http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3613370/1/Beyond_Words

http://www.fanfiction.net/u/59059/Steppenwoelfin

Summary: When Voldemort dies, he curses Harry to become mute. Dumbledore assigns Severus Snape to teach Harry how to overcome this obstacle. Initial hate yields to increasing understanding, respect and attraction between the two...

BEYOND WORDS

CHAPTER 1

Flashes of memory. Ghostly screams, flares of spells, the Order of the Phoenix holding the Death Eaters at bay, Harry alone with Voldemort in the Department of Mysteries…

Voldemort's distorted face and blood-red eyes. Voldemort screaming out with his dying breath:

“YOU, HARRY POTTER, WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO SPEAK AGAIN, NEVER EVER AGAIN! SILENTIUM AETERNUM°!”

Fog descending on Harry, engulfing him in clammy tendrils, and then that excruciating pain in his throat, as if someone was gauging out his larynx and slicing through his tongue…

He had awoken in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey had been there, along with a tearful Hermione and a pale Ron, the former with her arm in a sling and the latter with a bandage around his head to cover the injuries sustained during the battle with the Death Eaters. Other members of the DA lay in beds near Harry, fortunately alive. And Albus Dumbledore had been there as well. Everyone had looked sad and completely exhausted.

And now he was sitting in Dumbledore's office - but not alone with the eminent Headmaster of Hogwarts. Severus Snape was present as well. There was a cut on his cheek which, thanks to Madam Pomfrey's ministrations would disappear within a few hours, and his hands, too, were scratched.

More flashbacks, this time of the hospital wing, invaded his mind. Madam Pomfrey telling Dumbledore that Harry would never be able to speak again, that he remain mute for the rest of his life after Voldemort had cursed him during his demise. Dumbledore's fingers travelling over Harry's face, touching his forehead, where the scar was still etched, resting upon his throat from which his voice had been ripped forever even though his tongue and larynx were still in their usual places, unharmed on the surface.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said gravely, bringing Harry back to his current situation and whereabouts, “I have to ask you to teach and train Harry how to perform magic without a voice.”

Snape stiffened in his chair.

“I don't think I am the right person to teach Potter,” he replied tersely while Harry stared at his feet, still too numb to react properly. He had not cried when he had been told about his voice. He had cried for the people who had died because of Voldemort. Cried inwardly. On the outside, he had remained impassive, frozen, rigid verging on lethargic.

“Severus, you are one of the few people who possesses all the right abilities and skills to tutor Harry. You even know sign language,” Dumbledore said softly.

Snape shot Harry a venomous look.

“I am sure there are qualified people for a case like Potter's,” he said smoothly. “They are bound to have more in-depth knowledge and expertise in the area of muteness and magic.”

“I regard you as the most qualified teacher, Severus.”

“It might well take a year until Potter can manage on his own,” Snape pointed out coldly.

“I am fully aware of it, Severus.”

“So you are adamant that I should baby-sit Potter,” Snape stated resentfully.

Dumbledore simply gazed at Snape without saying anything. Harry raised his head, watching the interaction between the two powerful wizards attentively.

Then Snape leant back after a minute or two.

“Fine. I'll do it. And I expect you to make an effort, Potter, a very big effort indeed. I had hoped never to teach you anything again, especially after your miserable attempt at Occlumency in your fifth year. I had hoped to see the last of you after this war. Obviously, it is going to be a rather long time until we can call it quits. Six o'clock in my office on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.”

Harry was too tired to balk at the prospect of spending three evenings a week with Snape.

In the background, the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black snickered appreciatively.

“Thank you, Severus. You may go,” Dumbledore said courteously.

Snape rose with a bitter sneer and left, his black robes rustling ominously.

Dumbledore shifted his gaze to Harry.

“Harry…my dear boy, there is so much I would like to say to you; but all I can say to you is that you must be stronger than ever in order to cope with what the war has left in its wake. I ask you to trust Severus Snape - you have no more reasons to distrust him after what he has done for the Order and in this battle. The lessons won't be easy for him and for you, but this is for you, Harry, for your life. Severus is the most capable wizard who can teach you. There are other witches and wizards who are mute like you are now; yet your circumstances were and are highly unusual. I hope you understand why I am doing this, Harry.”

Harry nodded slowly. Dumbledore came round his desk and placed his hand on the young man's head for a moment.

“I am very proud of you, Harry. Very. You are strong. Have faith in yourself, in your friends - and in Severus.”

Harry's green eyes became teary for a moment, and Dumbledore pressed his shoulder.

Fawkes the Phoenix had burst into flame the day before, but his fledgling form managed to produce an encouraging flute-like sound.

Harry had been given a notebook and a pen in which to write anything he wanted to ask or say; he extracted them from his robes and began to write. When he had finished, he handed the booklet to Dumbledore.

What will I do for a year at Hogwarts besides being trained by Professor Snape? I have graduated, but how can I train to be an Auror without a voice, or become a professional Quidditch player? What shall I do for a living?

He would have liked to leave “Professor” away, but he knew that the omission would displease Dumbledore.

Dumbledore read the sentences and actually smiled.

“I am pleased to see your concern about your future. It means that you are looking ahead in spite of what has befallen. I see another option for you besides a career as an Auror or a Quidditch player. If you succeed in your lessons with Severus, then I could imagine giving you the Defence Against The Dark Arts post after a year. Alastor has promised to, er, catch up on the year of teaching he missed out in your fourth year. He was extremely unenthusiastic about it at first. I am sure he will provide you with plenty of solid suggestions.”

Harry was so startled that he nearly choked. Then, too desperate to write, he pointed to his throat and added a questioning gesture with his hands.

“Oh, you can teach without a voice, Harry. It should be no problem once you have mastered the advanced forms of Legilimency; and that is Severus's domain…”

°Silentium aeternum: eternal silence.

CHAPTER 2

Before Harry's first lesson, more arrangements followed. They included Harry's shift from Gryffindor Tower to his own rooms. He was a graduate student and his dormitory would be claimed by the next batch of Gryffindors once the new term started. He was accommodated in breathtakingly spacious quarters on the second floor. Dobby insisted on organising his rooms single-handedly. Harry, whose room back at Privet Drive had been another of Dudley's hand-me-downs, so to speak, was a matchbox compared to his new realm. Although he was not a bibliomaniac like Hermione, Harry was fond of reading, and he was pleased to see plenty of shelves to house his books - Muggle and Wizarding fiction and plenty of books on the Dark Arts and Defence - DVDs and CDs. He had exchanged a few Galleons into Muggle currency at Gringotts towards the end of his last summer break and bought a laptop. It was a declaration of independence for him after turning seventeen and leaving the Dursleys for good. His relatives had been overjoyed at the prospect of being rid of him, and Uncle Vernon in particular had been singing the day before his seventeenth birthday.

Harry extracted the laptop and the triangular device which would enable it to run on the castle's magic. All he had to do was place the triangle next to the laptop so that it was touching. Next, with a flick of his wand, he sent the books, DVDs and CDs flying helter-skelter into the shelves, some of the books and discs upside-down and others lying on their sides. Like Tonks, Harry was not very good with spells which put things in order. With another effort, he managed to tidy up the mess and finally walked over to the window. His shoulders slumped. He couldn't talk anymore. Ever again. He could still hardly believe it. He was not exactly loquacious, but this permanent silence which had been imposed on him against his will frightened him beyond description; and the lessons with Snape were something he dreaded.

The first lesson came, and Harry bleakly made his way to the cold dungeons. Snape's office-door opened before he could knock. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. Snape's biting tones greeted him from the shadows.

“Ah. Potter, the hero of the century. Sit down.”

Snape moved forwards into the light, his arms crossed upon his chest.

Harry frowned slightly. There was something different about the man. His long hair was shining, but without the disgusting oily sheen which had repulsed the student body for years. Snape's lips twisted into a derisive smile, revealing white teeth. Harry stared at him.

“Cat got your tongue? Well, Potter, I must admit that you have relieved me of a rather tedious burden.”

He made Harry a mock bow before resuming with a smirk:

“I will be able to enjoy some more leisure time outside the walls of this castle. Merlin knows I've had to make sacrifices for your worthless sake, as I am doing even now. A little socialising won't hurt, don't you agree? I suppose you will have some difficulty in that area due to your present condition.”

Socialising? It made no sense to Harry. Snape and socialising simply didn't fit. The Potions Master was notorious for sticking to his dungeons and hardly ever venturing out of the castle.

“Don't puzzle your non-existent brains over certain changes, Potter,” Snape added with his characteristic sneer. He leant casually against the desk, drumming his fingers on the wood.

“So. To have the famous Harry Potter quiet as a mouse in front of me is an honour I never dreamt of,” Snape ridiculed the young man. Harry's eyes flashed, but he didn't move. He could sigh, chuckle, even laugh - but all this without sound; and he could therefore not talk in a whisper or hum. He was absolutely defenceless when it came to Snape, because one of Snape's strengths lay in the use of his voice and vocabulary.

“Like father, like son, isn't it? Both silenced for good. I don't know how you will manage with your interviews now.”

Harry went white with anger at Snape's cruelty, but years of experience had strengthened his self-control.

“Not bad, Potter. You will definitely need resolve for what I am going to teach you. If I am fortunate, you and I will make it through this year in one piece. I balk at the paperwork I would have to fill out were you to follow in your father's and godfather's footsteps.”

Harry dug his nails into his palms so hard that they nearly penetrated his skin.

“Anyway, let's proceed with the lesson,” Snape drawled, “sign language and the basics of Legilimency. Any questions? Fine.”

Snape intentionally did not pause after inquiring whether Harry had any questions. Harry felt utterly humiliated and vulnerable without being able to hit back verbally. As a graduate student, he would have been able to be more rude to Snape in return than before. It struck him as ludicrously ironic that he couldn't lash out now.

The lesson was draining. Snape was visibly enjoying himself towards the end, shredding Harry's already dented self-confidence into fine tatters. Harry had to fight down tears when he was finally allowed to leave the classroom, staggering under the weight of books Snape had told him to read. In his rooms, Harry simply collapsed onto the nearest carpet, the books thumping out of his arms and scattering around him, and began to cry bitterly. He had defeated Voldemort, lost his voice in the process and was giving Snape the best time of his life. And now that he was of no more use for the world, what could he do? What value did he have? Even antiquities had their worth; and he seemed to have nothing. He had always hated the fame, longed to be “normal”. Now it would be back to the cupboard again, like it had been during most of his life with the Dursleys. Back to the cupboard, and when someone opened the door, a skeleton would tumble out. He pounded the floor with his fists a few times before rising to his feet and wiping angrily at his face. He had to get on. He had to manage. He had friends. He even had his own rooms, to say nothing of the house he had inherited from Sirius, and they were the furthest thing away from a dingy dusty cupboard. He was getting special private lessons with an admittedly despicable but extremely talented wizard. Those were positive things, though laced with sorrowful pangs. Harry curled up on a large sofa near the fireside. He felt that he had to express the emotions he was feeling before he either exploded or turned to self-destructive means. His reddened eyes glided over the spines of his books. Write. He had to write. He would write it all down, and he wouldn't do so on his laptop. He had to anchor his feelings and experiences in handwriting, in something personal, something which wasn't as rigid and frostily neat as the computer print. He needed a diary. As a graduate student, he would be able to go down to Hogsmeade whenever he wanted to and buy what he required. He had plenty to write about Severus Snape. His mind revolved around their lesson…The way Snape had pronounced “leisure time”, and the subtle shift of his body underneath his robe when he had uttered the word “socialising”…Harry shook his head. Could it be Snape had more than just “socialising” on his mind? Why that change in his appearance otherwise? Snape, who never cared about his exterior or people…Harry shook his head to expel the thought. He was quite sure that Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, which stocked quills and stationary, would supply him with what he was searching for. He had never thought he would need a diary. In fact, he had quite a low opinion of them after what had happened in his second year. Still, this would be his diary, not Tom Riddle's, and it would help him, not destroy him and others.

That night, he woke up coughing and retching, cold sweat covering his body, an icy echo of Voldemort's curse ringing in his ears.

CHAPTER 3

Harry critically studied the enormous assortment of notebooks and diaries in Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. There were diaries with special warding and locking spells to prevent nosy people from prying and spying. Unfortunately, most of the wards required spells. Harry was very particular about his privacy - the experiences with media and publicity had been nightmarish. A plain but elegant diary caught his eye. He read the animated description leaflet. The diary could be warded with a drawing spell - a self-chosen motive had to be traced on the book-cover with the wand-tip. Smiling, Harry opened it. It contained other interesting features: self-effacing entries (this would be useful for rants, tantrums or entries of an extremely personal nature, Harry thought with amusement), a blinking system for particularly important entries; spell-checking in five-hundred languages (Harry felt five-hundred languages were actually a terribly meagre linguistic proportion out of all languages the muggle and wizarding worlds held) and an auto-blot-cleaning system if a drop of ink had been spilt by mistake. Harry bought the diary on the spot. He sauntered out into the street and wondered whether he should go to Enchanté°, the local gay pub which had only opened two months ago, much to the delight of the Hogwarts gay fraction. The joy was short-lived on realising that the place could only be visited by adults. This was no problem for Harry; he had recently turned eighteen in the hospital wing. Lonely, a bit confused and rather curious about his blossoming sexuality, he was eager to find out more about the bar. He knew that the place was bound to have an Invisibility Detector, so he would just have to keep a low profile in doors. He nervously drew near the front entrance and took out his wizarding identity card for inspection. It was checked expressionlessly by a stern witch.

“Harry Potter?” she asked.

He held up a piece of parchment on which he had written that he was mute.

She gave him a nod and a small compassionate smile. The news that Voldemort had cursed his voice away had been splashed all over the papers. Still, the witch didn't seem to be the type who would alert all the wizarding media at hand. He could imagine the headlines…BOY-WHO-LIVED KEEN ON BOYS. Or: BOY OH BOY! Or: WIZARDING HERO SPOTTED IN GAY BAR.

Harry was toying with the idea of asking for a drink at the bar when he saw a familiar figure.

He could hardly believe his eyes. Snape was leaning casually against the counter, deep in confidential conversation with another wizard. The latter was older than Harry but younger than Snape, and rather good-looking. Chin-length light-brown hair and open robes revealing black pants and a silver top. Snape was in his usual black outfit, but his robes were differently cut, more form-hugging. Harry looked away and then looked back to sneak another glance at Snape's profile and nearly choked when Snape's tapering fingers slid down to his companion's hip to squeeze his bottom. Feeling decidedly queasy, Harry decided to go back to Hogwarts. An anti-social cynical wizard with a sense of dignity like Snape on a potential sexual rampage in Hogsmeade? It was incredible. The man was cold, cruel and arrogant. He couldn't feel, could he? It couldn't be. This was a definitely unknown side of the glacial Potions Master, and it didn't want to fit. Polyjuice Potion? Perhaps even the Imperius Curse? Some kind of spell? Or maybe he was simply celebrating Voldemort's downfall in his own way. He had, after all, sacrificed many years of his life for both Voldemort and for Dumbledore. Everyone had needs, and so did he. Severus Snape was not handsome, but he was not unattractive, either, now that he was looking after his appearance.

Back in his rooms, Harry opened his new diary, wrote down the date and began scribbling.

Snape seems to like guys. Well, I'm surprised he “likes” anyone or anything. I saw him together with a young wizard outside the local gay pub Enchanté. He actually squeezed the guy's bottom! I mean…This is SNAPE, PROFESSOR SEVERUS SNAPE! He's antisocial, cynical, totally stuck inside himself and his dungeons, and now he's hanging around outside flirting openly? Looks like Voldemort's presence has taken its toll on people's love lives, and now everyone is making up for lost time. I guess Snape also has his needs. If he's a human being, then he's a sexual being. I suppose. And I? Besides a stupid and disastrous crush on Cho, I've been too busy to attend to anything of the sort. Although I must say that I have found myself attracted to men during the past year. I even had this dream about Dean…I hope Ginny never finds out…And then there was that Ravenclaw. Pity he had a girlfriend. I should retire to a monastery.

The last sentences made him laugh, and although the soundlessness of his laughter reminded him of Voldemort's curse, he felt better. What a silly first entry, he thought, but decided not to use the self-effacing feature on it. It was funny. Instead of spilling all his emotions about Snape's lousy teaching methods and his own voiceless existence, he had come up with something rather different. And it was not too depressing. He would have to figure out which symbol to use in order to ward the diary. In the meantime, he had to prepare for his next lesson with Snape. He shut his diary and began to read one of the books Snape had burdened him with.

The book was difficult, to say the least. The sentences were long, complicated and very technical. Harry was so tired that tears of dissatisfaction soon made their appearance. He buried his face in his arms. The book slid onto the carpet. Outside, it began to rain. Harry stopped crying, raised his head and listened. The drops pattered down on the windowsill, and all the birds had become quiet. He rose and opened the window. Hedwig, who sensed that something strange was happening to him, hooted questioningly. Harry stretched out his hand and felt the rain caress his palm. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling and the sound. He stayed like that for a few minutes until his arm began to ache. He withdrew his hand and smiled. It seemed that for the voice which had been taken from him, something had been given to him in return, something he was just realising: an interest in sounds. It made sense to him. He could not produce sounds; but he could still hear, and now he was listening to the world outside, to the perfectly banal phenomenon of raindrops hitting what they landed on; and yet it seemed to that it was this everyday happening which had melted down a barrier within him and had made him understand that he was searching for answers to a million questions, and that he had to get on with his life in order to answer at least a handful of them. There was a faint rustle of feathers as Hedwig settled down on Harry's arm. He stroked her affectionately and she hooted at the sudden warmth in his eyes before spreading her wings and flying away from him. He closed the window and picked up his diary again.

Something strange happened just now. I was sitting on the sofa going through one of those difficult tomes of Snape's and crying with frustration when it began to rain. The sound gave me such an odd feeling. It is such a commonplace thing, but it was some kind of music to me. I have the impression that I am listening more intently to the sounds around me, or that my sense of hearing has become more delicate ever since I lost the ability to produce any vocal sounds...

The next day found Harry standing stock-still in the dungeons, a pensive expression on his face. He was listening. A slight humming sound, like a whisper, struck his ear. It did not stop. Instead, it seemed to be continuous, without growing louder; and somewhere nearby, a door creaked.

“Potter! Why are you standing like a monument in the corridor?” a familiar voice sneered.

Harry turned his head. Even Snape's voice seemed to make an interesting source of sound for analysis. It would indeed be interesting to make an in-depth examination of Severus Snape's voice. The way the Slytherin used his voice was extremely fascinating; and the softer he spoke, the deadlier he sounded.

There was silence between them for a few moments, Snape noticing the expression on Harry's face, the slight frown between his eyebrows.

“Is something wrong, Potter?” he asked in a bored tone which clearly implied that he didn't care about Harry's well-being.

Harry groped for his parchment and pen.

“No. Try using your hands,” Snape snapped, “and don't move your lips.”

Harry glared at him.

“Yes, yes, you don't know sign language as yet. It doesn't mean you should haul out a parchment and pen every time you want to say something. Or rather, express yourself. Try using gestures and facial expressions, now.” He sneered, knowing that the word “say” would upset Harry for obvious reasons.

Harry bit his lip as he concentrated, then, slowly and haltingly, pointed both index fingers to his ears and then stretched them in the air with a questioning look in his face, attempting to ask:

Can you hear the humming?

Snape raised a slender eyebrow.

“Blocked ears?”

Harry shook his head vehemently and repeated the gesture.

“Are you trying to finally admit that the air is passing through your ears for the lack of brains?”

Harry flushed with anger. A moth zoomed past him. He pointed at it frantically, and then to his ears, endeavouring to tell Snape that it hummed.

“I think you will have to resort to a parchment and pen after all, Potter,” Snape said acidly. Harry scribbled down his question and handed the parchment to Snape, who read it in a bored manner.

“Humming?”

Harry grabbed back the parchment and added:

All around us, in the air. But only when everything is completely silent.

He expected Snape to tell him to go and clean out his ears or to stop wasting his time with silly questions. Instead, Snape traced his mouth with his index finger, his eyes boring into Harry's, his other hand toying with a corner of the parchment.

“It looks like your hearing has become more sensitive, Potter, if you can hear the magic of Hogwarts. Most people don't hear it even when everything is silent.”

Is it because I can't speak?

“It certainly seems to be a side-effect,” Snape said coldly, carelessly stuffing Harry's note into an inside pocket. Harry wondered when he would incinerate it. He followed Snape into his office.

°Enchanté: French for: Pleased to meet you.

CHAPTER 4

“I am still overwhelmed to see you in my office with your mouth permanently shut. The state of your talking abilities currently equals your cerebral processes, which hardly surprises me, Potter,” Snape drawled mockingly as he pointed to a chair. Harry took it. Taunting a person who could not answer in return was one of the cruellest things Snape could do.

“Even your Parseltongue abilities are lost for good, aren't they, Potter? Ah well, it is said that silence is gold. Very wise statement,” Snape commented mockingly.

Tears prickled in Harry's eyes. He tried to make his face look as impassive as Snape's, but the emotion and sorrow were too visible. Snape's lip curled with scorn.

“To judge from your abysmal performance outside my office, you cannot even gesture properly. And please leave your parchment and pen right where they are; you won't be needing them until we move on to basic Legilimency, Potter.”

Harry hated the way Snape was robbing him of all confidence and means of defence.

“St. Potter the martyr,” Snape smirked.

Harry saw red and made an incontestably rude and obscene sign with one hand.

Snape's smirk vanished.

“Did…you…just…show…me…the…finger, Potter?” he breathed menacingly.

Harry gazed back at him defiantly and rose from his chair. The two wizards glared at each other; Snape, who was rather taller than Harry, leant towards the young man and gripped his arm.

“Detention on Saturday and Sunday night,” Snape hissed. “You will-”

Harry pushed Snape back with a powerful non-verbal spell.

Snape stumbled and clutched at his desk. They faced each other, breathing hard. A bottle containing pickled tentacles shattered with a loud crash, and things began to fall from Snape's desk. It was pure out-of-control magic, and it came from Harry, who was staring at him with clenched fists and narrowed green eyes. All the training at Hogwarts and controlling of his magic could not prevent this outburst. He was even angrier at Snape than he had been at Dumbledore after Sirius's death. Harry yanked out his parchment and pen, scribbled a few words on it and hurled the parchment at Snape before walking out of the office, the door smashing closed behind him.

Snape picked up the parchment.

I won't serve detention with you. I will not take any more lessons with you. And I fucking hate you, you sadistic bastard.

Harry was storming his way up to his rooms when a deep calm voice stopped him.

“Harry, I thought you had lessons with Severus?”

The parchment and pen were instantly in action as Harry wrote down an explanation and recounted what had happened in Snape's office. His emotions were reflected in his handwriting, and he nearly punctured the parchment.

Dumbledore read the note and sighed, looking very tired.

“Complaining to the Headmaster, aren't we, Potter?” an snide voice spat. Snape had followed Harry from the dungeons, looking furious and as if he was about to throttle Harry. He thrust Harry's note at Dumbledore.

“This is what that…boy…just wrote! And he showed me the finger, Headmaster!”

Dumbledore read it quietly and finally gazed at both of them with such disappointment in his eyes that they flushed and averted their faces.

“Severus. Harry. Is it really totally beyond the realms of possibility to get on together? Did you not fight against Voldemort together? I think I need to talk to you separately. Follow me, Severus. Harry, please wait outside my office.”

Snape shot Harry a glance full of loathing as all three went to Dumbledore's office, Harry behind the two older wizards. No one said anything.

“Tandoori chicken,” Dumbledore said to the gargoyle, which promptly leapt aside. Snape and Dumbledore proceeded; Harry, however, sat down against the wall and waited.

Snape reappeared after fifteen minutes. He brushed past Harry as if he were air. Harry got up and was soon received by Dumbledore in his office.

“Please sit, Harry.”

Harry obeyed.

“Sherbet lemon? Cinnamon toffee? Sugar quill?”

Harry shook his head politely.

“Well, Harry, Severus and you certainly seemed to be having a rather…difficult time,” Dumbledore said delicately.

Harry glowered at him.

“Yes, yes, I know that it is I who decided to join you up. However, Severus is a wizard with astonishing abilities and skills. No one else can teach you as thoroughly as he can. I said so before.”

Harry mentally substituted “teach” with “torture”.

Dumbledore seemed to know what was going through his mind.

“You must try to understand him, Harry. Severus has suffered immensely, and he deals with his pain very differently than you do.”

Brilliant observation, Harry thought sarcastically.

“I pointed out a few things to Severus during our little tête-à-tête, Harry, and I think the lessons will improve for both of you.”

Harry started in his chair indignantly.

“Yes, you are still going to take lessons with Severus, Harry. You need to be patient with each other.”

Harry shook his head vehemently.

Dumbledore's friendly twinkle disappeared.

“Harry, I really must insist.”

Harry grabbed his parchment and pencil.

“`Only over my dead body',” Dumbledore read aloud. “I must admit that Severus and you have a lot more in common than either of you think, Harry. He said the same thing just beforehand. My dear boy, I really don't fancy you two being dead. If you don't want your quality of life to suffer, Harry, then you will go right back to Severus's office and resume your lesson. And you will serve detention on Saturday - Severus agreed to cancel your detention on Sunday. Also, please use appropriate sign language with your hands in the future.”

Harry stared determinedly in the stern blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles. Dumbledore showed no sign of impatience as the pen travelled over the parchment again. He raised his eyebrows slightly as he read:

You are most welcome to attend my funeral in the dungeons, sir.

With a final glare, Harry shoved back his chair and stalked out of Dumbledore's office and down to the dungeons. Snape was leaning against the door outside, evidently waiting for him.

They exchanged a look of deepest loathing before Harry passed him and sat down on his chair.

“You will be cleaning, or rather scraping out, cauldrons on Saturday,” Snape informed Harry frostily.

Harry didn't react.

“I want you to show me ten signs which you managed to learn by heart for today. Thrill me with your knowledge, Potter.”

Harry began, but he made one error towards the end.

“Pathetic, Potter. Start from the beginning.”

Grinding his teeth, Harry obeyed.

Snape made no comment - which meant that he was satisfied with Harry's second attempt.

Harry discovered himself missing Hermione and Ron a lot. They had left Hogwarts but promised to visit him soon. In the meantime, they corresponded faithfully with him via owl post, as did the rest of the Weasley family. Remembering the Weasleys inspired Harry with fresh courage: he would struggle.

They moved on to basic Legilimency, or rather, to the theoretical basis.

“If you cannot master Legilimency, then Telepathy will be a lost case for you,” Snape reminded him for the umpteenth time.

Harry promptly took out his parchment and pen.

Can one communicate with anyone by thought?

“The other person needs to have mastered Legilimency and Telepathy at the very least. Occlumency is a useful addition, of course.”

This, naturally, was a crushing reference to the dreadful Occlumency lessons in Harry's fifth year. It made Harry wonder why Dumbledore simply couldn't give up the notion that he and Snape could work together on anything.

But there are not many people who can do that. So why should I learn Telepathy? How will it help me in everyday life?

“If both parties want to communicate with each other via thought, both need to master Telepathy. However, you can send a mental message to a person who hasn't mastered Telepathy and make yourself understood; but that person won't be able to respond the same way. The communication will consequently be one-sided; it will suffice for your needs and it will also improve your skills in the domain of non-verbal spells, which you will have to learn if you don't want to snap your wand in two halves. That is how it will help you, Potter,” Snape replied, his black eyes never leaving Harry's face.

So one can combine non-verbal spells with the wand? It sounds contradictory.

“Yes, one can indeed combine some of them with a wand, Potter. In your case, you have to do so. On the other hand, there are non-verbal spells which should never be combined with wand-magic. The results can be rather explosive.”

Snape proceeded to a short lecture on Legilimency, Telepathy and wand magic.

“Should you ever master Telepathy, which I highly doubt, Potter, then it doesn't mean you can stop using sign and body language and facial expressions. Hands have their own music, Potter, but I don't expect you to understand that,” Snape said arrogantly. “I want you to write an essay on what one can do with one's hands. Three pages. To be handed in on Monday.”

Harry was quite interested in writing such an essay. He could think of a million things.

He sped back to his room to set down a new entry in his diary and to get down to the essay.

His handprint served to lock and unlock the former; all he had to do was tap the diary twice with his wand and then place his hand on the cover.

I really don't understand Severus Snape, I had the weirdest lesson with him today and I ended up showing him the finger…

CHAPTER 5

I have to write an essay on what one can do with one's hands for Snape. Before I start, I will list down a few things in my diary to serve me as a rough outline. Brainstorming. Snape would probably say that I don't have any brains. Guess what, Snape, I do! So what can one do with one's hands? One can touch, grip, hit, point, caress, and use the word “hand” or “hands” in idiomatic expressions - to lend a helping a hand, for instance. In many cultures, people shake hands when they greet or congratulate each other. The same can be applied to parting. We can wave, wring our hands in despair and pray with them. And with the help of a screen and light, one can project shadow shapes with one's hands, forming a rabbit or a bird. We hold our hands in front of us when we want to ward off danger. Small children, in particular, enjoy it when insects walk over their hands because their feet tickle their sensitive palms. Till today, there are people who try to read our future from our palms and shape of our hands, tracing lifelines and other patterns. In fact, Palmistry, is an important part of Divination in the magical world, which, however, is regarded as a foggy discipline by many.

We use our hands as tools - and in my case, they substitute voice. They are therefore more than tools; we attempt to realise our imagination and ideas with our hands by drawing, gesturing, creating art, expressing our emotions…

The pages of the diary filled steadily while Harry scribbled with a vengeance. Finally, he took three sheets of parchment and, referring to his diary, wrote down his thoughts on the subject in a coherent manner. He was exhausted when he was done, and very happy. In fact, he had never been as happy with any essay he had had to write for Snape as with this one. Before handing in the essay, however, he had to survive Saturday detention with Snape.

The Potions Master greeted him with his characteristic sneer. He pointed to a bucket of water, soap and a sponge.

“No gloves, Potter,” Snape said suavely, brushing past Harry so close that the cloth of his robes actually touched Harry's cheek and ear. Harry looked up to see Snape pulling his robes closer around him, revealing more of his tall lithe figure for an instant. His hair was sleek and thick, of the same velvety black as his eyes. His stern disapproving expression, compressed thin lips and cold glance made him seem more forbidding than approachable. Harry gritted his teeth and attacked cauldron number one. Snape extracted a thick volume from an old shelf and sat down at his desk, ignoring Harry completely, who kept sneaking glances at his profile and wondering if Snape ever smiled.

After two hours, Harry was completely tired and all the cauldrons were gleaming. His hands were rough, sore and crinkly.

Another thing to do with one's hands is scrubbing cauldrons, Harry thought angrily. He put aside the sponge and caught Snape's eye.

“Are you done? About high time, Potter. You may kindly remove your contemptible presence from my quarters and allow me to enjoy my wholesome solitude.”

Harry flashed him a glare with his green eyes and marched out of the dungeons.

Thank goodness he had the whole of Sunday and part of Monday to himself before the next encounter with Snape.

Monday evening arrived, and Harry resignedly knocked on Snape's office door. It opened to reveal Snape standing on the threshold, his lip curling.

Harry stepped past him. Snape closed the door, and Harry held out his essay. Snape took it and motioned him to sit on the chair.

“In this lesson, Potter, I will perform some extremely basic signs with my hands and you will interpret them in writing. I will not repeat them, so please be kind enough to be mentally present.”

Harry obediently took out his parchment and pen, watching Snape attentively. Inwardly, he was on tenterhooks, completely sure that Snape would cheat him by making up signs he hadn't learnt so far or that he would intentionally move too fast.

Snape began, his eyes challenging Harry's.

Harry bowed his head over his parchment, scribbled and looked up again quickly in case Snape had already started with the next basic sign. The Slytherin, however, was waiting, his face unreadable. Harry just had the time to note the arrogance of his hooked nose and high cheekbones before Snape continued.

The exercise took only three minutes. Snape moved over to Harry and held out his hand for the parchment. Harry gave it to him. Snape read it impassively.

“Please read this chapter while I correct your essay,” he said finally, stashing the parchment away in his desk and shoving an opened book at him; and Harry knew that he had transcribed his signs correctly. The chapter turned out to be on non-verbal spells, a topic which had been of major importance in Harry's seventh year. The non-verbal spells, however, would be even more in-depth because of his muteness and would require tons of endurance, concentration and willpower.

Snape eyed him keenly and pulled out his wand.

“Today, Potter, we will repeat non-verbal spells before I train you to use some of them in combination with your wand.”

The rest of the lesson reminded him of Occlumency in that it was very draining and tiring. Snape placed various objects before him on which Harry had to practise non-verbal spells, and in the end, Snape made him combine non-verbal Accio, the summoning charm, with his wand.

“Repeat the spell in your head, Potter; think of only that word, and of nothing else. You need a wand for this particular spell. The connection between a wizard and his wand goes beyond vocal commands. Your wand will know what you want even though you can't speak, provided you concentrate properly and move your lips to form the pronunciation of the charm. Go ahead, Potter. I haven't got all night.”

Harry struggled and concentrated until he thought his head would burst. Snape raised an eyebrow.

“You look constipated, Potter.”

Harry managed to make a quill move forward a few inches.

“Minimal response,” Snape commented dismissively. “A first-year could have managed as much. I want you to practise until you succeed in summoning things right into your hand. The less you practise, the longer you and I will have to tolerate each other's presence. The faster you learn, the longer we will both survive - not that I care what happens to you, of course, Potter.”

Harry realised that Snape definitely had a point with wanting to spend as little time as possible in the other's presence, and resumed practising as soon as he was in his room after dinner. It had taken him a long time to master the summoning charm in the first place, and he remembered Hermione's help, patience and endurance.

If only you were here, Hermione, and you, Ron, to cheer me up! he thought sadly.

Being dismal wouldn't help him; he had to practise. With his face set and teeth clenched, he focused on various objects at hand. Three hours later, four videotapes were lying at his feet, fifteen DVDs encircled him and a sixteenth one was triumphantly clutched in his left hand - the only thing which had zoomed right into his grasp.

He felt exhausted, giddy and queasy even after taking a shower; and if he was hoping to sleep properly, then he was sadly mistaken.

