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Morgaine\'s Thread	By : Escritora80 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 17363 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction set in the Harry Potter universe – all recognisable characters and settings are the property of J. K. Rowling and her associates. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work.

Chapter List
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Chapter Five

Snape wasn't welcomed into his new House with open arms. He'd spent his entire teaching career making enemies of Gryffindors, and this forced truce didn't sit well with the majority of them. True, the sharp-tongued Potions professor was gone now, replaced by a shaggy-haired, apathetic teenager, but the memory of his tyranny was still fresh in all their minds, so they kept their distance when Snape walked into the common room at Harry's side.

To his credit, Snape paid no heed to his outsider status, treating his stay in the Gryffindor tower as if he were spending a holiday with family members he didn't necessarily like, but had learned to tolerate. He held tightly to Harry's hand, having captured it again the instant they left the Great Hall, and if the curious, sometimes hostile, stares he and Harry were receiving bothered him, he didn't show it in his face. He remained calm and unreadable, though he did position Harry in front of him like a shield when Ginny came towards him with a wave and a smile, and he continued to use Harry as a barrier between them until Ginny gave up trying to talk to him and went back to chatting with her friends.

Hermione and Ron weren't as easily rebuffed.

“Harry, why didn't you tell us that you and Snape were – ” Hermione didn't seem to know how to finish her own sentence, gesturing first at Snape, then at Harry, then crossing her arms over her chest and pinning Harry with a stern gaze. “Anyway, you should have told us.”

“We're not really – ” Harry almost bit his tongue when Snape elbowed him mid-sentence, and he quickly changed course, “Actually, it just sort of … happened … today in the library, so I couldn't have told you any sooner.”

“But it's Snape,” Ron said bluntly, not bothering to hide his disgust as he glared at Harry. “Are you saying you've fancied Snape all this time and never said anything?”

“What's wrong with Potter fancying me?” Snape asked coldly, saving Harry from having to make any mortifying confessions.

“What's right about it? Especially after the way you treated him … the way you treated all of us!”

“He's not Professor Snape any more, Ron,” Hermione reminded him, injecting some much-needed calm logic into the conversation. “He doesn't remember any of that, and it isn't fair to judge him by who he used to be.”

Snape seemed just as surprised as Ron and Harry by Hermione's defence of him, but he quickly twisted that astonishment into a wounded expression, smoothly conforming to Hermoine's description of him as a time-loss victim who should be pitied, not attacked.

Unfortunately, Ron wasn't convinced.

“Just because he looks different on the outside doesn't mean he's any different on the inside. Some people are just born rotten.”

“That's going too far – ” Harry tried to jump to Snape's defence himself, but Snape cut him off, stepping in front of Harry so that he alone would be the focus of Ron's anger.

“I've heard worse things about myself from my own dad, so you can save your insults. You think I'm not good enough to date your friend? Well, that makes two of us, but he said yes and I'm not going to pass up my chance to be with him.”

“But – ”

“If you were really his friend, you'd respect his choice.”

Ron reeled back as if Snape had struck him, his expression stunned as he darted a look at Harry before turning on his heel and stomping away. Hermione gave Harry an apologetic glance before running after him, but Snape stopped Harry when he tried to follow.

“Let them go. Granger will talk some sense into him.”

“Can't I just explain it to them? They wouldn't say anything ...”

“We're playing by my rules, Potter, remember?” A group of First Years walked by them and Snape pulled Harry back with him into a shadowy nook near the fireplace, drawing him into what would appear to be a casual embrace between boyfriends as he said softly, “This secret is just between you and me.”

Harry shivered, that funny little ache in his chest sharpening briefly, only to be dulled by the warmth spreading through his body as Snape held him. He felt torn in two directions, wanting so much to just give in and indulge himself in this fake romance, but at the same time knowing how dangerous it would be to let himself fall too deeply into that role.

He extracted himself from Snape's arms with a stilted laugh. “But it's not just us. You forgot about Dumbledore.”

“Hmph, believe me, I haven't forgotten,” Snape grumbled, showing his first signs of genuine teenage petulance as he shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, “but let's leave him out of this. Having Dumbledore be a part of this plan would make for a very unpleasant threesome, don't you think?”

