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Love is Cold	By : CruelHero Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 9167 -:- 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 Five

Harry had no earthly idea why he accepted McGonagall’s proposal. Never in all his magical years had he ever thought that one day he would be teaching potions. Yet, as he stood in front of the giant doors to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, two weeks before the start of a new term, that is exactly what he was about to do.

Harry had traded in his forest shack and rare ingredient hunting for room and board and grading badly written essays at the prestigious school he once attended.

Headmistress McGonagall met him at the doors and he was reminded of the first time he laid eyes on the school. He felt eleven years old again, nervous and unsure, but still so excited. She showed him to his rooms in the Gryffindor wing of the castle and then took him to the staff office for a meeting. Harry had to take a deep breath and sit down immediately. The euphoria of it all had worn away and he was beginning to think he had made a mistake because everyone’s eyes were boring into him expectantly and he didn’t know what to do.

McGonagall patted his shoulder assuring him that it wouldn’t be so overwhelming once he got all his information in order, and she reminded him that any one of them would be more than glad to help him if need be. Harry nodded thanks but her reassurances did nothing. Kids, and grading endless papers, and exploding potions were the last things on his mind.

What caused him the most worry was how Snape would react to seeing him again. Those words Snape had said three years ago would never leave him and he wondered if Snape would even look his direction when they were in the same room together. Harry wanted to see Snape so badly that the cold flooded his chest the moment he arrived in Hogsmeade and it didn’t recede, even when he thought it should have.

With each passing day at Hogwarts the chill of his hand spread like a disease. It stopped steady at his elbow, forcing him to wear long robes to protect it and, though Harry would never tell a soul, he could hardly produce a Patronus anymore. There were no memories good enough to stop the sinister ones from bleeding though. Not even the things of his days as a student that were brought to mind when he wondered the castle.

And in the end he couldn’t keep it a secret from McGonagall, though it was his original intentions to try. By the time he decided to accept her offer the outbursts had increased and it was an impossible task. He was forced to explain to her the things he hadn’t told anyone or risk getting fired in the long run. This opportunity to get close to Snape was his chance to make things normal again for himself. He was one step closer to relieving some of the guilt that made him miserable and he would not let his magic screw it up.

However, McGonagall insisted Madam Pomfrey see him at some point before the children arrived. It was only fair to protect their safety.

Harry put it off for as long as he could but the Express was due the following evening. The ceremonies would commence and after that, the start of classes. If he didn’t go now, he knew he wouldn’t. Then McGonagall would give him a stern talking to, which he wasn’t interested in, and that is what he kept repeating to himself to make his feet carry him to the infirmary.

Standing in front of the door, which hung open, he took a deep breath before he entered and was reminded of all the times in his youth that he had done that very same thing. A sad smile worked its way to the surface. He thought of all the trouble he had caused everyone- of the trouble he had caused Snape.

And then he saw the back of the very man he was thinking of.

Immediately he forgot all the charming things he’d thought up to say for the moment when they would meet again. His tongue dried up in his mouth and he could only find the strength to stare. His feet felt glued to the floor.

Snape sat perched carefully on the corner of a patient bed, head turned to look out the opened window, his back to the door. His ebony hair had grown much longer, long enough to keep neatly tied back with a red ribbon. It reminded Harry somewhat of Lucius Malfoy, though it seemed less haughty and more elegant on Snape than it did Lucius. It was strange, yet ultimately fitting.

A loose strand of Snape’s hair moved gently with the breeze allowing Harry a glimpse of the damaged skin that peeked out from his opened collar. A massive pale-white scar graced the already too pale skin of his neck.

Guilt tore savagely into Harry, but still, somehow, warmth flooded and wiped away the cold in his chest. He began to feel uncomfortable, like being fully dressed in a sauna and as he unconsciously took a step towards the other man, a creak escaped from under his shoes. Later on Harry would insist the castle made that noise on purpose.

Snape turned to stare at him from the side of his dark eyes. His face held no particular expression.

Harry’s chest constricted painfully, his breath trapped inside. His heart beat an irregular rhythm and he took an unsteady step backward. He turned and tried his best to walk calmly from the room, a blush forming across his cheeks.

An uncontrollable giddiness settled in his heart. Harry felt…strange- it was a feeling he couldn’t label. He shifted nervously on his feet outside the open door, debating weather or not to go back in.

Snape had made it clear that he never wanted to see Harry again, and he had given the man exactly that for over two years, but he was hoping that those long, painful two years had been enough. He was praying that Snape’s harsh feelings might have calmed. And if not, then Harry was determined to win Snape over by force. His conscience, his magic, just couldn’t stand it any longer.

As Harry turned to go back, Madam Pomfrey came strolling down the hall with a large box in her hands. She saw him and called out, asking for his help carrying it. He of course agreed, cursing his hesitation and lost opportunity to test the waters with Snape. He would have to try again later and could only hope that the other man wouldn’t try to hex him before he got an explanation out.

