Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Anularius	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 11886 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Five—Back to Hogwarts
            “What am I supposed to do? I can’t stay in your rooms all the time,” said Harry, and turned around from the bookshelf behind him when Snape didn’t answer. He supposed he could force the issue if he had to, but he would prefer to avoid that.
            Snape was holding a book that looked as if it was about to fall to pieces and frowning at something inside it. When he met Harry’s eyes, though, he smiled abruptly, and his hands snapped the book shut and tucked it out of sight in a broad pocket of his robes. Harry narrowed his eyes.
            “Oh, that’s not suspicious,” he said, and angled his head to the side. He couldn’t catch a glimpse of the cover, but the way Snape instinctively moved to hide it confirmed his suspicions. He would bet good Galleons that that book had to do with him, and time, rather than with Snape’s research.
            Harry sighed, and ignored the way that Snape remained neutral in response. “You’re not going to figure out a way to make me tell you more than I already did. What I’ve told you is dangerous enough to the timeline.”
            “I wasn’t looking for a way to force you,” said Snape. “I do have Legilimency at my disposal if I wanted to force you—something I suspect you already knew.”
            Harry thought of the way he had pushed out with his whirling thoughts to force Snape away from his mind, and concealed a shudder. He said, “Well, what do you want, then?”
            “For now? Silence.” Snape moved towards a door on the other side of his quarters that Harry more than suspected led to a lab. “I wish to brew. And you might consider why you were so lucky as to stumble on a Horcrux immediately after coming to this time. That seems to me even more of a coincidence than your running into me, one of the few people who could actually react to your presence.”
            Harry stared after him. “What do you mean?” he called out, but Snape turned and gave him a glare severe enough that he abruptly seemed far too reminiscent of the Snape Harry knew. Harry took a step back, raising his hands.
            “The silence I asked for,” Snape said, ominously, and closed the door behind him.
            Harry rolled his eyes and sank down on the couch in the middle of the outer room, one hand fiddling with the golden cross around his neck, the artifact that had let him travel in time and would get him back when he was done. For a minute, he thought he felt unusual heat to the red jewels, but it faded as he touched it. Harry relaxed. He had hoped that the things he told Snape wouldn’t make the cross dissolve in a blast of thunder and light, stranding him here forever, but he honestly hadn’t been sure.
            What else could a Horcrux be? If Harry had randomly decided that the bowl with Slytherin’s symbol on the side had to be a Horcrux, like the locket, he would have understood the insinuation, but he did have a way of sensing the Horcrux, and there was simply no way that resonance could be mistaken.
            But because he wanted to humor Snape more than for any other reason, Harry spent a moment concentrating, and sent out the “call” to the Horcrux that he had when he first arrived.
            The call barely had time to roll away from him. Harry nodded with a sigh. Yes, it was the bowl. If the change in the bowl’s position—on the table on the other side of the room—had changed the sense of the call, then maybe he would have agreed with Snape, but as it was, it just wasn’t possible. This was what he had to work with, and that meant he would work with it.
            So. What did he do from here?
            Harry considered, for a moment, simply destroying the bowl and then vanishing from this time before Snape could do anything about it. It probably wouldn’t change anything. After all, Snape hated him anyway. That might make his hatred more bitter, deeper, and maybe Harry’s memories would alter in consequence, but so what? That was the sort of thing Harry had come back in time preparing to put up with.
            But Harry had made a promise, and he knew Snape was even more paranoid than the typical Slytherin. Of course he’d have put some spell on the bowl to alert him if Harry was about to take off.
            Harry leaned back thoughtfully on the couch and looked at the bowl. Well, it couldn’t hurt to check, could it? It would be stupid if it turned out that he was risking the fate of the world on nothing but an assumption. He muttered a detection spell and waved it lazily in the bowl’s direction.