Harry grimaced. “What I think is that I never want to hear the the words 'Dumbledore' and 'threesome' in the same sentence ever again.”

Snape laughed, and Harry marvelled again at the way Snape's face lit up with amusement, his sharp features softened by a playful expression that Harry had never thought possible from the sour-faced professor of the past. He wondered who else had seen that grin or heard that laugh, and if they'd known, as Harry did, how rare it was.

“Now then, with Weasley and Granger out of the way, why don't you tell me the whole story about what happened the night of the attack.”

“Even the parts you already know?”

“All of it. There might be a detail or two we've overlooked.”

Harry spent the rest of the evening sequestered in that nook with Snape, rehashing the events of the attack as Snape listened intently. It took two or three times hearing the same story before Snape was satisfied that Harry had told him everything, but he didn't volunteer any information of his own or offer any guesses as to how the enemy had invaded Hogwarts in the first place.

“We should go to bed,” he told Harry after a long silence where he was deep in thought.

“What.” The word left Harry's lips as a gasp rather than a question.

“What do you mean, 'what'? Bed. The place where you sleep.”

“Oh sure, bed.” Harry reeled his brain back in from the gutter and gave a nervous chuckle, but then the reality of the situation dawned on him: Snape was a Gryffindor. Snape was in the same year as Harry. A bed and cabinet had probably been added to the dormitory as soon as Snape was sorted.

This is bad, Harry thought. How was he going to sleep in the same room as Snape?

* * * * * *

As it happened, he didn't sleep at all.

Just changing into his pyjamas had been nerve-wracking, and that rush of adrenaline had never fully eased even after he'd crawled into bed. Harry had spent the entire night tossing and turning, well aware that Snape was sleeping only a few feet away, and now at breakfast he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. His only consolation was that a good night's sleep had put Ron in a more agreeable mood, and he and Hermione had sat on each side of Harry at the Gryffindor table, while Snape took a seat opposite them.

Harry watched, bleary-eyed, as Snape wolfed down his second plate of food.

He's like a man possessed when it comes to eating, Harry thought with a tired smile. Maybe all those times that Snape had looked annoyed by his colleagues while sitting at the teachers' table had been because whoever was trying to talk to him was preventing him from enjoying his meal. It was a theory that Harry found strangely endearing …

The air stirred around them, the flutter of wings signalling the arrival of the post, and Hedwig brought Harry a copy of the Daily Prophet and three letters – which was three more than he'd usually receive – but it was nothing compared to the bundle of cards and letters that dropped into Snape's lap. He didn't even look up from his plate as he tossed the bundle at Harry.

“Take care of those, will you?”

Harry frowned, holding the bundle at arm's length as a stomach-turning mix of several perfumes wafted up from the multi-coloured envelopes. “What am I supposed to do with them?”

“Burn them, throw them away, turn them into bog roll – I don't care.”

Harry wrinkled his nose at the last suggestion and banished them instead.

“Look, Harry,” Ginny said, pointing at his copy of The Daily Prophet. “There's a story about you and Snape.”

I forgot that he'd talked to a reporter about us. Harry unfolded the paper to get a good look at the article. The headline read: Hogwarts Hero Loses Memory but Gains Romance: How Severus Snape Won the Heart of the Boy Who Lived.

And there goes my last shred of pride, Harry thought as he re-folded the paper. “No one in their right mind would want to read about this.”

“Speak for yourself, Harry,” Ginny said, snatching the paper away from him before he could banish it. Several of the Sixth Year girls gathered around her as they all read the article, occasionally 'ooh-ing' and 'ahh-ing' over whatever tale Snape had told the reporter. Judging from the sounds they made – and the starry-eyed glances they kept throwing at Harry – it must have been exceptionally mushy and romantic.

“Did you really hold his hand while he slept?” Hermione asked him quietly, holding her paper in her lap so nobody else could see her reading it.

Harry sighed. “Not you too, Hermione.”

“I know, I'm sorry, but it's just so …”

“Humiliating?”

“... sweet.”

Harry buried his face in his hands. Sweet?! What exactly had Snape told that reporter? Did Harry even want to know?

“It's a really beautiful story, Harry,” Hermione insisted, adding defensively, “and anyway, everyone else is reading it, so why can't I? I'm your friend, after all.”