He woke up at about three in the morning, coughing and clutching at his nose and mouth. A non-verbal Lumos chased away the darkness. Harry blinked a few times and then stared as something caught his eye.

There was a fresh crimson patch on his pillow, and as he watched, a fresh drop joined it. He brushed his fingers across his nostrils, and they came away red.

A nosebleed, he wanted to groan aloud - but couldn't. Tears joined the blood on his pillow. He tried to Vanish the blood with a non-verbal spell. It worked partially. Several Vanishing spells later, his pillow, sheets and pyjamas were clean. He held a towel to his nose. He had never had a nosebleed before - not unless Dudley had happened to punch him in the face.

He sat in bed with the light on for a while until the nosebleed had stopped, which it did after ten minutes. His tears, however, continued for a long time.

CHAPTER 6

Harry woke up with a pounding headache, low spirits and a thankfully blood-free pillow. He did not want to go to Madam Pomfrey; he had spent more than enough time in the hospital wing since he had been at Hogwarts. He was quite sure that the effort Snape's lessons demanded from him was behind the nosebleed, and if it happened again, he would just bear up with it. It was messy but painless; and he had Tuesday to himself and could do Snape's homework and exercises on his own. At least Snape had seemed satisfied with his essay, to judge from his lack of comment. Harry got out of bed, showered and looked at himself in the mirror for a good minute. His eyes were a little red from crying a few hours ago and his face seemed thinner; other than that, there was no change. He dressed and Dobby brought him breakfast in his room; Harry felt extremely uncomfortable sharing the staff table, especially with Snape's death glares at close hand and his inability to participate in the conversation. Dumbledore had prudently suggested that Harry start taking his meals in his room, but was most welcome to join them if he wished. Feeling a bit like Trelawney, who also preferred staying closeted in her room at mealtimes, Harry had gratefully acquiesced.

“Is Harry Potter sad?” Dobby asked dolefully. He had gone into mourning on hearing that Harry would probably never speak again.

Harry shook his head and smiled, thanking Dobby via parchment and pen. The loyal house elf was collecting all the scraps and notes Harry wrote on whenever he communicated with him.

Afterwards, he went to the library, half missing the students, half relieved that they were not there. People would have stared at him and wondered what he was doing at Hogwarts after graduating successfully. He realised that they would try to speak to him and not receive a verbal answer when term started. It was lonely with only the faculty and ghosts around. On the way back to his quarters on the second floor, he crossed Snape in the corridor, who said mockingly:

“Ah, the Golden Boy is wandering around enjoying his spoilt childish self.”

Harry flushed angrily. As a teen, he was bound to do something childish now and then - it could happen to the most mature of adults. However, he had been forced to mature faster than other people because of Voldemort; and when Snape said he was spoilt, it upset him a lot because it was a huge lie.

Snape saw the hurt in his face and glided away smugly, leaving Harry in the corridor trying not to clench his fists. A bit of cheering-up came in the shape of Dobby, who appeared in his room later with a groaning lunch-tray.

“Harry Potter is becoming thin! Dobby is wishing him to eat more!” The elf said strictly.

Harry gazed at the four chicken legs, enormous bowl of Vegetable Pulao and a small tower of Chapatis in disbelief. Dobby looked at him expectantly.

“We thoughts something oriental would makes the food more interesting,” he squeaked. Harry grinned and thanked Dobby by putting a grateful arm around the elf's shoulders. Dobby departed in high spirits, and Harry eyed the tray hungrily. He wondered if Dumbledore had something to do with the choice of dish. The current password to his office was “Tandoori chicken”. He could imagine Dumbledore trying out Indian dishes. The food was excellent, and Harry actually managed to clean up everything on the tray. He was ravenous after his studying session, and he was, after all, still a growing adolescent. His mood lifted, and he decided to take a digestive walk outside in the grounds; he wasn't sure whether his faithful Firebolt would bear his weight after such a huge repast.

It was very sunny outside, and he thought of a funny t-shirt the Weasley twins had sent him a few days ago in order to cheer him up. It read: I'M A CUTE MUTE. There was no rule which stated that a graduate student had to wear robes all the time. He therefore dressed in the t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans and sauntered out of the castle, strolling towards the edge of the lake, where he knelt down to look into its depths. Then he sat in the grass, embracing his knees. His green eyes became dreamy and somewhat melancholic as bittersweet thoughts flitted across his mind. After a while, a raindrop falling on his arm roused him: it announced a typical short summer shower. He watched the rain make the surface of the lake bubble and ripple and closed his eyes as he listened to the music the sound of raindrops hitting the water made. He opened them on time to witness the Giant Squid sticking a happy tentacle in the air. A soundless laugh escaped him and he bounced to his feet, his wet clothes clinging to his body. The rain faded to a timid drizzle. He decided to go back to the castle and change - he still had to master the non-verbal drying charm in combination with his wand.

Snape was going towards the greenhouses, probably to fetch potion ingredients, and his black eyes skimmed Harry's figure, not missing the t-shirt's message; he didn't comment on it, but he locked eyes with Harry; for a few seconds, the tall wizard and the young man exchanged an intense gaze. It was as if they were conveying the same message to each other, but did not know themselves what the message said; there seemed to be too many questions and too little answers hanging between them. Then Snape turned away and continued his route to the greenhouses. Harry gazed after him, watching the wind stir the long black hair and robes.

Wednesday's lesson with Snape arrived; Harry, in a fit of rebelliousness, donned a self-printed t-shirt (something Dean had taught him how to do) which claimed:

I'M GAY EVERY DAY.

He didn't bother with the robes. Snape would probably be highly displeased at his choice of clothes, but Harry's Gryffindor spirit urged him on.

Snape raised his eyebrows when he saw Harry.

“What happened to your usual attire, Potter?” he asked coolly.

Harry innocently wrote on his parchment that it was a hot day and that he was no longer a Hogwarts student anymore.

“You are still my student, and you will therefore kindly dress appropriately. And although you may feel cheerful every day, Potter, I'm certainly not pleased to see you, no matter which day it is.”

I was thinking of another meaning of “gay”, Professor.

Snape leant forwards, his face close to Harry's, crumpling up the parchment in his left hand.

“Are you trying to provoke me, Potter?”

Harry simply stared at Snape; Snape stared back, and when a minute passed without Harry withdrawing, he whispered tauntingly:

“Potter, you fool, no one can hold my gaze for long. Except for Albus Dumbledore.”

Harry gave him a hard look, a look which said, “Try me.”

Their gaze continued, both of them hardly blinking. Snape stepped away slightly without taking his eyes off Harry's. Harry moved as well so that they were both standing in a straight line again. Snape took another step; Harry did the same, his fierce gaze completely steady. His lips parted slightly, revealing his teeth. Inwardly, he was telling himself to resist Snape's eyes, to not look away, to show Snape that he was not a spoilt childish brat, but a maturing young man who refused to be disrespected or underestimated.

Finally, Snape broke their eye contact by pushing Harry away with his hand on his chest.

“Well, Potter, if I interpreted the second meaning of your ludicrous shirt correctly, then I can look forward to the end of the Potter line.”

Harry, annoyed at being pushed by Snape, wrote:

You are somewhat outdated, Professor. There are other ways besides the “traditional” one to get children, both in the Muggle and wizarding world.

“If you are not too fastidious about the DNA of the other party, Potter, which would have to be from a female,” Snape remarked wryly. Harry found it very hard to believe that he was having such a conversation with Snape. On the other hand, he rather expected Snape to know about such issues, especially after he had seen him flirting with the other wizard in Enchanté. Sex education was definitely one of Hogwarts's shortcomings. Maybe that was the one topic open-minded Dumbledore was close-mouthed about? Harry didn't feel inclined to ask Dumbledore. It was relying on curiosity, mouldy library books in the Restricted Section and nocturnal talks in the dormitories. Ron's interpretation of the snake's significance as the symbol of Slytherin had simultaneously disgusted and amused the other Gryffindors. Hermione, who was outspoken about nearly everything, had endeavoured to discuss the male physiognomy with Ron and Harry in their last year, resulting in the two boys making a beeline for the Quidditch pitch and Hermione grumbling about their prude attitudes.

“So, Potter,” Snape's cold voice penetrated Harry's thoughts, “sign language. Let's see how you massacre it.”

CHAPTER 7

Losing my voice has made me gain a deep appreciation for the written word - both for reading and producing it. This is why I am turning to this book as a means to sort myself out. I have never regarded a diary as something helpful, especially not after the incident in my second year, or after being forced to keep a dream journal for Divination class. I've never been the type to write copiously - that is more up Hermione's street. Now I am writing and I'm listening a lot.

Harry closed his diary, turned off the piano music playing in the background and began to do the homework Snape had loaded him with. He had become obsessed with the world of sound. The most mundane things seemed new and special to him, from raindrops pattering onto the hard ground outside to the moody cawing of the ravens. This turned out to be a big advantage for both Snape and Harry; Harry listened very attentively to Snape's words, even imparting the impression of appreciating the sound of his low silky voice. Being the Gryffindor he was, he was determined to cope with not being able to speak, sing or whisper, and to use his other abilities and senses to communicate instead. His resolve paid off; he was learning very quickly and, after nearly two months, had mastered the basics of sign language - just in time for the beginning of term; September was about to start, and the students would pour in. Snape, in the meantime, seemed less inclined to make hurtful remarks to Harry. He was, however, so exigent that Harry had another nosebleed towards the end of the summer holidays. It was worse than the first attack. The blood flowed for a good fifteen minutes and he was shivering all over. Luckily, there was no pain, and his skill with non-verbal-wand spells, as he called them, had grown; he managed to clean up the mess promptly but was so shaken by the whole incident that he stayed awake for the rest of the night, reading one of Snape's ancient books. He was starting to outrival Hermione where reading and writing were concerned. She and Ron, who were finally dating, kept in touch with Harry, cheering him up and asking him anxiously for his news. Lupin and the rest of Order, too, did not forget him; and the twins, at his request, supplied him with a lot of naughty t-shirts. His favourite t-shirt was neon green and stated in glittering black characters: I'M A HEX BOMB. Both McGonagall and Snape had disapproved of this addition to his wardrobe, but Dumbledore had actually given him a wink. The three teachers had been in deep conversation outside the library when Harry had run across them.

“What is that you're wearing, Potter?” McGonagall had asked, her spectacles looking very square indeed.

Harry had serenely displayed the t-shirt and Dumbledore's eyes had twinkled most roguishly.

Snape had conveyed his contempt with a disdainful shake of his head and a sneer and the sour comment:

“Typical Potter. Can't get enough attention, can you?” He turned to Dumbledore.

“The boy is obsessed with the most mundane sounds, the written word, music - and himself, of course.”

“Is that so, Severus?” Dumbledore asked, sounding amused.

Harry wrote something on his piece of parchment and held it up for Snape to see.

I'm trying out new avenues of communication.

Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously, and Harry prudently retired to the library.

During the final pre-term lesson with Snape, he was told that the number of lessons would be reduced to two a week because Snape's workload would increase dramatically.

Eager to make this lesson a memorable one, Harry, in spite of Snape's reprimand when he had worn the I FEEL GAY EVERY DAY t-shirt, donned a silver t-shirt which asked: WHAT'S UNDERNEATH THOSE ROBES?

Snape took one look at it and flushed with anger.

“POTTER! GO BACK AT ONCE AND WEAR YOUR ROBES!”

Harry cheekily used a non-verbal-wand summoning spell to transfer his robes from his rooms to the dungeon. Ignoring Snape's furious glare, he calmly hid the offending t-shirt underneath his robes and waited to be mentally dissected by the Potions Master.

“You impudent, insolent, arrogant, conceited, spoilt brat!” Snape hissed.

Harry was learning to shrug off Snape's acid comments, but they still managed to hurt him.

With a final glare, Snape resumed his soft silky tones.

“Let's see what you have read about Legilimency so far, Potter.”

He shot Harry a vindictive stare.

Harry left Snape's office with a splitting headache.

It went away after an hour, but the exhaustion stayed; and on Saturday morning, he found a few drops of blood from his nose on the pillow. To judge from the quantity, the bleeding had fortunately been too mild to wake him up. He resignedly cleaned the blood with the Vanishing spell. He wondered about Monday, the day when the students would come back. How would they react? How would they treat him? And then there was Ginny. She would be entering her final year, and he was very relieved to soon see the familiar face of a friend. Ginny and he were good friends, and he was glad to see her happy with Dean, whom she would miss a lot during the term. Hogsmeade visits, however, were bound to be booked for tender meetings between the two. Ginny and her family had been present when he was in the hospital wing after Voldemort's downfall. Hermione and she had been holding hands, crying silently as they stood near Harry's bed. She, too, had written to him regularly and affectionately during the summer holidays, giving him courage to bear Snape's taunts and stand up to him.

After finishing his homework for Snape's Monday lesson, he flew around on his Firebolt in the afternoon and went for a walk near the lake later. When it started to rain, he sat down and embraced his knees, enjoying the pattering sound of the raindrops.

A tall figure appeared next to him silently, black hair loose and dark eyes filled with a brooding expression.

Harry looked up at Severus Snape even as the Potions Master looked down at him.

“What are you doing out here in the rain, Potter?” he asked abruptly, “I can guarantee that you will need Pepperup Potion afterwards for sitting around like this, and you won't be obtaining it from me.”

I am listening to the rain, Harry explained with gestures.

“And getting wet in the process. Typical Gryffindor, never thinking of the consequences,” Snape remarked bitingly.

Harry merely smiled at his rudeness and slowly rose to his feet, facing Snape.

He placed his index fingers before Snape's lips without touching them and then raised it to his ear.

Listen.

Snape, who had experienced an odd sensation when Harry's finger had nearly touched his mouth, scoffed:

“I have more important things to do than listen to such mundane stuff.”

Harry placed his hand on his arm to prevent him from walking away. He drew out his parchment and pen which he would use until he had completely mastered sign language. He could manage with very simple and short sentences, but abstract expressions, among other things, were still difficult.

There is music in the rain.

Snape studied him for a moment.

“Since when have you been a lover of the world of sound, Potter?”

Things have changed now that I can't speak anymore. I hear more. Speaking is nearly like a sense, I guess…You only appreciate it when you've lost it.

Snape looked at Harry keenly, savouring the truth of his statement. The rain stopped. Snape cast a charm over them both to dry them, and Harry pulled out a few small stones and threw one, watching it bounce on the water. He offered some pebbles to Snape, who, to his astonishment, accepted. Together, they skipped them on the water, even setting up a competition as to whose stone could jump further. When all their stones were over, Harry smiled at Snape again. Then the rain came back - a heavy shower accompanied by dull roars of thunder.

“We had better go indoors, Potter,” Snape said softly, looking up at the clouds for a moment.

Harry pointed to his chest, made running movements and waved towards the castle, then repeated the gesture, but with his finger pointing towards Snape.

“You want us to run in the rain and see who'll reach the castle faster?” Snape asked scornfully.

Harry laughed silently and nodded.

“Potter! I have no time for childishness.”

Harry mimed throwing something, made a bouncing movement with his other hand and pointed at the lake. The meaning was clear:

But you skipped stones over the surface of the lake with me.

Snape scowled. Harry noticed him fold the parchment instead of crumpling it up as he usually did. He tucked it away inside his robes and glared at Harry.

“Fine. I will humour your infantile behaviour, Potter, just for the sake of having you perform adequately during the next lesson.”

They moved into starting positions, their hair and clothes getting wet.

Harry snapped his fingers to give the starting signal and the two wizards sprinted off, running as fast as they could, both of them combining fast movements with feline fluid grace. Snape was careful to keep fit even after the end of his spying activities; and Harry's Quidditch training, coupled with his youth and determination, was evident; they reached the gate at the same time, breathing hard.

“Not bad, Potter,” Snape murmured to him, flipping his wet hair over his shoulder. His face was slightly flushed, as were his lips. His eyes seemed nearly wild, and the rain glistened on his high cheekbones and haughty nose. Harry experienced a strange painful pang as he looked at Snape, coupled with the realisation that he found the man rather attractive. A fiery blush rose to his cheeks and he was glad when Snape strode into castle in front of him and went his own separate way while Harry sought refuge in his rooms.

That evening, Harry came to the conclusion that Snape and he, however incredible it sounded, were slowly starting to be on more tolerant, if not friendly, terms with each other. His happiness was somewhat dampened by a heavy nosebleed when he went to bed. To make matters worse, he had a nightmare. He could see child-Snape in a corner with his father shouting at his mother. Then he saw his own father and Sirius humiliate him in front of a whole crowd of Hogwarts students. Then he, Harry, was back in the graveyard where Voldemort's father was buried, except that it was not Cedric at his side, but Snape. He heard and saw the green flash of the Killing Curse and watched Snape fall down upon the ground, dead. With a scream - for he was not mute in the dream - he flung himself beside Snape and gazed into lifeless black eyes.

Gasping voicelessly, Harry jerked up in bed, his face and body clammy with cold sweat. He shivered his way out of bed and cast the Lumos spell. He wrote down his dream in his diary, felt better afterwards and went back to bed, sleeping without interruption for the remainder of the night.

CHAPTER 8

Snape and I made pebbles skip on the surface of the lake together. I can't believe he did that with me. We even ran back to the castle in the rain when I challenged him. I would never have thought he would do that. He was rather reluctant at first, but he said he would humour my childishness. I really don't understand the man.

Harry nibbled at his pen for a moment, listening intently to the piano music in the background before adding:

He looks different when he is not scowling or glaring. After running, he was doing neither of the two. He just had this strange wild look in his eyes and colour in his cheeks, and his hair was wet and messy. I guess it's because I've never seen him in state which is not neat, compressed and stiff. He is as exigent as ever in his lessons, and though he may not praise me, he has started commenting less on my lack of brains and on my father's arrogance. He never says anything when he approves of something. His lack of comment seems to be increasing during the lessons. Is it because I am working my ass off and having my nose bleed all over my pillow every now and then? I hope my nosebleeds stop. I would hate to go down to the hospital wing even though Madam Pomfrey is great; but I am sick of ending up in there every year. Or maybe it is because he is talking to me in sign language more often than usual and therefore keeps quiet. He said that I have a distracting tendency to invent my own sign language instead of sticking to the rules.

Harry shut his diary, warded it and silently summoned his laptop with his wand. Dumbledore, who was always interested in being up-to-date with the latest developments in the Muggle world, had recently had special devices to allow access to the muggle internet network installed in the castle - with the aid of Arthur Weasley and Hermione. Hermione had shown Harry how to install an e-mail account, which was far more convenient than owl post. She was teaching Ginny and Ron, too. Hermione was as versatile with the computer as she was with the library. Harry accessed his e-mail account and was delighted to see that he had received a message from her and that she and Ron would come down to Hogsmeade to meet him in a month. He wrote back an affectionate message, surfed the internet for Muggle news and shut down the laptop. He glanced at his watch. The students would soon be pouring into Hogwarts. He smiled, thinking of his very first ride on the Hogwarts Express. He hadn't known back then what was in store for him. What a strange life! He got up from the sofa to water a beautiful plant Neville had sent him - it had leaves of deepest dark-green and silvery sap. The buds, too, were silvery, and they turned gold in autumn. It was called “Plant of Hope”, as its beauty instilled people with hope, and its sap was used in Cheering potions in its diluted form, which in turn were used in cases of chronic depression. When prodded or roughly treated, however, the plant sprayed people with sap which had the effect of making them go into hysterics and start dancing in circles across the room. Harry had never cared much about plants, but he was devoted to this one, watering it faithfully and sometimes gazing at it for minutes. Like him, it had no voice; it communicated with him on a level which surpassed words. Harry turned off the music with a non-verbal spell. The knob of the radio turned immediately and silence fell. Harry examined himself critically in the mirror, smoothing his robes. He would sit at the Gryffindor table with the seventh-years during the Sorting and the Feast. Besides Ginny, he would see Luna Lovegood as well. That made him smile. Luna's knack for discomforting frankness, her belief in things which were not supposed to exist and her startling magical talents - he was looking forward to seeing her besides Ginny. It was time to go down before the students came trooping inside. Harry left his rooms and sauntered down to the Hall. Half the staff was already present, including Snape, who looked at him with an unreadable face.

Harry thought of Legilimency and Telepathy, wondering how many other wizards and witches could do what Snape did. It was the first time he was starting to feel admiration and respect for the teacher he hated. Hated? He sat down at the Gryffindor table, where he was joined by Nearly Headless Nick. He was in halting sign conversation with an increasingly puzzled Nick, whose eyes were glued to Harry's gestures, when he raised his head and found himself the target of Snape's penetrating gaze. Harry flushed a little at this concentrated attention from the Potions Master. He wants to know whether you've been paying attention to his teaching, he told himself. Nearly Headless Nick's face cleared when he understood that Harry was trying to ask him how he was. He was about to answer when the front doors swung open to admit the students, except for the first-years. Soon, a mane of red hair bobbed towards him.

“Harry!” Ginny yelled, throwing her arms around him. Harry laughed voicelessly and hugged her back. “Oh, Harry, it is so good to see you again! How are you?”

Harry signalled to her that he was fine. She beamed.

“And is Snape being okay to you?” she asked. He nodded.

“Oh, thank goodness he has improved since you last wrote.”

She sat down next to him.

A dreamy voice spoke up behind them. Luna smiled at him in her usual vague way. They had been through enough to greet each other with a hug.

Harry scribbled on a piece of parchment, not wanting to convey his message in sign language as it would be too complex and confusing:

If people steal your belongings again, tell me. I'm pretty good at non-verbal spells now.

“Oh, Harry, how kind of you,” Luna said, pressing the parchment to her chest. “I've got something for you.”

She handed him a rather large wrapped something. Harry took off the wrapping and was startled by a blood-curdling bellow which made people stare in their direction. It was another specimen of Luna's Quidditch Gryffindor-supporting hat. Harry laughed and thanked her with a flourishing bow. He could see people looking at him. Dumbledore, on Harry's behalf, had issued a brief statement that Harry would be staying at Hogwarts for another year to receive special training (it was not indicated by whom, however) to deal with his muteness. This was done in the hope of keeping the media and curious people away from Harry. It seemed to work; no one, except for his friends Ginny and Luna had plied him with questions; but the stares crackled around him and made him uncomfortable. Harry also realised that he would not be able to participate in conversations until he had mastered Telepathy. Learning sign language was learning a new language. He was learning to speak and interpret it, but the others couldn't do either of these things except understand the most basic signs. It was parchment and pen for him, which was time-consuming and frustrating.

The students took their seats at their tables, Luna gliding towards the Ravenclaw table. Soon, the terrified first-years were led inside, and, after the Sorting, joined their allotted House tables. The little wizards and witches looked at Harry in awe and admiration, much to his embarrassment, and one of them, a small plucky girl, told him that he had very nice eyes and was very brave to have defeated an evil wizard like Voldemort, whose name, however, she replaced with the standard “You-Know-Who”. Harry smiled and thanked her by stroking her head briefly, though he felt sad at the wounds Voldemort's reign of terror and the war had left behind; one of the wounds was the fact that people were still too scared to speak his name. For Harry, he remained Tom Riddle and Voldemort.

He and Ginny spoke in a mixture of sign language and the pen-and-parchment method. She was delighted to be at Hogwarts again but was missing Dean tremendously. She was also hoping to score as well as Hermione in her N.E.W.T.S. Harry assured Ginny that she would have no problem achieving her goals. He was full and sleepy by the end of the meal; Ginny and her fellow-Gryffindors left for Gryffindor tower, and Harry sought his rooms. He placed Luna's hat on a shelf and tickled Neville's plant, which stretched its leaves happily.

The next days were uncomfortable ones for Harry. Students stopped in the corridors if he happened to pass them on the way, and some people attempted to engage him in conversation, which was extremely frustrating for him. He also grew tired of:

“Oh, you're mute, I feel so sorry for you!” or “How does it feel like to be mute?” or “What will you do after your training? Is there any choice for you?”

Harry's next lesson proved to be one in which he was required to take a huge step forwards. Dumbledore's Pensieve was on Snape's desk, reminding Harry of the terrible Occlumency lessons and his invasion of Snape's privacy. Snape, after conversing with him in sign language on mundane topics such as the weather, the books he was reading and the music he was listening to (“Piano music, Potter? I am amazed that you show a spark of sophistication. There is still hope for you and your generation.”), announced that Harry was going to practise Legilimency after an exhaustive and exhausting theoretical study of the subject.

“It means that you will have to invade my mind, most unfortunately,” Snape said softly, staring at Harry's face, “and, besides keeping certain thoughts out of your reach, ensure that you do not, ah, make use of the Pensieve again.”

Harry flushed with shame. There was an uncomfortable silence between them. Harry realised that if he wanted to apologise, then it was now or never. Much as he disliked - or had disliked his teacher: he had to acknowledge that he had breached a thorny border back then in his fifth year.

He looked into Snape's eyes.

CHAPTER 9

Harry took a deep breath and moved a step forwards so that he was closer to Snape, who was looking at him coldly.

I am sorry for what I did back then. It was wrong. It was a breach.

Snape stared at him.

“Are you asking me for forgiveness, Potter?”

Harry nodded, not without reluctance. He had put himself in a vulnerable position, exposed to the anger of an embittered man who had had a feud with his father and godfather. A man who kept grudges, who nursed animosity over anything which made him feel insecure.

The two wizards remained locked in a probing gaze for a good minute. Then Snape turned his back on Harry, his long hair cascading over his back. He placed his wand against his temple a few times in succession and removed silvery strands of memories, letting them drop in the Pensieve.

I should have known that he would not forgive easily, Harry thought regretfully and felt the same strange pang which had stung him after running back to the castle in the rain with Snape.

The Head of Slytherin moved the Pensieve out of the way and looked at Harry.

“After your reading, you are aware that if you want to learn Telepathy, then your training includes two-way communication with me when practising Legilimency.”

Harry tensed, realising what Snape was implying. He had been afraid that it would come down to this. His pen raced across the parchment.

If I look at your memories, then I must let you look at mine in return.

“That is exactly what I mean, Potter. Quid pro quo.”°

Harry tried not to swallow hard. He wrote, wondering if Snape had ever seen the Muggle film “Silence of the Lambs” or read the book on which it was based:

So I'm Clarice Starling and you are Hannibal Lecter?

To his surprise, Snape seemed to be familiar with it.

“Something like that, Potter, except that I don't think you would make a particularly tasty meal.”

Harry could not help swallowing this time. Snape's lip curled.

“So, Potter. Can we start?”

And may I use the Pensieve?

Snape smirked.

“Oh no, Potter. That is quite out of the question.”

Harry hesitated.

That's not fair! You are using it! he finally scribbled.

“Getting cold feet, Potter? Where is that renowned Gryffindor courage, hero of the wizarding world?” Snape asked cleverly, “Haven't you learnt by now that life is never fair?”

Fine. Quid pro quo. But you are using the Pensieve. Harry angrily handed the parchment to Snape, who read it with a glint in his black eyes. He came close to Harry.

“Will you be carrying a Pensieve with you whenever you venture outdoors, Potter? Or do you know how rare a Pensieve is? And I have more reason to use one than you, who are spoilt and adored.”

Harry's eyes flashed. He snatched back the parchment and he pressed his pen so hard against it that he punctured it.

I AM NOT SPOILT OR ADORED! YOU HAVE NO IDEA ABOUT HOW I GREW UP!

“Maybe I will found out more details when I break into your mind, Potter.”

Harry simply glared at him.

“Also, you may want to use a special quill when you write your messages instead of that cheap ballpoint pen. Just a small hint. More for the sake of not wasting my time than for yours, Potter.”

Harry felt very stupid. No one had told him about that there were special quills. And he hadn't bothered to find out. He was not the only mute wizard in the world; why hadn't he asked himself what other wizards and witches in his situation had done and did?

“You know the charm. Legilimens. Repeat it over and over in your mind and do not stop when you succeed. If you succeed, that is. I am not sure for how long you can maintain eye contact.” He sneered before continuing: “I will not use Occlumency against you, obviously. We can try that later if you show some promise in Legilimency and Telepathy. Begin, Potter.”

Snape stood in front of his desk, eyes locking with Harry's.

Harry raised his wand, not moving his eyes from Snape's, and began to repeat the charm in his head. He was thinking that he was not going to get anywhere after a minute when something happened after all. Images suddenly emerged before his eyes, rather as if he was standing close to a cinema screen. They rushed past him until he caught one of teenage Snape sitting all alone with his back against a tree. He reached out for it with his mind, simultaneously trying not to forget to repeat the charm.

It was a sunny day. Teenage Snape was staring at people walking up and down in couples or in groups, laughing, talking and enjoying the spring weather. Teenage Snape then bowed his head to continue reading a fat book on his lap, reminiscent of Hermione's bibliomania. Teenage greasy-haired Snape without friends, without anyone to talk to. Without anyone to love him.

Harry was so overwhelmed by the loneliness and the pain of it all that he withdrew from Snape's mind, his head bowed and one arm shielding his face.

When he lowered his arm and raised his head, Snape was gazing at him with hatred in his eyes.

“I don't need your compassion, Potter, especially not yours!” he spat. Harry reached for his writing utensils and Snape glared at him.

I felt your pain and I can still feel it, he wrote.

Snape snorted dismissively.

“You can never feel or understand pain of any sort. Let us continue.”

I have gone through pain. You know it.

Snape was silent, his eyes still smouldering.

Haven't you got a happy memory?

Snape's eyes narrowed.

“Careful, Potter.”

I am sorry. I didn't mean to pry.

Aside, he thought to himself that maybe Snape didn't have any happy memories, or maybe whatever happy memories he possessed were tinged with sorrow.

Snape studied Harry's face closely. Harry guessed that he knew what he had just been thinking.

“Again, Potter. Do not break the connection this time.”

It is like I could feel what you were feeling in that memory.

“You Gryffindors always feel too much,” Snape remarked scornfully. “Well, Potter, I haven't got all day.”

Harry tried to be calm and get used to the idea that he had the permission to invade his teacher's mind.

He raised his wand and started again.

This time, the images flooded him after about thirty seconds. He caught flashes of an adult Snape with someone familiar. Snape with the wizard from the Enchanté bar. Curious, he dived into it. He watched Snape and the other man leave the bar through the back door. Snape crushed him against the wall outside and his partner simply smirked, whispering something to the Potions Master. Harry's eyes widened as Snape's hands caressed the wizard's hips and thighs lazily. This was private. Why hadn't Snape remembered to entrust such intimate moments to the Pensieve? He retreated hastily, staggering back.

He realised that his cheeks were burning with embarrassment.

Snape was watching him shrewdly, enjoying Harry's discomfort.

“You broke the connection,” he observed.

It was too private for me.

“Was it? How very touching and decent of you to curb your voyeuristic tendencies, Potter,” Snape mocked him.

It was like he had been flaunting his sexuality in front of Harry, knowing that Harry had yet to discover his own blossoming sexuality with someone else. With another man.

“Now it is my turn, Potter,” Snape said softly.

He drew out his wand.

“Legilimens!”

Harry gasped as blinding images of the past overwhelmed him. Then an image of Sirius flashed into his mind. Sirius falling through the Veil…

Harry's lips shaped his godfather's name even as he stumbled and fell onto his knees.

“I can see why you would never have been able to defeat the Dark Lord without the help of the Order, Potter. Get up!” Snape said icily.

Harry managed to get to his feet.

“Legilimens!” Snape said without warning.

More flashes of memories until a recent one swam to the surface. He was alone in his new quarters, and he was in his bed. It was his first night alone in that bed. He was mute, and it was a terrible feeling. He was crying, rocking back and forth as he grieved not only for the loss of his voice, but for all the damage and sorrow Voldemort has caused. Another memory forced its way to the front. Voldemort was dying, and he was uttering the curse which had struck him mute…Harry desperately wished he had learnt Occlumency properly as he attempted to thrust Snape out of his head. Snape lifted the spell and Harry realised that he was lying on the floor, hands over his ears.

“Ah, of course. A little bit of self-pity. Naturally,” Snape's voice floated down to him.

A piercing pain shot through his head and he clutched at his temples. Then it disappeared abruptly as something warm ran down his upper lip.

°Quid pro quo: appears in the film (and in the book, I think) and means: something for something (Latin).

CHAPTER 10

“Your nose is bleeding,” Snape said. Harry passed his finger across his nostrils. It was red, and now he felt the drop travel down to his chin. He didn't notice the tears leaving his eyes. He managed to get up but had to lean against the free patch of wall which wasn't obscured by jars or books. A wave of dizziness struck him, and his knees threatened to give way again. Snape stepped forward quickly and supported him with an arm around his waist, steadying him. Another bolt of pain shot through Harry's head, though less sharp than the precedent one, forcing him to grimace and lean his face against Snape's chest. Snape stiffened immediately, but did not draw back. A wet patch appeared on the front of his black robes, a mixture of Harry's tears and blood.

“Sit on the couch, but do not lie down; the blood will flow down your throat otherwise,,” Snape ordered, leading him to the couch near the fireside.

Harry obeyed, hastily wiping away his tears with his hand.

“It is not an unusual side effect of Legilimency, especially for people new to this branch of magic,” Snape remarked expressionlessly, quickly summoning a clean towel and handed it to Harry, who pressed it against his nose. Harry wanted to say that the nosebleeds had already started before practical Legilimency, but he couldn't.

His hearing, however, seemed to have become even more sensitive during the nosebleed. The humming of Hogwart's magic, so difficult to hear even when all was completely silent, was louder. The towel seemed to rustle. And voices. Faint whispers of a whole lot of voices. Myriads of words. Harry's eyes darted around quickly as he listened closely. The sounds were so confusing.

“What is it? What do you hear?” Snape wanted to know.

Harry lowered the towel and folded it on his lap, then tried to explain in sign language what he could hear, but it was too complex. Two months were by far not enough to learn a new language of any sort. In fact, one spent one's whole life learning new words and new things. He pulled out his pen and parchment again and described in detail what he could hear. He also added that it was not his first nosebleed. Snape read it carefully and traced his mouth with his index finger.

“Your defences will be down until you have mastered Legilimency and the advanced non-verbal spells properly. You are more sensitive to everything right now, from your hearing to your skin. If someone pinched you now, Potter, it would hurt more than usual. As for your nosebleeds: they seem stress-related to me.” His voice dripped with scorn at the word “stress-related”, as if Harry had no right to be any such thing.

“Have you been to the hospital wing?”

