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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
- 5
- 6
Chapter Six

“I trust you both know why you're here.”

Harry huffed loudly and crossed his arms over his chest, while Snape spared a bored glance at the Headmaster and shrugged a shoulder, as disinterested as Harry was apoplectic.

“Public displays of affection are – ”

Harry turned and glared at Snape. “I told you Professor McGonagall was coming! I told you to get your damn tongue out of my mouth before she – ”

“Now, Harry, there is no need – ”

“No, there is most certainly a need for him to listen to me when I – ”

“Listen to what? You don't make any sense, Potter. How could you tell me anything with my tongue in your mouth? If you mean those sounds you were making, I interpreted them as saying, 'How did you manage to perfect the art of kissing?' coupled with a request of 'More, more, you sexy beast, more.'”

Harry could only manage a strangled squeak of fury.

“On the other hand, that sound you made just now isn't fit to be translated.”

Dumbledore sat back in his chair with a sigh and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “I only ask that you both exercise some … discretion.”

“Yes, 'exercises discretion' – the number one trait of a modern teenager,” Snape countered in a low drawl, maintaining his overall air of indifference to the situation.

“Would you prefer to be separated?” Dumbledore's voice had taken on a frosty edge.

Snape's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, a spark of challenge in his eyes. “Would you prefer us to be separated?”

Harry felt like he was being forced to watch a father argue with his rebellious son, and by the conflicted look on Dumbledore's face, the son was winning. The Headmaster glanced at Harry, his expression clouded, but Snape saved him from answering.

“I will restrain myself ...”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

“ … in public.”

And there went his relief..

“Are we allowed to leave now?” he asked wearily. They'd gone straight from breakfast to the Headmaster's office, and Harry didn't want to spend any more of his precious Saturday being chastised for something that hadn't even been his fault in the first place. Considering how touchy-feely Snape had been all week, it was amazing that they hadn't found themselves in the Headmaster's office before now.

“You may leave, Harry, but I need to speak with Severus alone.”

Harry paused halfway out of his chair. “Why?”

“If he wanted you to know, he'd ask you to stay,” Snape said, his terse response tempered by an indulgent smile, his fingers curling around Harry's wrist as he added, “Be a good boy and wait for me so we can walk back together.”

Harry's ire wasn't soothed by the smile. He jerked his hand away and left the office without another word.

What do those two talk about when I'm not around? The likeliest answer was the attack on Hogwarts, but Harry didn't understand why he couldn't be part of the discussion if that was the case. He'd been forced into a central role in the war against Voldemort, so why should he be kept in the dark now?

“And does he really have to gloat about it so much?” he muttered as he paced in the hall, annoyed by Snape's condescending tone whenever Harry dared to ask why he couldn't join in on their secret talks. Who did Snape think he was, telling Harry to wait like a 'good boy'?

And that damn kiss …

The memory of Snape's lips claiming his own lit a fire in Harry's body, and he decided waiting for Snape would a horrible idea. Getting caught snogging in the hallway by McGonagall and sent to the Headmaster's office was enough humiliation for one day, and he didn't trust Snape's promise to hold back in public. The whole point of Snape kissing him was to prove to other people that they were a couple, so kissing in private was just –

“Potter, watch out!”

Harry whipped around, only to have a ball of dirt, leaves and flower petals slam into his stomach. It wasn't painful, most of the dirt crumbling the instant it hit him, but the shock of it had him bending over, hands on knees, to catch his breath. He was dimly aware that Peeves, the culprit behind the surprise attack, whirled and swooped overhead, laughing maniacally.

“Get out of here, Peeves!” The voice that had tried to warn Harry now shouted over Peeves' laughter, and Harry looked up to see Mulgrew running towards him, a plant and several shards of pottery cradled against his chest. Peeves stuck out at his tongue at both of them and disappeared into the ceiling.

Mulgrew made a sound of disgust before fixing his concerned gaze on Harry. “Are you hurt?”

“Just a little winded,” Harry wheezed, tacking on a smile when Mulgrew looked unconvinced. “I've been hit by a lot worse.”

