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

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
A/N: Hello, reader! As you well know, I've been away for two years now. So what happened is: I took a break from my stories for several months and then came back to them to rewrite. Last year's October, while I was writing and rewriting I got knocked up with my second bebe and, with that, of course, was sick for 3 months, which equals a lot of stress and no writing. After that I just didn't feel like it and then bebe was born, who is now 5 1/2 months old. I write while she sleeps, which isn't much these days. So there you have it. I didn't forget or abandon my stories and I will be updating as soon as possible. Please forgive my absence and I hope you like the new chapter.
*****
Chapter Nine
By mid-day the slow drizzle of rain had turned to a downpour, forcing Harry to give up his afternoon plans. His intentions of collecting Crustose Lichen in the Forest would have to be delayed until clearer weather or else risk the Lichen deteriorating. He decided instead on taking a cup of spiced cider to the tallest castle tower for some time alone with his thoughts where he sat for several hours, enjoying the soothing patter of drops hitting the castle walls.
As per usual Snape was at the forefront of his mind. Several weeks had past since the incident in Snape’s class and Harry had gone from ‘getting there’ to ‘dead on arrival’.
Wherever they met, Snape pretended to be too busy to notice him. During class he was only spoken to if Snape deemed it necessary and in the halls he received no more than the same glare that was given to all the student passersby. His countless attempts at apologizing were rebuffed and scraped into the dirty castle corners where they promptly met a dusty death.
No matter what Harry did, Snape would not spare him a moment to listen. Harry didn’t know what else to do except give up. He was tired and frustrated and the worse he felt, the worse his condition seemed to get. It was as if it enjoyed his misery- fed from it even.
His very magic grew erratic. His body changed in stranger ways still. The iridescent skin of his chest returned. It grew and multiplied forming a similar patch of frozen skin on his neck and it was only by sheer luck that he was able to keep it covered beneath the high collars of his robes. The fingers of his tainted hand became stiff, hard to move, and the color of his skin, his hair, even his eyes, appeared to be growing duller.
If something didn’t change soon people would start to notice. Questions would arise. Questions he did not have the answers to.
Harry sighed heavily and stared at his gloved hand in dejection.
He hadn’t been sure of what to tell Madam Pomfrey during their visits. When it finally occurred to him that the problem might be linked to his emotions, and he thought he should mention it to her, the medi-witch would slip in talks of love and curses, and he just couldn’t handle that on top of everything else. The fact that nothing changed when he felt happy appeared to be a contradiction anyway and he didn’t want to fuel her love theory even further.
Consequently, he never ended up mentioning it to her and it wasn’t until he noticed the first blue speck in his eye that he even told her it was spreading.
After that, her usually sparse office became littered with dusty old tomes she’d brought from her great-great-aunt’s personal medical library and she insisted on trying a million random, bizarre tests she’d found in them. None of which told them a thing. And every time he came to see her he felt more and more like a prat for putting her through such useless research.
Harry knew the medi-witch was wasting her time on him. He just couldn’t get her to see it too.
Running away again was starting to become more and more appealing. No one could deny that hiding himself in solitude had worked the best for keeping his curse in check. Being around people caused this thing to spread faster in two months than it had in two years and that was mostly thanks to Snape.
Still, he couldn’t give up on Snape yet, but if it wasn’t him making a blunder it was something else.
The brunet dropped his head into his hands with a pitiful sigh. There was nothing for him to do but wait for Snape to come around. An opportunity would present itself in time; he just needed to be patient. But he was so tired of waiting. He wanted to do something, to put things in action so that he could bring this ‘curse’ to an end. He just couldn’t figure out what that something was. Hermione was the one who came up with the logical plans, not him, and it wasn’t like he could ask for her help without her forming strange ideas about love and Snape and curses. And that was rubbish. Rubbish.
Harry cursed, squeezing the banister tightly with his gloved hand. He emptied his cup in one mouthful before sending it flying out the open window.
He’d been a right bastard, he knew that much. In a fit of stupid anger, he’d sent Snape sprawling on his arse in front of room full of students and now he was only getting what he deserved. Why he had expected the task of easing his guilt towards Snape to be easier, he didn’t know. It was Snape after all. The bloody bastard.