No, I didn't think it necessary.

Snape laughed underneath his breath.

“Being the noble martyr you are, of course you wouldn't want to go down to the hospital wing. However, I am inclined to agree with you, Potter. I don't think it is necessary - not unless your nosebleeds continue or become more frequent or heavier. As I just said: they can appear with complex and practical non-verbal magic and after very tiring occasions. You started taking lessons immediately after your one-week sojourn in the hospital wing. On the other hand, knowing you, it is possible that you are making a mountain out of an anthill and trying to get some attention.”

Harry was too exhausted to defend himself and stared resignedly at the arm of the couch.

Snape allowed him to occupy the couch until his nosebleed had stopped. After ten minutes, he sent him back to his quarters with the promise of even more demanding sessions in the future. Worn out and crushed, Harry returned to his rooms. He curled up his favourite sofa and was sobbing bitterly when a soft hoot made him look up. Hedwig landed on his shoulder and rubbed her head against his cheek comfortingly, bringing a smile and a little colour to Harry's chalk-white face.

She repeated her hoot, blinking at the parcel and note she had carried inside. Harry eagerly read the note.

Dear Harry,

I would like to write more, but I have to prepare for my job interview at the Ministry tomorrow - I recently received an offer from them. Ron hopes you're fine and sends you many regards - he is so excited about getting into the Auror program, he can hardly wait to start. He will write you soon. Ginny told me that you are still using a pen whenever you want to communicate. I am therefore sending you a quill which I ordered by owl post. It is the latest model, specially conceived for mute witches and wizards. Follow the instructions to activate it. Once you have done so, it will accept only you as its owner and establish a mind-bond with you. Just concentrate hard and think of what you would like to write - and it will write down all your messages on its own. I hope you like it. Take care of yourself and keep me updated via owl and e-mail.

Love,
Hermione

Harry unwrapped the parcel to reveal a handsome leather box. He opened it, and a beautiful eagle feather quill gleamed at him from a cushion of velvet. An animated leaflet was attached to the inner lid of the cover. It must have cost Hermione quite a few Galleons. Harry's lips quivered briefly with emotion as he removed and opened it. The instructions told him to take the quill and tap it once with his wand, then touch the nib to both his temples and think of something he wanted it to write down for him. It also reminded him to bring his pen to a wizarding stationary shop once a year for inspection and renewal of the charm. The last page listed all the features the pen contained, including mind-directed-correction to override the automatic spell-checking feature (especially in the case of word-games and puns) and an inbuilt auto-ink-replenishing charm.

Harry reverently extracted the quill and proceeded to follow the instructions. He concentrated hard and thought, Thank you, Hermione.

The quill leapt into the air, trailing glittering sparks of gold in its wake and dipped down to Harry's parchment. In less than two seconds, Thank you, Hermione was written in cursive characters.

Harry was so delighted with this invaluable gift that he lost no time in writing a glowing thank-you mail to Hermione. He would, however, continue using a pen for his diary entries and letters because it was much more personal to see it all in his own handwriting and to have his own hand writing all of it down. And, of course, his homework for Snape would also have to be handwritten. He played with the quill for an hour, sending it different mental messages of varying length which it promptly scribbled down with the speed of lightning. He finished with the message, written in flourishing capitals:

SNAPE IS AN IDIOT.

Snape, on spotting the new quill, sneered and remarked:

“You will not be doing any homework with that, Potter. You are lazy enough as it is. However, I am flattered to see that you actually listened to my suggestion for once.”

The quill danced across the parchment and Snape's mouth thinned dangerously as he read:

Hermione happened to send me that quill on the same day you suggested that I replace my cheap ballpoint pen, so she was first. And me being lazy is wishful thinking on your part.

“Ah. So the credit goes to Miss Granger, doesn't it?”

Harry nodded fiercely, proud of having a friend like Hermione.

“I see.”

I am glad you do, the quill scribbled enthusiastically. Snape looked as if he would have liked to snap it in two. They glared at each other before Snape tested Harry on sign language and on non-verbal spells and finally proceeded to the moment Harry dreaded.

“Practical Legilimency, Potter.” A malicious look appeared on his face as he transferred some memories to the Pensieve.

“You first, Potter,” he said, stretching out his hand in a mocking gesture, “and I hope you are faster than last time and do not break the connection.”

It took Harry about twenty-five seconds to penetrate into Snape's mind. He felt a jolt as he recognised a memory of his father, James, and Sirius.

Snape was about sixteen years old, carrying a heavy tome in his arms. James and Sirius were hiding behind a statue. As Harry watched, James pointed his wand at Snape and summoned the tome to him. Snape turned, swearing.

“Oh, poor Snivellus. Got your book? I can see the grease marks all over it,” James laughed.

“Give that back to me, it's mine, it belonged to my mother!”

“You have a mother, Snivellus?” Sirius laughed. “Poor woman.”

With a flick of his wand, James made the book hover in the air above Snape. Sirius made a downward movement with his wand, and the tome crashed onto Snape's head, making him fall onto his knees, and fell apart, scattering pages everywhere. The memory went black. Harry felt sick to his stomach. Why had his father and Sirus done this? He withdrew and looked into the unreadable black eyes.

I can't do this, I can't bear it, he said to Snape in sign language.

“Oh, you can't do it, you can't bear it, Potter?” Snape spat. “You should be dancing with joy.”

Harry shook his head vehemently.

Please don't-

“Legilimens!” Snape said, pointing his wand at Harry.

Images in Harry's mind raced past until Snape seized one for his scrutiny…

Seventeen-year-old Harry was lying in bed. The curtains of his four-poster bed were drawn. His pyjama top was unbuttoned, his eyes were closed and his lips parted as he caressed his upper body. Horrified, Harry watched as his memory-self slowly slid a languid hand into his pyjama pants - and Snape was still refusing to withdraw from this intimate scene. Occlumency, Harry, Occlumency! he said to himself fiercely, trying to force the terror and embarrassment aside; hadn't Snape told him repeatedly during their Occlumency lessons that he had to control his emotions? With an enormous effort, he raised his wand and bellowed Protego! in his mind. There was a thud as Snape slammed against his desk and onto the floor. Panting silently, Harry knelt next to his teacher. Snape rubbed his back for a moment and stared at Harry, whose anxious face was close to his. Harry expected to see boiling fury in them, but he was mistaken. There was a gloating triumph in them.

“How touching that you care about my well-being, Potter. Obviously, you are capable of Occlumency if only you are pushed enough.”

Harry managed to convey to him in sign language:

Would you have continued watching?

Snape raised an eyebrow.

“Do you think I did not know what you were doing? Exploring your body? Your sexuality? Ah, Harry Potter, so enamoured of himself, so obsessed with himself.” His voice became silky and soft as he uttered the last sentence.

Harry flushed. Snape rose gracefully and Harry straightened up. Their eyes locked. Then a blaze of pain shot through Harry's head, like last time. He knew what was coming and cupped his palm around his nose.

Snape watched him silently for a moment before picking up a towel lying, neatly folded, on his desk. He was evidently well prepared.

“Lie down, Potter,” he said, pointing at the couch. Harry walk towards it slowly, clutching at a shelf now and then whenever his knees threatened to give way. He collapsed onto the couch, wondering how he and Snape would ever survive the year Dumbledore had thrust upon them.

CHAPTER 11

The next two months were excruciatingly difficult. Harry was still not fast enough when it came to gaining access to Snape's thoughts, and there was a lesson where he had to give up because of sheer exhaustion. He sometimes got nosebleeds after Legilimency and sometimes he didn't.

Relief came in the shape of Ginny and Luna's presence and turned to joy when the three of them saw Hermione and Ron in Hogsmeade. Hagrid had returned (without Madame Maxime, however) from negotiations and contracts with giants. The end of the war didn't mean that making allies could stop or be put on hold. Dark wizards and witches, if not Death Eaters, were on the run, as were dark creatures, among them several Dementors. The greeting between Hagrid and Harry had been tearful and wonderful, with Fang barking suspiciously at Harry's mind-bond quill. Otherwise, however, Harry was slogging over Snape's assignments and suffering from nightmares. Snape was definitely cruel to Harry, more so now that the term had started. It was a degrading, humiliating and depressing feeling. It robbed Harry's sleep and, what was worse, seemed to be sapping his magical powers. His spells seemed weaker; he would have to repeat his messages to his quill sometimes; and when he finally failed altogether to break into Snape's mind, Snape shouted at him, saying that he was useless and a waste of time and to get out of his sight. Harry burst into tears as the door slammed behind him.

I can't go on for any longer, he wrote in his diary. I can't. I am trying and trying. I am so tired. Why are you doing this to me, Severus Snape? Why, you bastard? I must go on. Snape, Dumbledore and my friends and parents didn't sacrifice so much to save my life and then have me throw it all away after all these years. No, I must go on.

Finally, near the middle of December, he managed, with a supreme effort, to enter Snape's mind, but had to retreat because of the pain which shot through his head and made his nose bleed.

“You may sit down for a few minutes until you feel better,” Snape said harshly, nodding at the couch and handing Harry the now standard towel. Harry sat down, then changed his position to lying on his side so that the blood could still flow out. The towels Snape gave him were always clean, soft and fluffy; and a minute later, he was asleep. Snape, who had had his back turned towards Harry, now approached the sleeping shape. He spent a long time gazing at Harry, absorbed in the peaceful expression on his face, in his relaxed fingers, in the shape of his body, the casual dark-blue jeans and black t-shirt. He sometimes wore robes and at other times he didn't. A long slender index finger touched Harry's cheek, and the gesture was like a caress. The Potions Master walked back to his desk and began to grade papers. It was eleven o'clock at night by the time he had finished, and he decided it was time to wake Harry. As if in accordance with his thoughts, a sudden cough sounded from the couch. It was followed by another, and then by a violent retching. Snape stood up immediately.

Harry was writhing wildly from side to side. The smell and taste of blood were in his nose and mouth. He coughed and gagged again. An arm surrounded his shoulders, supporting him as he sat up. A faint glow of light flooded the room. The Potions Master was looking down at him with probing black eyes, a slender hand holding a fresh towel underneath his nose.

Harry went into another coughing spasm and leant his head against Snape's chest. This time, too, Snape stiffened, but he did not protest or shove him away. The towel was soaked within minutes, and the blood was positively gushing out Harry's nose. His face became horribly white. Snape caught Harry as he fainted backwards into his arms. He, too, had become paler than he already was.

“Potter…Harry…” he said softly. When there was no response, he lifted him into his arms and left his office in quest of the hospital wing. The young man's face was deathly pale and the crimson blood stood out vividly, besmearing his parted lips, front teeth and chin.

In the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey examined him as he lay limply on his side.

“The nosebleeds are typically stress-related - I can't detect anything wrong with his blood pressure except that it is a bit low, which is normal after such a heavy nosebleed. You are teaching him Telepathy and specialised non-verbal spells, aren't you?” she said disapprovingly to Snape.

Snape nodded curtly.

“Legilimency. We haven't moved on to Telepathy as yet.”

“It is mentioned that extreme mental magic can bring on these symptoms. Legilimency is one of them, Severus. He is not to do any strenuous activities for the next four weeks, at the very least. And that includes his lessons with you.”

She gave Snape a cold glance.

“I'll just run a few additional tests to make sure he's fine.”

“I believe there are tumours which can cause nosebleeds. Maybe Potter is lucky enough to have one,” a sixth-year Slytherin who had broken his leg during Quidditch practice said loudly. He was lying a few beds away from Harry's and obviously eavesdropping.

“Thirty points from Slytherin, Carter,” Snape said, striding up to the Slytherin's bed. “Another remark like that, and I will deduct forty points. Keep your ears and remarks to yourself.”

Pomfrey stared. She had never witnessed Snape either taking points off his own house or rebuking one of his own students. The Slytherin gulped. Snape returned.

“How often will he keep on having the nosebleeds?” he asked the matron.

“Until Legilimency becomes something natural to him, something he can do with less effort. Nosebleeds like he had now can be dangerous, especially if he starts passing out.”

Pomfrey bent over Harry. She took her wand and passed it over the youth's face and body.

“Has he been having difficulties performing magic in his lessons?”

Snape nodded.

“Severus, he is completely exhausted,” she said worriedly, “he really has to stop all this for at least a month. He is so tired that it is having a negative effect on his magic. It is sapping his powers. He should have had some time to himself after the war. Instead, he had to take lessons with you as soon as he was healed.”

Snape stared down at Harry.

Madam Pomfrey watched as he drew up a chair next to Harry. He refused to leave his bedside until Albus Dumbledore entered the room, his blue eyes resting upon his Potions Master and Harry. He loved Snape like a son and Harry like a grandson. Dumbledore would have liked having children, but he had been so busy saving the world from dangerous characters that there had never been time for a family.

Snape gave him an unfathomable gaze.

Dumbledore put his hand on Snape's shoulder for a moment before stooping over Harry and touching his face gently.

“This is more than just stress and exhaustion, Severus. I can feel a lot of pain and sorrow in him.”

Snape subconsciously passed his palm over the branded mark burnt forever in his left forearm.

“Is it depression?” he asked abruptly.

“Resulting from the trauma of loss in his life. Harry has had to endure more deaths and losses than most people of his age.”

The blue eyes looked into Snape's black ones.

“And that is what links you to Harry, Severus.”

Snape was silent.

Dumbledore sighed.

“Were you harsh to him during your lessons?”

No reaction from Snape except for a slight bowing of his head.

“Did I make a mistake again, Severus? Is it really too late? Do you hate him so much? Maybe I was too optimistic. Maybe too much has been broken between you two and can no longer be repaired.”

Snape remained silent.

“Look at me, Severus,” Dumbledore said gently. The Potions Master obeyed.

“It is only for one year, Severus. Till the holidays. Should Harry be made the Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher, you can still avoid each other. But for now, you can't avoid each other. He needs your help, Severus, if he wants to stay at Hogwarts and become a teacher. It is his home. And…you need his help as well.”

Snape stared at the wise wizard incredulously.

“Please think of all I have told you about Harry Potter, Severus. You will continue teaching Harry after his four weeks of recovery have passed. The Christmas holidays will be over by then. And we definitely all need a holiday. I think it is time you went to bed, Severus.”

“Good night, Headmaster.”

“Albus. Good night, Severus.”

Snape turned and left the hospital wing. Dumbledore placed his hand on Harry's forehead.

“Severus needs you, Harry, just as you need him. But now you need time for yourself. Time to grieve after all you have suffered. Sleep now, my dear boy, and heal well. You are strong, and you are not alone.”

He left.

CHAPTER 12

Harry woke up in the morning the next day and was reluctantly released by Madam Pomfrey, who told him strictly to desist from tiring activities and to fly on his broom only for short stretches of time. She also told him that he had a month all to himself, without lessons and assignments.

The young man was indescribably grateful for this hiatus. It had been too fast and too much for him. He hadn't had time to grieve properly over all that had happened. After defeating Voldemort, it had been right on to lessons with Snape, and in between that, homework and practising. He had been too busy to really work out his personal issues. Now he had been granted precious four weeks which he would have all to himself - four weeks away from lessons of any kind, four weeks' time to grieve, and to laugh, and to be insane, to be with Ginny and Luna and Hagrid, to do whatever he wanted.

Harry cried and wrote a lot during the first week. He cried for his parents, for Sirius, for all the deaths and damage Voldemort had caused directly and indirectly. He wept for Draco Malfoy, whose parents and relatives were in Azkaban, wept at the memory of Draco screaming at his parents, yelling that they were murderers and that they had been recruiting him to become Voldemort's tool and pawn, and worst of all, that he had been molested by one of his father's Death Eater friends, McNair, since the age of fourteen, and that his parents had known - and not done anything. Draco, who had attempted suicide with a potion and was still in a coma at St. Mungo's.

Neville's plant, which was covered with lovely clusters of golden flowers, drooped mournfully whenever Harry cried in its proximity. During that time, the rain was tears falling from the skies.

And then, very slowly, he began to heal. He went for introspective walks outdoors, often visiting Hagrid, his cloak protecting him from the wind. He listened a lot to his favourite music and wrote copiously in his diary. Ginny and Luna (who were staying at Hogwarts for Christmas) visited him in his rooms and brought him stacks of candy, wizarding games, Butterbeer and happiness. Ginny and Harry taught Luna how to use Harry's laptop. The rain became music, weaving his mood into its rhythmic pattern. He loved it when the drops fell on his palm if he happened to stretch his arm out of the window. His magic started to improve. The Plant of Hope stopped drooping.

Snape was careful to avoid Harry during that time. Harry's Christmas presents were excellent this year, although he appreciated the people and their thoughtfulness behind them even more than the actual gifts. He had used his temporary freedom to carefully choose presents for the people he loved, and they had all been delighted.

Lupin, who knew that Harry loved piano music, had sent him an excellent wizarding compact disc which looked exactly the same as a Muggle disc but had magical properties such as self-cleaning and everlasting scratch-proof charms; and on normal Muggle radios, it sputtered and wouldn't work unless the radios were equipped with wizarding adapters. Ron's contribution was a subscription to a brand-new Quidditch magazine; Mrs Weasley had knitted a warm cuddly jumper for him and sent him a lot of tasty goodies to eat. Hermione, always interested in his education and career possibilities, had equipped him with a book on famous wizards who could practise Legilimency and Occlumency. Harry, on leafing curiously through this volume, discovered both Albus Dumbledore and none other than Severus Snape under the letter “D” respectively “S” in the category of “Current Masters and Mistresses of Mental Magic”.

Harry changed into Mrs Weasley's jumper, drew up his feet on the sofa and examined the section on Snape. A still picture displayed the cold impassive profile of the Slytherin perusing a tome, not bothering to interact with the photographer or reader. Harry skimmed through the description of the enigmatic wizard.

…outstanding Potions Master, Head of Slytherin at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…the First Class of the Order of Merlin was bestowed on him after his crucial role in the downfall of Voldemort…

Voldemort. The author, a witch named Stella Stevens, was plainly a down-to-earth person who believed in calling things and people by their proper names…Order of Merlin, First Class? And the man was still grumpy and sour?

The book said a lot about his accomplishments, all right; but while the other wizards and witches had a few comments about what they liked doing in their free time, or how they were perceived by others as people, Snape's section lacked this type of information.

Why am I not surprised? Harry thought, closing the book. He unwrapped his other gifts from Hagrid, Luna, the Weasley twins, Tonks and Ginny, and finally, there was one present remaining, a large package wrapped in silver. Harry inspected it for a note or card. There was none. He opened the wrapping and drew out a fat glossy book.

Another one? he thought with amusement. He looked at the title and sat up straight. It was entitled The Power of Telepathy. It had been published only a week ago. He opened the book, wondering if the giver had included a note between the pages or written something on the flyleaf. Dumbledore? It didn't seem like Dumbledore not to include a note of some sort. Snape, of course, could be excluded right away, even though he was going to teach Harry Telepathy. Provided he recovered properly.

Harry racked his brains in vain and finally gave up. He had no idea who had given him the book. He appreciated the gesture very much, though, and decided that he would find out who had sent it to him.

For Christmas, the teachers and the students who were remaining at Hogwarts had to share a table. Fortunately, Harry's and Snape's seats were quite far apart and on the same side of the table. After Christmas dinner, however, they happened to pass each other in the corridor. Their eyes met for a moment; then Snape averted his face quickly and continued walking, his step a little faster. Harry retired to his room where The Power of Telepathy kept him company for many intriguing hours. The rest of the holidays and his “alone time” passed peacefully. Towards the end of the four weeks, he went on short rides with his Firebolt although it was freezing cold, determined to fully enjoy his last moments of liberty.

In the meantime, Dumbledore stood in his office, stroking Fawkes the phoenix. He had been pleasantly surprised when he had caught sight of Severus Snape giving Harry's owl Hedwig a large silver package to deliver to her master. The Slytherin hadn't noticed him, and Dumbledore had quietly retreated with a smile.

He wondered a lot about Severus at times. His smile became tinged with melancholy. An unhappy man with a sad childhood and dark Death Eater past. His aunt, the only person who had been nice to him, had died when Severus was fourteen. Parents who had been too consumed by their own problems to care for him and who had had an ugly divorce. A loner and target of ridicule at school. An unusually intelligent and talented wizard who seemed to be spiralling into despair. Strangely enough, his activity as a spy for Dumbledore and the danger his contacts with Voldemort had entailed had kept him stable, given him some kind of security. Now that he was liberated from such hazardous tasks, he seemed insecure and even more volatile in mood. Dumbledore knew that Snape went to Enchanté regularly. He would catch sight of Severus coming back to Hogwarts late at night, tired, even dishevelled, his face bitter and sullen, and he was fully aware of the cynical man's hopeless quest for some kind of human contact, even if it meant degrading himself to indulge in one-time trysts with wizards, trusting the shadows and his spying skills to keep himself anonymous and out of the media. Snape knew the art of secrecy well, too well. He was using sex as a means to establish one of the most intimate means of human bonding and yet maintain an endless distance from all mankind at the same time.

Once, Dumbledore had deliberately stepped into Severus's range of view, and the Slytherin had looked at him with empty dull eyes, saying:

“Don't worry, Headmaster, my standing as a social recluse should be enough to dispel any rumours about my activities down at Hogsmeade. Hogwarts's reputation is safe.”

“I am not worried about that, Severus. I am worried about you, my boy.”

Something had stirred in the black eyes, something terribly unhappy and terribly broken. Then he had wished Dumbledore good night and left.

And of course it had to be Harry, only Harry, apart from Dumbledore, who could understand the depth of Severus's pain. It was so ironic. He was the son of the man whom Snape continued hating. But he was not his father. James had been a good man, but rather spoilt during his youth. Maturity had come with his marriage and finally with the birth of his son.

Harry was anything but spoilt. He had his flaws like everybody else, of course; however, he was kind, affectionate and very good-natured; and if he could not bring a tiny spark of light into the clammy claustrophobic tunnel that was Severus's life, then who could?

“It is time Gryffindor and Slytherin had two wizards to remind people of the friendship their founders shared before strife came between them,” he said to Fawkes, and the phoenix rubbed his head against Dumbledore's hand.

CHAPTER 13

It was Saturday, the second-last day of Harry's “sick leave”. Harry had had only two minor nosebleeds during the four weeks. He was engrossed in The Power of Telepathy, inserting slips of papers on pages which seemed particularly important to him. The book had been written and published by outstanding members of the Order of Merlin, First Class, which meant that Dumbledore and Snape had definitely been crucial contributors. The Minister of Magic, Fudge, was on very bad terms with Harry, and had bestowed the First Class on Snape and others, but Harry had gone empty. The young wizard didn't mind or care. For now, he was only too happy to enjoy his privacy and avoid anything which would attract the media like a horde of hungry vultures. He was wondering more than ever who had given him the book, until it finally hit him. Hedwig would know. Some of the gifts had not been delivered via owl post, but the book had been. As a wizarding mail owl, she could read basic human language and was aware that he was mute. The giver most probably resided at Hogwarts (Hedwig had either been with Harry or in the Owlery the days before Christmas), and it would be extremely odd to make himself or herself untraceable at Hogwarts, of all places. It was worth a try. Harry went up to the Owlery with the book and Hedwig fluttered down to him. He showed her the book and held up a piece of parchment which said:

From whom?

Hedwig understood. She hooted, plucked gently at the sleeve of his robes, spread her wings and led him out of the Owlery. He followed her eagerly through corridors and down several flights of stairs past suits of armours and portraits. Lower and lower they went, until they reached the dungeons. Hedwig perched upon his shoulder, hooting. They were standing in front Snape's office.

Harry stared. He looked at Hedwig, who gazed back at him with her huge eyes. He held up the book and pointed at the door. Hedwig uttered what sounded like a most affirmative hoot. Harry felt dazed. So it had been Snape after all, and he hadn't bothered to make himself untraceable. Maybe he had wanted Harry to find out like this. He stroked Hedwig and gave her an owl treat. She nibbled at his ear, spread her wings and left him. Hugging the book thoughtfully to his chest, Harry studied Snape's office door as if he was seeing it for the first time. Knocking on Snape's door without having an appointment with him beforehand was about as safe as trying to get near the Whomping Willow without knowing how to freeze it. Perhaps a note? No, it seemed too distant and impolite. In person, then. On Monday evening, when they had their first lesson after four weeks. Harry nodded to himself and walked away slowly. He didn't notice the office door open behind him noiselessly to reveal a pale face with piercing black eyes which watched him depart with a brooding expression in their depths. Then the door closed as silently as it had opened.

Monday evening arrived, and Harry cautiously went down to the dungeons, encountering a few Slytherins on the way. They passed each other quietly; one seventh-year even bent his head slightly in greeting, thus acknowledging both Harry's presence and his victory over Voldemort.

Harry took a deep breath as he knocked on Snape's door. It opened and he stepped inside. Snape was sitting at his desk, staring at him with an unreadable expression.

“Sit,” he said coldly.

Harry took his usual seat and extracted his quill and parchment, which hovered near his knee. Would the taunts and comments start again, along with the invasions into each other's minds and the resurfacing of hurtful memories?

There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally, Snape rose, went over to Harry and studied his face closely. Harry flushed a little as the keen black eyes locked with his.

“How are your nosebleeds?” he asked somewhat abruptly. The quill leapt into action.

They are much better, thank you; I had two mild nosebleeds during the past four weeks.

“Do you have any pain?”

Harry hesitated.

No.

Snape nodded slowly. There was no physical pain. The young man was thinner and seemed so vulnerable, so fragile. He realised that the emotional pain had to be very strong to sap a wizard's or witch's powers.

“Have your magical powers come back to you?” he inquired.

Harry nodded.

Another awkward silence spread between them. Harry was trying to work up the courage to thank Snape for his gift. Finally, Snape asked softly:

“Do you feel ready to resume Legilimency?”

Harry was not at all used to Snape being even remotely solicitous about his well-being. He looked into the black eyes and shook his head.

“I see. When do you think you will be able to resume Legilimency?”

This, too, was very new to Harry. Usually Snape set the schedule and that was it. He never asked other people what they thought.

Can you please give me two weeks' time?

“Two weeks. Very well. Sign language and non-verbal spells today.”

His probing black eyes searched Harry's face again.

“Let us discuss about…water. It will be too complex for you to do so without your quill, so please concentrate properly on it.”

Something stirred in Harry's green eyes. Water.

“Tell me what you associate with water, Potter,” Snape ordered, leaning against his desk. Harry smiled.

Water is something we can't live without. We swim in water before we are born. Most of our planet consists of water. It comes in many shapes.

“Which shape, for instance?” Snape asked.

Rain. I love the rain. There is music in the way it falls down, depending on the kind of surfaces it lands on…And if the drops fall upon your hand, it's like many feet walking over your palm. You can see the drops, you can feel them, but try holding them, and they escape. Water can be considered holy. Holy water in the church. Holy rivers like the Ganges in India.

He paused, not wanting to give the impression that he was babbling.

“And what else do you associate with water, Potter?” The Potions Master seemed genuinely interested.

This part of the castle. Part of the dungeons is underneath the lake. The magical creatures which inhabit it…from the Giant Squid to the Merfolk…And then there's the saying: `Blood is thicker than water'.

“Do you agree with that statement?” Snape wanted to know.

A sad look came into Harry's eyes.

I agree and disagree. My mother's love ran and still runs in my blood. I had to go back to the Dursleys because of the ancient blood protection spell. On the other hand, my aunt and cousin are my blood relatives, and for them, my Uncle and me, blood is definitely thinner than water.

“Yes, Potter, sometimes that is the case,” Snape said, walking slowly to one end of the room. Harry watched him warily. Finally, the tall wizard turned.

“We will be doing things with water today, Potter. So far, you have mastered non-verbal spells which involve specific solid objects, combined with your wand and without it. Now, you must learn how to deal with liquids. Come here, Potter.”

Intrigued, Harry rose and went over to Snape.

“Your observations about water are interesting. You seem to have given much thought to it. You associate music with rain, Potter. It is quite laudable.”

Laudable? Harry blinked. He wondered if Dumbledore had shouted at Snape and threatened to sack him if he didn't behave more humanely; but somehow, he couldn't imagine it.

Snape curled his lip at Harry's expression.

“However, before we proceed to spells, I want you to interpret a couple of basic signs. As you know, it will take about a year until you can practise basic communication in a natural manner, Potter. You are learning a new language.”

How did you learn sign language, Professor?

Snape studied Harry carefully.

“My aunt, my mother's sister, was mute, but she could hear. I would be sent to live with her on a regular basis. She was a good and kind woman, and she taught me over the years. She died when I was fourteen. Is that sufficient information, Potter?”

Yes, thank you, Harry said in sign language.

Snape raised a slender eyebrow in response. It was the second time in the lesson. Harry was thanking him.

When they moved on the verbal-spells after sign repetition, Harry looked curiously at the basin of water which Snape placed before Harry on a small table.

“Try levitating the water from the bowl, Potter. All of it, so that it hovers above the bowl in a frozen state, but without turning into ice.”

Harry stared, aghast. It sounded very difficult. Snape stood on the other side, watching him closely. Harry thought Wingardium Leviosa with all his might and swished and flicked his wand the way Flitwick had taught him and his classmates in his first year. The water leapt out of the bowl - and splashed liberally over Snape's face.

Harry, horrified, tensed, ready to defend himself in case Snape decapitated him.

Snape, however, cast a drying spell on himself and settled his robes with unruffled dignity.

“Well, Potter, the water certainly left the bowl.”

I'm sorry, Harry apologised. His cheeks were crimson.

“It was quite refreshing after my Potion classes today,” Snape observed dryly.

After several tries - with Snape prudently keeping out of the way - Harry mastered the spell. He was amazed to hear no word of criticism leave the thin lips throughout the lesson. Maybe Snape was anxious to avoid carrying Harry to the hospital wing again.

Finally, Snape made Harry employ the Aguamenti charm. Harry was so overenthusiastic that a massive jet of water shot out of his wand, leaving Snape and himself standing in a puddle.

“Potter!” Snape barked.

Harry, however, raised his hand to hide a small grin.

“Will you kindly stop grinning like a Grindylow, get rid of this mess and dry our feet without setting our socks on fire?” Snape asked crossly.

Harry obeyed.

“You need to concentrate more,” Snape said tersely. “Repeat the spell.”

A few drops escaped from the wand-end, like a leaking tap.

“Potter,” Snape growled, “not even a thirsty bird would be satisfied with that. Once more.”

This time, Harry's efforts were rewarded with success.

Snape nodded curtly.

“Practise - preferably in the bathroom if you don't want to drown the whole castle. You may leave.”

Thank you very much for the book, Professor. Hedwig led me to the dungeons when I asked her who had given it to her. It is a very interesting read.

He extended his hand. There was a small pause before the long tapering fingers curled around his. The grip was firm. Harry felt, with a sudden uplifting of his heart, that at last, at long, long last, a tentative bond had been established between them. They stood together like that for a brief moment, the tall long-haired wizard and the slight bespectacled one (Harry sometimes wore Muggle contact lenses and glasses on other days).

“I hope you will find it helpful for the lessons ahead of you, Potter. Use it well.”

Harry nodded, and Snape released his hand, aware of Harry's eyes searching his face for an answer, wondering why he had given him the book. Snape broke the eye contact by turning away.

The young wizard left.

CHAPTER 14

The next lessons with Snape were equally peaceable - peaceable if one was used to Snape's cold and distant demeanour and to the occasional snide sarcastic remark. Three lessons passed in this manner, with Harry industriously practising sign language and the more difficult kinds of non-verbal spells.

Gryffindor was leading in Quidditch with Ginny Weasley as a Seeker; the weather, though cold, was ideal for outdoor romping. Snowballs, sledding, skating and building snowmen were popular activities. Everything seemed fine; but there was one large cloud on the horizon for Harry. He would resume Legilimency with Snape the next lesson. He told Hermione about his misgivings. She wrote back an e-mail insisting that he was perfectly capable of mastering Legilimency and to not allow Snape to do anything he didn't want. She and Ron had consulted the list of Hogsmeade outings Harry had sent them, that way they could see Ginny and Luna as well besides Harry, and repeat the first get-together they had spent before Harry's major nosebleed. They wanted to visit Hogsmeade soon. Harry wondered whether Snape and Dumbledore had also suffered from nosebleeds while they had learnt Legilimency. Maybe he could ask Snape. If he was in a “good” mood.

Harry trotted down to the dungeons in a gloomy frame of mind on Monday evening. His lessons has been permanently postponed to eight o'clock at night, which meant that he could at least eat supper beforehand with the Gryffindors in the Great Hall if he chose not to eat in his lonely quarters. Ginny cheered him up when he informed her what was awaiting him, piling more rice onto his plate as he nibbled dispiritedly at a chicken leg. He brushed his teeth afterwards, and now he was standing in front of Snape's office door. Then, with a deep breath, he wrapped his finger around the handle and stepped inside the room.

“Potter, you are five seconds late,” Snape greeted him.

He made a sign of apology and occupied his usual chair, facing Snape, who was twirling his quill in his hands, his long fingers graceful as they moved.

“Tonight's program consists of sign language, non-verbal spells and Legilimency,” he said softly. Harry's pulse became quicker at the last word. He didn't want to do Legilimency. It was even worse then Occlumency. He felt a barrier rise within him in protest at the very thought. Snape rose.

“Repetition,” he said, and proceeded to interact with Harry by using a couple of basic signs. The silence of the communication only made Harry more nervous. Finally, they moved on to non-verbal spells - the moving and levitating of semi-liquids. Harry felt like throwing up when Snape said:

“Legilimency, Potter. Let us see how much you have forgotten. Draw out your wand.”

Harry obeyed. His fingers left sweat marks on his wand, and he hoped Snape wouldn't notice.

“Begin,” Snape commanded, his eyes boring into Harry's.

I can't, I can't, I just can't, Harry's mind protested.

“I am waiting, Potter,” Snape whispered.

Harry bit his lip, then, with an enormous effort, complied, managing to maintain a steady grip on his wand while he repeated the chant in his head…Legilimens, legilimens, legilimens…

A sharp pain tore through his head, and his nose started bleeding immediately. His wand clattered to the floor as he tried to stem the crimson flood. Snape moved forwards quickly.

I'm sorry, I wonder when it will stop, the quill scribbled, travelling along with the parchment within Snape's field of view. He waved them away impatiently.