            The spells that lit up around it in response were enough to make Snape’s office look as if it was suffering from an infestation of Weasley fireworks. Harry put his hand over his eyes, squinting, and the door of the Potions lab opened.
            “I believe that I requested silence,” said Snape. He bore a pair of black gloves and something squirming in the middle of them, so restless that it looked more like a living thing than the blob of liquid tissue that Harry thought it really was. Harry averted his gaze, swallowing against the temptation to strike the offending thing from Snape’s hands.
            “I cast nonverbally,” said Harry. “Sorry if you were disturbed by the light show.”
            Snape paused, and then shut the lab door again. Harry blinked. Well. That was the easiest he’d ever got rid of him. He ought to remember—
            Well, no. He had nothing to remember, did he. After all, Snape was dead in his own timeline, which was the only reason that Hermione had thought this journey advisable to make at all. So many of the significant people who could see Harry would be dead, and although Hermione had cautioned him that he could still damage the timeline, the chances would be less because he was coming back into a world where the effects of their lives had—stopped.
            Harry shook his head and leaned back with a sigh. He was going to think again about the timeline and whether he had done any damage to it, because he needed to, and because it was simpler than thinking about—well, what Snape had done to him in Grimmauld Place.
            A kiss. It was a kiss. You can think about it that way. What are you, twelve?
            Harry snorted. No, he was an adult, and he could face adult problems. He had only traveled back in time to save the world from the greatest Dark Lord it had ever known, after all.
            Then the lab door opened, and Snape came back out, sitting down near the table that Harry had knocked into earlier that day. Harry stared blankly at him. He didn’t have the gloves on now and he wasn’t holding the squirming black thing, but those were the only differences.
            “I had not yet reached a point in my brewing so delicate that I could not interrupt it,” said Snape, as if that made sense.
            “I still didn’t make any noise,” Harry snapped. “I only cast a spell that—”
            “Revealed the charms I had placed on the bowl as protection against Gryffindor treachery?” Snape interrupted smoothly. “Yes, I know. And that still counts as something you weren’t supposed to be doing, something that broke into my concentration.”
            “So sorry, Your Majesty,” said Harry. “You know, if you want some reassurance that you matter to me, you still make me angrier than almost anyone I’ve ever met.”
            Snape eased up a little in his leaning posture. “You can’t fear me, though,” he said. “Or you wouldn’t speak so often in such phrases designed to irritate me.”
            “Not my fault if you so often got irritated by the truth,” Harry said. “I used to glare at you all the time, though, before I realized that you could use Legilimency.” And it probably wasn’t a good idea to meet Snape’s eyes so squarely now, he realized a second later. He glanced pointedly away, aware of Snape’s low chuckle.
            “I don’t know why I ever bothered with the game of questions,” said Snape, and stretched, or so Harry thought, from the motion he saw in the corner of his eye. Confident that he would recognize Snape reaching for his wand, Harry continued to look away. “You tell me more than you did then, simply by blurting out the truth the instant it comes to mind.”
            That was probably true, but Harry told himself, again, that he didn’t know exactly how this would affect the timeline, and he could gamble a bit, and Snape would most likely put all the memories in a Pensieve anyway. Or he’d probably already done that, hadn’t he, because he hadn’t reacted any differently to Harry in his own time? So this couldn’t damage the past, and Harry would take the chance even if it could, because destroying all the Horcruxes and preventing Voldemort’s rise again was more important.
            “You’re different.”
            Harry turned around again. “Different from the boy that you don’t have the chance to know yet? Yeah, I can believe that.”
            “Different from others I have known.” Snape was gazing at him in a sort of strange, staring way, as if he saw past Harry and into other times and places. Well, that was all to the good, as far as Harry was concerned. That meant Snape wouldn’t see him, and wouldn’t do the things that could prove really dangerous to the future. “None of them exercised this much fascination on me. Only Potions has ever done so.”
