all of it leading back to one of those. And no matter how far from England, from Hogwarts, or from his friends he went, he still couldn’t escape the things that caused him pain.

Being at St. Mungo’s for Hermione’s delivery had Harry in a bad way. The bloody image of Snape’s almost death replayed itself behind his eyelids when he should have been seeing fuzzy new baby hair and tiny pink hands. Even now as he looked into the steaming liquid in the cup perched on his knee, Harry saw only swirls of black in a pool of blood red. Everything about London was one bad memory after another for him.

His magic knew that and it made sure he didn’t forget.

Harry set his glass down on the table and examined his gloved hand. He slipped the black Dragonhide from his fingers, turning his palm back and forth and flexing each digit. They were cold and hard like ice, the tips of them a pale blue with an iridescent shimmer setting into his nails. Harry might have thought it beautiful if he knew what was causing it- if it didn’t scare him so much.

Over the past years the cold would come and go. His fingers would freeze, his chest would tighten, crystals of ice would flake from him like dry skin and sometimes he would wake to his pillow frozen to his cheek. But it always went away. Sooner or later it would stop. Though, usually, that time came after he submerged himself in his work to the point of collapse. If it was all he kept his mind on, from the first tendrils of the morning sun to the pitch black of midnight- and every moment in-between- then the cold would go away.

Harry would repeat over and over to quiet the cold, ‘soon’. Soon, he could return to his shack, pick back up his routine, and soon his hand would return to normal.

Harry reached out a single finger, touching the rim of his heavily spiked tea.

A puff of steam unfurled. Crystals slowly formed their way over the outside of the cup and through the hot liquid, turning it to slush inside. Harry sighed and poked the ice around with his finger. He wondered if he could live with this for the rest of his life or when it would get so bad he would need to consult a medi-wizard.

Though, he would rather hide forever than have the cause - which he feared was something horribly embarrassing- printed in every wizard newspaper from London to America. A life in solitude was nice, but Harry didn’t fancy staying that way forever. He told himself he would get his magic looked at eventually; he just had important potions ingredients to find back home first.

Currently he needed a supply of fresh Viodels for his newest order and was making a mental list of spots around his forest shack to check first when a shadow rolled by the door, just slowly enough to catch his attention. Harry stopped spinning the ice with his finger and sat up.

The shadow slid back and a gentle rapping drifted through the solid wood.

Harry yanked his glove back on and shot up from the chair, cursing silently. His cup cracked and split in two, ice and liquor and cinnamon tea spilling over the tabletop before Harry could stop it and this time he cursed out loud. He quickly shot a repairing spell at the table, looking back once to make sure it worked before he opened the door.

Headmistress McGonagall smiled warily from the hallway. Her emerald green hat sat slightly lopsided atop her head. “Hullo, Mr. Potter,” she greeted.

It had been so long since Harry had seen her that it was incredibly strange to have her speaking to him now, even with her being part of the order and all. Harry stared for a long moment. He couldn’t think why in Merlin’s name she would want to talk to him, but he apologized for his delayed reaction and stepped back to let her in.

“I’m sorry to catch you off guard, Harry, but you’re a hard man to get a hold of,” she said, crossing the room and taking the seat he offered her. “It has taken me a good year to catch you back in England and I couldn’t pass up the chance to speak with you due to courtesy.”

Harry caught her eyes flick to his gloved hand. He slipped it between the chair and his leg, smiling weakly as her eyes returned to his face. “Its fine, Professor,” he replied, hoping that the less he said the faster she would leave so he could go back to drinking.

She smiled and placed a large envelope between them on the table. It was sealed with the Hogwarts crest in wax of the four house colors. “Three years ago when Professor Vanthorne took over teaching Potions at Hogwarts, it was with the assurance that he would be retiring to the countryside with his wife at the end of his forty-fifth year of teaching.

That year is upon us Harry.

Professor Snape does not want to take over Potions in addition to Defense Against the Dark Arts. So I find myself in need of a Potions teacher as well as an aid to the Defense Professor.”

Harry’s heart slowed at the sound of Snape’s name. His eyes hardened and he shook his head. He could feel the cold spreading up his wrist. “I don’t see what this has to do with me.”



McGonagall sighed. “Professor Weasley keeps us all informed on the ‘exciting rare things’ you encounter in your job. It is my understanding that you are well acquainted with the important information the students need to learn and are quite capable of teaching them rudimentary potions. “

Harry shrugged, not liking where he thought she was going. “So?”

“So,” she went on, “It wouldn’t take much for you to get a certificate that would allow you to teach at the school and Mrs. Weasley has already volunteered to help you with whatever you might need.”

Harry groaned. “This was Hermione’s idea wasn’t it? She’s been bothering me about my job since it started. I’ve told her I-”

“Well now, it isn’t entirely her,” McGonagall interrupted. She took it upon herself to re-warm his tea and slide the cup in front of him. “Most of the staff members are excited about the possibility of having you join us. Hagrid especially. And Professor Hooch would like to see you flying again.”

Harry stared at the tea, frowning hard. Most of the staff? Including Snape, he wondered, or was Snape the person she was meaning to exclude in that ‘most’. Harry sighed. “Do I dare ask what‘s in the envelope?”

The headmistress chuckled and came to a stand, “It’s a contract, if you agree to it. I think it would be good for you dear, to ‘come back to civilization’, as your friends have put it. We all think it would do you good.

You know where to find me, Mr. Potter. I await your decision. Or rather, we all do. But please don’t take too long.”

Harry followed her to the door. He gently closed it after the last of her robes disappeared down the hall and leaned against it, eyeing the ominous parchment marring the little room’s table. There was no way he could be a proper teacher and to entertain the thought was ridiculous.

Harry flopped himself down on the dingy mattress, burying his head in the sheets. He just wanted to go back to his little forest in Ireland and disappear.
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Love is Cold