“Sit,” he said in a surprisingly gentle tone, guiding Harry to the now familiar couch. Seeing how exhausted Harry looked, he proceeded to mop up the blood himself. Harry's green eyes widened a fraction, but he submitted to Snape's ministrations. Maybe Dumbledore had had an exceptionally severe talk with the surly Potions Master?

The black eyes glinted at Harry's expression.

“I am rather fond of this couch, Potter, and I don't want to waste a cleaning charm on it if you bleed all over the upholstery,” he said bitingly.

Snape held the towel to Harry's nose until the bleeding stopped five minutes later. Their faces were quite close during this time. Harry examined Snape's features although he had known them for more than seven years. The arrogant lineaments were less intimidating in their current relaxed state, or maybe he had this impression because the tall wizard was not standing and towering over him. The thin mouth was less stern, even alluring in its shape; but for Harry, the eyes stood out. Large, mysterious and black, with the slender eyebrows arching above them and the long eyelashes throwing fringed shadows on the upper slopes of his high cheekbones. Harry was sure that he caught a subtle fragrance of cardamom from the thick hair. Was his sense of smell becoming sensitive as well?

Snape's eyes caught his.

“You do know that staring is rude, Potter? Where are your manners?”

Harry's cheeks became tinged with red and he abashedly studied his knees.

I need to go back to my bed, I feel so sleepy, he said after the nosebleed was over, trying to stand up. He swayed with tiredness and Snape supported him.

The black eyes and green ones met.

Please give me a minute, I need to steady myself.

Snape muttered something underneath his breath and hoisted him up in his arms.

Astonishment spread over Harry's face, but he did not protest, calmly holding on to Snape's neck instead. The quill and parchment followed them and returned to their owner's pocket. There were other ways Snape could have used to get him back to his quarters. Snape, however, silently carried him out of the dungeons. It was late at night, and it was very unlikely that they were going to encounter somebody. Their eyes met several times until Harry leant his head against him. There was something so trusting and spontaneous about the gesture that Snape had to draw a deep breath in order to suppress a sudden strange feeling in his chest.

He put Harry down on the sofa and turned to leave. Harry drew out his quill and parchment.

Don't you want to stay?

Snape looked at him haughtily.

“To baby-sit you and give you the attention you crave, Potter?”

I was just trying to be polite.

“I see.”

Snape sat down next to him. His eyes fell on The Power of Telepathy, which had a lot of notes sticking out from between its pages. Harry missed the tiny smile which curved Snape's mouth for a moment.

Would you like something to drink or to eat?

“Your concern about my dieting habits is touching, Potter. No. Thank you.” He didn't seem used to pronouncing the last two words on a frequent basis.

You are more patient in our lessons since those four weeks.

“I am willing to deviate from my usual teaching methods just in order to get rid of you after the term is over, Potter.”

Silence fell over them again; and when Snape turned to look at Harry, he saw that the young man was half asleep.

“Potter, I think you need to go to bed.”

Harry blinked and smiled sheepishly.

Thank you for carrying me all the way back.

Snape acknowledged his thanks with a slight inclination of his head.

“Don't forget to remove those ridiculous Muggle lenses from your eyes. You do know that your myopia can be corrected? Wizarding methods are vastly faster than Muggle eye correction surgery. The results are the same, if not superior.”

I never thought of it. I am so used to glasses and to contact lenses, I don't care.

“True. You don't want your fan club increasing after all, I suppose.”

Definitely not. I just want to be me. Harry. I've never really bothered about my appearance. The glasses are part of me. I'm quite fond of them, actually.

Snape looked at him expressionlessly.

Professor, did you also have nosebleeds when you learnt Legilimency?

“A few. None as strong as yours. I am not as overemotional as you are, after all.”

How will I ever learn it?

“That is your problem, not mine, Potter.”

Harry stared at him desperately.

I have to do it! How do others manage?

Snape shrugged.

“You have very obviously raised a barrier against Legilimency. I will have to discuss this with the Headmaster if you don't improve, Potter. Good night.”

He rose and left.

Harry stared ahead of him.

What was his life coming to?

The next day, consolation arrived in the shape of the news that Enchanté was having a big do on the 14th February: a masked ball for everyone who was above the age of seventeen. Some of the seventh-years would attend as well. Even Harry, who was not too fond of big events, decided to participate. He had to let go of his worries in some way or the other.

CHAPTER 15

Harry was somewhat embarrassed when Hermione, Ron, Luna and Ginny suggested that they go shopping for an adequate costume for Harry. Ginny had already chosen a beautiful dress to surprise Dean when he came down to Hogsmeade for the ball. Luna didn't want to participate because she wasn't interested.

“Besides, there will be tons of Nargles in there,” she observed.

Hermione and Ron were very busy at the Ministry, the former because of her job and the latter due to the tough Auror training program, so they had to give the ball a miss. The ball, although it was taking place in a gay bar, was open to all adults and sponsored by various notable wizarding enterprises. There would be classical and modern music performed by various people, plenty of drinks and mouth-watering food - and no talking was allowed until midnight, when people were supposed to pull off their masks and dance till three in the morning. Harry regarded the non-talking part as ideal.

The five friends discovered a clothing boutique which was selling costumes specially for the ball and were rather surprised when they encountered Snape leaving the shop with a large bag.

He gave them a cold look and a sneer as he glided away.

“Some people never change, eh?” Ron remarked.

“He is taking more care of his appearance, though,” Hermione said, “his hair looks quite nice.”

Ron shot her a revolted glance while Ginny laughed.

“He's said to visit Enchanté quite regularly to, you know, work off sexual frustrations.”

Luna said in her dreamy tones:

“He is indeed a rather bad-tempered man. I am sure the Flabbles are behind it all.”

“Flabbles? What are Flabbles, Luna?” Ginny voiced Harry's question.

“They prevent men from achieving orgasm,” Luna answered absent-mindedly, studying a long silver cloak decorated with blue balls.

Ginny and Harry did not dare look at each other as they tried to stifle their mirth. Hermione's mouth was twitching, and Ron rubbed his lips vigorously, his ears red. Luna remained happily oblivious to their amusement.

They separated and went costume-hunting, Harry rather overwhelmed by the enormous choice of ball attire.

“Harry! Oy, mate!” Ron called loudly.

“Ron, do you have to shout across the shop like that?” Hermione said disapprovingly.

“Yeah, I do.” He hugged her with one arm and held up a bright orange costume. Ginny burst out laughing.

Harry rolled his eyes.

No way, his quill scribbled.

“But it's the Chudley Cannon colours,” Ron said seriously.

“Ron, it's a masked ball, not a Quidditch do,” Hermione sighed.

Ron mournfully replaced the robes.

“May I help you?” a friendly young witch asked them.

“We are searching for some elegant dress robes for Harry here. Something subtle…not too showy,” Hermione said gratefully.

The witch looked at Harry and saw his quill and parchment.

“Oh my! Harry Potter! I'll get you the best robes I can find! If you will kindly excuse me…” She blushed as the quill conveyed Harry's thanks to her and disappeared among the racks. She soon returned with beautiful velvety black robes, a cape and a delicately embroidered half-mask. The clothes were tastefully decorated with tiny green and silver sequins.

“These should suit you perfectly…Fitting cabins are over there, Mr Potter. Tell me if anything has to be shortened or lengthened, it can be done on the spot.”

Hermione and Ron followed Harry, holding some of the clothes.

A few minutes later, Harry was gazing in disbelief at his reflection.

Hermione clapped her hands.

“You look really…seductive, Harry.”

Harry's cheeks became warm.

Will anyone recognise me?

“Hmmm…Unless they know you really well. Especially because of your eyes and mouth. You're one of the few people who has such green eyes,” Hermione said.

My mouth?

“You have a very nice mouth.”

Ron assumed a grave expression. “What she's trying to say, mate, is that people will want to snog you sore.”

Harry blushed.

“No nice bloke in sight, mate?” Ron inquired.

I was wondering how to tell you that I like guys, but how did you know?

“Harry, we're your friends. We've known since the last half of our seventh year. It was quite obvious from the way you were starting to check out the guys. And when that Ravenclaw boy you fancied turned out to have a girlfriend, you were sort of low and snappy,” Hermione informed him.

Harry looked at them.

And you don't mind?

“Don't be stupid, Harry! It's perfectly normal,” Hermione said crossly.

“Yeah, Justin's dating a Muggle guy, seems to be getting serious,” Ron put in.

What is the wizarding world's attitude towards bisexuality and homosexuality?

Ron shrugged.

“People are the same all over every world, Harry. But it's a safe hunch that so-called Purebloods like those rotten Malfoys are homophobic. They say that homosexuals are part of the reason why wizarding people marry Muggles. Complete bullshit.”

“Where there are humans there is trouble,” Hermione said with a sad smile, “and the wizarding world has its share of intolerant people. But don't worry, Harry. We - and that includes everyone who hasn't got Flobberworms for brains - all know that homosexuality has existed for as long as human beings have existed.”

“Make sure you get a really nice bloke, Harry. But he shouldn't look what like the Kneazle brought in.”

Hermione scowled at Ron, adjusting Harry's mask.

“Superficial git,” she muttered.

“Hey, who's decking out Harry? This needs shortening, mate,” Ron answered smartly, grinning as he straightened Harry's cape and patted his shoulder.

Harry smiled. They were behaving around him as usual, talking to him and touching him and bickering affectionately. He felt incredibly happy.

After the cape had been shortened a little, Harry paid for his ball apparel and left the shop with his friends.

The few lessons with Snape before the ball were better than the one where they had tried resuming Legilimency. Harry was trying very hard to befriend the notion of Legilimency and his efforts were being rewarded slowly but steadily. Instead of pain shooting through his head he would feel a sharp twinge, and his nosebleeds were shorter and less heavy. In addition, Snape had decided not to use Legilimency on Harry until he was more secure and less prone to nosebleeds. During the last lesson before the big event, Harry managed to maintain the spell until he had seen the whole of Snape's memory; however, he was immediately attacked by a nosebleed afterwards. He had just witnessed the day on which Snape's father had found out that his son was a wizard and his wife a witch.

“A freak! My son is a freak! I knew something was wrong with him from the moment he was born, and no wonder, with an abnormal mother!”

Sounds of glass shattering while Snape's mother cried quietly in the background. Snape himself was a boy of about four, his hair long already then. He was crouching behind a half-closed door, a witness to the ugly argument between his parents. He flinched at the sound of breaking glass. Darkness.

Harry felt tears stinging his eyes and blood on his upper lip as the classroom came back into focus. Snape was watching him impassively, and Harry wondered why he had not placed the memory in the Pensieve.

My relatives regarded me as a freak, too. My uncle thought that the magic had to be beaten out of me.

Something stirred in Snape's cold black eyes; and Harry felt that they were equals for the shortest of seconds. A slender hand wordlessly handed him a clean embroidered towel.

Thank you, sir.

“Sit down on the couch, Potter.”

Harry obeyed. It was a ritual by now. Snape followed and sat down next to him. He placed his hand on Harry's forehead for a brief moment. The touch was cool and soothing. It was followed by a probing stare into Harry's eyes, probably to see whether they were clear. Harry flushed slightly under his scrutiny.

The memory of the touch and gaze accompanied him back to his rooms after the lesson.

ANYONE CAUGHT TALKING OR WHISPERING WILL BE HEXED OUT! The notice was attached to the front door of Enchanté on the night of the ball. Harry, feeling rather odd behind his mask, showed his wizarding passport - a small disc resembling a Galleon, except that it was silver - to the doorman, who ushered him inside quickly. The atmosphere was eerie because of the silence. There were plenty of sounds, such as the rustling of gowns and costumes, the clicking of the witches' heels, clinking of glasses, pouring of liquids and clattering of plates; but the absence of human voices was striking, especially for Harry's sensitive hearing. Here, too, he could detect a faint hum of magic, and he guessed it was because the place was enchanted and because there were so many wizards and witches around. The ballroom was huge and stunningly beautiful, reminiscent of royal French courts and palaces in the eighteenth century. Polished mirrors were attached to the walls, making the place seem even bigger; carved furniture and vases gleamed all around, and a series of tables in front of one wall were groaning underneath mountains of food and beverages. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and a delicate perfume of jasmine flowers filled Harry's nostrils. People were clustered together in groups, communicating in smiles and small gestures, the shape of their mouths accentuated by their half-masks. The sheer volume and colours of their costumes were staggering. At last, on the dot of ten o'clock, the lights in the room dimmed, and a hundred anti-wax-spilling candles soared up to the ceiling.

A deep voice rumbled through the room.

“WITCHES AND WIZARDS! ENCHANTÉ! WELCOME TO TONIGHT'S VALENTINE'S MASKED BALL! This event is for everyone, as our flyers have informed you. Remember: no talking or whispering or unmasking before midnight! Our four watch-wizards and witches will be keeping their eyes and ears peeled for any transgressions.”

Four strict-looking figures in sober grey robes and matching masks entered the room. They were wearing silver gloves.

“At midnight, you will be asked to remove your masks, and you may talk as much as you wish from then on! The dance will go till three o'clock in the morning. We assure you that there will be plenty of food, beverages and superb dancing. THE BALL BEGINS…NOW!”

A flash of enchanted lightning revealed scarlet drapes being drawn back at the very end of the room, disclosing a high platform on which musicians were sitting. They began to play, and people began to dance.

Harry blinked as couples waltzed past him, some of the witches holding fans with lace borders in their hands, others wearing marvellous scarves around their necks or tied around their waists or arms. He spotted a whole lot of same-sex couples, too. After the piece of classical music ended, the orchestra left and was replaced with a band called the Gothic Gargoyles. Smiling, he went over to the buffet table to get something to eat. A tall wizard was helping himself to a glass of pumpkin juice. With a slight shock, Harry recognised the stern thin mouth, the black eyes behind the mask and the thick hair cascading down his back. It was Snape, who, however, hadn't noticed Harry as yet. Intrigued, Harry watched as Snape turned to a wizard with long brown hair, steely grey eyes and a satiny-looking mouth. His mask and robes were green streaked with gold. He was a little taller than Harry. Snape sipped his drink, put down his glass and extended his hand to the wizard, obviously asking him if he wanted to dance. The other wizard took his hand, and they danced. Harry retired to a chair and sat down, admiring them wistfully. He perceived that their dance, in excellent accompaniment to the raunchy music, was erotic, their hands wandering slowly over each other's waists, hips and thighs. Finally, they exchanged sultry open-mouthed kisses. Harry averted his eyes because he felt that he was intruding on their privacy, although there was a safe distance between them, and because their kissing was giving him a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had never thought Snape could kiss like that. The two men purposefully left the dance floor.

Ten minutes later, Snape reappeared, alone. He settled his sequined cape, eyes glistening from behind his mask. He stopped with his back towards Harry. Harry inhaled, then touched Snape's elbow lightly.

Snape turned sharply. Harry extended his hand, inviting him to dance. The alluring thin mouth curved into a smile. Snape leant towards Harry a little so that his eyes were completely locked with Harry's. Then, in a serious telepathic whisper:

Are you aware of my appalling reputation in this place? Do you want me to corrupt you and steal your innocence, young man?

Harry didn't move, keeping his hand defiantly outstretched.

Long fingers closed over it. They began to dance. The song was a slow, lilting one now. Harry's dancing skills were nil, especially after the disastrous Yule Ball in his fourth year. Snape, realising his quandary, led him securely through the dance moves; and all the while, his eyes never left Harry's.

Does he recognise me? Harry wondered. No, he can't possibly recognise me. He would never dance with someone he's teaching, and especially not with me, not with Harry James Potter. Would he?

Harry tried in vain to judge from the expression in the black eyes whether Snape had guessed his identity and was now toying with him.

Maybe he could employ Legilimency in order to extract some information from his dancing partner. On the other hand, he was a total beginner while Snape had managed to fool Voldemort. And it would be rather indiscreet. Still, he felt inclined to try. Carefully, without moving his eyes from the black ones, he attempted to prod Snape's mind - not for memories, but for feelings of recognition. A barrier met him. Snape smirked, pressed his hand and pulled Harry close to him.

Now, that is extremely rude, rule-breaker.

Harry blushed. Then something pushed against his mind boldly, probingly. He immediately threw up an Occlumentic shield.

Another low laugh escaped Snape's lips. His body and steps were perfectly in synch with the music.

I am waiting for the nosebleed, Potter.

So he had recognised him. Harry couldn't help smiling up at Snape.

Again he felt the prodding against his mind, and he let the barriers down and his memories flow. He could see himself standing at the window in his new rooms, his hand extended, the rain falling down upon his palm. He could see the smile on his face, his eyes closed as he drank in the music and the feel of the rain; and, behind the transparent picture of his memory, he could see Snape gazing steadily at him. Then a warm hand covered his eyes.

Your turn, Potter. Read my mind. Yes, Potter, without a wand. Do you think I used a wand on the Dark Lord whenever I wanted to read his mind?

The hand moved away and settled upon his waist. They were no longer dancing to the music, but to a melody of their own, a melody no one else could hear.

People around them didn't take notice of them, automatically avoiding them, absorbed in their own dancing activities.

Legilimens, legilimens, legilimens…Harry felt the barrier melt down at the touch of his teacher's hand. And then he could see images…Adult Snape was standing in the dark. It was raining, and he was allowing himself to get soaked, his hair and robes dripping. He was smiling, smiling from the heart.

The image faded. Snape was leading him to a chair. For a moment, he thought he had been attacked by a nosebleed and drew his finger across his upper lip. It was dry. He had performed Legilimency. His heart soared. Snape sat down next to him.

Harry had not taken his quill with in case it attracted too much attention and made people realise who he was. He did have a pen and parchment with him, however, and it wouldn't seem odd because, after all, people knew that they were not allowed to talk. He drew them out and wrote:

Do you also like rain?

Snape wrote underneath in spidery characters instead of using Telepathy:

Obviously. Let us continue practising Legilimency. Once more.

Over here? Harry wrote.

Where else?

The long fingers carefully folded the parchment and tucked it away.

A tall dancer dressed in flamboyantly turquoise robes with silvery borders and glistening silver and turquoise beads waltzed past them with a witch in a down-to-earth tartan costume. Even his half-mask was turquoise and studded with glittery sequins. A long white beard flowed down his chest and was tucked into a silver belt. Twinkling blue eyes moved casually over the two figures staring at each other fixedly as they sat quietly on their chairs.

CHAPTER 16

Wandless Legilimency, as Harry quickly realised, was elegant. Legilimency with a wand and audible verbal chanting seemed aggressive and too direct, and the target had no means of stopping the flow of memories. He had read that one could either go along with the flow of memories and focus on one or focus on a particular memory with wandless Legilimency. It was far more personal, far more intimate because it required far more interaction. He was starting to appreciate the subtlety of the material Snape was teaching him, the silence and secrecy with which so much of it was performed, the attention to details, to small differences.

And now, sitting on his chair, looking into Snape's eyes, he felt a certain bond with him, something that surpassed their student-teacher relationship - which, in any case, was already unusual due to all the conflicts and turbulent history between them. Looking into Snape's mind, seeing his memories - it seemed almost as intimate as having sex, except that there was no eroticism and libido involved. They exchanged nothing particular now - just a stream of images, flashes of movements and voices and faces as they sat in the corner, the dancers brushing past them. A guard-witch looked at them closely to make sure they were not up to anything inappropriate. She had had to throw out a few people for talking or whispering loudly, and she had discovered a male couple panting after a round of what had sounded like rough and frantic sex in the men's toilet while the enchanted toilet seat in the cubicle cheered them on lustily and the taps outside made dirty comments. She had actually managed to catch sight of only one of the culprits; the other wizard, deciding to save his own neck, had Apparated himself out just as she had started to blast the door open with her wand.

These two, however, were completely calm, drowning into each other's eyes, but without touching or kissing. She moved away with a small smile and went to stand in front of the main doors of the ballroom, pointing her wand at her throat.

“Twenty minutes more until the unmasking, witches and wizards! Twenty minutes more of silence! Twenty minutes more of mounting excitement! Dance away!”

People glanced at their watches, or at the enormous gilded clock attached, interestingly enough, to the ceiling between two chandeliers; the dancers had to crane their necks upwards to read the time. Harry still wore an old watch, and he had thought vaguely of replacing it, but it had accompanied him everywhere, and he would have a pang at getting rid of it.

Legilimency was starting to make him feel rather giddy, and his concentration wavered; but there was something he wanted to try: speak with Snape telepathically. He was about to concentrate on a word and endeavour sending it over to Snape mentally when Snape again covered Harry's eyes with his hand.

Not yet, Potter. Telepathy is still too advanced, but you are coming closer.

Harry wondered how Snape know what he had been about to try.

I can't read what you are thinking, Potter, but I can sense it, and I have had a lot of practice. I can discern movements and shifts in your mind and mood. It is a very subtle art, and I have the faint hope that you will be able to master it after all, rule-breaker.

His mouth curved into a smile. Harry found that thin mouth rather sensual. Maybe it was because it had been rather mobile this evening. He had seen it locked in kisses with another wizard. Snape rose and gracefully wove his way through the dancers to fetch himself a drink.

To Harry's surprise, he returned to his chair and resumed his place, watching the dancers silently. A few minutes later, the music suddenly fell silent, and a flash of lightning accompanied by thunder which made the walls and floor vibrate illuminated the room with white light.

A voice echoed through the place:

“WITCHES AND WIZARDS! Twenty seconds more until the unmasking! Prepare yourselves!”

One of the guard-witches began to chant out the countdown, and the dancers clapped their hands along; others stamped their feet. Snape took Harry's hand and rose with him, standing in such a way that they were facing each other.

“UNMASK! UNMASK! UNMASK!”

A cheer from hundreds of previously silent throats broke out. Everywhere, hands reached for the masks, removing them with a flourish. Light blazed forth from the chandeliers, and the candles swooped down, extinguishing themselves as they did so.

Snape and Harry removed their masks. Snape's pale face was calm, strangely attractive in the golden light, his black hair smooth and satiny.

Harry had never thought his Potions Master could look so striking.

“Well, Potter,” he said softly, but Harry heard him perfectly amidst the babble of voices and rustling of costumes as people waved their masks and wheeled around, “I think I won't have to talk to the Headmaster after all, unless it is to inform him of your unexpected progress.”

A silent laugh escaped Harry, and his green eyes sparkled.

“What kind of progress, Severus?” The wizards swivelled around. Dumbledore, resplendent in his turquoise robes, was beaming at them.

“Albus! What a surprise!” Snape greeted him suavely. Harry grinned widely as Dumbledore winked at him.

“Potter is starting to master wandless Legilimency without those annoying nosebleeds of his,” Snape said in a bored tone.

Dumbledore rubbed his hands in glee.

“Excellent! Wonderful! Fabulous! May I have this dance, Severus?”

And, ignoring Snape's shocked stare, Dumbledore whisked him into the crowd. Harry began to laugh so hard that he was forced to sit down and regain his composure.

“Harry! Harry!” Ginny, who was looking lovely in a cream-coloured dress with a flowing sash, waved at him enthusiastically. Her red hair was bouncing about her waist. Her boyfriend Dean Thomas was grinning next to her. McGonagall, stately in her tartan gown, greeted her former students in her usual brisk way. Harry joined Ginny and Dean.

“Look at that,” Dean chortled, his arm around Ginny's waist. Dumbledore and Snape had reappeared in their field view, looking decidedly eccentric. Snape's face was completely deadpan while Dumbledore was outshining the chandeliers until he released his reluctant dancing partner.

“It is rather late,” Snape announced, “and I have plenty of assignments to grade tomorrow, even though it is a Sunday. Good night, Albus.”

He inclined his head curtly to the others - his eyes lingered on Harry for a moment - and left, wrapping his sequined cloak around his tall figure. Dumbledore watched him leave with a small smile. He went over to rejoin McGonagall, and Harry had a drink with Ginny and Dean returning sleepily to Hogwarts.

In his bedroom, he carefully placed the mask on the table and got out of his costume. He stripped completely and padded to the bathroom, naked. He studied himself in the mirror. He was a man, and yet it was visible that the point where he had crossed the threshold into adulthood had been recent. His hand travelled slowly over his chest. Who will touch me like this, caress me, taste me, love me? Why do I think of his hands, of those long fingers, of those black eyes…?

Harry buried his face in his hot hands for a moment, then removed his contact lenses, climbed into the enormous bathtub and filled it with the water and bathing salts. He lay down, closing his eyes. His hand slid downwards, twisting and stroking between his thighs.

Yes, corrupt me, as you put it, and steal my innocence in all ways. Oh, corrupt me, corrupt me sweetly, Severus Snape, he moaned in his mind, his body quivering with pleasure. It had been ages since he had done this. He reached the summit of delight with such force that the water slopped over the edges of the tub, forming a puddle on the floor.

When he arrived for his lesson on Monday evening, he immediately went red and avoided Snape's gaze. If the man knew that he had uttered his name in his mind during the throes of ultimate pleasure, trashing wildly in the bathtub, slopping water all over the place…His blush deepened and he knocked down one of his books. He picked it up and dug out his quill and parchment.

“We will start with Legilimency after repeating non-verbal spells and sign language, Potter. You showed potential yesterday night.”

May I ask you a question beforehand, sir, if you don't mind?

“I do mind, Potter, but go ahead so that we can get it over with.”

What did you mean by corrupting me and taking away my innocence?

“This question is not in the least related to the subject matter of our lesson.”

Did you recognise me at once?

Snape leant forwards so that his face was very close to Harry's.

“Potter, I think I just implied beforehand that I would like to stick to today's topic.”

But we danced together.

“Potter, that was just another way of practising Legilimency, and we are going to start with the non-verbal spells NOW.”

His eyes flashed, and Harry knew that he could not push his luck any further. Today, he had the arduous task of trying to levitate a block of solid steel. His first efforts remained unsuccessful. Snape watched him impatiently and finally pointed out with a sneer:

“What did I tell you about your wand position, Potter? You have to learn the art of subtlety. Gryffindors tend to be shamefully unskilled in this domain.”

Harry raised his arm higher.

“No, not like that!”

Muttering, Snape moved behind Harry and corrected the position of his wand.

“And stand like this, Potter. Posture is essential.”

His hand slid down to Harry's hip. An odd thrill ran through Harry's body.

“You are not distributing your weight evenly. You are standing like one of those models in a ridiculous fashion magazine.”

Harry shifted his position, his backside brushing against his teacher's abdomen.

“Potter, I told you to distribute your weight evenly! Do not shift it to your other leg, for Merlin's sake! Any two-year-old would understand these basic instructions.”

Harry was extremely nervous because Snape was standing so close behind him. His hand was still resting lightly on his hip. He dropped his arm a little.

“Potter! I told you to keep your arm raised!” Snape nearly shouted, grabbing Harry's shoulder and spinning him around to stare into his face furiously.

“I knew that yesterday's frivolity would distract you and addle up your teenage brains,” he continued, glaring at the young man. Harry looked at him with a serious expression on his face while Snape rebuked him thoroughly.

“Once more,” Snape ended with a snarl. Harry turned towards the steel block and forgot, in his nervousness, what he had just been told about weight distribution and his balance.

“Potter,” Snape growled into his ear, “do you want me to crush you to powder for my potion ingredients?”

He illustrated his graphic threat by draping his left arm around Harry from behind and crushing him against his body.

“Now, Potter.” He tightened his grip around the small slight figure, “if you don't succeed this time, I will have you scrubbing the tables in my classroom for two hours tomorrow.”

A myriad of emotions welled up in Harry while he was imprisoned in his teacher's nearly brutal quasi-embrace; and when Snape's breath tickled his neck and his low menacing voice flowed into his ear, his body started reacting in a profoundly embarrassing manner.

Weight distribution in the wrong place, Harry, his mind piped up waywardly. Snape released Harry, gave him a small push and drew back, his crossed arms resting rigidly upon his chest. With a deep breath, Harry thought of the principles of Occlumency, the shutting down of emotions, and got himself into the correct position.

This time he managed to raise the steel block.

“At last,” Snape remarked dryly. Harry smiled and the block fell onto the floor with a resounding crash, chipping one of the tiles.

“POTTER!”

Snape strode up to him and seized his arm.

“You. Have. To. Maintain. Your. Arm. In. This. Position. Throughout. The. Spell,” he enunciated slowly.

A shiver rushed down Harry's back.

You have corrupted me all right, Professor, Harry thought with a mixture of amusement and strange sadness as Snape, hissing softly from between his teeth, corrected his arm position.

Afterwards, when Harry used wand-Legilimency as a warm-up on Snape, he caught a memory of Snape and the wizard he had seen him with yesterday night. They were kissing hungrily in the ballroom, and something began to sting in Harry's chest when they left the room, heading towards the men's toilet. The memory went black.

“Curious, aren't you, Potter?” Snape smirked. “Read the next five chapters of Wandless Legilimency for next lesson, and practise levitating heavy objects. Don't damage anything in the process. Dismissed.”

He strode off, and Harry picked up his bag and slowly walked out of the dungeons.

I don't care about that sadistic git, I just happened to have this connection with him yesterday and see him kiss another guy and wonder would it be like to be kissed like that and…Stop it, Harry. Let's get this straight, okay? Straight. How ironic for me. Whatever. I'm into guys and Snape is into guys as well. It doesn't mean that you have to get this idiotic idea of being into him. Him, of all people! Into. Oh my goodness. The next five chapters on wandless legilimency, right? Into…him…The next five chapters, for Merlin's sake, Harry!

CHAPTER 17

Harry was sitting on the sofa, writing in his diary.

What do you think of when your eyes move over me, taking in my height, which is admittedly not at all impressive, and my face, which I have never managed to mask as well as you can mask yours? I discover myself wondering a lot about you, Severus Snape. What do you wonder about when you trace the contour of your lips with your index finger whenever you are contemplating something or weighing your words?

Harry hesitated. He was wondering whether he should write “Snape” or “Severus”. He decided on the latter. His diary, after all, reflected his personal thoughts; he considered his relationship with Snape to be even more personal than the one with Albus Dumbledore by now. They had communicated mentally, they had danced, they knew that the other was gay…

Harry continued writing, the pen moving briskly over the page.

I began this diary without addressing anyone in particular. Now my entries seem to address you in particular, Severus, as the days pass; and, funnily enough, you don't know about this at all.

Severus, I feel close to you in many ways now. The few months you have spent teaching and training me have taught me things which I did not learn during the seven years as a student in your Potions class - or in any class. Back then, I would never have admitted that there are things that we have in common. Now I do.

I did not trust you back then. I did not want to trust you. I never thanked you for saving my life so many times. I didn't want to thank you.

Today, however, I trust you and thank you for all you have done for me. I owe you more than just a Wizard's Debt. I have come to regard you with respect - a lot of respect. You may be the Head of Slytherin House, but just as I myself have Slytherin qualities to a certain extent, you possess Gryffindor traits, such as courage, loyalty and determination; you are brilliant in a way no Ravenclaw can be, and work as hard as a Hufflepuff. It seemed so easy to me to judge people by their House. No longer.

I cannot say that I understand you fully. I don't think I ever will. You are so enigmatic. I think only Dumbledore understands. He often seems to understand people better than they understand themselves; still, I feel that I share a bond with you, and communicating with you via Legilimency seems to have contributed to our connection.

The words flowed out of him. He wrote down the dreams he was having of his teacher, and that he had thought of him while pleasuring himself after the masked ball, and described how his body - and mind - had reacted to being in the man's close presence during last lesson. That arm around him when Snape had threatened, not without a tiny spark of humour, to reduce him to powder for his potions ingredients. He had actually yielded to his grip, leaning against his lithe figure…That voice in his ear, oh, that voice, simultaneous torture and rapture for his sensitive hearing, the breathy quality of Severus Snape's tones whenever his voice became low.

And when I told myself after the last session that I didn't care about you, I was lying to myself. If I didn't care, then why do I get this stinging feeling in my chest every time I see you kiss another man? Why do I feel amused at your biting sarcasm now? When you scolded me for not paying attention, I was amused instead of furious…But how can I ever hope…?

Harry closed his diary and embraced his knees. Neville's plant, too, assumed a thoughtful stance. It would soon grow silvery buds, and they would burst into lovely blossoms during spring. It was the middle of February, and the official beginning of spring was only about five weeks away.

The next lesson with Snape turned out to be extremely unusual.

“Your progress with sign language is satisfactory, but you are not expressive enough, Potter. You move like an automaton. You need to move with subtle grace. Like this.”

He made a movement with his slender hands, reminding Harry of an artist or a musician.

“Sign language, like all languages, is an art, Potter. You appreciate the subtlety of sound; you hear music in the rain. Now, you must appreciate the subtlety of a visual language. Your hands have to caress the air. And, Potter, you have an annoying tendency to frown when you communicate in sign language or cast non-verbal spells. It makes you look constipated and the interaction becomes wooden. Please step up here, Potter.”

“Please” had become a new addition to Snape's vocabulary - during Harry's lessons, at least. Harry appreciated the addition and obeyed. Snape held up a dark-green silk scarf.

“I will blindfold you, Potter, and you will pass your hands over various surfaces and objects, and you will put them into bowls and basins. Afterwards, I want you to list ten items which you were able to recognise. You must learn to appreciate what your hands can do. You wrote in your essay that hands can touch and are more than mere tools.”

Snape still remembered that essay? Harry was rather surprised.

“Kindly close your eyes, Potter.”

Harry shut his eyes and the scarf was carefully knotted around his face; then his arm was taken and he was guided to a table, to judge from the edge of something straight digging lightly into his abdomen. Long fingers directed his hands to something grainy. Harry's quill and parchment followed the wizards.