Everyone else? Harry took one look around the Great Hall at the groups of students huddled around shared copies of the Daily Prophet and realized that Ginny and her friends weren't the only ones soaking in the details of his new relationship. And it didn't stop at Hogwarts – no doubt there were wizards and witches of all ages reading about Harry's love life in the comfort of their own homes now that Snape's version of how they started dating was a matter of public record.

“Once again, my life becomes front page news.”

“You'll get over it,” Snape said, not a trace of pity in his voice even though it was his fault that the story existed in the first place.

Ron gave Snape a dark look. “Not so sweet now, are you?”

Snape dropped his fork on his empty plate and wiped some crumbs of toast off of his mouth with the back of his hand, not exactly the picture of gallantry that the article described, but Harry's traitorous heart thumped faster all the same when those dark eyes looked up at him. “I just wanted everyone to know how we fell in love. Was I wrong to tell them?”

There was a hush at the Gryffindor table as the other students waited to hear Harry's answer.

“N-no,” he stammered, putting on a brave face even though he felt like crawling into a deep, dark hole and hiding there for the rest of the school year. He said 'how we fell in love' ... Never mind that Snape was just playing a part – how did he have the confidence to say embarrassing things like that in front of the whole school? Harry took a deep breath and smiled, determined to put on a good performance, even if he didn't have Snape's skill at deception. He didn't need to act, anyway; he had the advantage of meaning every word he said. “No, it wasn't wrong, but you don't want them to know everything, do you? Some things should remain just between us, remember?”

Harry's implication that there might be even more to the story broke the silence, the Gryffindor table erupting into a steady buzz of speculation, and Harry was glad to leave them to it. Whatever scandalous situations they dreamed up would be more interesting than the truth, and as long as they were occupied by their own imaginations, they wouldn't be badgering Harry for answers.

Snape looked like he had more to say, but Dumbledore walked up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

“May I have a word with you, Mr. Snape?”

Snape stood up with a weary sigh, his mouth tight with displeasure.

“Wait for me so we can walk to class together,” he said to Harry, and then he followed Dumbledore out of the room, not giving Harry a chance to answer yes or no.

Well, might as well read my mail while he's gone, he thought, though he would have preferred to be a part of whatever discussion those two were having. Was it about the attack? Had there been any new developments? Harry didn't think it likely that Snape would tell him anything, even if he asked. As much as Snape said he wanted to keep things 'just between us' with Harry, it was obvious he also had some secrets that he only shared with Dumbledore.

Harry tried very hard not to think of that as 'two-timing,' especially after Snape's 'threesome' comment the night before.

Don't even let your mind go there, he told himself as he went through the letters he'd received.

The first letter was from a reporter asking for an interview – Probably not the last one of these I'll get, Harry thought with a groan – and he quickly banished it. The second letter came from Mrs. Weasley, whose devotion to the pages of Witch Weekly were apparent in the way she wrote about Snape, reminding Harry to thank him properly for saving Harry's life – She'll be sending letters every day once she reads about us dating, Harry thought with another, longer groan. Ron looked over at him, brows arched, but Harry didn't bother explaining as he tucked Mrs. Weasley's letter into his bag.

The third letter was just one sentence long, hastily-scrawled on plain white parchment:

Give up Snape or you'll regret it.

If I could give him up, I would have done it a long time ago, Harry thought – sans groan this time, though it welled up in his throat – as he folded up the letter and slid it back into its envelope, his expression kept carefully neutral. He casually looked around the room, wondering if it was a fellow student who had sent the threatening note, and he noticed that Keegan Mulgrew was staring at him from the Hufflepuff table. He ducked his head almost as soon as Harry looked at him, but there had been a flash of anger in his dark brown eyes. Harry turned back around just as Snape returned from talking with Dumbledore.

“Thank Merlin that didn't take long,” Snape said as he sat back down at the table, but one look at Harry's eerily blank expression had him glancing around the table. “Which one of you broke Potter while I was gone?”

“He doesn't look broken to me,” Hermione said, searching Harry's face for any signs that would point to Snape's diagnosis.

“You aren't looking close enough.” Snape stared hard at Harry, as if he were one Legilimens away from barging his way into Harry's brain to see what was troubling him, but Harry brushed it off with a laugh.