“Yes, of course,” Mulgrew said, a light blush creeping over his cheek bones. He was a few inches shorter than Harry, and while not as thin or athletic, he was still far more fit than what might be expected from someone whom Hermione had once described as a “bookish, amateur herbologist” back when she'd had plans to play Cupid for the two boys. Harry had just thought of Mulgrew as “that cute blond Hufflepuff,” admiring him in a distant, if-things-were-different sort of way, but too wrapped up in his angst-ridden feelings for Snape to take Hermione's matchmaking scheme seriously. This was the first time he'd ever really talked to him other than exchanging greetings when they passed each other in the castle.

Mulgrew squatted down, gently placing the plant and the broken pottery shards on the floor next to the lump of damp dirt, greyish leaves and wilted white petals that had struck Harry. He kept his brown eyes focused on his task, speaking hurriedly as he explained his part in Peeves' little 'prank'. “I was walking up a staircase when Peeves popped out a few steps above me, and he scared me into dropping my plant. He snatched up most of the dirt, so I chased him down to get it back but he'd already targeted you, and before I could stop him – ”

“Splat?” Harry suggested with a laugh.

Mulgrew glanced up, his lips twitching, but just as quickly he looked away, repeating softly, “Splat.”

“Well, you did try to warn me. I just wasn't fast enough.” Harry crouched down beside him and used his wand to fix the broken pot, then sat back on his haunches as he watched Mulgrew painstakingly return the plant to its home. “Will it be okay? Peeves didn't end up killing it, did he?”

“It's damaged, but it will survive.”

“I know someone who can make an annoyingly perfect rejuvenation potion for you,” Harry offered, his lips curving into a fond smile at the memory, but then he caught himself and cleared his throat gruffly, “though I doubt he'd do it for free.”

“You mean Snape, don't you?” Mulgrew swiped at the blond fringe obstructing his gaze, accidentally getting a piece of leaf caught in his hair. His dark brown eyes glinted with anger, and Harry realized he'd seen that same look on Mulgrew's face during breakfast at the beginning of the week. “No, thanks. I don't want him doing me any favors.”

“Like I said, he wouldn't do it for free. It's not a favor if he puts a price on it,” Harry pressed on, hiding his disappointment at Mulgrew's reaction behind a good-natured grin. He could understand the hostility that other students felt towards Snape, but it bothered Harry when they were so open about it in front of him. He always felt driven to prove their assumptions wrong, even though he knew that Snape himself didn't really care. Maybe if Snape's potion helped Mulgrew, it would go a little way towards changing how he felt about him. “Or what if … well, what if I ask him for it, and then pass it along to you? I'd make it for you myself, but I'm an amateur compared to Snape.”

Mulgrew looked down at the plant, absently pressing his fingers into the potting soil as he considered Harry's words. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he finally mumbled a grudging, “If you want to ...”

He's as stubborn as I am, Harry thought, and the realization was somehow endearing. He reached out and plucked the leaf from Mulgrew's hair, meaning to tease him about it, but the words died on his lips when Mulgrew trembled under that light touch. He caught Harry's wrist, red-faced and wide-eyed, a confused but hopeful expression on his face.

“Are you and Snape really – ”

“There you are.”

Mulgrew let go of Harry's wrist as if he'd been burned.

“And here I thought you'd left without me,” Snape said as he walked up behind Harry. Both Harry and Mulgrew stood up, the former feeling a little guilty that he'd actually planned on leaving Snape behind all along, but Snape didn't seem to be holding a grudge as he slid his arm around Harry's waist. He gave the other boy a perfunctory glance, spitting out a curt, “Who's your little friend?”

Harry raised a brow, knowing full well that Snape hadn't forgotten who Mulgrew was, but he played along. “This is Keegan Mulgrew. He's a sixth year.”

Snape continued with the charade of ignorance. “Which house? Ravenclaw?”

“Hufflepuff,” Mulgrew corrected him, almost defiantly.

Snape chuckled at Mulgrew's small show of bravado. “Ahh, I see.”

“I was just helping Mulgrew with his plant,” Harry broke in, heading off the path their conversation was taking before it could veer into hostility. “Peeves thought it would be fun to steal some dirt from his pot and fling it at me.” He gestured at the front of his shirt.

“Look at you, Potter.” Snape took in Harry's soiled shirt with amusement, though there was a flicker of something darker in his gaze when he twisted his fingers into the dirty material and drew Harry closer. “You're positively filthy.”

Harry had to remind himself to keep breathing.

“It's my fault,” Mulgrew said, reminding them both of his presence as he held up the re-potted plant. “Harry never would have gotten dirty if I hadn't dropped this.”