            Suddenly he sat upright in his chair, and there was no doubt he was seeing Harry again, even if it was with a dangerous flush on his cheeks and his hand also dangerously near to his wand. “You have not enchanted me?” he demanded in a low voice.
            “To, what, want me?” Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, because I enjoyed that kiss you forced on me so much.”
            “I did not force it on you.” Snape was biting his words off short in a familiar manner. Harry was astonished by how much irritation could still coil in his gut. Well, he’d been telling Snape the truth when he said those rows with him were still among his most annoying memories. Voldemort had been worse than annoying, and Malfoy had caused him lots of aggravation, but Snape had been in between them both, a menace that Harry had to deal with every day instead of only at the end of each year.
            “Believe me,” said Harry, “and I have no problem telling you this, because you would only figure it out anyway, I would never do anything like that. I have enough people clamoring for my attention and assuring me that I’m the only one who understands them and—and wanting to kiss me.” It was still so stupidly difficult to talk about, his face burned. “People regularly tried to feed me food poisoned with Amortentia. I would never cast a spell like that on someone else.”
            Snape went on watching him, but he had eased his hand back from his wand. A second later, he nodded, and a smirk took its place on his lips. “Then I wonder if you resist me because you don’t understand the level of your own fascination with the kiss?”
            “There is no level of fascination.” Harry wanted to wave his hand and banish this whole stupid conversation, but no matter how good his wandless magic got, he knew he wouldn’t be able to do that. “Listen. I appreciate what you’ve done for me, now and in the future, but that sort of thing is not going to be part of our relationship.”
            “I certainly hope not, in the future,” said Snape. “But now, here, I find you interesting. Why not talk to me about it?”
            “Because I have to find you interesting back, maybe?” Harry snapped. “In a different way than I do?”
            Snape smiled faintly, and nodded. Then he turned to face the bowl. “The potion that you interrupted was an Insight Draft,” he murmured. “One that would give me some idea of which of the many theories I have on how to summon and soothe Slytherin’s spirit—”
            “Listen to you with the sibilants.”
            The tightening of Snape’s shoulders was the only sign that the man had heard him. “Which one would work,” he continued firmly. “It won’t tell me the right answer, but it would clear up the confusion swirling in my head.” He glanced over his shoulder at Harry. “Since you interrupted it, then you’ll help me continue the research process.”
            “How?” Harry dragged himself out of the couch, only aware now of the weariness dragging at his limbs.
            “In the morning,” said Snape. He looked fairly fresh, himself, but then, Harry had no idea what his summer schedule was like, and he hadn’t traveled in time, fought someone twice, saved that same person’s life, and nearly damaged the timeline all in one evening. “I’ll Transfigure the couch into a second bed.”
            Harry nodded and closed his eyes. He could feel the transformation taking place behind him, but he was too tired to watch it for right now. When it had finished, he turned, ready to tumble into place on the new bed and hope Snape would drape blankets over him after he’d passed out.
            But Snape’s hand caught his arm and held him upright for a second. Harry opened hazy eyes, and saw Snape staring at him.
            “If I could figure out what about you fascinated me,” Snape said, and again it was if he was talking to himself, “then I could know what kind of questions to ask. You represent a wonderful opportunity. How many people get the chance to talk with someone from the future?”
            Harry had to snort, but at least that was a little more familiar, Snape talking about how he could use Harry. Harry didn’t think he needed to worry about Snape doing something stupid or horrendously damaging as long as he was talking like that.
            “Most people would know better than to ask,” Harry muttered, and dropped straight down, on the theory that there should be something there to catch him, at least as big and soft as the original couch.
            It was a lot bigger and softer, honestly, and Harry rolled over with a sigh. Sheets or something like them crinkled underneath him, and then something heavy and warm draped over him. Harry reached out and caught the edge of the blanket, dragging it closer.
            “Some people would give up the chance,” Snape said, as if agreeing. His hand skimmed down Harry’s shoulder and the back of his neck, into his hair. Harry sighed. He was so far gone, so suddenly, that he didn’t care about that.