Harry leaned over the edge, watching the tiny dot of china cut through the air and smash on the ground. He thought about cornering Snape in his office and locking the door…but he didn’t want to die just yet.

*****

The monotonous pattern in the rugs changed beneath his feet confirming that he was still on the right path to the kitchens. The corridors were dimly lit during the late hour that he found himself maneuvering the halls and a cold chill had overtaken the castle during the night. Harry absently wished he had put a cloak on over his thin, grey pajamas. Not because he would be embarrassed for anyone to see him unprofessionally, but because his ungloved hand was turning numb and his pants didn’t have a pocket to put it in.
He was tired and hungry and his ego hurt from being rejected by Snape on a monumental level yet again. If a seasoned Professor could get away with a scant letter telling him his services would not be needed for the week following Halloween on account of testing, then what did he have to care about being seen in his pajamas or the loud rumbling from his gut that may or may not have woken a few cranky paintings. It wasn’t his fault he was too depressed to eat dinner.
And because of that could he really be expected to deal with the hunger pains keeping him awake all night, robbing him of sleep?
He didn’t think so and his stomach agreed.
Harry rounded the last corridor that held the plain painting, hiding the kitchens behind it. He sighed heavily and glanced up briefly to locate the large, spiral frame, just barely noticing the door about to swing open in his face.
He jerked ungracefully out of the way with a shout, twisting his foot in the rug and smashing sidelong onto the floor, elbow first. A bolt of pain shot up his wrist, instantly lashing prickly tingles through his fingers. Harry groaned aloud and sat up slowly.
A black-nailed hand reached down within his eyesight, offering to help him up. Harry winced, realizing then who had opened the door. He made a show of rubbing his throbbing elbow and politely ignored the offer, helping himself up instead.
Allan frowned. “I’m sorry, Professor. I wasn’t expecting someone to be in the halls,” he said, lightly brushing Harry’s shoulders.
Harry pulled away with a cringe. “I’m fine, thanks,” he said, taking several obvious steps out of the blond’s reach to where he had a clear view of the open room behind them.
He raised a brow curiously. There wasn’t much to see through the dark except a few dusty tables and disheveled lamps. Nothing seemed disturbed or out of place. In fact, it looked just like any other unused classroom- nothing at all to be suspicious of. Yet Harry couldn’t help feeling like the Slytherin was up to something.
“What where you doing in there?” he asked, glancing to the blond. “ It's after curfew. You know I have to give you a detention for this, right?”
Allan slowly put his hands behind his back. The door slammed shut without warning. His smile gleamed wickedly in the low firelight and he shrugged.
Harry flinched. He added another separating step between them. And when he realized his back was nearly against the wall it took everything in him not to turn and run. His fingers twitched at his side, eager to draw his wand if he needed it, but still, Allan took him off guard. The blond wasted little effort in stalking forward. He backed Harry into the wall faster than he thought would have been possible of him.
Allan’s hands came up beside his shoulders and he tilted his head in what Harry suspected he thought was an attractive manor. “If it’s a detention with you then I don’t mind,” he said, blocking Harry’s escape from both sides. “I keep telling you that I like you Harry. Why do you always deny me?”
Harry clenched his fists. He tried to drop his wand from the holster.
It wasn’t there. He’d forgotten it underneath his pillow.
Allan leaned in, lowering his eyelids and peering at Harry through his lashes. “Be my date for Halloween.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “I can’t,” he growled. “I’ve told you as much already. Now let me go. You could get in serious trouble for this.”
The blond chewed softly on his lip as if seriously weighing his options. Eventually he grinned, placing his hands lower on the wall.
Fuck. Harry glared. He pushed suddenly against the blond hoping to take him off guard, to break free, but the effort only made Allan’s smile grow wider. Harry wondered if it hurt his face to smile like that. “You could get me fired,” he hissed, hoping that reason would make him move, though he knew it wouldn’t.
The blond shrugged, leaning in even closer. “Like I said before, no one has to know. Clandestine trysts in the middle of the night do suggest certain eroticism, don’t you think? As for public excursions, well, I am very good at charms.” He reached up and ran a hand through Harry’s untamed hair, eyes boring heavily down into Harry’s.