Snape eyed the plant then looked back at Mulgrew, his eyes narrowing as he spoke in a dangerously soft voice, “Asphodel?”

Mulgrew quailed under that intense stare, hugging the pot against his chest, but he gave Snape a clear, steady answer. “Yes. So?”

“Interesting,” Snape said, still watching Mulgrew with that cool, calculating glare.

Mulgrew might be a lost cause, Harry thought, mentally erasing his name from the list of students he thought he could win over to Snape's side. It was such a depressingly short list; it pained him to make it even shorter.

“I have work to do.” Mulgrew turned on his heel and stalked off, only to turn and utter, as if remembering his manners, a sheepish, “Thanks for helping me, Potter.”

Harry gave him an apologetic smile and a short wave, unaware of the way his innocent gesture caused Snape's shoulders to stiffen. When he thought Mulgrew was out of sight, Harry turned to Snape with a scowl, prepared to lecture him about scaring off potential allies, but instead he found himself shoved up against the wall as Snape kissed him long and hard, his fingers digging into Harry's hips. Harry tried to wiggle out from under him but Snape growled and deepened the kiss, unrelenting in his possession of Harry's mouth until Harry couldn't fight his own desire anymore, surging into the kiss with a moan. Satisfied that Harry wouldn't pull away, Snape broke the kiss, trailing his lips along Harry's jaw then nuzzling at his throat.

“Your little friend is watching us,” he whispered into Harry's ear, one hand sliding up from Harry's hip to slip beneath the hem of his dirt-stained shirt. “Should I take you right here in front of him? Do you think he'd enjoy the show?”

Harry gasped, both at the thought of being watched and at the wave of lust that Snape's wandering fingers stirred into life, his hand hot against Harry's skin as it skimmed over his stomach and curved around to his back. When Harry arched away from the wall to press himself closer to Snape, that hand delved below the waistband of Harry's trousers and squeezed his bottom through his boxers, forcing a soft cry from Harry's lips that made Snape chuckle.

“Ahh, no, I think he's gone now,” he said, giving Harry's arse one last squeeze before pulling away, smoothing his dark hair back into place as he took in Harry's flushed, disheveled appearance with a calm smile. Harry started to wonder if Mulgrew had been watching after all, or if this was just another one of Snape's mind games.

As if he'd read his thoughts, Snape brushed his thumb over Harry's lips. “These little displays are necessary if we want to convince the school that we're together, but you can't expect me to keep doing all the work, especially with Albus keeping an eye on us. You should at least refrain from flirting with other boys.”

“I wasn't flirting,” Harry said with a return of his scowl, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, though the memory of Snape's kiss lingered, as always.

“Hmm.” Snape fell back on the non-committal response they'd both come to use when they suspected the other of being not-quite-truthful.

“I wasn't. Anyway, you're the one who called him 'attractive,' remember? I should be more worried about – ” Harry flinched and bit his lip. This was supposed to be a fake relationship, so why would it matter who Snape found attractive? Think before you speak, Potter. Confirming his very real feelings for Snape was the last thing he wanted to do. The now-familiar ache in his chest stirred to life as he pushed his way past Snape and started walking. “Let's just go back. I need to change my shirt.”

“Wait, Potter.”

Harry froze, his hands clenching into fists. What now? There was only so much teasing he could take. If he kisses me again, I swear this time I'm really going to bite him … even if it hasn't been a full week yet ...

“I just remembered something I wanted to ask you about Weasley.”

“About Ron?” Harry spun around. “What about him?”

“Yesterday evening, while you and Granger were studying in the library, I happened to see Weasley talking to Pansy Parkinson.”

Harry gave him a blank look. Pansy? Why would Ron even look twice at Pansy?

Snape easily deduced the first conclusion to which Harry's mind would jump and did his best to reassure him. “They didn't seem happy to see each other, so I don't think he's cheating on Granger, but it was the first time I'd ever seen them have a conversation and I thought you might know something about it.”

“No, I thought he was off with Dean and Seamus last night. That's what he told Hermione.”

“It might have been a coincidence,” Snape said with a shrug. “It's not unusual for students to run into each other in the halls. Maybe Weasley literally bumped into Parkinson – it would explain that 'You're so beneath me' look she had on her face. Forget I said anything.”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry said, but his mind wouldn't let this new information go so easily, and he pondered it in silence all the way back to the tower.