            He would have wondered if Snape had cast some sort of spell on him to make him rest, but, well, it wouldn’t harm him. And he was sure, now, that Snape wouldn’t try something Darker, if only because he wanted to hear what Harry would say.
            “I’m not one of them,” Snape whispered, against his ear. “I want to know what makes you so fascinating, and I will get answers before you leave. Or you won’t leave.”
            And that should really worry me, Harry thought. He sounds like he could be as crazy as Voldemort, except Voldemort would have kept me here to torture me, and Snape…
            Snape’s hand was still on the back of his neck. It didn’t move even when Harry could feel himself slipping towards sleep. He assumed that it would go away at some point in the future, that Snape wouldn’t stand here for the rest of the night being ridiculous and holding onto his neck.
            But the warmth of that large hand seemed to follow him into his dreams nevertheless.
*
            “I didn’t realize you had a guest, of course, or I wouldn’t have come through the Floo so abruptly.”
            Harry tensed. He thought that voice would bring him out of a slumber a hundred times as deep. He whirled around and sat up until he was in danger of falling off the couch, or bed, or whatever it was right now, and the blanket was dangling around him. At least he hadn’t taken his clothes off last night.
            Dumbledore stood in front of the fireplace, one hand still wiping the soot off his lavender-and-magenta robes, his smile gentle and his eyes as bright as they had been when he was alive—
            In Harry’s time. Harry corrected that assumption and clung to it. For some reason, it had been easy for him to adapt to Snape being alive and roll with it instead of constantly leaping in shock. Maybe it was because this younger Snape was so different from the one Harry had known.
            But Dumbledore looked the same as always, not even younger the way he had in Tom Riddle’s memories, and Harry could feel the sharp ache, the yearning, as he looked at him. He wanted to hug him and talk about all the things that had happened since King’s Cross. He wanted to drop Ariana’s name, or Grindlewald’s, and see how he reacted.
            He had to look away, his chest rebounding with conflicting emotions, and Snape stepped smoothly into the gap.
            “I know you would have, Headmaster.” His voice was casual, and he cast a Drying Charm on his hair that made Harry wonder if he had come from the lab and a Potions accident. “As it happens, this is a guest you would have had to know about eventually. Harry—”
            Harry tensed a little, unhappily. He supposed that Snape had to reveal his presence in Hogwarts to Dumbledore, but who knew what this would do to the timeline?
            “—Cantor,” Snape said, sounding a little apologetic, as if he knew the name would mean nothing to Dumbledore and was worried about it. “A neighbor of mine, once upon a time. I didn’t know he was a wizard when we were children.” He looked over and caught Harry’s eyes, and Harry thought it preferable to look into them rather than into Dumbledore’s. After all, Snape wasn’t the only accomplished Legilimens in the room. “And I didn’t know he would become my lover when we met again.”
            Dumbledore’s eyes widened. Harry could see that much before he buried his head in his hands and raked his fingers through his hair. It was probably a good idea to keep his head bowed so Dumbledore couldn’t see the scar, the one identifiable telltale, he decided.
            That was with the distant rational part of his brain, the only one that could think properly through the burning humiliation.
            “Ah—yes,” said Dumbledore. Harry could feel something settle on his shoulder, and knew it was a hand, and was also sure that it wouldn’t be Dumbledore’s. “Well. I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Cantor, although I am curious why you didn’t go to Hogwarts.”
            “My parents moved to the States for a while,” Harry muttered, using a lie he had perfected several times when he had to play a role for the Aurors. He couldn’t fake a true American accent, but he could use a voice that sounded a little less like his own, which he did now. “They didn’t know I was a wizard, either, until the letter came over there.” He looked up at Dumbledore and shrugged a little. “And, well, they decided that they would rather have me go to school nearby than in England.”