Harry hastily turned away. He prayed that the light hadn’t betrayed him and shown Allan that the color of his eyes was not the same as it used to be. “It’s not just my job,” he said with a small, irritated huff. Since reason didn’t work, he wondered if he could make Allan go away by hurting his feelings. Stupid though it was, being weaponless and pinned. “Look, I just don’t like you, Allan. You remind me of someone I grew up hating.”
Surprisingly, Allan chuckled. He didn’t appear offended at all. Quite the contrary, he now looked at Harry as though he were some sort of delicious challenge that needed cracking.
Harry grimaced and forced himself further into the wall. He had to come up with some kind of escape before things turned nasty. Under pressure his magic might burst and that could be very bad for the both of them.
With a wistful sigh Allan brushed his knuckles gently across Harry’s cheek. “I can change your mind,” he whispered. “Please. Let me at least try. That’s all I ask.”
Harry turned his head quickly, anticipating the kiss meant for his lips. It landed on his cheek instead. He glared angrily at the floor; cheek or not, Allan wasn’t meant to share something as personal as that with him. There had only been three others that he'd shared a kiss with, Allan was a bastard for stealing one from him. “That’s enough,” Harry said, making it clear without shouting that he was pissed. “Get off me. Now.”
But Allan only growled low and pinned him to the corridor wall with one strong arm. “Stop ignoring me,” he shouted. Grabbing Harry’s face with his free hand, he twisted it, forcing him to look up. His fingers dug painfully into Harry’s jaw.
Harry panicked. He tried to turn his face but couldn’t without making Allan’s hand squeeze tighter and a harsh kiss was mashed against his lips. He struggled and pushed his hands against the blond’s chest but he couldn’t get Allan off of him.
Harry’s chest tightened where he could feel the cold building inside. He was stupid for leaving his wand behind. He was stupid for not having eaten dinner before. And he was stupid for being so pathetic that he couldn’t make one annoying student leave him alone. It was his own fault he was stuck where he was. He tried kicking Allan, but the blond forced his knee between his legs.
Allan slipped his hand down to Harry's neck and squeezed slightly. His lips lingered over Harry’s. He was about to kiss him again but a low chuckle stopped him cold. Allan pulled away with a disappointed hiss and turned his head to the source of laughter.
Harry’s head followed.
There had only been a spare few times in his life where he was more relieved then he was just then. Even after seeing whom his potential savior was. It was equally likely the man would walk away and continue letting Allan try to grope him as it was for him to make Allan leave. He could only hope that Severus Snape wasn’t having one of his bad days.
Snape glanced between the two of them, a half smile cracking his lips, baring his teeth.
“Professor Snape,” Allan said dryly, clearly displeased at being interrupted.
Snape’s eyebrow rose. He pulled his sleeves up and crossed his arms. “Mr. Blackwater,” he said lightly. “I might ask what you think you are doing -” he glanced obviously to the boy’s trousers “- but I can see it quite well.”
Allan sneered but otherwise said nothing. He didn’t bother to hide his erection and, in fact, turned his body more fully towards Snape.
Snape continued unfazed. “Out well past curfew. Accosting a Professor. I could expel you for that. I should expel you.” His eyes flicked toward Harry, then back to Allan, and his faced twisted to an angry frown. “Lucky for you then that I owe your Mother a favor from the war,” he hissed, “Now get out of my sight before I change my mind and kick you down the castle steps myself.”
The blond snarled. He pushed back from the wall, flashing Harry a wink. “We’ll continue this later then, Professor.”
Harry wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand. “Not bloody likely. My answer is and will always be NO, Allan. Stop harassing me or I will have you expelled.”
The blond huffed. He walked with his head held high, glaring until he passed Snape.
Snape pinned Harry with his eyes. Without breaking contact, he spoke over his shoulder, “detention with Filch at eight o’clock for the next week Mr. Blackwater. Don’t be late or I’ll make you regret it.”
Allan paused briefly, turning back to snarl at his head of house before he disappeared around the corner.
Harry blinked. Snape’s gaze did not waiver.
Feeling self-conscious, he wiped his mouth off again and mumbled a quiet thanks. Snape made no reply. Anxious from the silence, he rubbed the back of his neck, adding, “I didn’t realize I was so weak. Suppose I shouldn’t skip anymore meals, huh.” Or leave my wand behind. Idiot.