Snape watched Harry slowly run his hands over the various materials, taking his time to analyse them with his fingers. Once or twice, he raised the contents to his nose carefully. He found his gaze slipping from the slight exploring hands to the narrow nose and from there to his mouth. The lips were parted, revealing a glimmer of teeth. His dark eyes moved over Harry's figure. He was wearing a plain grey shirt and his usual blue jeans. Delicately built and not that tall. A wizard in the blossom of his manhood, a man who had had to be an adult from a very early age onwards. Now he was physically and officially an adult, the last traces of boyishness, though not so far behind him, gone from his figure and face. He could have sworn that that mature body had actually leant into him ever so slightly when he had draped his arm around him from behind and growled a threat into his ear if he didn't pay attention to his instructions. And that exquisite moment when his firm behind had brushed unintentionally against him, making his own body respond with enthusiasm and his mind with horror. Harry was a man, and it didn't prevent the fact that more than twenty years difference existed between them. It also did not prevent Snape from hearing the timid but clear call of Harry's budding sexuality, sweet and pure as a phoenix song. And this was Harry James Potter; Snape had been to school with his parents, and he had hated Harry for seven years and he still did. Or rather, he was trying to hate him. Why was it so difficult after he had truly and genuinely hated him for such a long time? And why had he carried him to the hospital wing and carried him a second time in his arms after his nosebleeds? Why had he dabbed at the blood flowing from his nose instead of just handing the super star of the wizarding world the towel? Super star? Now he was seeing the father in the young man. Harry Potter, however, was different. He was kind and compassionate. The sadness in his green eyes had been evident when he had seen scenes from Snape's unhappy childhood; and feeling empathy from the son of his nemesis was something which made him very ill at ease. Feeling the beginnings of sexual desire for him was even more disconcerting. Why had Harry invited him to dance at the ball? He had seen the recognition in the green eyes. Ah, that Gryffindor brashness and rashness to not care about his little speech about corrupting innocence and to just the same persist, persist until Snape had accepted his hand and danced with him. Maybe it was the Legilimency. Training another wizard or witch in mental magic meant establishing a personal bond with him or her. He and Dumbledore, after all, shared a special bond, and part of it, though not all of it, was due to Legilimency - Dumbledore had been an excellent teacher, patient and aware of Snape's outstanding skills. And now, he had established a mental bond with Harry Potter…No, it wouldn't do. They were teacher and student, even though the circumstances were special. He, Severus Snape, was cynical and his shadowy past had robbed him of innocence, hope and joy.

He gazed at Harry, who was now putting his hands into a bowl full of live Flobberworms. With a start, he stepped back abruptly, bumping against Snape and standing on his foot.

“Potter!” the Potions Master barked.

I'm sorry, sir, the quill wrote on the parchment, dancing apologetically in front of his eyes.

He waved them aside carelessly, and they returned to his desk, hovering expectantly above it.

“You had better be sorry, Potter. I value my pedal extremities.”

The soft fresh mouth smiled at him.

I couldn't watch my step, unfortunately.

“Impudent brat,” Snape growled; the cheeky statement, however, made him smile.

Soon, Harry had finished his exploration.

Rice, water, beads, a lock of unicorn hair, flour, sandpaper, glass, feathers probably from an owl, Flobberworms and a piece of velvet.

“Correct, Potter,” Snape murmured, flipping his hair so that it accidentally brushed the bowl of Flobberworms, “except for the beads. Polished Sweetwater pearls.”

He gently removed the blindfold and stared into the startlingly green eyes.

Sir? Harry said in sign language.

“Yes, Potter?” he said softly.

Quill and parchment leapt into action again: There's a Flobberworm in your hair.

Snape unperturbedly raised a strand of his hair in one hand. Harry, however, rose on his toes and reached up.

“Potter! What do you think you are doing?” he snapped.

Harry withdrew with a small smile, the worm hanging mournfully from between his fingers, and restored it to its companions in the bowl. They looked at each other intently before Snape said:

“Non-verbal spells, wandless Legilimency and…” here he paused for a moment, “an introduction to the theory of Telepathy.”

CHAPTER 18

“Telepathy, Potter, requires an even higher level of concentration than Legilimency or Occlumency. You have just mastered both, although you still have a few difficulties with the latter…naturally.”

There was a small pause. Would those dreadful Occlumency lessons in Harry's fifth year never be put aside for once and for all?

Snape seemed to read his resignation in his eyes, for he smirked briefly before asking in a bored tone:

“How many nosebleeds have you had since you started wandless Legilimency?”

One during the night after the ball, but there was really little blood. I didn't even wake up.

Snape nodded slowly.

“The fact remains that you are prone to nosebleeds when you use both types of Legilimency. Telepathy cannot be done with a wand. It will drain you and lower your defences at first. Your nosebleeds will probably return, Potter. You will be very tired.”

Harry was not pleased at this news, but he was glad that Snape was warning him beforehand about the side effects. He nodded stoically.

Snape did not move his gaze from Harry's face. For years, he had read the loathing and distrust in those green eyes. Now he could see that Harry trusted and respected him.

“I must therefore continue placing my long-suffering couch at your disposal after the lessons - once we start with practical Telepathy, which will be in another month. We will cover the theory over the next few lessons.”

May I take your gift with me for the lessons?

Something like a very faint smile flitted across the pale stern face of the Potions Master.

“It would be a useful addition to the lesson, Potter.”

Harry smiled. Snape merely continued looking at him impassively. Harry felt his cheeks go warm and looked away.

Does he, too, sometimes have bad dreams of the time when Voldemort reigned? Does he wake up in the night sweating and breathing hard? He was far more exposed to Voldemort than I ever was, he saw him face to face so often and had to ward him off with Occlumency and all those skills he has got…Why had he never thought like that of Snape before? Why had he come to appreciate it all only afterwards?

“What is on your mind, Potter?” Snape wanted to know.

I never thanked you for saving my ass so many times.

Snape stared at him before raising an eyebrow:

“Language, Potter. Still, I am admittedly surprised that you give me credit for saving at least your posterior, Potter.”

Harry could not help laughing voicelessly.

You did save a lot more than my posterior, sir.

“And, pray tell me, to what do I owe this sudden impulse of overwhelming gratitude, Potter?”

Harry inclined his head a little on one side.

Musing about stuff on the sofa.

“Musing about stuff on your sofa. I see. Pieces of furniture with comfortable padding certainly seem to promote musings.”

Harry decided that the sting of Snape's sense of humour didn't necessarily have to hurt.

He pointed at his chair.

That doesn't have a padding.

“You are here to be taught, not to muse about, ah, stuff, Potter, as you so eloquently put it.”

Snape went over to the receptacle containing the Sweetwater pearls and carefully picked up a pearl, letting it roll into his palm.

“Every child is familiar with the origin of the pearl,” Snape said softly. “A foreign body enters the oyster and is enfolded with layers of nacre as time passes. Natural pearls are rare, Potter, and perfectly round pearls virtually non-existent. This subtle system of layers and development of quiet beauty is quite an adequate image for mental magic.”

Harry listened to him closely. He liked to hear Snape's voice. He could imagine Snape singing or humming underneath his breath and that it would be a pleasant experience, like silk brushing against his ears, like the arms which had carried him once to the hospital wing and once back to his rooms. Those arms which were wrapped around that other wizard's waist, those eager kisses…

Stop it, I don't care about all that, he's teaching you now, so pay attention. But…If I don't care…then why does it hurt so strangely? Who are you really, Severus Snape? Is there any way to get close to you?

Harry managed to silence the small annoying voice inside his head and watched the pearl slide from Snape's palm into its receptacle. The slight sound it made when it snuggled up to another pearl reminded Harry of a raindrop falling upon his windowsill. It also occurred to him that black pearls were a rarity. Was there a pearl which possessed the shade of Snape's hair and eyes? A bittersweet sensation filled his chest for a few moments. His eyes followed the movements of Snape's fine hands. They had held him and led him during the ball…

“So, Potter. Non-verbal spells. I want to see how you manage with that steel block again.”

Harry noticed that the chipped tile on which the block had fallen last time had been repaired.

Snape said snidely:

“Don't destroy any more of my tiles.”

Harry found concentrating difficult whenever Snape moved close to him. At one point, when Snape exasperatedly placed his hand on Harry's hip to make him adopt the correct posture, his knees nearly started to tremble. It was rather funny, considering that he had defeated Voldemort and was now exceedingly flustered in the presence of a man nearly everyone loathed. Fortunately, he did not destroy any more tiles.

After the lesson, Harry wrote feverishly in his diary to the inspiring melodies of Lupin's compact disc in the background, coming to the conclusion that Snape and a pearl shared were alike in their subtle multi-layered nature. He wondered how Ron and Hermione would react if he told them about his confusing feelings concerning Snape.

Ron would probably prefer kissing a spider. Hermione, who was more patient, would be the better listener. He debated with himself for a long time as to whether he should send her an e-mail and tell her about it. Finally, he chose to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself until he was more certain about what they meant and to which destination they were leading him. In the meantime, he would have to see how his lessons with Snape developed.

He had just switched on his laptop when there was a sharp knock at his door. His wards - set up by Dumbledore himself - informed him that it was a Hogwarts teacher, but not which one. Frowning a little, he turned off the radio, went over to the door and opened it to reveal the tall black-robed figure of Severus Snape.

“You forgot your quill,” he said abruptly.

Harry reddened, thanked him in sign language and took the quill. Their fingers brushed, and Harry was sure that Snape's eyes glinted strangely at the slight skin contact. His keen gaze moved from the young wizard's face to the laptop.

Please come in.

To his surprise, Snape accepted his invitation, stepping wordlessly inside the room. Last time, he had carried Harry to his rooms and had stayed with him somewhat reluctantly. Now it was different. He didn't have a nosebleed, and his perceptions of the man were changing slowly but surely.

“What is that, Potter?” he wanted to know, indicating the laptop with a wave of his hand.

A laptop.

“A Muggle contraption?” Snape said, a note of distaste and disdain creeping into his voice.

Harry nodded.

Shall I show you how it works?

Snape looked for a moment as if he was about to refuse, then he shrugged.

“Go ahead, Potter.”

Harry's heart began to beat faster as he led Snape to the table on which the laptop stood. He summoned another chair, secretly thrilled by the prospect of showing Snape something for a change instead of vice versa.

CHAPTER 19

Harry shut down the laptop so that he could show Snape everything from the beginning. The device which enabled it to run on magic flared orange for a moment. Snape's eyes studied the various keys and buttons keenly. Harry tapped lightly on the “power on” button, implying that Snape should do the same. Snape pressed it with a long slim finger. The magical device flashed blue as the laptop hummed and the screen displayed things he had never seen before.

Harry spent the next hour taking Snape on a small tour of the computer, including the hardware components, internet etc. Snape could not suppress his interest as he leant closer to the screen, the tips of his hair touching the keyboard and the mouse. Harry, who knew that Snape was left-handed, showed him how to switch the primary buttons of the mouse and, in case he didn't like the mouse, how to use the touchpad. He explained about the history of the computer, hard disks, memory space, operating systems, processors, malware, spyware, computer games and other things. The quill scratched out parchment after parchment of information for Snape's benefit.

“How did you learn to use a computer if your relatives were your jailors?” he wanted to know. Harry liked the way he pronounced “computer”, without hesitating or stumbling during the pronunciation as so many wizarding people did. He was also rather taken aback that Snape had referred his relatives as jailors. As if he disapproved of their treatment of Harry.

I tinkered around with the computers my cousin broke, but it was Hermione who really taught me. She has got a computer at home and when Professor Dumbledore had the Muggle networking system installed over here, I clicked my way through various features. My friends and I communicate by e-mail.

With a smile, he recalled that Hermione had recently informed him that Lupin and Tonks, too, had been roped into learning how to handle a computer. What would all of them think and say if they knew who was sitting next to him at the moment?

Snape seemed to believe that the abbreviations and computer terminology were butcheries of the English language; he narrowed his eyes and even sneered a few times at terms like “e-mail”, “http” and “joystick.”

Harry thought it wise to refrain from mentioning the Weasley twins' personal definition of the last word. When Harry brought up the topic of chatrooms and messaging programs, however, Snape seemed downright appalled at the “regression of communication”, as he put it.

But it's really creative; it's not at all regressive.

“Potter, there is no personal handwriting of any kind on this machine. You just press those keys and the letters appear on the screen without effort. It is pure laziness.”

It is simply practical and efficient. I mean, you can send a message with a single click! That's way faster than owl mail!

The two wizards were soon arguing quite vehemently about the computer, revealing the stubborn side of both their natures.

One would think that you want Muggles to be inferior to witches and wizards, Harry accused him finally. Before the battle against Voldemort, Harry had told Snape in a fit of anger after Snape had insulted his father yet again that he was arrogant simply because he thought all Purebloods were better, to which Snape had retorted with a jeer that he was of “half-blood” descent with a witch mother and a Muggle father.

“Be careful what you, ah, say, Potter,” Snape said softly. Harry didn't want to lose whatever fragile bond they had established and apologised.

I'm sorry. It's just that you haven't even tried out what it's like. You've only pressed one button.

Snape glared at him. Harry suddenly smiled and shut down the computer. Then he suggested, with gestures, that they switch chairs.

Your turn, sir.

Black eyes and green eyes met, colliding and finally coming to an agreement as Snape silently rose, Harry following his movement. Snape took Harry's chair. When Harry sat down on Snape's chair, he could still feel the body heat of the man clinging to the seat. A tingle spread through his body and he hoped that he was not blushing like a silly schoolboy. Snape booted the computer tersely, his dark eyes watching the screen with deepest suspicion. Harry's mouth twitched. He was starting to enjoy himself. As usual, the computer emitted a musical sound while the programs loaded.

“Why does it have to make that idiotic noise?” Snape said, fiddling the volume slide. The sound intensity swelled alarmingly. Harry was certain he heard Snape swear softly as he adjusted the slide.

He cast a scornful glance at the touchpad and gripped the mouse, which Harry happened to be adjusting so it would not slide off the mouse pad. Snape's hand ended up on top of his. The Potions Master gave him a level stare.

“Would you mind leaving this infernal piece of plastic and metal to my devices, Potter?” he asked acidly.

Harry slid his hand from underneath Snape's. Snape, forgetting that he had to adjust the mouse buttons, growled out another curse when his mistake became evident. Harry was itching to tell Hermione about Snape's blossoming computer prowess. Once properly settled, however, Snape proved to be an adept and eager learner. Harry watched his fingers explore the mouse buttons and keyboard, and cast discreet glances at the stern profile next to him.

He meticulously went through the icons on the desktop, double-clicking them. Harry was profoundly relieved that he had tidied up the inbox of his e-mail client last night and saved the relevant messages in another folder. He did not appreciate the notion of Severus Snape catching glimpses of his personal correspondence, even though he felt attracted to him. Attracted. Harry shifted a little on his chair, feeling rather nervous. An abrupt comment from Snape snapped him out of his thoughts:

“Does a manual accompany this contraption?”

Harry nodded.

If you push your chair back, I can give it to you.

Snape shoved back his chair, and Harry leant over to open the drawer. He did not have to look up to know Snape was sneering at the mess which reigned inside. Embarrassed, he rummaged around and pulled out the manual. His diary, disturbed by the movement, tumbled out. Harry bent hastily to pick it up, but Snape was quicker. His delicately built fingers scooped up the book.

“A diary, Potter?” he asked casually, raising his eyebrow, holding the diary.

Yes.

“Always useful for self-centred musings on the sofa,” Snape remarked coldly, “though I must confess myself quite astonished at your venturing into the world of writing.”

It feels good to write, Harry said defensively.

“Why don't you use this computer contraption?”

Handwriting is so much more personal. You said so yourself.

Their eyes met.

“Your breathtaking memoirs,” Snape said softly, handing him back the diary, “If you are planning to write and publish an autobiography, Potter, please feel free to send me a copy.”

If Harry thought he was becoming used to Snape's sarcasm, then he was mistaken, because the comments about his diary hurt him to the quick. It seemed to him that all the pain and joy he had set down in its pages had been reduced to dust and ashes by Snape's acrid remarks. He tried to keep his face expressionless as he quietly took back the diary from Snape. Their fingers brushed for the second time that day.

Sometimes, writing is a kind of therapy, Harry added in spite of his anger at Snape.

“Yes, self-centred writing is very similar to…” here he approached his lips to Harry's ear, “indulging in certain stimulating pleasures.”

If Snape's previous taunts had hurt him, then this one hurt even more. Harry knew he was referring to the image Snape had seen during his invasions of Harry's mind, the image of Harry pleasuring himself in his four-poster bed in Gryffindor Tower. He didn't know, however, that Harry had thought of Snape, when he had been in the bathtub after the masked ball. Just when he was starting to be happy that he and Snape were putting aside their resentment slowly, Snape had to utter such spiteful words. He could no longer maintain the mask of impassiveness and his eyes, full of pain and anger, duelled with Snape's black ones.

His quill wrote:

When will you see me?

Snape shifted his eyes to the parchment and back to Harry.

“I can see you perfectly well, Potter. I assure you that I don't need glasses or contact lenses.”

When will you see that I am me, and not my father, or the celebrity you WANT to see?

Snape started to get up.

“I have to leave, Potter, I have a lot of work to do.”

Harry touched him gently on the elbow.

Must we always go on like this?

“Our communication seems quite satisfactory to me,” Snape said.

How can it be satisfactory when you hate me so much?

“Do you not hate me, Potter?”

Harry stared into his eyes before bowing his head slightly.

It is so difficult to put this in words. But all I can say is that I respect and trust you. There is more, but I simply can't describe it.

He struggled to put down more in words; he could not; it was too personal, it touched too deeply on the confusing feelings he currently had for Snape. He could not repeat what he had written in his diary without risking the exposure of his growing attraction for Snape…

…Severus, I feel close to you in many ways now. The few months you have spent teaching and training me have taught me things which I did not learn during the seven years as a student in your Potions class - or in any class. Back then, I would never have admitted that there are things that we have in common. Now I do…

He dared not look at Snape in case the man started using his subtle wandless Legilimency on him to extract his feelings and thoughts.

A finger underneath his chin made him raise his head and renew the eye contact.

“If you can't find the words, then maybe you can tell me in images,” Snape said, and his voice was unexpectedly gentle, “try sending me specific memories, Potter. Sit down.”

They both sat down, and Harry concentrated, first sending him the image of the time Snape had told him the truth about Dumbledore's sugar-coated story of Harry's father saving Snape's life; in another image, he showed Quirrel telling him how Snape had actually saved his life in his first year by counter-jinxing Harry's broom. Other images recalled the other occasions Snape had tried to aid him, or succeeded in doing so. Finally, he displayed the memories of his first wandless Legilimency and of Snape carrying him to the hospital wing.

Then the images were over, and he managed to find a few more words, although they still couldn't convey all he wished to express.

You showed me. You are making things open for me. And, to himself, hiding the thought from Snape and his quill, he said: You are making me see you in a different light, Severus Snape. I am searching for a way to you through your pain and mine, and when your pain pushes me back, I have to start walking the path to you again. Why do you hurt me so much sometimes?

For a second, Harry discerned something sad in the black depths - sad, yet warm and alive. Then it was gone, and Snape was getting up for good. He plucked the computer manual from the table. He also took the parchments Harry's quill had scribbled with him.

“I have the feeling, Potter, that your tutoring will be of more use than this manual. Don't be late for your next lesson.”

He strode towards the door and was opening it when he looked back at Harry.

“You will no longer have to knock on my office door to gain access. My wards will recognise and admit you automatically. Provided I am in my office, naturally.”

He left with a curt nod.

CHAPTER 20

Harry shifted in his sleep uneasily. He was dreaming…

Thorn hedges all around him. His hands and face were scratched and his feet were hurting. A voice was calling very faintly to him. He was mute and wandless in his dream as he tried to find a gap in the maze of thorn hedges. He reached a dead end and retreated, coming to a fork. A prickly barrier shot up on one side, forcing him to take the only free path. The voice was closer, calling his name. He began to run and finally reached a square. Severus Snape was standing in the centre, staring at him.

“I can't find the way out,” he said to Harry. Harry moved towards him, intending to take his arm or hand and lead him out of the maze. A thorn bush sprang up between them, and Harry fell down on his knees in despair, something warm trickling onto his upper lip…

Harry woke up with a start and turned on the light with his silent magic. He blinked at his pillow. Only four or five drops of blood. He pressed his hand against his nose. A faint red smear. He cleaned the pillow, brooded over his dream and finally set it down in his diary.

I can't find the way to you if you don't let me. I need your help, Severus, Harry wrote before closing the book. Then something occurred to him. He padded out of bed, trying to flatten his tousled hair with both hands, which, of course, was of no use at all. He went over to the door and modified the wards. He was smiling when he slipped back into his bed and turned off the light. The wards would recognise Snape and grant him access at once from now on. It was only right to do it since Snape had done so.

One thorn hedge less, Harry thought as he pulled the sheets over him and closed his eyes.

The next lesson, Snape seemed satisfied with Harry's efforts to be more expressive with sign language. Harry concentrated on what he wanted to say, and he also drew on the melody of rain and his favourite piano music, on the hum of Hogwarts's magic and the timbre of his friends' voices - and on Snape's voice. Snape knew perfectly how and when to change his tone - his control over his voice was amazing. Most people shrank when he shouted - an occurrence which was fortunately rare - and nearly everyone was hopelessly intimidated when he spoke in a low whisper. Harry was therefore not at all displeased when Snape proceeded directly to the topic of Telepathy after non-verbal spells, thus excluding Legilimency; it gave him the opportunity to listen to Snape's silky voice some more. Throughout the lesson, Harry had to cling to his composure; he could not afford to blush every time Snape looked at him, or steal glances at him whenever he thought Snape was not looking.

It was not his last encounter with Snape for the day. After dinner, when people had gone back to their respective rooms, Snape, whom the wards let through immediately, stepped into the lobby which led to the hall of Harry's residence. His black eyes were narrowed and his dusky hair gathered close so that it fell over his left shoulder in an ebony waterfall.

“Potter!” he said imperiously.

Harry finished watering his plant, whisked his quill and parchment out of his pocket and went towards Snape, walking very slowly, staring at him blankly. The tall wizard frowned.

“Is something wrong, Potter?” he inquired, sounding unconcerned.

Harry closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. Then he opened them and gave Snape a penetrating look.

I knew it was you, Agent Starling.

Then he stepped back, trying unsuccessfully not to grin like an idiot. Snape, on the other hand, drew himself up, towering over Harry.

“Potter, spare me your moronic film star behaviour,” he growled, glaring into the sparkling green eyes, “and don't you dare sniff at me again.”

I didn't sniff at you. I inhaled your scent.

Snape sneered.

“What a world-shattering difference,” he murmured, brushing past Harry.

If you smell so good, then I wonder what you taste like, the young wizard thought, blushing at the innuendo of his reflections.

X-Files reference.

Snape turned around.

“A-Files, B-Files or whatever kind of files, I am here to return this extremely badly written manual.”

He held it out.

Badly written?

“Potter, you will agree with me that I am in the possession of fairly adequate intellectual powers and logic. Since this, ah, guide, did not make much sense to me, I am forced to conclude that the author was Confunded.”

Harry was amused that Snape was basically stating that he could not understand something and was extremely reluctant to admit it. The situation reminded him vividly of Hermione in Divination class.

I suppose it may give that impression to someone who is on unfamiliar terms with a computer, Harry said tactfully.

“What in Salazar Slytherin's name, Potter, is `local area network'? Or `router'? And `modem'? How this rag got published will always remain a mystery to me.”

Harry's insides were twitching with mirth, but he managed to keep a perfectly straight face.

Let me show you, sir. Once you're familiar with my laptop, you'll know what all that is supposed to mean. It's simply computer terminology.

Snape opened his mouth to launch into a fresh sermon about the butchery of the English language and was silenced by a hand touching his left forearm and guiding him courteously to the table on which the laptop squatted.

Harry sat on the side, leaving Snape to occupy the chair in front of the computer. Snape turned on the computer. Together, they waited for the programs to load. Snape directed a scathing glance at both the manual and Harry. Harry simply smiled at him calmly.

Snape seemed surprised that Harry had become so used to his sarcasm; the young man not only seemed comfortable around him but positively happy. He frequently smiled now - and smiling in Snape's presence was a rarity. The timid uncertain bond between them was being nurtured with mutual respect, and although respect and sympathy didn't have to necessarily go hand in hand, it seemed to Harry that sympathy was becoming a component of their bond. When Snape had silently changed the wards on his office door to automatically recognise and admit Harry when he came for his lessons so that he didn't have to knock, Harry had accepted the change as a sign of trust and not only appreciated but treasured it. Obtaining even a fragment of Severus Snape's trust was something remarkable.

Snape did not interrupt Harry while he explained the computer and the manual to him.

This box with blinking lights - that's a modem…And the Hogwarts provider grants access to the world wide web, since Mr Weasley rerouted it to join a Muggle networking system, since the magical world does not have anything like this…Of course, the Muggles in charge of said system have no idea that it's being tapped…

“Potter, does the Ministry know about this?” Snape asked severely.

Let's put it this way, Professor. Fudge owes Dumbledore a lot.

“He certainly does,” Snape snorted, gripping the mouse.

A rather exhausting hour later, Snape's second impromptu computer lesson was over - and on time, because there was a crackle in Harry's hearth and Dumbledore's head appeared.

“Ah, Severus, I knew you would be down here. Have you transferred your lessons to Harry's quarters?”

Harry had ceased to wonder long ago how Dumbledore knew about people's whereabouts.

Snape walked over to the fire and stooped.

“Potter has introduced me to that Muggle contraption called the computer,” he said sourly. A shrewd way of saying that I am teaching him how to do something for a change, Harry thought with an inward grin. Dumbledore evidently thought so as well, to judge from the twinkle in his eyes, even in the fire.

“And how is your pupil's progress, Harry?” Dumbledore asked. Snape, on hearing himself designated as a pupil, narrowed his eyes dangerously.

He is very proficient, Professor, Harry answered happily, holding the parchment before Dumbledore's eyes.

“Marvellous, marvellous!” Dumbledore exclaimed. “Severus, may I please have a word with you?”

“I'll be right there, Albus.”

Dumbledore's head disappeared.

Snape glared at Harry.

But you are very proficient, Harry said innocently, You may even want to set up your own homepage one day.

“My dear Potter, I have no wish to display myself on the world wide web. Also, it is forbidden for wizarding people to reveal themselves to the Muggle world unless-”

I was teasing you.

“Teasing me?” Snape came very close to Harry. His index finger touched Harry's lips briefly.

“Teasing me, Potter, is an extremely risky pastime. Even for wizarding heroes.”

So that means you never tease anybody?

“Am I a wizarding hero, Potter?”

Harry smiled at him even though his heart was racing after Snape had touched his mouth.

You are. But surely you know that? And it's not just the First Class of the Order of Merlin which proves that.

Something suddenly stirred in Snape's black eyes.

Another thorn hedge down, Harry thought, a warm feeling spreading in his chest.

“Good night, Potter.”

Good night, sir.

CHAPTER 21

The maze of thorn bushes did not fail to visit Harry a second time. He was running again through various paths, and Snape's voice was calling him faintly. At last, he reached the square. A wind was blowing Snape's hair across his face. He pushed it back, revealing his pale angular features and black eyes, which stared into Harry's green ones.

“Why aren't you answering me?” Snape asked in a dull monotone.

Harry tried to tell him in sign language that Voldemort had robbed his voice. Snape did not react, continuing to stare at him. At last he spoke.

“Where is the exit?”

Harry stretched out his hand. A thorny branch shot out of the floor and lashed out at his hand like an incensed serpent, lacerating his skin. Then a wall, bristling with enormous thorns which resembled basilisk fangs shot up, obscuring Snape; but his soft voice floated over to Harry.

“I can't find the way…”

With a gasp, Harry's eyes flew open. He sat up in bed and wiped the sweat from his face.

With a silent spell, he made some dim light illumine the room and examined his hand. There was no blood, no tears from fang-thorns. He went to the bathroom to use the toilet and wash his face.

He refused to go to sleep afterwards. It was four o'clock in the morning and a long time more until breakfast. Complete silence lay heavily upon his quarters. He put on some soothing music and summoned his diary.

Severus Snape, why are you haunting me? This is the second time I have dreamt of you. I already dreamt of you last night. Is that maze a reminder of my fourth year? Why can't you find the way out? Why can't I seem to reach you? Or is there another way to your location? But then…it is only a dream, not a vision. Is it a metaphor for your situation?

He brooded over the dream until, in spite of his refusal sleep, his head nodded and he semi-somnambulated back to bed, clutching his diary to his chest, like a child holding a beloved doll.

He was consequently rather tired the next day. Snape came across him in the middle of a gigantic yawn. He raised an eyebrow, and Harry lowered his hand with which he had covered his mouth.

“Late night wanderings in the castle, Potter? I assume it is hard to break the habit.”

Harry looked at him closely, searching his face for the message he had given Harry in the dream…

°Where is the exit?…I can't find my way…°

Snape gave him a cold glance and brushed past him. Harry turned, watching the long black hair caress the back of his robes.

I need you to teach me how to live without a voice, but why would you need me? It is only a dream, only a dream, Harry's mind said.

He felt those lithe arms slip around his body, felt that whisper stroke his ear and skin, felt the nearly tangible ray of those black eyes as they viewed his thoughts during Legilimency…

It suddenly seemed very difficult for him to breathe because of the odd weight in his chest.

That night, the dream of the maze did not visit him, but another equally disturbing dream plagued him. Snape was correcting his wand position, hissing instructions to him in his usual disagreeable way. Then his hand slipped casually down to Harry's thigh, squeezing it lightly. Harry let his wand fall and turned to face Snape. Snape crushed their bodies together, raising Harry's right thigh so that Harry's leg embraced Snape's left hip. The slender long-fingered hand made sure that Harry could not pull back by keeping a firm grip on Harry's right knee, pressing it against his hip. Snape's hair was touching his face, and his eyes were locked with his…

Harry woke up cursing silently. His body was throbbing with arousal. He relieved the situation with his hand, convulsing as he reached his climax. It was the third time in a row that he had not been able to sleep through. Nevertheless, the dream found its way into his diary. He showered and lay in bed anxiously, wondering how he would be able to look Snape in the eye after fantasising and dreaming about him so vividly. He was therefore rather tense when he visited Snape's office for his lesson. The unfathomable wizard studied him penetratingly as he sat down.

“I would like to test your non-verbal spell-casting today, Potter,” he said softly, “I think a Wizard's Duel would be a good way to find out.”

Harry gave him a shocked look.

Snape's lip curled contemptuously.

“Don't worry, Potter, I don't wish to give Pomfrey more work than she already has or carry your majesty to his kingly quarters. Draw out your wand and please stand up.”

They duelled, casting minor hexes and curses at each other. Harry found it tremendously difficult, coming to the conclusion that Snape was a far more accomplished Duellist than Voldemort. In fact, Harry had not killed Voldemort with a curse; Voldemort's own Killing Curse had rebounded on him, not killing him instantly because he had hardly been human enough to suffer an instant demise. Snape was quick as lightning and, brilliant as he was, could foresee nearly every gesture and movement on Harry's part. Finally, Harry caught sight of a bowl filled with water on Snape's desk. He dodged a spell from Snape and levitated the bowl of water. Snape whipped around, and, as once before, Harry made the water leave the bowl and splash into his face. It also caught him on the chest, since the bowl was far larger. There was complete silence for a few seconds during which Harry could not suppress a triumphant smirk. He half expected Snape to react with the same nonchalance as last time. Snape, however, had narrowed his eyes to slits; he flipped his soaking hair back and said in a deadly voice:

“You insolent fool! I will wipe that smirk off your face.”

He pulled Harry's wand out of his hand and put it on his desk; then he seized Harry's arm and dragged him out of the dungeons. Harry struggled vehemently.

“You are just like your father,” Snape snarled furiously. His fingers were digging into Harry's skin. Harry felt utterly defenceless without the means of protesting vocally, and he was too startled to resort to non-verbal wandless spells. Soft gasps came from him - and that was all. A couple of students leapt back in alarm as Snape hauled Harry up to the ground floor and to the main doors of Hogwarts. Harry tried to pull back with all his might - to no avail. Snape force-led Harry down to the lake and pushed him inside the water.

“I was humiliated frequently enough by your father!” Snape shouted, “I don't need his ungrateful offspring to do the same! I will admit that I was stupid enough not to appreciate your mother's kindness, which you have obviously not inherited, you are a replica of James Potter and Black!”

He shook Harry roughly and let go all of a sudden, as if he had been burnt. They stared into each other's eyes before Snape bowed his head and simply sat down on the bank of the lake. Harry was nearly crying, a mixture of shame and anger burning within him; shame for the bullying Snape had had to undergo, even if he had known more hexes than others, and anger at Snape's treatment of him. Was that the end of their tentative bond? Harry got out of the lake, robes dripping. His arm was smarting. He remembered how Snape had squeezed his arm after discovering him in the Pensieve in his fifth year. The barriers which he had managed to get out of their path, at least partially, were springing up, higher than ever. He could see Snape re-modifying the wards on his office-door, shutting him out completely again. A few months ago, he would not have cared. Now, due to his confused feelings for his teacher, he cared about the cynical man's pain. He sat down next to his teacher. Snape turned his head to look at him. In a voice which was so low that it was almost inaudible, he said:

“I'm sorry.”

Harry's lips parted with surprise.

“Don't ask me to repeat it,” Snape growled, gently taking Harry's arm and examining the already forming bruises on the skin before tapping them with his wand. He also dried them off with a charm - first Harry, then himself.

I'm also sorry, Harry said.

The black eyes locked with his.

“You had better be.”

But sir…Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously again.

“But what?” he snapped.

Can you never let go?

“Let go of what?”

The past. I loved, and still love, my father and godfather. You hated, and still hate, them. But I am me, not them. Please don't lose me - Harry - out of sight because of them.

Snape looked at him with a strange expression in his eyes, as if surprised at the maturity of the words.

When was the last time you were truly happy with something or someone, sir?

Snape rose abruptly.

“Enough of this sentimental sap. We are returning to the castle to continue our lesson.”

He waited for Harry to start walking.

“Have you got any pain?” he inquired abruptly. Harry shook his head.

They left the lake, their silhouettes graceful in the dark - the tall thin wizard and the small slight one, walking side by side.

Back in Snape's office, Snape resumed the lesson at once, initiating a Stinging Hex. Harry ducked and countered with a Shield Charm. Snape managed to penetrate it with a powerful Disarming Spell and summoned Harry's wand to him; before the wand could fall into his hand, Harry summoned it back. The wand hovered between them uncertainly, then thudded against Harry's palm. Finally, Harry made the mistake of trying to combine a non-verbal spell, which would knock the opponent off his or her feet, with his wand. There was a deafening explosion which made several jars fall off their shelves. Snape ducked as a shard of glass sailed over his head; Harry fell onto his backside. Could the lesson get any worse? He had been utterly humiliated so far and, besides his feelings for the man, could not afford to hit back in full force. What Snape was teaching him would determine how he would handle his life without a voice. Snape straightened up and surveyed the mess.