“Just missed you while you were gone, is all,” he said as he shoved the note into his bag alongside Mrs. Weasley's letter. “Ready to go to class?”

Snape's eyes narrowed but he stood up when Harry did and didn't press him for the truth.

“Wait, we're coming too,” Ron said, taking one last drink before hopping up from the table, leaving a flustered Hermione to gather up her books and papers as she hurried to join the three boys.

Harry was relieved to have the company – Snape might have interrogated him all the way to class if they'd been alone, and Harry didn't think the note was worth mentioning. He'd faced down Voldemort – surely he could deal with one of Snape's jealous fans.

* * * * * *

Snape adjusted to life as a student seamlessly. He answered the questions that stumped everyone else – even Hermione, much to her dismay – and unlike most of his peers, he didn't hesitate to ask questions of his own, leading to new discussions that were interesting and informative, though some of the professors lamented that they were unable to cover everything they'd planned to teach during class after one of Snape's questions had led them to deviate wildly from the topic at hand.

“Professors like questions,” Snape said as he and Harry walked to Potions after lunch. “It lets them know someone is actually listening to all that drivel coming out of their mouths.”

“I don't recall you being fond of questions,” Harry said.

“That's because I wasn't talking drivel. I told you everything you needed to know as succinctly as possible. If you didn't catch on the first time, that wasn't my fault.”

“Hmm,” was Harry's non-committal response.

“I have the suspicion that you don't agree.” Snape grabbed Harry's hand in retaliation – all day he'd been as physically affectionate towards Harry as decency allowed, even kissing him once in the hallway after Harry suggested that maybe they didn't need to be joined at the hip for people to believe they were a couple. He'd kept his suggestions to himself after that, if only to spare himself the discomfort of tight trousers. His only break came at lunchtime, when food had kept Snape too busy to bother about Harry, but now it was business as usual as they headed to Potions, a class Harry had dreaded all day because they shared it with the Slytherins.

He freed his hand the minute they were inside the Potions classroom, looking around for Ron to see if he wanted to sit together this time, but Snape took him by the arm and pulled him over to a desk near the front.

“Do we have to sit together in every class?”

“Who else do you suggest I sit by? A Gryffindor who hates me or a Slytherin who hates me?”

“Well ...”

“You can sit with me, Severus,” Draco said as he claimed a seat not far from them. Harry had expected some problems in this class knowing that they were paired with the Slytherins, but he hadn't been prepared to hear Draco talking to Snape as if they were best friends. The other Slytherins might consider Snape a traitor to his former House, but apparently Draco didn't, and Harry found himself surprisingly irritated by this show of loyalty.

Snape looked at Harry, shrugged, and started to get up, but Harry pulled him back down. “No, it's okay. We can sit together.”

“Why the change of heart?” Snape asked as he took a worn textbook out of his bag.

Harry didn't answer as he looked over his shoulder at Draco, his eyes narrowing when he saw the way Draco was smirking at him. He whipped his head back around and fumed silently, positive that Draco had more up his sleeve than just a kind offer to be Snape's desk-mate.

I'm really sick of that smug smile of his, he thought as Professor Barrett, the teacher that had been hired to replace Snape, started the class. Professor Barrett was a good-natured witch with an infectious smile and an endless amount of patience – the exact opposite of her predecessor. The potion she wanted them to make that day was a rejuvenation potion, and she provided each of them with a dying plant that they would test their potion on at the end of class. Snape dove in as soon as Professor Barrett finished giving her instructions, working quickly and methodically while the rest of the class struggled along. He finished preparing his ingredients in record time, and his cauldron was full of cheerfully bubbling potion long before Harry had even chopped his last piece of root.

“I take it you were a Potions prodigy when you were seventeen,” Harry muttered, a bit depressed to see the disparity in their skill levels laid out so clearly.

“I was certainly better than you lot.”

“Yes, yes. We're awful, I know. You were always very careful to remind us of that every chance you got. What are you looking at?”

Snape was staring at Ron with a familiar fury in his eyes, watching as he unceremoniously dumped his Valerian root into the cauldron and swirled it around with his wand.

“Keep your eyes on your own potion,” Harry admonished him in a hushed voice.