Snape narrowed his eyes. He stalked over to him. Seizing Harry's gloved wrist, Snape yanked it above his head nearly forcing him to the tips of his toes.
Harry cried out angrily. His pajama sleeve slipped down to his shoulder, bunching at his armpit. He tried vainly to wrench his arm free of the other man’s uncomfortable grip. He’d seriously had enough of being manhandled.
Never again would he forget his wand.
Snape’s eyes trailed slowly over his Dragonhide glove, down his sleeve, and to shoulder harness. Again he raised an eyebrow. With his other hand he plucked a strand of Harry’s hair, ignoring the way it made Harry flinch. He let the younger man’s arm drop then and brought his pinched fingers up to his face.
A single strand of silvery-teal hair twinkled between his nails.
Harry bit his lip. Snape had a horrible way of making him feel like his world was about to collapse down on him.
“Need I bother asking?” Snape said, dropping the strand. He watched it flitter gently to the floor before turning his black eyes back on Harry.
Harry tried to find words – any words – but his mouth only opened and closed uselessly until his stomach rumbled loudly between them. He wrapped his arms around it, blushing, and looked miserably to the floor.
Snape sighed. He stepped past Harry, briskly motioning for him to follow and continued down the hall where he stopped in front of the kitchens and waited for the door to open.
Harry stood beside him, glancing back to the other end of the hallway. He wondered if it wouldn’t be better to run this time too. His hair was turning blue and Snape had noticed it before he had.
What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

*****

“You’re a fool, Potter.”
Harry grimaced through a mouthful of peach pastry. Okay, maybe he deserved to be told that. After all, there were several people in the castle equipped to help him resolve his problem if he’d just had the courage to tell them in the first place. Shoving another bite in his mouth with a frown, he avoided looking directly into the other man's hurtful glare. The truth was never easy to swallow, especially when it was being crammed down your throat by someone like Professor Severus Snape.
Snape lurched forward, startling Harry, reclaiming his attention. “Idiot,” he hissed, smacking the pastry from his hand. “Stop pretending you don’t have a problem.”
Harry closed his eyes for one blessed moment of pretend: that he was instead having a late-night snack with a friend, that they were talking about lesson plans, and potions, and which student they disliked the most. But when he opened them, all he found was Snape, glaring hatefully down his nose. So he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and reached for a glass of milk in silence. What could he possibly say that would change anything now?
The glass moved before he could touch it. Sneering, Snape held it just out of his reach. He was, apparently, expecting some kind of answer to a question he'd never even asked.
Finally becoming angry himself, Harry leaned over the table and grabbed it back, his fingers accidentally brushing against Snape's as he pulled away. The flinch the other man could not hide fueled him further. “What do you want me to say,” he growled between bared teeth and gestured to his gloved arm. “I don’t know what caused this. I don’t know how to reverse it. I have told you everything that I know. What else is there?”
Snape’s eyebrow rose a fraction, challenging. He lifted his chin with a confidence Harry did his best to match.
“Have you? You think so?”
Harry snorted in reply.
Rising to his feet, Snape straightened his sleeves and pushed in his chair. “I don’t think it so, Potter,” he said softly, rounding the table. He stopped at Harry's side, black eyes cast down on him. “I think,” he said, pausing briefly to place a napkin in front of the milk about to spill onto Harry's lap, “that you know more about what’s going on than you let yourself accept. The way you skirt around certain aspects of your explanation, it is clear to me that something lies at the heart of your problem. Something that makes you exceedingly uncomfortable, something that you refuse to do anything about except deny. Have you, Potter, ever thought that YOU might be the cause of your own problems?”
Harry stared hard at the milk pooling behind the soaked napkin. As much as he hated to admit it, the answer was a profound no. But then, he didn’t really need to say it out loud for Snape to know that.
Snape’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk. He waved his hand dismissively. “Of coarse not. Why would you?” Without another word, he crossed the room and opened the door. Harry watched him the entire way. Before he left, he looked back and for a brief moment Harry saw on his face, something he had never seen before: unsure pity.
But then it was gone, and Snape turned away again, stepping further into the hall.
“When you decide to pull your head out of your arse, Potter, and you think you can properly ask for help, I might just be willing to oblige.”
The door closed silently and Harry was left more confused than ever.

*****
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Love is Cold