* * * * *

Back in the Gryffindor tower, Harry found himself sitting on his bed with a rare moment to himself. He was supposed to be changing his shirt, but Harry had his own secret he was holding back from Snape, and he wanted to take advantage of his time alone. He opened his school bag and pulled out four folded letters and one sealed envelope. The mysterious letter that Harry had received on the first morning that classes resumed had been followed by another the next morning, and then the next, delivered each day without fail and with no clue given as to the sender's identity.

Unfolding the four letters he'd already opened, he spread them out on his bed in the order that they'd been sent:

Give up Snape or you'll regret it.

The way you hang all over him is disgusting.

He's only with you because you're famous.

What will you do when he gets tired of playing with you?

Each letter contained only a single sentence, the taunts brief but maddeningly efficient – that last one had shot straight to the heart of Harry's insecurities when he'd read it – but other than the first warning that he'd “regret” not giving up Snape, there had been no actual threat made against Harry, so he continued to keep the letters a secret from his friends. He thought it was silly to make a big deal out of what amounted to a mild case of bullying.

“Though I think I prefer bullies like Draco,” he muttered as he took the latest envelope out of his bag and tore it open, pulling out the letter. “At least he insults me to my face.”

He spread out the piece of parchment and steeled himself for another snide remark, only to frown in confusion at what was written there:

He'll never be able to make you happy.

It was such an abrupt shift in tone that Harry started to doubt that it was sent by the same person, but when he compared the parchment and the handwriting to the other letters, they appeared to match. Why, after four days of sending abusive one-liners, had his anonymous correspondent decided to show concern for Harry's happiness? If he added this letter to the others, Harry could even believe that his would-be bully was more interested in Harry than Snape after all.

“Or maybe that's the trick.” He hated how paranoid he sounded second-guessing the sincerity behind eight simple words, but years of dealing with plots and deceptions had forced him to look at a situation from all angles. If this person pretended to have Harry's best interests at heart, it would make for a clever attempt at manipulating Harry into giving Snape up. But if Harry was the one with the secret admirer, then maybe all the earlier notes were penned out of jealousy, not spite. He wasn't sure which scenario made him more uncomfortable ...

“What's keeping you, Potter?”

Harry's head snapped up at the sound of Snape's voice from the doorway. He quickly shoved the letters into his bag and scooted off the bed.

“I was just checking my homework to make sure I finished it all,” he said, aware that such a weak lie wouldn't fool Snape but unable to think of a more convincing excuse for why he was taking so long.

“Hmm.” Again, that non-committal reply, implying that he didn't believe a word Harry was saying, but he didn't pursue the matter, choosing instead to nod his head at Harry's stained shirt. “You didn't change yet?”

“I was going to, but – ”

“ – you needed some help?” Snape moved out of the doorway, advancing on Harry with the slow, deliberate pace of a cat stalking a mouse.

“Don't be stupid,” Harry snapped, channeling that nervous flutter in his stomach into irritation. Anger was safe. Anger kept his defenses intact.

Snape didn't stop until he was standing just in front of Harry, his dark gaze trailing slowly down Harry's body before he looked up with a mischievous grin. “I think you need my help.”

“I don't, I – ” Harry's frustrated protest was cut short when Snape grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, leaving Harry no choice but to raise his arms and let Snape tug it over his head. He watched as Snape balled up the shirt and tossed it aside, his dark gaze roaming over Harry's bare chest with a hunger that shot straight to Harry's groin.

“I can dress myself,” he said, but his voice was soft and shaky.

“Of course you can,” Snape said in a placating tone, gently resting his hands on Harry's shoulders.

“So – so you can leave now.”

Snape's hands drifted towards Harry's chest, only to slide over to grip his arms when Harry looked like he would bolt. “But you still need a clean shirt.”

“I can't get one until you let go of me,” Harry pointed out with more exasperation than he really felt.

“Something green would be nice,” Snape murmured absently, stroking his fingers up and down Harry's bare arms. “I like you in green.”

“Typical Slytherin,” Harry said with a scornful laugh, desperate to hide his arousal.

Snape smirked, his fingers tightening briefly around Harry's upper arms before he released him. “I'm anything but typical, Potter. You should know that by now.”

He turned and walked to the doorway, pausing only to say in a much colder, professorial tone, “Hurry up and get some clothes on. The longer you dawdle up here, the longer I have to endure Weasley's pathetic attempts at intimidation.”