“I think I was very clear when I said that that particular spell should never be combined with your wand,” he said calmly, approaching the young man and holding out a hand. Harry grasped it with both of his, and Snape pulled him to his feet. He was surprised. He had been sure that Snape would order him to get up or even drag him down again to the lake for another dunk. They were close enough to embrace each other. Harry flushed at the realisation. Snape, too, had some colour in his cheeks, probably due to the shock of the explosion. His long fingers were warm.

“Reparo!” Snape said, withdrawing his hand, and the room was restored to neatness. The lesson ended with another chapter of Telepathy.

Why is it easier to transmit images than verbal communication? I mean, one actually hears verbal communications in the memories called forth by Legilimency, so what makes the transferring or words so difficult? Harry asked.

Snape eyed him coldly.

“Can you communicate with the people in the memories in any way, Potter?”

Harry shook his head.

“You have reached the stage where you can select memories and transmit them to me. Your Occlumency, ah, skills, have, shall we say, improved enough to block me out for a pitiably short amount of time. With Telepathy, even more concentration is required. You have to melt into the person's mind, speak and diffuse your voice into his or her mind space. When you interact telepathically with someone, his or her images and thoughts will confront you like a rippling wall of pictures, and all the while you will have to make sure you do not drown in them and can make yourself heard. Legilimency is the art of extracting thoughts and feelings; Occlumency blocks; and Telepathy shares components of both and is meant, very simply, to bind, to communicate. You can invade a person's mind with Telepathy, naturally. You will have to learn how to do that if you don't want to be followed around everywhere by your quill and parchment. Not everyone can read sign language. Regard Legilimency as reading, Potter, and Telepathy as mentally audible writing and reading someone else's mentally audible writing. This simplification makes me shudder, but it should assist you.”

He paused.

“Telepathy is even more intimate than Legilimency, Potter. It is almost…” he doubled back and stared intensely into Harry's green eyes, “…like having sexual intercourse.”

Harry could not prevent his colour from rising. Snape raised an amused slender eyebrow. He wondered what Snape would think if he knew that he wanted to keep his virginity until he had found someone he could trust and love and share it with. Maybe he was too romantic and idealistic, but it seemed extremely precious to him and worth treasuring. He remembered Snape kissing during the masked ball. The memory gave him an odd pang, and the idea of Snape having sex with someone else actually seem to…hurt.

Snape interrupted his thoughts by giving him a lot of assignments for the next lesson.

“And if you ever throw water at me again, Potter, intentionally or unintentionally, I will leave you at the mercy of the Giant Squid and the Grindylows.”

When Harry crawled into bed, he asked himself what Telepathy with Snape would be like.

CHAPTER 22

Harry was running through the maze of thorn bushes for the third time, panting and clutching at his aching sides as he stumbled on, beckoned by the soft sad voice trapped somewhere in the middle of the thorny labyrinth.

Something caught his eye and made him stop for a closer look. It was a flower, clinging to the hedge amidst the thorns; a rose of deepest crimson. Harry bent and touched its petals; and even as he did so, it detached itself from its prickly wall and fell into his palm. Something rolled out of its centre, and he recognised it as a black pearl. Hope filled him as he gathered rose and pearl to him, pressing them to his chest. He continued his search for the voice. At last, he reached that fateful square. Severus Snape was looking at him dully.

“I can't find the way out,” he said softly and sighed. Harry raised his hands to give him the tokens; but the rose, suddenly withered, was trapped in a cube of transparent ice, and the pearl had broken into two halves.

Snape shook his head gently.

“It is too late, too late,” he murmured.

A hedge grew rapidly between the two wizards, sealing them off from each other.

Harry heard his name being whispered through the thorns. Weeping bitterly, he knelt down, burying his face in his hands. The ice cube containing the rose shattered; the sound accompanied Harry into the world of awakening.

Fortunately, it was morning, and breakfast would soon be ready. Harry got out of bed, took a few minutes to describe his dream in his diary, showered and dress. Then, after some hesitation, he sent Hermione an e-mail telling her about the three dreams he had had so far of Snape and the maze, but did not expect her to reply anytime soon; she was currently in Delhi, India, for her Ministry job.

He opened the window and poked his head out. The first hint of spring was in the air, timidly piquant, still furled up in wintry skies. It was a serene Friday morning, ideal for a ride on his broom. Dobby soon popped up in his quarters with a heavy breakfast tray. A digestion ride on his Firebolt and a game of Snitch-chasing after breakfast raised his spirits, although he would have been glad to have some company; but Ginny and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team had to attend class. Distraction was forthcoming in the late afternoon. Harry had set his wards to alert him when Snape was coming so that he would not get a start like last time. The wards emitted a high whistling sound, and, three seconds later, the tall figure of Severus Snape stepped into his quarters, hooked nose and high cheekbones as haughty as ever.

He greeted Harry with a curt “Potter.” He looked at Harry's T-Shirt - a gift from Luna -which read: BEWARE OF THE NARGLES!

“What are Nargles, Potter?” Snape asked suspiciously.

I'm not quite sure…Luna knows. I just hope they're not like the Flabbles. Harry wished he could have bitten off his tongue. Snape was going to ask him what Flabbles were. To his horror, Snape did so:

“Flabbles?”

They prevent men from…His quill stopped.

“Yes?” Snape prompted impatiently.

…from achieving orgasm. According to Luna, that is. His cheeks were burning with embarrassment.

The look Snape gave him wanted to make him sink into the floor and never resurface again.

“Miss Lovegood believes in decidedly eccentric things, Potter. I assure you that Nargles and, ah, Flabbles are non-existent. I have never come across them as Potions ingredients, either. I fully understand, however, why people would invent Flabbles. The non-achievement of ejaculation, Potter, is regarded as sexual failure and tends to crush self-esteem and possibly the satisfaction of the involved partner or partners - one never knows nowadays.”

One never knows nowadays…And who goes to Enchanté to relieve sexual frustrations? Harry thought indignantly.

“Apart from the mental distress this phenomenon causes, it also results in a highly uncomfortable physical state. For further details, access the Restricted Section of the library - you are quite old enough. Flabbles, in short, are imaginary scapegoats.” He smirked before continuing:

“I would like to know how the touchpad works.”

Of the computer? Harry's quill wrote.

“Of what else?” the Head of Slytherin asked him with his characteristic sneer.

I have a suggestion. How about if you came here for regular computer lessons?

He expected Snape to scoff at the idea of Harry teaching him, the omniscient Potions Master, anything. Instead, Snape traced his mouth with his index finger - a favourable sign of contemplation.

“Saturdays at five o'clock starting from next week onwards,” he said. Harry thought it was contradictory that Snape, as his “pupil”, was deciding on the day and time. But then, Snape was a mass of contradictions. Snape added:

“If it suits you.”

That's fine with me.

Harry led him to his laptop, slightly flustered. Having Snape as a pupil was less difficult than having him as a teacher. A natural and quick learner, he had to be explained things only once. Harry was pleasantly surprised that Snape listened to him instead of contradicting him or simply ignoring him and exploring the computer in his own manner.

“I prefer the mouse to this infernal touchpad, Potter,” he said, clicking on the browser icon. Harry looked at his long fingers and flushed a little; at Snape's request, he showed him various websites which he thought were useful, including encyclopaedias (“There is enough Muggle and wizarding information in the Hogwarts Library, Potter.”), times zones (“Anyone with a basic knowledge of the word's atlas can figure that out.”), dictionaries (“Potter, I assure you that my vocabulary and language skills are quite up to scratch.”) etc. Snape, naturally, was always ready with a scathing comment on why he found the websites useless while his thorough and meticulous explorations rather belied his statements. In spite of the popup-blocker (“Idiotic term,” Snape commented acidly), a few advertisements would slip through every now and then, and Harry had to prevent Snape from clicking upon them, unless it was to shut them.

When Snape happened to see a banner of a woman in a skimpy outfit, he stared at Harry with complete disgust.

“Potter, was is that thing doing on a website which is supposed to deal solely with botany?”

Harry hastened to explain the principles of advertising, financing and sponsoring. Snape gave him a cold look.

“I am quite familiar with such principles, Potter.”

Yes, but on the web, the amount of hits, you know, the amount of visitors and mouse-clicks is a key point, and banners are there to attract the visitors of the website and make them click on them and purchase stuff. Sometimes, you can't be too picky about what the banners advertise.

“Clicks and hits? Amazing,” Snape said scornfully. In the corner of the screen, the anti-virus software notified him that it had installed the latest updates.

“What is that, Potter?” Snape inquired curiously.

Harry told him about the dark side of computer lore.

It's like with humans. Anti-virus software, anti-spyware programs and firewalls are the immune system of the computer against malware.

“Malware, the equivalent of Dark Arts,” Snape summed briskly.

Well, yes.

“I see,” Snape murmured.

Harry concluded the lesson by drawing up a computer learning schedule for both of them and printing out two copies, Snape watching the printer, which was tucked underneath the desk, with narrowed eyes. Unfortunately, the printer fell a victim to a paper jam.

Harry knelt down next to it to fix the problem. Snape, however, drew out his wand lazily and pointed it at the printer, which made a hoarse hiccoughing sound; two scrunched-up sheets of paper which had been trapped somewhere inside the machinery shot out, hitting Harry in the face.

Harry glared at him and Snape stared back at him with a smug glint in his eyes.

At last, the copies were ready; Snape folded his sheet of paper and stowed it away in his robes.

“I will see you at six o'clock sharp for our lesson this evening, Potter,” he said, striding out of Harry's rooms. Harry walked over to the sofa and closed his eyes. The presence of the Potions Master was starting to unnerve him increasingly. That sarcastic sense of humour was unrivalled. And that tall lithe figure, those hands, that voice…

Six o'clock arrived. Harry, seated in his usual chair, watched Snape nervously.

“Today, we will try practical Telepathy, Potter. We will start with Legilimency as a preliminary warm-up before moving on to Telepathy. No non-verbal spells or sign language today. This whole lesson will be devoted to verbal communication between two minds.”

After half an hour of Legilimency, during which Harry saw memories of Snape involving the planning for the hiding away of the Mirror of Erised in his first year, a row with a fellow-student trying to cheat from him in Potions class and the funeral of his aunt, they proceeded with Telepathy. It was, as Snape had predicted, even more difficult than either Legilimency or Occlumency…and intimate, though not in a sexual sense. Still, Harry understood why Snape had said that it was almost like having sex. It was exceptionally personal.

Like Legilimency, Telepathy required eye contact, and only wizards and witches who possessed extraordinary skills and experience could do without eye contact, provided the distance between the participants was at least three metres in length. The charm, too, was the same - Legilimens, and one of the things which made Telepathy so difficult was that he had to switch from the visual channel of memories called forth by Legilimency to verbal communication, keeping the memories and feelings of the recipient at a distance without banishing completely.

Being a beginner, Harry had to stand right in front of Snape, dangerously close within kissing distance.

“I am going to send you a very short sentence, Potter. Once you are at a more advanced stage, you will be able to receive and transmit longer sentences and, finally, entire conversations. For now, you shall be the recipient, the listener.”

The two-way channel between them was daunting in that Harry saw Snape before him, but, at the same time, had to handle a stream of images and sounds which fluctuated like a rippling curtain between them. It made him horribly giddy and he had to avert his gaze the first time and steady himself against Snape's desk.

“Yes, that is not unexpected,” Snape said softly while Harry pressed his palm to his forehead, grimacing a little. They waited a little until they tried a second time. Harry tried to keep his focus on Snape's face through the oscillating myriad of ghostly memories and whispers. Then, suddenly, he heard Snape's sensual voice in his mind, low yet clear:

Potter, can you-

The giddiness was too much and Harry staggered back, breaking the connection, and would have fallen if Snape had not caught him. Harry looked up into his dark eyes, trying hard not to sway.

Snape's left hand was resting on his waist and the other on the small of his back. Harry found it incredibly difficult to recover from the sensation Snape's voice in his mind had called forth. Gooseflesh had broken out all over his body; his hair had stood on end, and listening to those accents caress his “mental sense of hearing”, as he called it, had exhilarated him. In fact, it had aroused him. He suspected that this had happened because he was sexually attracted to Snape. He looked away from Snape's eyes in case the skilled wizard realised what was happening to him.

“Lie down on the couch for ten minutes, Potter,” Snape said, leading him to the sofa with a firm hand on his shoulder. Harry obeyed, removing his shoes and curling up on his side. He was so exhausted that he fell asleep. When he therefore did not get up after ten minutes, Snape approached the couch. On seeing that the young man was sleeping peacefully, he stooped so that his long hair brushed Harry's tired face briefly. He studied his countenance at length, like once before, until Harry shifted his position a little. Snape went back to his desk and started to grade a pile of essays. He ordered supper to be brought to his room instead of going down to dine with the others, sending Dumbledore a short note excusing his absence. He considered waking up Harry. Another look at the oblivious sleeper dissuaded him from the idea; but when the hands of the clock on the wall started creeping towards ten o'clock, he knew it was time to send Harry back to his rooms. He was already rising from his chair when an abrupt movement from the couch startled him. He went over to Harry quickly and discovered him twisting wildly upon the couch, sharp exhalations escaping his parted lips.

Snape gripped Harry's shoulders and shook him carefully.

“Potter…Harry…”

Harry, half in his dream, half in the waking world, stretched out his hand sleepily - and encountered Snape's cheek. Snape froze for a moment as the youth's hand touched his face gently. Harry's eyes flew open, and he shuddered. Snape covered Harry's hand with his own and lowered it from his cheek.

“Potter,” he said softly.

Harry exhaled and closed his eyes, shedding a few tears as he did so. After taking a deep few breaths, he raised his eyelids and extracted his quill and parchment.

I had a dream. Voldemort was…hurting you…with the Cruciatus curse. I couldn't…

Harry swiped his arm across his face; then he resumed.

I couldn't stop him, I couldn't prevent him, I was being held by Death Eaters, I was trying to reach out to you…

Snape, still holding Harry's hand, felt the fingers clench around his convulsively. A spasm contorted Harry's face for a moment, as if he was suppressing a sob.

“It was just a dream, Potter. I am fine. Voldemort is dead. The Death Eaters are in Azkaban. You are here with me in my office.”

Harry licked his dry lips.

Snape sat down next to him while Harry's eyes looked at him anxiously.

Are you really all right?

“Yes.”

It was such a terrible dream, you were in such pain…

With a silent sob, he sat up impulsively and buried his face against Snape's chest.

CHAPTER 23

Snape wanted to say: “Compose yourself, Potter, for Merlin's sake, and stop this pathetic childishness. You are a young man of eighteen and a half.”

He could not utter the harsh words; he saw a wizard who was drained and who still managed to worry about him after a vivid nightmare. Worry about him, Severus Snape, of all people. He therefore held Harry against his chest, his hand resting soothingly upon the back of his neck. After a while, when he felt sure that he was more composed, he asked:

“Can you hear my heartbeat, Potter?”

Harry drew back and gazed up at him. He nodded.

“You are awake now. You dwell too much on dreams. Leave it behind you.”

Snape, looking down into the pale face, noticed a drop of blood leaking out of one nostril.

“You have a nosebleed.”

He summoned a towel - he had obviously been expecting this. He handed it to Harry, who pressed it uncomplainingly against his nose. Snape remained seated next to him.

Is it always like this in the beginning? So difficult?

“Yes, it is.”

You said his name. Voldemort.

“I know I did,” Snape said coolly.

They sat silently on couch, Harry with his head bowed as he waited for the nosebleed to stop. Snape's dark eyes travelled over Harry's slight figure and lingered on his hands and face. Was he aware of his attractiveness? He was so strong and resilient and yet so vulnerable. He was in the blossom of his youth, and his ripe body and mind appealed to Snape. The years of toil and terror had not been able to prevent Harry Potter from growing up into a desirable young man. Snape had discovered himself increasingly disinterested in the male clientele of Enchanté since Harry had started becoming more adept at Legilimency. He could sense that the Gryffindor and he were approaching a certain level of equality.

After the nosebleed had stopped, Harry looked searchingly into the dark eyes. Snape looked back without aggression or rancour and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder.

“It is late. You had better go to bed. Don't indulge in any strenuous activities for at least twenty-four hours.”

Nothing like this happened to me at the ball when you were communicating with me telepathically. So why did it happen this time?

“Because it was a one-way channel at the masked ball, Potter. You did not know as yet how to establish a two-way connection. Our attempt today involved a two-way channel, which is why the images and sounds were oscillating so much between you and me. Read the book I gave you again.”

Harry made a sign of thanks as he handed the towel back to Snape.

Saturday morning found Snape in his office with Albus Dumbledore, scowling ferociously while the Headmaster looked calm and benign as usual.

“Albus, he is only eighteen, for heaven's sake!”

“He is going to turn nineteen this summer, Severus.”

“He is still too young to be a teacher.”

“He has had more experience than most teachers anywhere in the world.”

“Potter has yet to master Telepathy. His first attempt was quite uninspiring.”

“Are you displeased at the prospect that you and he will become colleagues? Or is it…something else?”

Snape stared at him. The blue eyes twinkled back at him blandly.

“What exactly are you trying to say, Albus?” he asked guardedly.

“Well, Severus, you are both adults and thus on a more equal status. Also, if I remember correctly, Harry is teaching you how to handle that wonderful Muggle invention, the computer, and…” he spread his fingers and smiled.

“And what? It is not like you to talk in incomplete sentences, Albus.”

“And - please accept my apologies at this point, Severus - you two do share quite a few things in common.”

Snape flushed; but just as he was opening his mouth to protest, Dumbledore resumed elegantly:

“So, to get back to the point, Severus; will you train him to be a teacher for another six months?”

Snape sighed.

“Very well. And after that, Potter and I will be quits for good.”

“Excellent, Severus. I am not so sure about the last part, though. Optimism is always helpful.”

Dumbledore left the Potions Master in a brooding mood to return to his own office and speak to his next protégé - Harry Potter.

“…so I think another six months with Severus will prepare you for your post as the future Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

I still have to master Telepathy, Professor.

“And you will master Telepathy. Your lessons with Severus are satisfactory?”

Harry blushed slightly and nodded.

“You seem to making progress in his lessons, although I was intrigued to see him immerse you in the lake very recently. I was thinking of intervening, but you obviously sorted things out.”

Harry's blush deepened massively, and he proceeded to explain why Snape had lost his temper.

“Ah yes, Severus is a little…sensitive. Still, if I am not mistaken, the relationship between you has improved.”

Harry, afraid that Dumbledore would perceive that he felt attracted to Snape, quickly averted his gaze. Dumbledore, after all, was a Legilimens and had been Snape's teacher.

“So, Harry, are you willing to become a teacher?”

Harry smiled.

Yes. Thank you very much for the offer, sir. Hogwarts is my home, and you have always supported me.

Dumbledore rose and rested his hand briefly on Harry's shoulder.

“Harry,” he said softly, “you are the child I never had.”

Harry's eyes sparkled with tears for a moment. He was too moved to say anything, and his quill remained still.

“Off you go now, my boy. I am very glad that you trust Severus now. ”

The rest of Saturday was especially beautiful for Harry. He would be able to stay at Hogwarts. He would be able to share his knowledge with the young witches and wizards. And, best of all, he would be in Snape's close proximity for quite some time again. Outside, the sun shone, announcing the imminent arrival of spring; it was a cool March day, perfect for a stroll outside. He went outside and found Snape leaning casually against a yet winter-skeletal tree.

“Potter,” he said in his characteristic abrupt manner.

No strenuous activities, Harry said, smiling.

“Hm.”

Am I disturbing you?

The black eyes looked into his.

“No, Potter, you are not,” he said softly.

Somewhere nearby, two birds started chirping loudly as if quarrelling. Harry listened, his sense of hearing transcending the twittering.

“What do you hear?” Snape wanted to know.

I hear the birds in the trees and bushes, the wind rushing over the treetops and grass…your robes as they brush against your legs when you move. Everything has a language of its own, and it becomes music to me, music I can't quite understand. And the hum, always the hum of Hogwarts and its grounds, barely audible…It's like I have to listen inside myself to hear it.

The green eyes had a wondering expression in them, and the smooth lips were parted in a small smile.

There is music in your voice, too, he stated.

“I have a deep-seated fondness for music, Potter, but I have never thought of my voice as being particularly melodious.”

That is because it is so subtle, to use one of your favourite words. You truly know how to ensnare the mind and bewitch the senses, if I recall my very first Potions class correctly.

Snape's mouth actually quirked.

“My, my, you do pay attention when you want to, Potter.”

He leant close to Harry, his mouth a small distance away from Harry's.

“And have I ensnared your mind and bewitched your senses, Potter?”

Shivers ran down Harry's back at the way Snape pronounced all the sibilants in his sentence, drawing them out just a little. He stared boldly into Snape's eyes.

You certainly have, with Legilimency and now with Telepathy.

Snape smiled slowly, seductively.

“I see. Is it a…pleasant experience, Potter?”

It is a challenging experience, sir.

“Challenging…Prepare yourself for a challenging lesson on Monday evening, Potter. We will be Duelling to test your non-verbal magic and practising Telepathy.”

I am looking forward. And you had better prepare yourself for a challenging computer lesson, sir.

“Indeed?” Snape moved away from Harry a little, standing next to him, their bodies nearly touching.

I will be teaching you about the dark side of the web, from viruses to notorious hacking attempts.

“Ah, the Dark Arts of the internet…”

Sir?

“Potter?”

What did you mean by corrupting me and stealing my innocence at the masked ball?

He expected Snape to become angry - his reaction the first time Harry had asked him this question had been rather unfavourable - but the Slytherin remained composed.

“I am not a nice man, Potter, as you have probably realised by now. I use men for my pleasure at Enchanté - with their consent, naturally. They use me in return. I believe in making my priorities clear, and if my partners agree with them, so much the better. What I was trying to ask you that night, Potter, was whether you were aware of my attitude and still wanted to dance with me. After all, such an approach would be most disillusioning for someone as young as you.”

So you recognised me?

“How could I not, Potter?” Snape looked into his eyes. “Your eyes gave you away immediately, as did your…” Here his penetrating gaze shifted down to Harry's lips, “mouth.”

I was aware of your `appalling reputation', as you call it.

“Are you not afraid of your spotless reputation being tarnished, Potter? People can see us here. The wizarding hero talking leisurely outside the classroom with the shadowy Potions Master…”

I may talk to whomever I wish; I don't care about my so-called reputation.

“And did it not cross your mind that it may be…unethical to dance with your teacher, Potter?”

Didn't it cross your mind that it may be unethical to accept my dance offer, Professor?

Snape laughed softly, appreciating the answer. They were silent for a short while.

After a few minutes, Snape detached himself from the tree and went towards the greenhouses for Potions ingredients. Harry remained where he was, gazing pensively after the receding figure of his teacher.

Sunday was just as beautiful as Saturday; Harry spent it with Ginny and Luna, playing various wizarding games. It also brought him two e-mails: one from Lupin and another from Hermione who had used a computer in a Delhi internet café to write him.

Lupin's e-mail was enthusiastic; it was the very first time he was sending someone an e-mail. Harry grinned. Lupin had written everything in caps lock mode and had chosen a huge font. The colour of the letters was magenta, and Harry felt sure that Tonks had helped Lupin with the mail. Ron had happily informed Harry that the two had started seeing each other.

Hermione's mail was quite long; one half was devoted to a very interesting description of Delhi and the other to Harry's dreams. She interpreted the thorn bushes as obstacles and Snape's inability to find his way out of the maze as the state in which he lived.

He seems to be suffocating in the walls he has built around himself and you subconsciously wish to free him, Harry. I don't know about the rose and the pearl, though. The rose is usually regarded as a symbol of love and the pearl as a metaphor for purity. I am especially interested in the pearl. Its source is impurity - a foreign body which invades the oyster - and when it becomes a pearl, it is regarded as a precious and beautiful thing. Its role in your dreams remains foggy to me.

And in her postscript, Hermione had added shrewdly:

Professor Snape and you seem be getting on rather better after what you have told me and because you have to spend so much time with him. Maybe the dream also implies that you are attracted to him. Perhaps you two are not as dissimilar as you think?

Harry's face became warm as he read the last line, and he could not suppress a blush when he arrived for his lesson on Monday evening.

“Potter. Five seconds too early. There is no need to sit. We will go into another room for the Duel in case you wreck my office again.”

He led Harry to an empty classroom in the dungeons.

“En garde, Potter,” he said, holding his wand.

They began. Harry tried to disarm him, but Snape was quicker, conjuring a Shield Charm. The Duel soon grew more heated and the two wizards increasingly less reserved. The Duel ended when they chose the same hex at the same moment. Several tables and desks fell over from the violence of the ensuing blast of air which swept the room. Both Snape and Harry stumbled backwards.

“A draw. Thanks to your everlasting good luck,” Snape remarked wryly. He spent the next five minutes telling Harry where he still had to improve before they moved back to his office to tackle Telepathy.

Harry remembered how aroused he had become the first time he had heard Snape's voice in his head. Snape came very close to him, latching his eyes onto Harry's.

“This time, you shall try to send me a small message, Potter. I am not using the Pensieve today since the Headmaster requires it.”

Harry nodded, bowed his head and closed his eyes for a moment to concentrate.

“No! Open them!” Snape ordered, putting his finger underneath Harry's chin and tilting his face upwards. They locked gazes, and Harry stared into the black depths of Snape's eyes, repeating Legilimens over and over in his mind. He slipped into Snape's memories and feelings, trying to push them back far enough so as to make his mental voice heard. An image of Snape being shouted at by his father flashed past, distracting him.

In front of him, Snape's eyes narrowed.

“Concentrate, Potter!” he hissed. Harry wondered how Snape could manage to talk when his mind was being invaded.

Harry gritted his teeth and started sending over his message.

Professor, can you hear me?

He managed to transfer the “Pro” of “Professor” before he was overwhelmed by such a strong attack of dizziness that he stumbled forwards against Snape, breaking the connection. The tall wizard steadied him and pushed him away.

“Again,” he said sharply, waiting, however, until Harry had recovered from the unpleasant sensation.

May I lean against the desk or something? I'm not sure I'll be steady enough for the next attempt.

Snape impatiently placed his hands on Harry's hips and pressed them against his body.

“I will hold you, Potter. For Merlin's sake, you are like a weak child!” he snarled.

They began their second attempt, and this time, Harry was able to get across “Profess” of “Professor” before he was forced to give up. The giddiness enveloped him - along with something else which caused him to start back. Legilimency and Telepathy allowed enabled perceiving the feelings of the recipient. Harry had been able to detect feelings of anger and resentment in Snape's mind, frequently combined with sorrow. He had, after all, naturally not been able to employ Occlumency against Harry when it came to teaching him Legilimency. This time, Harry sensed a spark of excitement, of exhilaration in his teacher.

“Pathetic,” Snape said, “Two thirds of a word, of one word, Potter. How you will learn Telepathy before the summer holidays will remain a mystery to me. I will show you again how it works.”

With his hands still on Harry's hips, he opened the channel of Telepathy between them.

Does it feel like sex to you, Potter?

Harry gasped soundlessly as the silky voice whispered into his mind, pronouncing the word “sex” languidly; the connection broke. Snape was smiling at him in a way which made him feel extremely uncomfortable. He suddenly realised that he was even more aroused than he had been last time. His whole lower stomach was throbbing with need. Snape removed his hands from Harry's hips. Harry wished he had not worn tight jeans.

“I told you, Potter, it is almost like having sexual intercourse, especially when it is two-way. Sit down on the couch and think of eel's eyes or something which will calm your raging teenage hormones.”

Completely mortified, Harry hurried towards the sofa. He had read that Telepathy could produce this kind of effect, especially in the beginning, but it was so humiliating that he wanted to cry. Snape studied him for a moment and walked back to his desk with a smirk.

CHAPTER 24

Harry sat on the couch with his face buried in his hands. He had broken out into a cold sweat. He had tried to suppress his feelings for Snape as well as he could during all their mental communications. Had his body betrayed him? Could Snape guess that it was more than just a hormone-fuelled reaction to the intensity of Telepathy, that Harry was thinking of someone specific - namely Snape - with longing and desire?

There was the softest rustle of black robes as Snape, who had decided to leave his desk, sat down next to him gracefully. The smirk had gone from his face.

“Potter,” he said softly, “it is not an unusual reaction, especially for people new to this branch of magic. You are a young man and your hormones are rampant. I am surmising that you didn't have much time to attend to them due to the disgraceful antics of the Dark Lord. Anything which is even remotely sexual tends to be arousing at your age. It does happen to be rather more obvious if you are a wizard, for physiological reasons.”

That got a smile out of Harry.

“Are you thinking of eel's eyes?”

No, I am thinking of my cousin's eating habits.

“I am sure that will help immensely,” Snape said gravely.

Okay, I'm, uh, calm again.

“One more attempt - it shall be the last one for today. I suggest that we remained seated here, Potter. The distance will be a bit larger, but it may lead to less incidents of an embarrassing nature.”

They settled themselves comfortably on the sofa.

“Send me a message, Potter.”

They stared into each other's eyes until the mental channel was unlocked. Harry concentrated as hard as he could. He could see and hear that fluctuating shimmering curtain again as it rippled transparently between his teacher and himself. And this time, he was successful - maybe because he chose a very succinct message, or maybe because he was fiercely determined to escape embarrassment.

It's Harry.

An answer from Snape floated back to him, velvety and caressing.

Harry.

A delicious aspiration at the onset of the first letter, then the languid lengthening of the “a”, the soft roll of the double “r” and the last vowel fading away breathily. The transparent curtain vanished, and Snape's face became clear. Harry noticed a delicate glow suffusing the high cheekbones. He also noticed that his arousal had returned with a vengeance.

“Not bad, Potter. I think we can proceed with longer sentences next time. You may want to spread a towel on your pillow tonight in case you are attacked by a nosebleed.”

Harry nodded and rose slowly. It was uncomfortable to do so with his body in such a turmoil.

Good night, sir.

“Good night, Potter.”

He locked eyes with Harry for an instant before turning away.

In his rooms, Harry fairly tore off his jeans and headed for the nearest piece of furniture he could lie on. His body was screaming for release. That voice whispering his name in his mind. The way Snape had pronounced “Harry”. Their hips pressed together. Snape's awareness of Harry's aroused state. That smirk, both crushing and yet strangely triumphant. He caressed himself with hot hands, imagining that it was Snape who was stroking him, kissing him, whispering into his ear, not having sex with him but making love to him slowly and sweetly.

He came so hard that his fingers ripped several slits into the upholstery of the sofa he was lying on. He was completely exhausted afterwards, somehow finding enough energy to repair the upholstery and get rid of the sticky mess. When he got up from the sofa, he became aware of the tears on his cheeks. He had a long shower and finally resorted to his diary, writing down the mortifying incident of about an hour ago. He was hoping against hope that Snape hadn't discovered the true reason for Harry's strong physical reaction. He ended with a short paragraph:

Severus Snape, I wonder about you in ways which would shock you. They surprise me as well. I dream of scenes with you which make me think that Dreamless Sleep Potion would be a prudent precaution to take before going to bed. This sounds as if I am only sexually attracted to you. I am, but there's far more than that. I find myself enjoying your company. Whereas I used to dread our lessons together, I now look forward to them, though I do feel unhappy whenever your sarcasm and cynicism become mean and hurtful. I think I am falling for you…

There. He had written it down.

I think I am falling for you…

Falling for Severus Snape, the detested Potions Master of Hogwarts, former Death Eater, nemesis of his father and godfather, the man whom he had used to hate so much, the man who was teaching him what he needed to continue his life as a mute wizard, sensual seductive silky Severus Snape. It explained why his knees were starting to go weak every time he entered Snape's office…

“The Pensieve is unfortunately still with the Headmaster, Potter,” Snape said stiffly when Harry entered his office for his next lesson, “we will start with Legilimency as a short warm-up.”

He showed no sign that he still remembered the embarrassing occurrence of their last lesson.

Obediently, Harry stared into Snape's eyes until he could see the man's memories flashing past. He plunged into one of Snape and his father apparently arguing. He had never seen Snape and his father alone together before…

Tobias Snape's hooked nose, black eyes and hair had been faithfully passed on to his son, who was about twelve years of age in the memory; it was obviously the summer break, and Snape had come home.

“Why do you always have to shout at Mother?” Snape was asking.

“Because she is abnormal, she is a freak, and she produced a freak for a son!”

“It is you who are a freak, the way you treat both of us,” Snape whispered, “you are no father.”

Harry flinched when he saw the man seize Snape and backhand him across the face. Snape gasped and clutched at his face.

“You insolent little shit! You should be burnt at the stake, like your kind once was!”

A sallow-faced witch came inside the room, cowering, yet searching for a way to break up the argument; she had probably heard her husband strike her son.

“You,” Tobias Snape snarled, wheeling around.

Eileen Prince was shaking from head to foot.

“Don't hit him, he is your son!” she shrieked.

“That creature? My son? He will grow up to be a loser!”

“Severus, go to your room,” his mother said in a high shrill voice.

His parents began to shout at each other at the top of their voices.

Snape, holding his cheek, stumbled up the creaking stairs, crying bitterly.

The memory changed.

Snape was thirteen. His mother was in his room, her sallow face drawn and sour. She was staring at the wall, not looking at her son.

“All this would not have happened if you hadn't come along, Severus. Well, we just have to manage as we have always managed,” she said in a dead flat voice.

In the next memory, Snape was about fifteen. He was alone in the Slytherin dormitory. He was writing the word “divorce” over and over on a piece of parchment like a robot.

The memory ended, together with the connection.

Snape was paper-white, and he was shaking slightly. Harry felt the prickle of tears in his eyes.

“I don't need the compassion of the wizarding hero,” Snape hissed. Harry shook his head and did the only thing his heart told him to do: he put his arms around his teacher.