“But he's doing it all wrong,” Snape complained, his hands clenching into fists. “He didn't chop the root properly and now he's stirring it too fast – does he even care that he's ruining that potion? Wait, wait ... why is he adding that? It's too soon to add that …”

Snape was halfway out of his seat before Harry grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him back down.

“Are you daft? You're not the professor here. Sit down.”

“Weasley was never my best student, but this goes beyond his usual level of incompetence. He must be doing it on purpose.”

Harry snorted. Where was this paranoia coming from? Professional pride? Reverence for the 'sacred art' of potion-making? He never would have guessed that Snape's love of potion-making went so deep that it personally offended him when his students failed so spectacularly at it. Could it be possible that Snape's surly attitude as a professor hadn't been entirely rooted in bitterness and spite?

“He doesn't like you, but he wouldn't fail Potions just to annoy you.”

“I suppose you're right,” Snape said reluctantly as he watched the potion in Ron's cauldron quickly turn to grey sludge. He seemed riveted by the sight, as if he'd stumbled upon a grisly crime scene and was horrified by what he'd discovered, but morbid curiosity prevented him from looking away. Harry tugged on his sleeve and Snape finally turned back to his own perfectly simmering potion with a sigh. “Still, I wish I could be the one to fail him and not Barrett. She won't enjoy it like I would.”

Harry rolled his eyes. I take it back – it was at least ninety-five percent bitterness and spite.

At the end of class, they all tested their potions on the withered plants Professor Barrett had provided. Most of them were moderately successful, watching with relief as brown, shrunken leaves grew green and lush again, but Ron's crumbled into black ash.

“It takes talent to turn a rejuvenation potion into weed-killer,” Snape muttered.

Harry's plant fared well, producing several green buds, and Hermione could hardly contain her delight when one of the buds on her plant began to flower, but her triumph lasted only until Snape tested his potion and his plant burst immediately into full blossom, giving off a sweet scent that revived and refreshed everyone close enough to smell it.

“Amazing! A flawless result,” Professor Barrett gushed. “And an impressive feat, considering it's your first time making this potion. Well done, Mr. Snape.”

“Yes, congratulations on making this potion perfectly for the first time ever,” Harry said, his monotone delivery earning him a glare from Snape. He grinned and shrugged his shoulders, leaning in to whisper, “I'm a lousy actor, remember?”

“Hmm,” Snape said, mirroring Harry's earlier non-committal response, but it sounded intimidating when it was coming from Snape. Harry could imagine all sorts of vengeful acts implied by that response.

As the class was ending and everyone gathered their things together, Snape left their desk to pull Draco aside and talk to him quietly. Harry pretended he didn't care even as he strained to hear what they were saying, but he was too far away and Snape appeared to be taking great pains not to be overheard by anyone. Draco gestured once at Harry and Snape shook his head 'no,' which made Draco laugh and say the only thing Harry managed to hear out of the whole conversation:

“That's going to blow up in your face.”

Snape gave him a dirty look, then sighed and seemed to agree.

They talked for a few more seconds before Draco left with Pansy, who had been waiting for him by the door. Snape walked back over to Harry and held out his hand expectantly.

Harry threaded his fingers through Snape's without a fuss this time, resigned to these little shows of affection. The question of what Snape and Draco had been talking about burned inside of him.

“Don't ask,” Snape said right as Harry opened his mouth, “because I'm not going to tell you.”

Exactly as I expected, Harry thought, content to leave it there for now, but Snape took his silence as a rebuke.

“It's nothing to pout over.”

“Who's pouting?”

Snape side-eyed him.

“I'm not pouting,” Harry said firmly, but then he had to make the conscious effort to suck in his lower lip when it threatened to stick out. The last thing he wanted to do was prove Snape right.

Potions was the last class of the day, but Snape insisted on joining Harry in the library for his detention, settling himself in a chair opposite Harry then promptly ignoring him. Harry couldn't understand why Snape stuck so close to him, yet he acted like Harry didn't exist when they didn't have an audience … or when he wasn't entertaining himself by provoking Harry. He would answer if Harry asked him a question, and he did take enough notice of Harry that he could warn him when he was about to search for worms in a book he'd already cleaned out, but most of their time in the library was spent in silence.

After a while, the exhaustion that had plagued Harry all day finally caught up with him, and he dozed off in the middle of de-worming a book on magical genealogies only to be jolted awake when the book was yanked out from under his cheek, his head hitting the table with a thump.