“Or you could just try to get along with him,” Harry called after him as Snape left, a humorless grunt the only answer he received, and then he was alone again and free to let out that long, shuddering moan he'd been holding back. He buried his face in his hands, repeating over and over in his head all the reasons why it was dangerous for him to lower his guard around Snape. He winced at a particularly painful jolt in his chest that quickly dulled into the usual ache – he'd been suffering it for so long that he could ignore it as long as there were classes to focus on or friends to distract him, but sometimes it would flare up, the phantom pain of a bond that no longer existed.

“Snap out of it, Potter. The day can only get better from here,” he said, trying to inject some cheer into his voice as he gave himself a pep talk. “First, you need to pick out a shirt.”

In the end, he compromised on the color, choosing a green t-shirt but covering it with a long-sleeved plaid flannel in shades of brown, but when he arrived downstairs in the common room, Snape was nowhere in sight.

“'Bout time you came down, Harry,” Ron said with a bright smile from his seat on one of the room's overstuffed sofas.

Harry grinned and sat down next to him. “Sorry it took me so long. Where's Snape?”

Ron's smile faded. “He said something about taking a walk to clear his head. I told him I'd be happy if he stayed away all day, but the nasty git made a point of saying he'd be back soon, like it was a threat.”

Harry sighed, bracing himself for yet another lecture from Ron on why Harry should dump Snape as soon as possible. He didn't have long to wait …

“You know why he's always hanging around you, don't you? He's using you to rewrite history. He was a nobody at this school the first time around, but now he's got you to make him look important.” Ron leaned in on the sofa they shared, a note of desperation in his voice. “You should dump him, Harry. He's no good for you. Tell him to go away.”

Harry recoiled from his friend, inexplicably repulsed by Ron's twitchy energy and clingy manner. It was so different from Snape's air of entitlement as he stayed glued to Harry's side, giving off the impression that he was there because he belonged there and he dared anyone to disagree. Not too long ago, Ron had been just as confident about where he stood with Harry, but these days he acted more like Harry's follower than his friend.

I'm the worst, Harry thought, taking full blame for the deterioration of their friendship. Ron had a habit of closing off whenever Snape was around, and Snape was always around, so Harry rarely had a moment alone with his best friend, and even when he did – like now – Ron would always use the opportunity to badmouth Snape, which only served to alienate Harry and put Ron in a foul mood. Harry missed the old Ron, missed joking with him and getting into trouble with him. He couldn't help but see how much Ron had changed – in the past, it was more likely for Ron to lose his temper with Harry in a disagreement than for him to run off with his tail tucked between his legs, as he was known to do these days – and it all seemed to have started as soon as Harry and Snape started 'dating'. With Hermione hitting the books harder than ever now that Snape was out-doing her in class, Harry was starting to feel like his fake relationship with Snape was the only one he could count on. He dreaded conversations like this one, if only because they were starting to feed into his own doubts about whether it was wise to be so dependent on a relationship that wasn't real.

“I saw him talking to Malfoy yesterday,” Ron added, peering into Harry's eyes expectantly. If there was one subject Harry hated hearing about above all others, it was Draco's friendship with Snape. While other Slytherins had shunned Snape for 'jumping ship' to Gryffindor, Draco had stayed loyal to his former Head of House. He was the only person besides Harry to whom Snape would speak more than a few words, and their whispered conversations, though often conducted in Harry's view, never failed to raise his suspicions, and Ron knew it.

This time, however, Harry had something to counter Ron's insinuation. “Snape says he saw you talking to Pansy Parkinson. Is that when you saw him talking with Malfoy?” He waited for the reasonable explanation that he was sure Ron would be able to give him.

Ron opened his mouth then closed it, unable or unwilling to give Harry an answer. Instead, he lapsed into a silent sulk, resisting all of Harry's awkward attempts to talk to him about other things like Quidditch or classes, and then Snape was back and the opportunity to talk openly with Ron was lost, leaving Harry truly worried about Ron's strange behaviour but uncertain of how he should proceed.

* * * * *

"Stay away from him," was Snape's suggestion when Harry turned to him for advice.

They were in the library, Snape writing an essay on the proper way to transplant a dryad from a dying tree to a healthy one without killing it, and Harry carrying out another day's worth of weeding out bookworms.