“Don't…Don't…I don't need your compassion!” Snape shouted, pushing furiously at Harry, who drew back without letting him go: he looked into Snape's tortured face, speaking to him silently with his eyes. Snape suddenly yielded to Harry's embrace, crushing the young man to him while Harry shyly ran his hand over the back of Snape's dark hair as the tall wizard rested his head on Harry's slight shoulder. The room was completely still, except for their breathing. Harry closed his eyes, now rocking Snape gently in his arms, knowing instinctively that Snape had never had anyone to hug him, to comfort him, to care for him. Dumbledore loved him, but it was a different kind of love. Harry didn't think Dumbledore had ever hugged and rocked Snape in his arms like he was doing now. The two wizards remained like that for some seven minutes. Then Snape drew back, not looking at Harry, as if ashamed of having acted in a manner which he considered as being out of character for him.

Are you feeling a little better? Do you wish to talk about it?

“I am not weak, Potter,” Snape muttered.

I think that you just showed one of your strongest moments.

Snape stared at him.

“What do you mean?” he asked roughly.

This time, it was Harry who led Snape over to the couch.

He sat down and gestured that Snape sit down as well. Snape obeyed, looking curiously at Harry, who took Snape's hands in his. Snape stiffened, but did not withdraw them.

I know that you think feelings are signs of weakness; so when you happen to show feelings, you regard this is a complete loss of your control over yourself. But for someone who has been used to locking up his feelings within himself for such a long time, a display of emotion does not strike me as a weakness, but as a strength.

“Did you think so when I threw you out of my office in your fifth year?”

Harry smiled a little.

I never really thought about that, sir. Not about you throwing me out, except that I deserved it. I thought more about the disillusionment which your memory triggered. It had to happen. It always has to happen. I had to get to know my father through various viewpoints. I only know that I look at you differently today. Time has passed, and the circumstances have changed a lot.

He chafed the long fingers for a moment and looked at the thin face pensively.

You work too much and eat too little, sir.

“Why in Merlin's name would you worry about my health, Potter?”

Harry reddened a little, averting his gaze in case he betrayed his true feelings.

I am starting to regard you as my friend.

Snape's eyebrows climbed up his forehead.

“Your…friend, Potter? Me? Severus Snape?”

He withdrew his left hand and touched Harry's forehead.

“Are you quite sure you are feeling well?”

Harry frowned and removed Snape's hand, retaining it in his.

Snape uttered an incredulous laugh.

“A Slytherin and a Gryffindor, friends? You and me, Potter, friends? Have you forgotten about our merry history together?”

Gryffindor and Slytherin were the closest of friends before they quarrelled. With us, it's the other way around.

Snape's sceptical gaze travelled over the serious face before settling on the large green eyes.

“You have a point, Potter. I never thought I would say this to you, but…” here, he pressed Harry's hands quickly, “you do not seem to be a spoilt brat.”

Harry smiled again, knowing that it was Snape's way of saying that he was ceasing to see James Potter in him.

Then Snape withdrew his hands and rose.

“Enough sentimentalism,” he said sternly, “sign language and non-verbal spells.”

Harry's skill in the domain of non-verbal spells was increasing drastically; he had come to regard his muteness as an asset; he was so used to it that he seemed to consider it as a part of him which had always been around. When he held his wand and transferred the words voicelessly to it, he no longer frowned with concentration. His face was relaxed, and he seemed to take pleasure in it - besides in Snape's presence.

The fact that he had embraced Snape and had been there for him as an unexpected source of support and comfort added strength to their bond. Whereas this last had been tentative and fragile before, it became strong and firm. This was evident when Snape, after a moment's hesitation, casually asked Harry whether he would like to take supper with him in his rooms. Harry, astonished, accepted eagerly, returning to his own quarters to change before Flooing himself into Snape's office.

“My rooms are this way, Potter. Please dust off the ash properly.”

When will he call me Harry? Harry thought with a grin as he followed Snape, who, with a murmured incantation and a flick of his wand, unlocked a door at the very back of the room.

CHAPTER 25

Dumbledore gazed at the Pensieve thoughtfully. He wondered whether reclaiming it temporarily from Snape would do the trick and bring his two protégés closer together. On inquiring about Harry's progress, he had noticed that Snape had been less inclined to criticise him; and telling Snape that he would like him to instruct Harry for another six months had gone surprisingly well. There had been the usual protests, naturally…Harry was too young, he still had to master Telepathy etc. And he had flushed when Dumbledore had observed that he and Harry had things in common. He had flushed deeply, in fact, and had even averted his gaze for a moment, he, an outstanding Occlumens.

And Harry…Harry had blushed just as much, if not more, as soon as Snape's name had cropped up. Dumbledore, with his keen insight into people and their emotions, was convinced that it was not only the mental magic which was making the two bond. Maybe, he thought as he tenderly dipped a memory into the Pensieve with his wand, he could be more than just a little optimistic.

Snape held the door open for Harry, who thanked him with a sign and looked around the spacious hall of Snape's private quarters. The first thing that struck him was the quantities of books. Shelf after shelf lined one portion of the room.

“There are more books in my private library and laboratory. I need to consult the ones in here on a regular basis,” Snape explained, observing Harry's gaze.

A Slytherin banner hung on one wall. The other free walls were stylishly decorated with abstract art, and the furnishings were elegant, their design simple and timeless. If he had expected the place to be gloomy and greenish like the Slytherin common room, then he was mistaken. Snape's hall was well lit with a lot of small floating globes. A huge Persian carpet covered the stone floor near the hearth, which looked very comfortable and inviting. All in all, it was the abode of an extremely bookish man with a solid and attractive sense of taste.

He turned around to Snape, who was watching him closely.

I like it, it's very nice and elegant here.

“Your positive assessment is most flattering, Potter.”

He led Harry to the hearth and tapped at the small table in the middle. It immediately became larger and longer. With another flick of his wand, he summoned two chairs.

“I usually either eat at my desk or at the staff table upstairs. Please sit down.”

Harry obeyed, and Snape occupied the chair opposite him.

“I believe you have your own house elf, Potter?”

Dobby? He does not belong to me or to anyone, he is free, but he insists on attending to all my needs besides working in the Hogwarts kitchen for a salary.

“How do you summon him?”

Harry took out a small silver whistle which Dobby had given him.

Snape nodded.

“Winky,” he said loudly.

To Harry's astonishment, Crouch's former house elf Winky emerged with a crack. She was wearing a spotless dress and apron. There was no trace of Butterbeer on her person.

Snape's mouth curled in a thin smile.

“The cure for her deteriorating condition was to allot a new master to her. She refuses to be paid, but I do hope that your friend Dobby will make her see sense. I have managed to, ah, impose, as she calls it, free weekends on her, which is a minor improvement.”

Harry was trying very hard not to stare at Snape with his mouth open. Hermione would probably have hugged Snape if she had witnessed this.

“May I ask you what you are thinking at the moment, Potter?”

Harry, with a grin, told him what he supposed Hermione would do.

Snape raised an eyebrow.

“I am sure Miss Granger would hesitate to display her approval to such a drastic extent. In addition, I would not fancy Mr Weasley throttling me.”

Harry laughed, and Snape politely asked Winky to fetch dinner for two.

Dinner with Snape turned out to be less formal than Harry had envisioned it; he had been going through all his table manners (no elbows on the table, sit straight, don't stuff your mouth etc.) frantically while changing into sober black robes for Snape's benefit. Snape seemed relaxed and more open to conversation than he usually was. Harry's quill was kept fairly busy throughout the meal (delectable lentil soup, chicken curry and rice, among other things). At the same time, there seemed to a certain tension between them, as was manifested by what Harry called “eye speech”; their eye contact was frequently so deep and intense that Harry felt they could have opened a telepathic channel at that time.

“What is your favourite colour, Potter?” Snape asked nonchalantly, placing his fork on his dessert plate.

I've got two, actually. Black and dark-red.

“Red. A true Gryffindor,” Snape remarked coolly.

What about yours?

Snape looked directly into Harry's eyes.

“Like you, I quite enjoy black…and green. Emerald green.”

Harry didn't know why his cheeks suddenly felt warm and hastily looked down at his plate for a moment, pretending to settle the position of his fork.

A true Slytherin, he quipped.

“Indeed,” Snape said softly, putting aside his napkin. “Do you want some more dessert?”

No, thank you, I'm totally full. It was delicious. Thank you very much.

Snape inclined his head in acknowledgement of Harry's thanks.

I would like to return the invitation.

“Would you, Potter? Then go ahead.”

Harry could not suppress a smile at Snape's ways of making conversation unconventional.

Saturday evening next week at eight?

“I will be there, Potter,” Snape said, a silky note creeping into his voice, “and I will see you tomorrow for my computer lesson.”

Said computer lesson arrived, and Harry could hardly believe that he was watching Severus Snape compose an e-mail via e-mail client and via web. He snorted at the names of the people in Harry's address book.

“All Gryffindors,” he said unkindly, “and this exclamation mark means that it is a high priority message? Well, it's the only thing which makes sense about this program,” he added with his usual stinging sarcasm. In spite of his disapproving remarks, he was learning very quickly. Harry wasn't sure whether this was due to his instructing or, as he rather suspected, due to the man's brilliant brains and grasp of new things. Harry found it both difficult and delightful to teach the person he was becoming increasingly attracted to. He wondered how he could have regarded him as thoroughly detestable in appearance and character for such a long time. He knew, of course, that his changing opinion and views of Snape were responsible for his perceptions; and he could not deny that Snape's attention to his personal appearance had helped matters. Snape thrust his long black hair impatiently out of his face, and a strand became entangled in Harry's spectacles. Snape glared at him.

“Why are you leaning so close to me like that? Kindly disentangle my hair from your glasses,” he said rudely.

Harry reciprocated by yanking particularly hard at Snape's hair.

“Potter! You did that intentionally!”

Harry gave him an innocent look as he successfully separated hair and glasses.

Maybe you should cut off all that hair.

Snape seemed to breathe fire. He leant close to Harry, their noses nearly touching.

“Cut off my hair? Cut…? Never!” he whispered.

Harry recalled the black pearl in his dream. The texture of Snape's hair was as smooth as a pearl's…

“In fact, what needs cutting is this uncontrollable mop of yours,” Snape remarked, raising his hand and running it slowly, tenderly, unhurriedly through Harry's hair, his mouth close to Harry's. Their gazes locked for a moment before Snape's eyes returned to the computer screen. Another time, Snape shifted and his thigh brushed Harry's. Harry felt no inclination at all to move his chair, however. Besides their eye speech and verbal respectively written quips, Snape's voice was absolutely tantalising. It was like a shawl of liquid silk enveloping Harry without his clothes on. He imagined it caressing the sensitive parts of his body, and the sensation wreaked heavenly havoc in his groin. This state of semi-constant sexual agitation rendered the lesson marvellously torturous. If Snape knew…

After the recalcitrant teacher-pupil left, giving Harry a penetrating gaze out of his deep black eyes, Harry discovered that his libido had reached dangerous levels, sending his body into a frantic frenzy of delicious desire. The region between and around his thighs was actually starting to ache and throb with blatant need. He spent a long time in the cooling confines of his bathtub, soaking in the water, thinking of other things in order to keep his hands off himself. He failed and had to change the bathwater afterwards. Snape had always driven him mad; but he would never have imagined that Snape, of all people, would be responsible for the kind of “insanity” he was currently going through.

That night, the dream of the maze revisited him, except that some of the thorn bushes had been randomly replaced with transparent glass walls. Like the last few times, he was following Snape's whispering voice. He again came across the rose, plucked it and caught the black pearl which slipped out of its centre in his palm. Cupping both to his heart, he finally arrived at the square, only to find a solid glass wall entwined with thorn vines blocking his way. He could see Snape on the other side; and for the first time in all the dreams, the tall feline figure left its position, moving towards him until he was right in front of the glass, staring at Harry on the other side.

“I can't find my way. Please help me.”

Then, with a moan:

“No, it is better if you leave. Help me, and you will be an outcast like me.”

He walked back towards the square and buried his face in his hands.

Harry pressed his hands against a thorn-free portion of the cold glass, trying to call out to Snape, call out to him to come back, but one of the thorn-encrusted branches shot towards his arm; his reaction came too late; it collided with his hand, making him drop rose and pearl. The dream gave way to dreamless sleep. The next morning, he saw that a small nosebleed had visited him in the night - fortunately without waking him up. He resignedly cleaned his pillow. He was quite an expert at it.

The next lesson Snape introduced a small but important change in their Telepathy proceedings: this time, there would be no Legilimency as a warm-up; instead, they would plunge directly into Telepathy.

“And we shall not sit this time, Potter. You and I will stand like this, without the desk between us. I want to see how you manage without supporting yourself anywhere. Send me a message.”

Both wizards concentrated, and soon Harry could see that oscillating curtain, although it seemed fainter to him.

Ensnarer of the senses, Harry managed to whisper, trying, like Snape, to lend a seductive quality to his words, accentuating the sibilants, lengthening the vowels subtly and trying to make his mental voice sound whispery; then he had to break the connection before the giddiness overwhelmed him. He knew that if he didn't pull back, he would feel sick onto the point of throwing up.

He looked at Snape, whose cheekbones were delicately flushed. The dark eyes glinted, and the admittedly arrogant lips parted in a sensual smile. His eyes travelled over Harry's figure, and Harry felt as if Snape was undressing him with his gaze, stripping him leisurely and enjoying the view.

“Someone is learning fast,” he murmured, “my turn, now. I shall truly ensnare your senses.”

He fairly attacked Harry's eyes with his own, imprisoning them forcefully, opening the channel between them.

Feel my voice caressing your mind, Harry. It is like hands touching your body, caressing you like you have caressed yourself…I am like water flowing over your body, reaching every part of you…

Harry clung to the words, determined to maintain the telepathic connection. The intensity of Snape's gaze increased so much that it seemed to crackle; Harry held on. Then a hand covered his eyes.

“More than passable, Potter,” Snape whispered, removing his hand. They stared at each other, both flushed and breathing fast, especially Harry.

“Are you aroused?” Snape asked softly.

Harry went crimson.

“I will take that as a yes,” Snape said. “You will get used to it and gradually stop being aroused. You did not stagger or stumble. You maintained the connection. Please go over to the couch and think of your cousin's eating habits.”

CHAPTER 26

Severus Snape, your words and voice are like rain running over my body, stroking my skin, stoking my sensuality, serenading my sexuality, sinking into my soul. I feel them caressing my longing loins, my greedy groin. I imagine your tongue toying with mine, tasting me…But besides the physical aspect, I can't get your personality out of my mind. Forceful, headstrong, brave, brilliant, devastatingly sarcastic, shrewd and so many other things which would take forever to write down. It is impossible to “categorise” you. It is what makes you such an enigma…

Harry stopped writing and gazed into space dreamily. He was becoming increasingly aware of how the relationship between him and Snape was constantly changing. The Head of Slytherin still addressed him with verbal abruptness, but his remarks, though sarcastic, were no longer aimed at insulting Harry's father or Harry's intelligence. Snape and Harry had developed a quiet mutual respect for each other and a relationship which they did not share with anyone else. Harry had also started inventing some of his own gestures and signs when he communicated with Snape in sign language, thus giving their conversation an additional personal depth. Their regular contact - two lessons a week and a Snape's weekly computer lesson - strengthened the unusual friendship between them. Even when they crossed each other in the corridor or grounds, they acknowledged each other's presence - Snape giving Harry a curt nod while Harry smiled at him. Their frequently biting dialogue and vehement disagreements only served to broaden their communication.

In the meantime, Snape was more comfortable with the computer, although his scathing criticism and remarks seemed to imply the opposite. Harry could not get rid of the strange but pleasing feeling that the reticent wizard seemed to like having Harry sitting close to him at his elbow; he did not give the impression of being averse to Harry's nearby presence at all.

“Kindly move your chair closer, Potter. This contraption is not outfitted with a wide screen.”

Also, there were moments where their hands or thighs would brush, and Snape would engage him in quick but deep moments of eye speech which made his knees go weak and Flobberworms crawl around in his stomach. Telepathy was becoming even more intense in that Snape, too, no longer seemed unconcerned or untouched by their interaction.

Snape was teaching him how to place more physical distance between them; thus, on Friday, the day before he was due to have supper with Harry, they found themselves facing each other with a distance of about one meter and eighty centimetres between them, Snape's voice whispering sensually in Harry's mind. They were trying to truly interact with each other, to become involved in a dialogue. The oscillating veil was very faint now - a promising sign that Harry was making excellent progress in Telepathy, and they no longer included Legilimency as a preliminary warm-up session.

Tell me what you feel right now, Harry.

I feel…exhilarated. High. Thrilled.

Thrilled, Snape whispered.

Even a few days ago, Harry would have too hesitant to answer. Now, he narrowed his eyes slightly and repeated:

Thrilled, sir.

He accentuated the dental fricative “th” by drawing it out before his mental tongue dipped down to roll off the “r” and the lateral “l” unhurriedly. He paid special attention to the sibilant “s” in “sir”. He knew that Snape loved sibilants.

Although completely focused on the black eyes, he noticed Snape's lips part for a moment, as if to savour the words Harry had transmitted to him.

Please tell me what you are currently reading, Snape said, his voice more brisk, but still low.

They spent five minutes engrossed in mental speaking until Harry felt giddy and they had to stop. He did notice, however, that when Snape spoke less seductively, then he could hold his hormones in check; but Snape made sure to end the dialogue in sensual accents, making Harry's hormonal level skyrocket; and he wished that Snape would use his first name otherwise as well.

His non-verbal spells were so powerful that Snape took him to an empty classroom in which to practise in case he wrecked the office. When Snape asked Harry to fling various kinds of fruit and vegetable at the wall, Harry was rather startled, pointing out that it was a waste of food while other people in various parts of the world did not have anything to eat.

“But we are here at Hogwarts, Potter, and I am afraid that this is necessary. And, as you know, repairing charms don't work on, ah, viciously handled fruit.”

He gestured at the enormous plate of fruit and vegetables.

Why food? Why not something else?

“I want to see if you can dislocate all the fruit and vegetable on this tray with one single non-verbal spell. Liquids would be too easy for you, and objects out of wood or metal would result in severe damage of this room and day-long spell-work to restore it to order, quite apart from the danger of injuring ourselves quite considerably even with a Shield Charm, Potter. Thus, something which is solid but contains liquid to a certain extent seemed ideal to me. I am waiting, Potter.”

Snape withdrew prudently to the side. Harry, still incredulous at being instructed to indulge in such barbaric behaviour, stared at the tray, pointing his wand at it, concentrating on the most powerful Banishing Charm he could conjure. The effect was frightening, to say nothing of messy. There was a whooshing sound as tons of fruit and vegetable left the tray abruptly and began to fly in all decorations; gruesome squelching sounds echoed through the air as they collided with the walls, ceiling and floor.

Snape bent as a cucumber went sailing over his head and splattered against the wall in a vivid splash of watery green. To Harry's horror, a tomato hit Snape's shoulder, dripping off his robes in a pulpy red. Harry himself was targeted by several onions and an avocado.

It was over in a few seconds. The room was a shocking sight. Harry swallowed as Snape straightened; he stepped backwards, nearly slipping on a decapitated banana when Snape came closer to him.

“I think,” Snape said in a soft tone which bode no good at all, “that while it was the aim of this task to create an energy drink of fruit and vegetables, Potter, it should have been clear that I wanted all the material to be propelled in one direction.”

There was a dull thud as a smashed mango detached itself from the ceiling and fell mournfully onto the floor.

“Would you kindly clean up this mess, Potter, and…” here he produced a second tray with a Summoning Charm, “repeat the exercise with a more properly aimed spell? I was under the obviously misleading impression that you had passed your N.E.W.T.s with a high score in Charms.”

You didn't specify the direction! Harry protested angrily, placing his hands on his hips. He was starting to smell strongly of onions.

Snape approached him, towering over him.

“Tell me, Potter. Does an erection have to be told in which direction it should go?”

Harry went pale.

I thought we respected each other.

“Was I referring to you, Potter?”

Then why choose such an example, if not to humiliate me?

Snape studied his face piercingly.

“Why are you so convinced that it is only you who experiences this embarrassing incident during our Telepathy sessions?” he asked coldly.

Harry reddened as much as the burst tomatoes in the room.

“I think The Power of Telepathy states that the phenomenon of sexual agitation can occur even with experienced witches and wizards - if they have not practised two-way Telepathy for a long time, or if they feel strongly attracted to their partner. Seeing that the latter cannot possibly be applied to our case, it naturally has to be the former. I do not have much opportunity to communicate telepathically, Potter.”

Harry moved his eyes away from Snape's face, his chest suddenly hurting with grinding disappointment. So Snape was not attracted to him. Of course not. He had been a fool to even consider the possibility. A lump formed in his throat as he stared at a split kiwi which seemed to reflect the current state of his heart. On the other hand…Harry suddenly raised his head and stared into Snape's black eyes. The man was an outstanding Occlumens. He could lie ruthlessly. Were all those slight touches during their lessons, their eye speech, that dance at the ball and their interaction in general infused by one-sided feelings and desire on Harry's side? Then, realising that he was in danger of exposing his thoughts and disappointment to Snape if he continued gazing into his eyes, he turned away and cleaned the whole room with a silent spell and a flick of his wand. Snape performed the same charm on his robes and on Harry.

Harry felt no happiness at all as he managed to make all the contents of the tray smash against one wall, fruit and vegetables oozing juice like his soul was oozing tears and blood.

Severus Snape noticed the young man's suddenly subdued behaviour, watching the sparkle vanish from the vivacious green eyes when Snape said Seeing that the latter cannot possibly be applied to our case. Harry left the classroom for his rooms on the second floor with an unusually quick step, shutting the door behind him.

Snape stared at the closed the door for a long time. Then he leant against a wall and buried his face in his hands. Allow Harry James Potter to come too close to him, and he would taint his soft glowing blossom, distort the sweet melody of his beckoning sexuality and extinguish that innocence which had stayed with him even after all the horrors of Voldemort's demise. What love would he ever know? None. Which wizard in his right mind would give him love - or accept love from him, Severus Snape with the hooked nose and cynical attitude? No one. Deep down in the classroom and up on the second floor, two wizards wept.

CHAPTER 27

Harry wiped his tears. He had done a lot of crying during the last few months. It made him feel better. What if he kept it all inside until it festered and finally became a cold impenetrable shield like the one Snape lurked behind?

“I think The Power of Telepathy states that the phenomenon of sexual agitation can occur even with experienced witches and wizards - if they have not practised two-way Telepathy for a long time, or if they feel strongly attracted to their partner. Seeing that the latter cannot possibly be applied to our case, it naturally has to be the former. I do not have much opportunity to communicate telepathically, Potter.”

Harry got up from the floor and started pacing up and down restlessly.

Seeing that the latter cannot possibly be applied to our case, it naturally has to be the former.

Snape was wrong. He had not said, “I am not attracted to you.” He had taken it for granted that Harry did not feel attracted to him either. He had mixed feelings about this. Could he interpret this as his secret being safe, that Snape hadn't noticed anything and wasn't aware of Harry's feeling towards him? Or had he guessed what was going on with him and was discarding it? Harry knew that Snape's opinion of love was an extremely poor one, that he considered it a weakness; and maybe he had been searching for the semblance of love in Enchanté, for the feeling of being wanted, desired, accepted…even if it was only for the briefest of times.

But why does he whisper so seductively to me during my lessons? Why does he no longer shy away from my touch? He allowed me to take him in my arms, even if it was with reluctance at first. He gave me that book. He danced with me. He has turned my muteness into strength, he thought. He wrote down his reflections in his diary and remained turning over the enigma called Severus Snape in his mind until it was time for him to go to bed.

It was not surprising that he consequently dreamt again about the thorn maze. Heavy transparent glass walls and thorn bushes crowded in on him, and the unhappy whisper of Snape's voice tortured him as he rushed towards the centre of the maze, towards the square where he knew he would find Snape, picking up the crimson rose and black pearl on the way, holding them to his cheek and chest. He at last arrived at his destination. The glass was not bristling with thorns; it was full of iron spikes jutting out at him. Then, slowly, they sank into the glass, allowing him to approach and press his hands and body against the glass. Snape was standing on the other side, staring at him.

“You have to go,” he said slowly.

Harry shook his head.

“Do you want me to taint you? Leave. I must live without love.”

Harry shook his head even more vehemently, not being able to speak.

Snape's black eyes were dead. Then two nails shot out of the glass where Harry's hands were and penetrated his palms, as if crucifying him. He screamed soundlessly out in pain. Snape approached the glass.

“Rejection hurts. It always does. Always. I am stigmatised. And you will suffer the same fate if you come too close to me.”

Harry let out silent another scream as the nails retreated. Blood gushed from the wounds in his hands…

Light flooded Harry's bedroom. Harry was sitting bolt upright in bed, staring at his hands. Nothing, except for the image of a dream attached to them. His palms and the backs of his hands were perfectly fine.

You are hurting me, Severus. I suffer when you suffer. Let me in, please let me in! I can never understand you fully, but let me try, just let me try! Severus, I know what it is like to be stigmatised. And you must not live without love!

A damp spot appeared on the page as a tear fell on it. His soul overflowed with words, but they were too overwhelming for him to set down in writing. The clock told him that it was only five in the morning. He showered, noticing the circles underneath his eyes and the red corners of his nose. He had ignored Hermione's question in her e-mail concerning his dreams as to whether he felt attracted to Snape, preferring to keep her, Ron, Lupin and his other friends informed on his activities at Hogwarts.

I have to come clear to my friends about Snape when there is more certainty, he thought, definitely to Ron and Hermione first. And perhaps to Lupin. He is like my godfather.

He smiled tiredly and sadly when he thought of Sirius. Cedric. All those who had been touched by Voldemort's cruel hand in some way or the other. Including Snape, who seemed to be withering inside, his soul crumbling behind the stiff mask he wore…He left his bed and sat on the sofa, embracing his knees. After a while, he stood up and fetched Hermione's gift - the book on witches and wizards who were outstanding in Legilimency and Occlumency. He opened the page to consult Snape's section. He stared at the picture for a long time before passing his palm gently over it and shutting the book. He stretched and settled his I'M A CUTE MUTE t-shirt. At seven o'clock, he blew his silver whistle and Dobby appeared with a crack. Soon, Harry was eating breakfast, and the horror of his dream faded away somewhat. Snape would be coming over for dinner at night. A warm glow suffused his face. He spent the morning practising non-verbal spells which would not make a mess of his quarters, performing sign language in front of the mirror and reading assiduously in the library. It was a pity he could only practise Telepathy with someone else. Snape had warned him about nosebleeds; so far, he had been fortunate enough to have only mild attacks. In the afternoon, after lunch, he went down for a walk near the lake. His heart quickened its pace when he saw a familiar black-robed figure standing at the edge of the water, arms crossed and long black hair cascading over the straight back.

Harry waited for his blush to disappear, feeling his cheek to make sure that it was no longer hot, and went down to join Snape, who turned his head and looked at him, studying him gravely, his eyes narrowing slightly as they recognised the t-shirt.

“We meet for dinner today, Potter,” he said without preamble.

Harry nodded and smiled.

The weather was dull; heavy grey clouds covered the sky; not a bird sang. The water seemed dark and brooding.

“It is lonely,” Snape said suddenly, half speaking to himself, half speaking to Harry, “forlorn, forsaken, forgotten.”

Harry looked into the black eyes.

I feel no loneliness with you, sir.

He saw something stir in the depths of those eyes and felt a spark skip between him and Snape. They simply looked at each other, feeling the wind blow lightly over the grass and play coyly with their hair.

Snape stretched out his hand, held it against Harry's cheek for a moment and finally placed it lightly on Harry's head. Harry's heart leapt. Spring and youth made his hopes and happiness resurge and soar sky-high. Then Snape withdrew his hand slowly.

“You are the first to say so,” he said, his voice low, “I assume only a friend could say so with such truth.”

Harry smiled. Snape touched his forearm gently. Dumbledore, half hidden behind a tree, watched the two wizards return to the castle, surrounded by the delicate aura of their blossoming closeness. He smiled.

At eight o'clock, Harry was ready when the wards announced Snape a few moments before the man himself stepped into Harry's quarters in his black robes. Harry was wearing a blue t-shirt which asked boldly: WANNA TASTE ME?

“I was not aware of the fact that you were on the menu as well, Potter,” Snape said smoothly, arching an eyebrow.

Harry raised an innocent eyebrow in return. Snape leant close to him, his lips brushing the shell of Harry's ear.

“I am flattered, however, that you think I would want to indulge in the pleasure of enjoying your flesh,” he whispered. Harry, refusing to become flustered, answered back in sign language, locking his eyes with Snape's, who gazed back at him with such intensity as if he was about to initiate sexual intercourse with Harry through his gaze alone.

I know that you have excellent…taste…in many domains, sir.

“Indeed?” The thin mouth curved into an enticing smile.

Harry nodded. The conversation was making him harden in his trousers, and he quickly averted his face and led his guest courteously to his seat at the table. The cutlery and plates were gleaming. Snape pushed aside his heavy hair with one hand as he sat down. The scent of cardamom stole into Harry's nostrils with the subtlety of a secret.

The menu consisted of Harry's favourite Dahl dish, an Indian fish curry, mounds of Basmati rice, a stack of Papads and Raita, the equivalent of a yoghurt-dip. Dessert consisted of pistachio Kulfi - a type of ice cream seasoned with many delicate spices, slivers of pistachio nuts, ground almonds - and cardamom.

Snape, who was usually extremely sparing with praise, remarked, as he skimmed casually through the menu card:

“My palate is certainly tickled today, Potter. Is this because of the Headmaster's latest forage into the delights of Indian cuisine?”

It was definitely a source of inspiration, Harry agreed, and Hermione recently returned from her Ministry business in India, so I got a lot of input from her.

Dobby soon arrived with the first dish and vanished with a merry crack; Snape daintily dipped his spoon into the Dahl.

“Coriander,” he murmured, his voice velvety and appreciative.

Conversation (Harry used his quill and parchment this time) with Snape was never boring; the man's knowledge was inexhaustible, as was Harry's thirst for that knowledge.

“What are you planning to do over the summer holidays, Potter?” Harry's six months of training as a teacher with Snape would only start after the summer break.

I have to go to Grimmauld Place for a month to check on things - parts of it are going to be renovated.

“A month?” His voice lost its silkiness and sounded strangely harsh. He had finished his dessert, but its sweet flavour seemed to have evaporated from him.

Yes, in August. Would you like to come over? It will be a bit messy, even with magical renovation, but-

Snape caught the quill between two long fingers, preventing it from finishing its sentence.

“I have to stay here, Potter, to do some Potions research, and I have to go my own home at Spinner's End to see to things.”

He released the quill, which bristled at him indignantly and tried to poke him with its nib.

“So you will spend most of your summer holidays neglecting your studies and forgetting what I have taught you,” he said coldly.

No, I could never forget what you have taught me…or forget you, Harry said, hoping that he was not saying too much or sounded too sentimental.

“Ah, that is what all people say,” Snape said ironically.

You will forget everything I taught you about the computer.

“I do believe that the information I am teaching you is a lot more vital than what you are, ah, teaching me.”

Harry ignored the sting Snape's reply gave him.

I'll keep in touch with you via owl.

“There is no need to burden your owl with extra trouble, Potter, or bore me with your uninteresting news.”

Harry looked into the black eyes, wondering why Snape, who had been relaxed and even humorous during their dinner, was suddenly so rigid and sour. Had he not talked of friendship only a little while ago, down at the lake? Had his hand not brushed Harry's cheek and head?

Friends keep in touch, Harry stated.

“You will have too much to do to correspond with me,” Snape remarked.

There was a brief silence before he added:

“You should be a fully-fledged Telepathus by the end of term. You will be able to correspond fluently enough with people via mental magic.”

But only if the distance is not too large.

“Some people - Muggles and wizarding people, Potter - possess that faculty. It is rare, but it is not unheard of. And you have to be born with it, or come from a background where it is a tradition. There are tribes, Potter, who are so closely connected with nature that they possess secrets which we have lost.”

He paused, his dark eyes fixed on Harry's green ones.

“I will test you during the last week of school, Potter. It will all be practical. You and I will converse in sign language. Next, I am eager to witness your non-verbal spells, with and without your wand; and finally, you will demonstrate your abilities in Telepathy. I want you to pass with full scores, Potter, and if you don't, I will not allow you to return to that shabby shack you inherited from your godfather. You will spend a month slogging over the material until you are ready for a second exam.”

And you're only telling me this now?

Snape smirked.

“The idea occurred to me only recently, Potter. The Headmaster agrees with me.”

You told Dumbledore?

“Naturally, Potter. This morning.”

Great timing. I will pass, Harry said calmly.

“See that you do,” Snape answered.

The next weeks flew past; March turned into April, Easter serving as a highly welcome distraction; May arrived, and at last, June was due. During this time, Snape drilled Harry relentlessly; and if Harry made the smallest mistake, Snape's eyes would narrow dangerously. The computer lessons were similarly tense. When Harry jokingly suggested that they establish a Hogwarts profile page on the web, Snape patronisingly asked him whether he wanted to be severely punished by the Ministry.

I was only joking!

“You are aware that there are witches and wizards who are trained to patrol the internet to catch any miscreants spreading even the remotest hint about the magical world, and”-

I WAS JOKING! Harry's quill scribbled in capitals.

“I won't be surprised if you fail that exam,” Snape commented acidly.

The day of Snape's exam arrived. A whole afternoon was devoted to it. Harry's friends had sent him good luck messages via owl and mail; even Dumbledore had given him the thumbs-up on the evening beforehand. Immensely uncomfortable that he was going to be tested by the man for whom his feelings were becoming stronger and stronger, Harry stepped into Snape's office. The Potions Master was waiting for him, black eyes gleaming. With a flick of his wand, he closed, locked and warded the door.

“Let us begin, Potter.”

Dry-mouthed, Harry nodded.

Sign language consisted of twenty minutes' conversation. Though he did not have quite one year's experience, Snape's thorough drilling and his own efforts had prepared him well. Snape did not comment when they finished the first part. Harry wondered if this was a good sign or not. Snape silently led him to their standard empty classroom for non-verbal spells. He had to perform levitating, summoning and banishing spells with liquids, semi-liquids and heavy solid metals. Other charms, increasingly difficult and complex, followed. Harry thought of Dumbledore's Army and imagined that he was back in the Room of Requirement, teaching the students how to defend themselves. Some of the spells dealt with Transfiguration, and Snape scanned the transfigured objects closely and critically while Harry watched him with bated breath.

“Now, Potter, we shall return to my office and begin with the third and last part.”