                                                                            *****

Harry had been left waiting in Pomfrey’s office for some time. He wondered about the conversation she and Snape were having and why it was taking so long and thought about the salve he watched her take from one of the boxes she handed him.

The fist-sized, square jar had that classic periwinkle blue shimmer of the medicines used on extremely sensitive skins, such as newly healed burns or venomous injuries. It smelled of Aloe and Neuvera reeds, the combination of which suggested Snape was still having trouble with his neck. Harry wondered why Snape didn’t just make the stuff himself and then decided he would do it for him. And maybe he could make something new for Snape to try that would work better.

Harry was making a mental list of ingredients he would need when Madam Pomfrey finally came in. She startled him to his feet.

Pomfrey chuckled, sat behind her desk and unpinned her nurse’s hat, setting it on top of several papers. “Now,” she said, and picked up her quill. “I hear you have an annoying little problem with your magic.”

Harry shifted on his seat, watching her dip ink and scratch feverishly on a blank parchment. He didn’t want to tell her anything, but keeping his job –and thus staying close to Snape- depended on it, and she was urging him on quite pointedly. So he took a deep breath and recounted everything, from the first time he ever felt the cold to just that morning when he accidently stuck his afflicted hand to the bathroom tap and couldn’t get it off with out leaving skin behind. He made sure to avoid his worst memories and by the time he was done answering Pomfrey’s every question, he was ready to drown in a bottle of Firewiskey. And from the look on her face he’d say she could use a glass too.

She pointed her quill at him, grinning. Harry stared back, wide-eyed. He had the distinct feeling that he should start cowering in fear. “What?”

“You, my dear, have been cursed,” she answered, a giddy little laugh following.

Harry blinked. He wasn’t sure he heard her right. “Come again?”

“Cursed dear, cursed,” she repeated. “You have all the same kinds of symptoms as a young seventh-year witch I once took care of…except, she kept catching things on fire.

The poor darling was madly in love with a boy in her class and she tried to create a Love Potion that was much too complex for her, never mind illegal. She botched it. And her magic spread a fire whenever she felt passionate about him. So there you have it. You are the victim of a botched love potion.”

“No,” Harry said flatly and shook his head. “No, I haven’t botched any love potions, let alone made one.”

Pomfrey tapped her cheek with one finger. “Then someone slipped it to you. You said yourself that this started your last year of school here. It is a possibility.”

Harry reluctantly nodded. He was pretty sure he was too old for this kind of problem. He’d outgrown the whole awkward love and puberty phase years ago, damn it. If Madam Pomfrey was right -and he had to agree what she said made sense- then fate was making a mockery of him, tormenting him for whatever unfair reason it had, and he refused to believe that fate would do that to him again. But it probably had.

Pomfrey gave him an understanding smile- though Harry felt there was no way she could understand and it was just annoying pity. He resisted the urge to growl.

“Sorry, Mr. Potter,” she chimed, much too happily for his liking. “I’m absolutely certain this is what you have. Now, I don’t recall what happened with that young girl but I can check my files and get in touch with her. We never did learn what potion she tried to create. But don’t you worry, we’ll get this mess sorted out and have you right as rain in no time.”

The medi-witch bit the end of her quill and then scribbled another note on her parchment.

Harry lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t sure that any of this made sense to him. “One thing I don’t understand though,” he said, standing up and leaning against the back of the chair. He stuck his hand out, “Pretending for a moment that you’re right, then why ice? I get that she thought she was madly in love, and that explains the fire, but it’s not like that for me. Is it because I don’t have a love? Would I need to find a love in order to cure myself?”

Madam Pomfrey’s quill nearly cracked. Her hand raced over the paper as she nodded and hummed. “Very good Harry. That’s a start,” she said. “Where her heart was on fire with passion, yours is frozen. But I don’t think you need to find a love. I think you already are in love. We just need to figure out why you are cold and go from there.”

Harry resisted the urge to bang his head on the desk. “I’m not in love, Madam Pomfrey. I haven’t even thought of the word since I left Genny. If I was in love with someone don’t you think I would know it?”

The medi-witch chuckled. “Oh my, where has the time gone?” she said, glancing up at her wall clock. She quickly pinned her hat back on and ushered Harry from her office.

“Please come back and see me sometime next week dear. I should have some more information for you by then. Try to think about what I said and do be careful. If you have any outbursts come and see me right away. It would be good to document them.”

Harry nodded.

“Alright, goodbye, Harry,” she said, calling out ‘get some rest dear’ as she rushed down the hall.

Harry’s head spun. He could feel the worry bringing on a headache and decided it might not be a bad idea to go for a nap under what used to be his favorite tree down by the lake. He headed in that direction, trying to wrap his mind around being cursed and wondered what else life was going to throw at him; saving the world from a dark lord be damned. There was no such thing as simple for Harry James Potter.
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Love is Cold