"Thanks, you've been a big help," he grouched as he dumped an armful of books onto the table, sending a puff of dust into the air. "I knew I should have gone to Hermione instead."

Snape paused in his writing and gave Harry a hard look. "I mean it, Potter. If you think something is seriously wrong with Weasley, it's likely to be true, and in that case I don't want you going anywhere near him."

"He's my best friend. I can't just ignore him. Maybe I should tell Dumbledore ..."

"No." Snape dropped his quill and grabbed Harry's wrist, his voice taking on that authoritative tone he once reserved for teaching Potions classes. "Don't bother Dumbledore with this. Weasley's probably just going through a phase – don't all teenagers go through phases? Give him some space and I'm sure he'll come around."

"You just said something could be seriously wrong!"

"What do I know? He's your best friend."

"Forget it, I'm going to talk to Hermione about this," Harry said, out of patience with Snape's habit of talking in circles whenever Harry wanted to discuss something important. He gave him the same run-around when Harry tried to discuss who might have initiated the attack on Hogwarts.

Snape held tightly to Harry's wrist as he stood up from his chair, backing Harry up against one of the bookshelves. "I really think you should just leave it alone, Potter."

Harry swallowed hard but stood his ground, well aware that Snape had a habit of getting physical whenever he wanted to distract Harry. So far he had a one-hundred percent success rate, but maybe this time Harry could beat the odds. "What if it gets worse? I've never seen Ron like --"

-- this, Harry thought, but the word never left his mouth as his lips were otherwise occupied by Snape. He pushed at Snape's shoulders to dislodge him, but Snape merely took both of Harry's hands and pinned them above his head. The kiss seemed to go on forever, Harry's resistance melting away under the skillful onslaught of Snape's lips and tongue, so that when Snape finally ended the kiss, Harry automatically leaned his head forward in pursuit of more, disappointed when Snape evaded him.

"Feeling better?" Snape asked, a trifle smugly. He continued to pin Harry's hands against the bookshelf, leisurely rubbing up against his body and stirring his cock to life.

Harry glared at him despite the pleasure he was feeling. "I'll feel better when you let go of me."

"If you didn't like it," Snape rocked his hips forward teasingly, “you wouldn't get so excited.”

"I'm gay. Of course I like it," Harry hissed, but his struggle to free his hands was half-hearted at best, and Snape had obviously seen right through his shallow resistance.

"Oh, yes, I'm sure having Goyle or Crabbe thrusting up against you would get you this hard," Snape mocked him as he slid a hand between their bodies to cup Harry's erection through his trousers. "None of that 'any man will do' rubbish, Potter. We both know it doesn't work that way ..."

He leaned in for another kiss but the soft, silvery sound of bells stopped him just shy of Harry's mouth. Snape sighed and bowed his head in frustration, then he let go of Harry and backed away with his hands in the air, like a criminal surrendering to his jailers. Harry turned to face the stacks to hide his erection just as Madam Pince came around the corner. She gave Snape and Harry a suspicious glance as she pulled a large, leather-bound tome off a nearby shelf then walked away, her footsteps receding into the distance followed by a second whisper of bells.

"You know, there's an apt expression for a time like this ..." Snape mused as he sat back down to his essay.

Harry didn't know what made him angrier -- the fact that Snape had set up wards to warn him of Pince's approach in advance, meaning he'd planned all along to corner Harry against the stacks, or the callous way he went from pawing Harry like a werewolf in heat to acting as if the whole thing never happened. The first he could grudgingly forgive, since the kiss had been spectacular and the imprisonment of his hands surprisingly thrilling, but Harry hated Snape's sudden shifts from hot to cold.

He also hated being left with an erection and no way to relieve it.

"I wish you'd choose a personality and stick with it," he grumbled as he picked up his pile of books and moved to another table. Let the jerk sit alone.

"It got your mind off of Weasley, didn't it?"

Harry glared at him. "Are you going to pounce on me every time I try to talk about a subject you don't like?"

Snape looked up at him with a smirk. "That's not the worst idea you've ever had ..."

"It wasn't my -- you're the one who -- oh, sod it. Just don't talk to me for the rest of the day."

Snape shrugged and went back to his homework.

This is more serious than I imagined, Harry thought, panic warring with anger as he squashed a chubby black bookworm under his thumb. He's definitely going to drive me crazy before this whole thing is over.
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