“Ouch,” he said as he rubbed his cheek, his voice still slurred with sleep. “Was that really necessary?”

Snape shoved the book back into its place on the shelf. His face was red – out of anger, Harry supposed – and his voice had a rough edge to it when he finally spoke. “If you're not going to work, we might as well go eat. I can't just spend all day watching you sleep.”

Harry yawned and stretched, too knackered to argue. He pushed himself to his feet and shuffled over to Snape, taking his hand out of habit. “Let's go then.”

Snape looked at their joined hands in surprise, but he didn't say anything, his lips compressing into a thin line as he quickly looked away. His fingers tightened around Harry's and he started walking, leading them through the stacks and to the entrance of the library where they saw Luna Lovegood emerging from an alcove, a sketchbook under her arm. For a moment it seemed like Snape would just keep walking, but Harry struck up a conversation with Luna before Snape could drag him away.

“I wanted to do some sketches of fairies using Bumblee's Field Guide,” Luna explained when Harry asked her what she'd been doing, “but I couldn't persuade the pictures to stay still.”

“A few minutes ago, you could have sketched Potter all you wanted,” Snape said with a smirk. “He sleeps like a stone.”

Harry tried to think of a good retort, but he needn't have bothered – Snape's comment backfired on him by bringing Luna's attention on himself. Until that moment, she'd been focused entirely on Harry, but now she took a step closer to peer into both of their faces and tapped a finger against her lips, her eyes narrowed as she studied the new couple. “Something isn't right about this ...”

Harry's heart sank. Was it that obvious that he and Snape didn't belong together? They'd fooled everyone else so far thanks to Snape's brilliant performance and that sappy article, but Luna had a knack for being insightful and seeing beyond the surface of things. An intuitive person like her wouldn't be fooled by a make-believe romance.

“No, it's not right at all,” she repeated with a frustrated sigh, but instead of confronting Harry and Snape about their pretend relationship, Luna reached out and pulled their hands apart, moving Snape's arm so that it was draped casually over Harry's shoulders, then ruffling Harry's hair into just-rolled-out-of-bed disarray. She stepped back and gave her changes a critical once-over, then nodded.

“Much better.”

Harry was too confused to respond, but Snape took advantage of the rearrangement to hug Harry against his body. “I agree.”

“Yes, your energies blend so much better this way,” Luna carried on, completely caught up in whatever colourful vision her interference had unveiled. “It's too intense when you're just holding hands – Snape's so icy blue and you're so fiery red that seeing you side by side is a little blinding – but when you're smooshed together like this everything goes all purple and melty. It's lovely.”

“Hear that, Potter? We're melty.” Snape purred the last part into Harry's ear.

“That's not even a real word,” Harry hissed, finally daring to look at him. Snape was grinning, a wicked glint in his dark eyes, clearly having the time of his life. Harry could only scowl his disapproval and hope Snape took the hint.

“But why did you mess up Potter's hair?” Snape asked Luna, ignoring Harry's glare.

Luna shook off her dreamy expression and replaced it with a shrewd smile. “It completes the picture, don't you think? Now he really looks shagged.”

Snape made a strangled sound in his throat, but he managed to keep his laughter bottled up under the heat of Harry's glare.

“Well, I've done what I can,” Luna said, making a few little adjustments to Harry's hair and the collar of his shirt, like an artist putting the final touches on her masterpiece. When she was completely satisfied, she turned to Snape. “You're responsible for the upkeep.”

Snape nodded gravely, though Harry could see he was struggling not to smile. “I won't let you down.”

Luna smiled and waved goodbye to them, skipping off to the Great Hall with her sketchbook clutched against her chest, softly humming some upbeat song as she went.

“I will never understand what goes on in her head,” Harry muttered as he combed his fingers through his hair, trying but failing to undo the damage Luna had done.

“She's got a good eye,” Snape said, grasping Harry by the chin and turning his face this way and that as he examined it. “She took that sleepy, guilty expression of yours and gave it new meaning.”

Harry felt his cheeks grow red under Snape's scrutiny.

“Yes, very effective,” Snape murmured, falling silent for a moment as he stared at Harry, but then the devilish gleam was back in his eyes and he added, “though I'm sure I could improve on her results, given a chance.”