            “Understandable, understandable,” Dumbledore murmured. His face was afire with curiosity, Harry knew, because he’d seen that expression before, but his eyes were more on Snape than Harry. Of course, Snape was the one he must know as untouchable and isolated. He would wonder what the hell had happened.
            “We reconnected a short time ago,” said Snape, without moving his hand from Harry’s shoulder, and Harry could hear the glee in his voice at a lie that was also the truth. “He reminded me of the past.” His hand tightened again as Dumbledore looked Harry in the eye. Harry ducked his head as if embarrassed, knowing the conclusions Dumbledore would draw, that Snape was encouraging him to draw. It would probably be the eyes that had attracted Snape to “Harry Cantor” in the first place.
            And it made sense that Harry could have eyes similar to Lily’s, if he lived near her, the way Snape had as a child. They might be related.
            “Tell me, Mr. Cantor,” said Dumbledore, and there was a little thrill in his voice that might only be curiosity, and might be something more. Harry felt a wistful tug on his heart. Dumbledore had been so good at that, tricking confidences out of people, getting them to trust him, but it hadn’t all been a lie, either. “Did you know a woman called Lily Evans? You look a lot like her,” he added, as if in apology.
            Snape’s breath stuttered. Harry shook his head. Truth, again. He hadn’t really known his mum. “Severus has told me about her,” he said. The first name seemed to stick in his mouth, but he hoped Dumbledore would think that was only the humiliation of being caught in Snape’s rooms like this. “I left too young to know her, though.”
            “Ah, pity,” said Dumbledore, and waved a hand as if he was dismissing both the circumstance and the question he had asked Harry. “She was a brilliant witch.”
            “That’s what Severus has said, sir.” Harry forced himself to lean back, to rest his head on Snape’s arm and smile as innocently as he could. His cheeks were still red, but that was from Snape’s little announcement as much as any discomfort with the situation.
            As soon as Dumbledore was gone, he was going to punch Snape.
            “It’s nice to see young love,” said Dumbledore, and then nodded to Snape. “Severus, if I could borrow you for a moment…”
            He led Snape over to the side and started to mutter to him. Harry strained his ears a bit as he lay back down and pretended to cover up with the blanket, and heard the single word “Dark.” He smiled a bit grimly. Dumbledore had probably sensed the Horcrux coming into the school and wondered what it was. He’d leave it up to Snape to spin the lies on that one. He was the most convincing liar in the room.
            Right now, it did seem as if the lie was going to spare Dumbledore from connecting Harry with a time traveler. But Harry still disliked it.
            As he lay there, brain whirling while he tried to will his body to relax, he decided he understood one reason that Snape might have given that lie rather than one about Harry being his friend, or a Potions collaborator, or even just someone he was speaking to on a matter of business. Snape had said that he wanted to know the source of his own fascination, and he was going to keep Harry there until he knew.
            Everyone would expect them to be together if they were lovers. They could move freely around Hogwarts, and elsewhere, as long as they avoided some of the other people who could change history and might be suspicious of the lie, like some of the other Death Eaters.
            Harry closed his eyes with a groan. Yes, it would work. No, he didn’t have to like it.
            “Something wrong, Mr. Cantor?” Dumbledore’s voice was gentle.
            “He often has a headache in the mornings,” said Snape. “We stay up late, talking, and I’m afraid…indulge in more Firewhisky than we should.”
            His tone said all too well what other sorts of indulgences he had in mind. Harry rolled over and glared, only to find Snape standing behind Dumbledore’s shoulder, looking at him with delighted, intelligent, piercing eyes.
            If Harry had to go along with this for right now, he would. But he was going to get Snape back for this later.
            After all, he might already have damaged the timeline with his information. What more harm could a punch do?

*

            moodysavage: Thanks! Poor Harry, so bewildered.
Severus1snape: Every Tuesday!
moon: Thank you!
Jan: Here you are.
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