Harry knocked his hand away. “I can mess up my own hair, thanks.”

“Did I say I was going to use her methods?” Snape pulled Harry into a loose embrace. “I prefer to take a more … natural approach.”

“I prefer no approach.” Harry pushed at Snape's shoulders, forcing some distance between their bodies so that Snape wouldn't find out just how excited Harry was to be in his arms. “This is a fake relationship and we only started dating yesterday. I don't need to look like I've been shagged, naturally or otherwise.”

Snape arched a black brow. “Otherwise? You mean with toys?”

“Toys ... what? No!” Harry broke out of Snape's embrace and turned to leave, only to be pulled back again, his back against Snape's chest. His only consolation was that Snape couldn't see his face anymore.

“Well, I don't see how you can be shagged 'otherwise' without some sort of penetrating object ...”

“That isn't what I meant --”

“-- unless you've got some tricks up your sleeve that I don't know about --”

“Tricks? What tricks? There are tricks?”

“-- in which case, shame on you for holding out on me, Potter.”

“But I'm not – I mean, that isn't –” Harry sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Why do I bother talking to you?”

“Of all the things you could be doing with your mouth right now, talking is certainly at the bottom of my list.”

“Oh, so you want me to bite you?”

“Potter!”

Snape abruptly let go of Harry, causing him to stumble forward slightly. Confused, Harry looked over his shoulder to see Snape staring at him in mock horror.

“Biting? This early in our relationship? We only just started dating yesterday.” He shook his head at Harry reproachfully, making a tsk-ing sound as he walked past him.

Harry had the urge to grab the nearest library book and lob it at Snape's head, but instead he pushed down his frustration and followed Snape out of the library, eager to get to the Great Hall where the conversations would be about innocent topics like Quidditch and classes, and where Snape would be too distracted by food to torment Harry with his sly innuendoes and his wandering hands. In fact, it was quickly becoming apparent that mealtimes were going to be Harry's only respite from the confusion and turmoil of the day, since Snape seemed determined to stay glued to his side at all times.

They had only made it a few feet beyond the library when Snape suddenly whirled around, causing Harry to walk straight into him. He yanked Harry close, his lips against Harry's ear as he whispered, “Give it a week and I'll let you bite me whenever you want … wherever you want.”

Harry sucked in a breath, so dizzy from the sudden rush of desire that Snape's husky voice invoked in him that he had to clutch at Snape's shoulders for balance, but the moment was broken by Snape's laughter as he reached up to pat Harry's flushed cheeks.

“There. That's the look. Lovegood's no match for me when it comes to making you look like this.”

“Like what?”

Snape smirked. “Like you want to be shagged.”

“Sod off,” Harry snapped, batting Snape's hands away in a show of annoyance.

“Stop scowling, Potter, you're spoiling it,” Snape said, his smirk drooping into a disappointed frown as he mourned the loss of that wanton expression he'd conjured on Harry's face.

Harry didn't stick around to give Snape a second chance at rekindling that look, going around him and walking down the hall. He needed to stop reacting to everything Snape said or did – though it was hard to ignore him when he was being so damn seductive – or else Snape would never stop teasing him.

“I still say I could outdo Lovegood when it comes to the afterglow, too,” Snape said as he followed behind. “What do you say? Can't we give it a go? Come on, Potter, it's for research.”

“I'm going to do some 'research' on jinxes if you don't shut up,” Harry said over his shoulder before he remembered that he wasn't supposed to give Snape a reaction.

I might have just given myself an impossible goal, he thought ruefully, but he was able to tune Snape out for the rest of the walk to the Great Hall, where he was allowed to joke and talk with his friends normally while Snape concentrated on his food.

They spent the rest of the evening without further incident, always within a few feet of each other but rarely interacting other than a couple of embraces and a single kiss on the cheek that Snape deemed 'payment' for borrowing Harry's quill, all designed to keep up the illusion of intimacy between them.

And that's all it is: an illusion, Harry reminded himself as he crawled into bed that night, determined to forget that the guy he loved was sleeping only a few feet away so he could get some sleep of his own. Having spent the previous night wide awake, he drifted off almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, his new mantra echoing in his thoughts:

Just an illusion ...
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