The biggest hurdle stood before Harry: fifteen minutes of Telepathy.

CHAPTER 28

Snape stood against one wall and Harry against the other. They were staring at each other, their gaze bridging the distance between them. Harry repeated Legilimens in his mind; the channel opened within two seconds. He forced away the thoughts and sounds which crowded in on him, keeping them at a safe distance. The oscillating curtain, which had gradually vanished altogether during their last lessons, did not appear.

Harry, Snape's voice said silkily, caressing his mind, caressing his body. Since Snape had announced that he would be testing him, Harry had shoved every feeling of desire for his teacher at the very back of his mind; he had not bothered to listen to the erotic needs of his body. Now he felt them stir, threatening to rush at him. He felt the sweat burst from every pore. He summoned all the composure and courage he had, staring Snape firmly in the eye.

Sir, he answered as smoothly as Snape could have ever done, making his mental voice liquid as water.

Snape asked him a few questions on Telepathy, making him formulate more extensive and increasingly complex answers. Sometimes, Snape's voice was velvety and seductive, and other times brisk and stern, with a hint of impatience in it. Harry had always known how much power Snape's voice held; but today, he was treated to a bewildering range of its subtle nuances.

Finally, Snape said languidly:

You are tired, aren't you, Harry? I don't think you can maintain the connection for much longer.

That is wishful thinking on your part, sir, Harry answered, his green eyes flashing, never leaving Snape's. They began to prowl around each other in a circle, eyes locked.

What if you start to feel giddy and are forced to break the connection? It is such a strain, after all…

I am more enduring than you give me credit for.

You are only eighteen, Harry. Do you really think you can keep up with a far more experienced Telepathus?

Harry shook away the first tendrils of exhaustion and giddiness, fiercely determined to prove to Snape what he could do.

I thought you hadn't practised for a long time, Professor?

The two wizards were drawing narrow circles around each other now. Snape's mouth curved into a thin smile.

Ah, you are becoming personal. Careful. This is an exam…Harry.

Harry approached Snape until their noses could have touched.

I am aware of that…Severus.

Their gazes sizzled.

Do you want me to fail you?

Black and green wrestled with each other fiercely.

I would never have been able to defeat Voldemort without you. You never failed me. Why would I want you to fail me now?

Snape moved even closer, his lips almost brushing Harry's.

Harry nearly lost his concentration but held on to the connection grimly.

They stared at each other, Harry wondering if he made a good move by taking the other meaning of Snape's question and answering it in such a way that it did not refer to the exam but to their relationship. Before Snape could say anything, Harry added with complete composure:

You gave me The Power of Telepathy so that I would pass. And…Harry made his voice go breathy, nearly lilting, you did say once that you were being more approachable so that you could get rid of me at the end of the school term. Or…has your opinion changed? We are friends, so you can tell me frankly.

A blush suffused both their faces while their gaze seemed to catch fire.

Behind them, three solemn gong strokes announced the end of the exam.

I had the last word for once, Harry remarked.

Snape placed his cool hand over Harry's hot face, and their connection broke.

“Come with me, Potter. We are going to the Headmaster.”

Harry, not daring to ask whether he had failed or passed, followed him out of the office.

Snape turned.

“Don't follow me. Walk next to me.”

Harry obeyed. Together, walking side by side, they reached the gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's domain.

“Rasgulla,” Snape said.

Harry grinned. Hermione had told him that Rasgulla was an Indian sweet especially popular in Bengal.

“Severus, Harry! Please sit down. What can I do for you?”

“Potter just passed his exams with flying colours, Albus,” Snape said softly, “he did not make a single mistake and was especially outstanding in Telepathy, maintaining the connection beyond the end of the exam, showing conversational dexterity and immunity to distractions occurring in conversation and physical distance respectively proximity.”

Dumbeldore's eyes twinkled like a million candles. He rose and handed an object to Snape. It was too small for Harry to see what exactly it was.

Is that so, Harry? he addressed Harry mentally.

Harry flushed a little.

Professor Snape made me do my best, sir. I tried as well as I could.

“Marvellous, Harry!” Dumbledore beamed; then, noticing Harry's questioning look at Snape's hand, he added: “It is impossible for someone to maintain eye contact or a telepathic channel with more than one person.”

Snape opened his palm, and with a start, Harry suddenly realise that it was the pearl he had been dreaming of. Black, smooth and beautiful, but without any indication that it was a magical object. He was amazed. He had never known about its existence; yet it made sense, considering that Snape and he were Telepathi; he knew what he had to do the next time the dream visited him.

“The Telepathus's Pearl, Harry, enables Severus to listen to our conversation and speak to us. A group of fifty people can receive your telepathic messages if you simply hold the pearl or make sure that it touches your skin - putting them in pendants on chains is a very popular method among Telepaths,” Dumbledore continued.

Snape said softly: “You will receive a Telepathus's Pearl. A licence from Ministry of Magic is required for such pearls, as they are very complex to manufacture, and, of course, because they are extremely powerful. In fact, the Telepathus's Pearl is the symbol of the Circle of Telepaths, of which both Albus and I are members.”

Dumbledore approached Harry and embraced him warmly. Harry hugged him back, feeling the affection the wise wizard had for him.

“Harry, I am so proud of you.”

I have to thank you both. You, Professor Dumbledore, for assigning Professor Snape to teach me…and you, Professor Snape, for teaching me so much.

Hear, hear, Snape's snide tones echoed in Dumbledore's and Harry's minds.

Dumbledore and Snape looked at each other intently, and Fawkes chirped softly in the background before returning to his sunflower seeds.

“I knew that you would do a formidable job, Severus,” Dumbledore said, placing his hand on the thin shoulder. Snape inclined his head briefly in acknowledgement.

Dumbledore beamed at Harry and Snape.

“Now you will both be able to have a wonderful summer break before Severus trains you to be a teacher, Harry.”

Snape handed him the pearl and turned to leave.

Harry looked at Dumbledore.

You are the father who always guided me, sir, he said. Dumbledore's eyes glistened with tears for a moment, and a smile wreathed his face.

Then Harry turned and joined Snape. Outside in the corridor, Harry gazed into Snape's stern pale face.

I can't thank you enough, he said in sign language.

Snape shrugged.

“It was my job. I received a salary for it.”

He didn't look at Harry as he spoke.

Harry shook his head.

You taught me so much more than just the material. You have taught me how to turn my muteness into an asset, into a strength. I do not know how you regard me, but you have become my friend after so many months.

A faint flush spread over the haughty features, and Snape dropped his gaze. Harry stretched out his hand and touched Snape's cheek swiftly. Snape reached up and took his hand in both of his.

“Well done,” he said softly.

We'll continue with the computer lessons, won't we? Harry asked him.

“Yes. We will.”

And I'll set an exam for you.

“Well, you are my teacher, Mr Potter,” Snape said. They studied each other for a little.

“You leave on coming Monday?”

Harry nodded.

“Same time, same day and same place after the break, Potter, in case I do not see you again until Monday. May I also express my hopes that that shack of yours will be in a more presentable state after the renovations? Good night.”

He gave Harry a curt nod and left. Harry could not suppress a sense of disappointment. He had imagined them toasting their mutual success with Butterbeer or something. But no, Snape had just walked away leaving him standing around in the corridor.

What did you expect, Harry? He is Snape, right?

Harry sighed and slowly walked back to his rooms. To his surprise, Ginny and Luna were sitting in front of the door. They leapt to their feet.

“How did it go?” they both asked.

Harry's sadness evaporated and a warm feeling suffused him. He grinned. Looking into Ginny's brown eyes, he yelled I PASSED - WITH FLYING COLOURS, ACCORDING TO SNAPE!

Ginny winced.

“Harry! That was loud! Oh, I knew you would pass!” she exclaimed, squeezing him. She turned to Luna and repeated Harry's message to her verbally. Luna hugged him as well and then said to him dreamily.

“Please say something to me mentally, Harry.”

How's the Quibbler doing, Luna?

She beamed at him.

“Dad said he would love to print an interview of your impressions on Telepathy. Some people actually deny its existence, you see. They don't regard it as factual.”

Oh no, it exists all right, Harry said with a grim smile.

“Hogsmeade, Harry. The Three Broomsticks. We're going to toast this now,” Ginny said.

Harry stared at he entered the pub. It was full of familiar faces. Many members of the Order of the Phoenix were there, including Kingsley Shacklebolt, Moody, Lupin and Tonks. Hermione (who had developed a glowing tan in India) and Ron were in one corner. Seamus and Ginny's boyfriend Dean was grinning at him, and both the Patil and Weasley twins were present, Padma sitting next to George and Parvati sharing a table with Fred. The other clients laughed as the crowd swooped down on Harry and began to hug him.

“Now you can terrorise people, Harry,” Fred said.

“You can sneak into people's rooms, stare into their eyes and whisper creepily into their minds,” George added, thumping him on the back.

The Patil twins, Seamus and Dean congratulated him, even throwing glittery powder at him.

“Well done, boy,” Moody growled, “not everyone can perform Telepathy.”

Lupin and Tonks embraced him next.

“Albus contacted us, Harry. He told us that Severus was delighted.” His mouth twitched. Snape and delighted in the same sentence usually only appeared with a particle of negation.

“Wotcher, Harry!” Tonks laughed, ruffling his hair. Lupin took her hand and they stepped aside to make place for Ron and Hermione.

They looked at him silently, too overwhelmed for words. Harry put one arm around Ron and the other around Hermione, covering them with glitter.

The party went on till the closing time of the bar. Harry noticed that both sets of twins, Ginny and Dean, Hermione and Ron and Lupin and Tonks seemed very much in love. Harry was especially happy that Lupin was looking so relaxed and cheerful, occasionally stealing a kiss from Tonks.

He made all of them promise to stay a few days at Grimmauld Place during the final stages of the renovation. Luna and Ginny promised to tell him their N.E.W.T results as soon as they received them. Hermione and Ron kept on hugging him.

The last days at Hogwarts were very quiet, as were the few weeks until August. Harry saw little of Snape during this time, occasionally talking to him for a few minutes. Snape said that he had to attend to a Potions research project, which was why he had so little time to spare. Harry's nineteenth birthday brought him plenty of letters, gifts and mountains of fan mail, including several marriage proposals, much to his amusement.

It was the beginning of August and a serene evening. Harry's trunk was packed and ready; Hedwig was hooting in her cage, and Harry was all set to go down to Hogsmeade and take the Knight Bus back to London, where he would be deposited at Grimmauld Place. However, he wanted to see Snape before he left for a month and look into those black eyes one last time. With a heavy heart, he went down to the dungeons. The wards admitted him into Snape's office. The Slytherin was sitting at his desk. He stood up, coming close to Harry.

“So. You're going,” he said abruptly.

Harry nodded silently.

“Then you had better go.”

Not without seeing you beforehand.

“How very thoughtful of you, Potter,” Snape remarked indifferently, staring levelly at him.

I would like to keep in touch with you. May I send you an owl?

The faintest flush spread over Snape's face before he said:

“If you wish.”

I'll write to you.

Snape seemed to come to a decision; he reached into an inside pocket and handed Harry a tiny silver box.

“Handle it carefully.”

Harry looked at the box, admiring the design on the lid; and as soon as he saw the black sphere which was depicted on it, he knew. With unsteady hands, he removed the lid to reveal a platinum chain to which a black pearl was attached.

But…How? he breathed into Snape's mind. Is the Ministry that quick?

It was mine. It is yours, now. I have not used it for a long time. You will be able to use it far more frequently. Look after it well. I have already ordered another one from the Ministry for myself. I have transferred the licence and contract for this pearl in your name, Harry.

Yours! But…Sir…I can't…

You will. It was your birthday yesterday. I could only give this to you today because the transfer of the necessary documents was completed this morning.

Snape took out the chain and fastened it around his neck. Harry, eyes sparkling with tears, embraced him. Snape returned the embrace, holding him close for a minute before drawing back.

He looked so piercingly at Harry that he coloured a little.

Thank you, sir. For everything.

Snape inclined his head slightly.

“Bye…Harry.”

He gave him a last intense gaze and left, striding away from him quickly.

He said my name! Harry thought, touching the pearl. Snape disappeared as he rounded a corner. Harry's lips quivered for an instant.

Severus…Don't go away…No, it is I who am going away…And I will return.

CHAPTER 29

It was mid-August. Severus Snape was strolling near the lake. Hagrid was taking Fang for a walk. He raised an enormous hand in greeting when he saw Snape. Snape raised his hand in return.

Hagrid patted Fang.

“Missin' young Harry, Fang? Bit lonely without him, eh?” Hagrid's loud voice floated over to Snape, who gazed after the pair. It was not just a bit lonely without Harry. It was crushingly empty without him. He missed the sparkling green eyes, the smile, the lessons, having supper with him, the special conversations and communication only they shared…He leant against the tree, closing his eyes, imagining Harry coming down the path or flying around on his Firebolt…imagining holding his small Seeker's figure in his arms and looking into his smiling face…his vivaciousness… That fresh firm mouth…

Snape had been extremely irritable and snappy since Harry had left two weeks ago. He blamed the change in his schedule for his terrible temper. There was no teaching to do. He had spent a few days at his home at Spinner's End to check on the house and tidy it. Harry had sent him a letter with news on the renovation of Grimmauld Place and a photograph of himself, Ron and Hermione standing in front of the newly polished piano in the hall. The Telepathus Pearl, he wrote, never left his neck except when he had a bath. He even wore it to sleep.

Snape sat down at the edge of the lake and clandestinely extracted the letter and photograph he had received in the morning. Weasley and Granger were holding hands. Harry was smiling all over his face. He was wearing a casual shirt. The first few buttons were undone and he could see the pearl which had once belonged to him nestling up to Harry's skin.

Back at Grimmauld Place, Harry was lying in bed. The next day, professional wizards and witches would repair the attic and the cellar. Hermione, Ron, Lupin and Tonks were staying with him. Both Kreacher and Dobby had temporarily left Hogwarts and were helping about the house (much to Hermione's disapproval). He had dreamt of the maze during the last few nights. Small changes had taken place, but for Harry, they signified something very important. All the thorn hedges had gone and had been replaced with solid transparent glass walls. Snape no longer waited for him at the square. Instead, Harry discovered that Snape was venturing forth into the maze, as if trying to find Harry midway. His whisper as he searched for Harry was clearer:

“Where are you? Where can I find you, Harry?”

He and Harry would meet at a glass wall somewhere in the maze and stare at each other silently, speaking only with their eyes; but just when Harry was about to draw out the pearl, the dream would end.

Snape had never addressed him by name before in his dreams.

He said my name when we parted. Maybe that's why he's saying it in my dream as well, Harry thought, turning off the light and curling up on his side. He hoped that Snape had not been too bored by his letter. Or that he had incinerated the photograph. It had been a warm friendly letter. Harry had read and reread it dozens of times before entrusting it to Hedwig.

His eyes closed, and he fell asleep…

He was in the maze again, not rushing wildly through it, but walking slowly. Lying across his path were the rose and pearl. He picked them up automatically and tucked the rose away in his robes; he retained the Telepathus Pearl in his hand. He continued. To his surprise, Snape was already waiting for him around the corner, a glass wall barring his way.

Harry approached it and uncurled his fingers, revealing the pearl. It moved a few inches up, hovering above his hand. Snape stared at it and uttered a shuddering sigh - the wall was no impediment to sound, and Harry's hearing remained sensitive in the realm of dreams.

As he watched, Snape placed his palms on the glass so that they covered Harry's.

They gazed into each other's eyes - and this time, they opened a telepathic channel.

Harry, Snape said, his voice full of pain.

Severus, Harry answered, following his intuition and calling Snape by his first name.

It was the very first time that their communication was two-way in the dream.

Harry, I am lost in this maze. What can free me? Who can show me the way?

Love, Harry whispered.

And who can give me love? Who can? I am not worthy of being loved.

I can give you love, Severus. Have you not realised that if anyone is worthy of being loved, then that person is you?

Snape's black eyes were suddenly stirring with emotion, the cold and empty expression in them retreating.

I love you, Severus, Harry said.

The glass wall suddenly began to shiver; it melted away, and their fingers interlocked.

“Harry,” Snape said hoarsely.

The Telepathus Pearl moved towards Snape, floating in front of his face.

Take it, Harry said.

Snape closed his eyes, ending their connection, and released Harry's hands, cupping the pearl. Harry took out the rose and gave it to Snape, who smiled and produced an identical rose from the inside of his robes. Harry could not blink back his tears anymore. He brushed Snape's rose against his cheek, wiping a tear with its petals.

“Please hold me,” Snape said.

Harry embraced him, and when he felt the slender frame of the tall wizard quiver, he knew that Snape, too, was crying. The maze melted away and it was only the two of them in warm darkness, hugging, holding on to each other and to their roses…

Harry shot up in bed, his hands clutching at the sheets.

I love him, I love Severus Snape, Harry thought, I've loved him for weeks. I don't just desire him or feel sexually attracted to him. I'm in love with him!

He had known it long ago, actually. He had been too hesitant…no, plain and simply too scared to admit it fully to himself because of what it might entail, which was the question: how could Snape possibly love him, Harry James Potter, back?

“Harry?”

Harry looked up with a slight start. He was sitting on the sofa after breakfast, thinking of his dreams and of Severus Snape. Hermione and Ron had gone shopping for groceries. Lupin, who had awoken him from his thoughts, sat down next to him. His autobiographical book, Life as a Werewolf, had just been published, and Harry had received a personal copy. Kingsley Shacklebolt had done everything to have the book published and to introduce a revision of the Ministry documents and rules on werewolves.

“Someone has to speak up. It is more than a plea to support werewolves instead of shutting them out,” Lupin had said, “it is a demand. So I decided to do it.”

Tonks, or Dora, as Lupin called her affectionately, had had to visit him in his room to remind him to eat and drink. She had read the drafts tirelessly, scribbling in the margins and discussing some points with Lupin, determined to support the man she loved.

“Are you all right, Harry?” Lupin asked, touching Harry's arm. Harry looked at him.

Something has just become clear to me. I'm in love and I only realised it now.

“Ah,” Lupin said mildly. Then, softly: “Is it someone I know? Or am I being too personal?”

Harry smiled a little.

It's someone you know.

Harry nodded, and then, not being able to contain himself any longer:

It's Severus Snape.

Lupin's eyebrows shot up, but he did not stare at Harry as if he was insane or odd.

“Severus?”

Harry blushed harder.

We got really close during our lessons. We started developing this bond and respect for each other when I became better at mental magic. We became, and are, friends. I developed confusing feelings around him… I began to fall in love.

“Legilimency and Telepathy are extraordinarily intimate if they are two-way, Harry. I suppose you acquired an insight into his mind which no else has…except perhaps for Dumbledore, and even then, I'm not certain. Does he love you back, Harry?”

I don't know. He did sort of flirt with me…But really subtly. I can't describe it… And…this pearl belonged to him. He gave it to me.

“Severus and flirting. I never thought I would hear those two in one sentence,” Lupin observed, amused.

My father and Sirius would be horrified, wouldn't they?

“No, I think they would be very proud at how much you have grown up and that you have learnt not to turn away from the unapproachable and try to explore it instead. One of the things which draws people to you, Harry, is your capacity to put aside grudges and to give your love freely.”

He put his arm around Harry's shoulders.

“As you know, Severus is an incredibly sensitive man. He is afraid of being hurt. He is extremely strong-willed. It can happen that a strong will turns upon itself and causes unbearable suffering. You know him better than any of us know him now, Harry. Except for Albus. And, Harry, he would never have parted with his Telepathus Pearl otherwise. Loving Severus is not easy, Harry. Make sure that he is worthy of your love and that he fully requites your feelings.”

He is more than worthy. I owe you and him and my friends my life, and I also owe him the fact that I can live my life without speaking with a voice.

Lupin's face brightened.

“In that case, Harry, show him how to live his life with you.”

“Remus?”

Tonks stepped into the room, nearly tripping over a footstool. Lupin smiled, stood up and went over to her. He put his arms around her waist and she looked up at him. He kissed her gently on the mouth. Harry smiled. Tonks chuckled and winked at him. She and Lupin strolled out of the room, holding hands. Now that he had told Lupin, Harry decided to continue.

Ron, Hermione, I am in love with Severus Snape.

Ron's jaw dropped. Hermione, on the other hand, looked rather smug, as if her suspicions had just been confirmed. They were sitting in Harry's bedroom. The pearl enabled him to transmit his messages to both of them simultaneously.

“Snape?” Ron asked at last, looking as if Harry had just told him that he was dating a dragon.

Harry nodded.

“Snape! Urgh! I mean…Like…Yuck! Why not a nice hot bloke instead of that-”

“Ronald Weasley, Snape is obviously a `nice hot bloke' if Harry is in love with him. I figured it out from your dreams and mails, Harry,” Hermione said brightly.

Harry gave her a grateful look and turned to Ron.

Ron, I understand you're shocked. He was mean to all three of us.

“Well, mate, that's an understatement,” Ron murmured, scratching his head.

He has changed so much. I mean…he is still Snape, but he sees me as his equal now, and we became friends during my lessons.

“Has he really improved so much, mate?” Ron inquired curiously.

A vigorous nod greeted his question.

He is still very exigent and sarcastic, of course. But he's kind of…opening up. He even smiled at me a few times.

“He…smiles?” Ron gasped.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“I think Harry and Snape would make a really close couple,” she said briskly. “You and he have many things in common from what you've been telling me in your mails, Harry. I told Ron, too, but I think he was more interested in Quidditch. Anyway, it is a solid basis for a lasting relationship. Does he love you back?”

Ron scratched his head again.

“I don't see Harry with greasy hair and a hooked nose.”

“I was mistaken when I once said that you have the emotional range of a teaspoon, Ron. You have the emotional range of a rice grain.”

Ron scowled.

“I was only kidding. So seriously, Harry, does he love you back?” he said.

Harry blushed massively and studied his hands for a moment before looking into Ron's eyes.

I…I'm not sure…I…Uhm…I dare not hope…But he gave me this pearl, before I left for Grimmauld Place. it belonged to him.

“Wow! You never told us, Harry! He must really love you, mate,” Ron whispered, awed. Hermione leant forwards.

“That Telepathus Pearl was Snape's? And he gave it to you? Harry, these are so difficult to obtain…”

He told me so. He has transferred his Ministry licence and certificate to me and will get a new pearl from the Ministry.

He looked at Ron and repeated the message - the pearl, as Snape had told him, only worked when it touched his skin.

He watched his friends as they inspected and admired the chain. Ron handed it back to him.

“Exquisite,” he said. “Goblin-forged. Bill will probably be able to tell you more about it.”

Harry put on the chain again.

“So, mate, will you introduce us properly to that git - I mean, to your boyfriend once you're together?” Ron wanted to know. Hermione beamed and Harry blushed. It was Ron's way of saying that he accepted Harry's “flame”, even though it appalled him a lot.

He nodded.

“But if he ever treats you disrespectfully again, I'll…” Ron punched the air menacingly.

“I don't think Snape would allow you to punch him in the face,” Hermione remarked bossily.

“Keep us updated, Harry,” Ron said, chortling, “and tell us about your first snog.” He shuddered, and Hermione glared at him.

The days flew past. Harry received a short note from Snape thanking him for his letter. He had not added any news about himself or Hogwarts or anything else. He had written, however, that he hoped Harry was taking care of himself and practising what Snape had taught him. Harry kept the note between the pages of his diary.

One month was over before Harry knew it, with another two weeks to go until the beginning of the new Hogwarts term. He thought of Snape, and his heart began to beat rapidly.

Snape was in his rooms, pacing up and down. Harry would be returning. He had sent him a note with Hedwig informing him of the time and day. Snape glanced irritably at the clock. He would not leave his rooms to greet Harry Potter deferentially. It would give too much away… wouldn't it? With a dour mutter, he left his private quarters and marched into his office, staring at his collection of books and jars. He shook his head and decided to venture out into the grounds for a breath of fresh air. He didn't care at what time Harry arrived. No, he truly didn't. He went over the material he was preparing for the next term in his mind. His hand unconsciously slipped down to the new pearl the Ministry had sent him. Harry wearing his pearl…Snape walked faster and finally stopped near a bench, arms crossed upon his chest. He stood there in deep brooding contemplation, his face clouding over with negative thoughts and hopelessness. Everything was quiet - until he heard a slight sound behind him.

Snape turned. Sparkling green eyes, the untidy black hair untidier than ever - and that smile. A light smooth golden-brown tan enveloping his summer-ripe skin like sweet dew, reminding him of almonds and honey and delectable pastries. Casual blue jeans. A plain grey jumper. Harry had never really been one for so-called in-your-face “cool” clothes - except perhaps for the t-shirts with the amusing messages. They studied each other in silence for a good minute. Their gaze transcended the conventional greetings between students and students, teachers and teachers, teachers and students.

“Harry,” Snape said at last.

Harry flushed a little.

I missed Hogwarts.

“It was only four weeks,” Snape said, but his voice sounded tight. Harry knew immediately that Snape was trying to be composed and cool.

There was a small pause.

And…I missed you.

He stretched out his hand. Snape took it; it seemed so inadequate to express the moment. It was Harry who initiated the embrace, pulling at Snape's hand, making him step into his arms and hug him in return, both of them revelling in the joy of their reunion.

“Your absence was admittedly conspicuous, Potter,” Snape murmured. Harry closed his eyes, grinning a little, understanding the message behind the lofty words clearly as “I missed you, too, Harry.”

He pressed his cheek against Snape's neck and felt the man he loved yield completely at last, his arms tightening around Harry, a sigh drifting into his mussed hair.

CHAPTER 30

The two wizards held each other tightly, reluctant to let go. They were soon interrupted by Fang's joyful barking; the boarhound was charging towards Harry with tremendous speed, followed by Hagrid. Snape released Harry and looked deeply into his green eyes.

“Six o'clock on Friday,” he said, beating a hasty retreat as Hagrid and Fang approached to greet Harry.

Snape lingered at the gates of the castle, suddenly realising how serene and beautiful the afternoon was. Harry was back.

Towards the evening, his wards alerted him that Harry was about to enter his office.

“My, my, someone is eager to resume lessons without delay,” Snape's sarcastic tones greeted Harry.

Harry laughed. He was carrying a small packet in one hand.

“How may I be of assistance?” Snape asked softly, looking keenly at Harry's face.

Harry handed him the packet.

Snape raised his eyebrows, still looking at him.

Open it, Harry said with a shy grin.

Snape obeyed, revealing The Shining by Stephen King.

“A Muggle book?” he asked.

A Muggle's idea of Telepathy; but there's a lot more in the book. I hope you like it. It was a real bestseller and was made into a movie by Stanley Kubrick. I liked it. Telepathy is referred to as the `Shining' in the book.

“The Shining…Shining…I like it,” Snape said. “Thank you, Harry.”

Harry flushed a little.

It's nothing compared to all you have done for me or for what you've given me. He touched the pearl hanging around his neck, but I thought it might interest you.

“I appreciate the fact that I occupy a portion of your memory cells,” Snape said. He seemed to hesitate, then he took out a small package as well.

“I hope this will assist you in the world of sounds,” he said impassively.

Harry looked at the package.

But you've already given me so much, sir.

“Open it before I take it back from where I got it,” Snape murmured impatiently.

Harry sat down on his usual chair and unwrapped it. A delicate sphere rolled into his hand. It was a beautiful work of art, made out of filigree silver full of intricate geometrical patterns.

“It is a Sound Magnifier, or Enhancer,” Snape explained, taking the sphere from him. “You are fascinated by the world of sound; if you hold this to something which produces a sound too soft for your hearing, or if you want to enhance the volume of a sound, then this will enable you to hear it.”

The two wizards looked at each other seriously until Harry rose and put his arms around him for the second time that day and hugged him.

Then he drew back and held the sphere to Snape's face, who raised a questioning eyebrow.

I can hear your magic. It hums.

“It does?”

It does.

“What about yours?”

Harry handed him the sphere.

“Yes. Yours hums as well…”

Snape's eyes didn't stir from his face. Harry flushed but remained rooted to the spot. He raised his hand and touched Snape's silky hair. Snape placed the Sound Enhancer on a chair, took Harry's hand in his and pulled him closer. They could hear each other's breathing. Harry thought the hum of magic increased slightly. He suddenly realise that it was not the castle's magic but his and Snape's magic he was hearing. It was a whisper, urging him to move in, to gather his courage…Harry leant closer. Snape began to breathe fast. He took Harry's right wrist in one hand and cupped his cheek with the other, as if not knowing whether he should push him away or pull him closer. Their mouths inched closer, then hesitated. Harry tried to touch Snape's lips with his. Snape pulled back slightly, then stopped, his black eyes radiating passion and unvoiced yearnings, making love to Harry's green eyes.

Please, Harry whispered into Snape's mind.

Harry, Snape murmured back longingly. Their lips were so close, nearly touching.

It was Harry who sealed the tiny distance at last, kissing Snape firmly. The tall wizard reacted immediately, kissing Harry back with burning ardour. One hand settled on the back of Harry's head and he kissed the fresh soft mouth again, drowning in its sweetness.

Then Snape stepped back, pushing Harry away.

“Harry, listen to me. I…I am more than twenty years your senior. I am…not right for you. Search for someone of your age. Someone…who is…worthy of you. Someone who isn't like me - unapproachable and difficult, among other things.”

I have chosen you, Harry said.

“No, I am not the one for you. Go…Harry. Just go.”

No! Not until you have heard me out! Harry's face was set.

“GO!” Snape shouted, picking up his wand and training it on Harry. “Don't make me hex you.”

Harry whipped out his own wand; with a wordless Expelliarmus, he disarmed Snape and caught his wand with his other hand.

“How dare you!” Snape whispered, shocked.

Harry seized the front of his robes, his eyes blazing.

How dare I? I am determined to fight for the bond we have forged between us and nurtured over the last few months. I refuse to give this up when I know that there is love between us. I know what I feel for you. I have chosen you with my heart and my mind and soul. You have taught me things which go beyond words. I love you, Severus Snape, damn it, and I refuse to leave until this situation is clarified!

He released Snape, who stared into the green eyes and read the truth in their depths.

“How can you be happy with someone like me, Harry? Can you be happy? Are you choosing happiness by choosing me?”

I am, Harry answered at once.

“A man who is more than twenty years your senior, Harry?”

Yes.

“In spite of all that happened before you were born and the history between you and me?”

Yes.

“Someone like me?”

You. Only you.

Harry held out Snape's wand, but Snape ignored it and pulled Harry against him. The young man buried his face against his shoulder. Then he looked up and into Snape's black eyes, pressing his wand back into his hand.

“Harry,” Snape said hoarsely.

I dreamt of you. I had the same dream of you over and over again. It was about a maze, it was full of thorns, and every time, I would get a bit closer and closer to you. You had to find the way out so that I could find the way to you, Severus.

“Call me Severus, Harry…let me hear you in my mind again,” Snape whispered urgently.

Severus.

“Again.”

Severus. I love you, Severus.

“So you have chosen me, of all people, to be your friend, your bonded one, your love?”

Yes. I have.

The tall wizard took Harry's face in his hands.

“There is a thin line between bravery and folly, as is so typical for Gryffindors, and you have made that line fluctuate by choosing me. Are you very sure, Harry?”

Completely. Totally. Absolutely. And have you chosen me? Can you be happy with an impudent brat?

“I love you, my impudent brat,” Severus whispered. His usually pale face was suffused with colour and his eyes were warm.

He pressed flower-petal kisses upon Harry's cheeks and lips. They held each other for a long time without moving.

Then Severus said:

“May I see the dreams?”

Harry nodded.

“In the Pensieve. I want to watch them together with you without strain. I'll ask Albus if I may borrow it.”

He kissed Harry on the forehead and left him. He returned after a few minutes, holding a delicately carved box in his arms. He carried it over to his desk and opened it.

“Come,” he said to Harry, who stepped forwards.

“Just concentrate on all your memories of your dreams, or on those which you think are relevant. Then place the tip of your wand against your temple - here - and let it drop it into the Pensieve.”

Harry followed Severus's instructions and then gazed at him.

I am ready.

He held out his hand, and Severus took it. Together, they bent over the Pensieve and were sucked into its vacuum.

Severus glanced at the hostile surroundings of the thorny maze. There was a foggy feel to it, which indicated that it was a dream and not a true happening. Intrigued, he followed Dream-Harry's progress from dream to dream. A stricken look appeared on his face when he saw Harry try to reach out to Dream-Snape and getting injured in return. When the glass wall melted away from underneath their hands in the last dream, he inhaled so sharply that it sounded like a sob. He watched his dream self and Dream-Harry exchange their roses and finally embrace. He copied their movement by turning to Harry and taking him in his arms. The scene around them went blank and they were back in Severus's office, still locked in an embrace.

“We had to find each other. I had to come to you and you had to come to me,” he whispered into Harry's ear in an unsteady voice, “You had to realise what the pearl meant. It must have been the mental bond between us. You started dreaming after you mastered wandless Legilimency, didn't you?”

Harry nodded.

That is what Ron and Hermione also thought, that the mental bond was aware of the emotional connection between us.

“They fused whenever you slept,” Severus murmured. “I had dreams of you as well, Harry, but I blocked them out. I even took Dreamless Sleep Potions from time to time. You would simply look at me.”

What about Occlumency? You can literally do it in your sleep.

“I don't think Occlumency is strong enough against love such as ours,” Severus replied, slipping his hand into Harry's and leaving the office with him.

In the meantime, tucked away in his office, Dumbledore was holding up a pair of thick woollen socks. He was laughing so much that Fawkes had stopped eating and was looking at him beadily.

“Welcome back, Harry,” he murmured. He reread the note which had come with the socks.

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

The Mirror of Erised is always honest, but it was understandably impossible for you to be just as honest to an eleven-year-old. I still hope that this little something will be useful, especially with autumn on the way.

Affectionately,
Harry

“I think I know what you and Severus would see in the Mirror of Erised if you looked into it, Harry,” Dumbledore murmured.

Just then, there was a disruption in the shape of a panting wizard who ran into one of the portraits which decorated the office.

“Headmaster…Harry…Potter…has…been…poisoned…or…drugged…”

Dumbledore frowned.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I was,” the wizard burst out after inhaling deeply, “taking a stroll through the pictures in the dungeon when…I saw something…shocking.”

“Which was?” Dumbledore prompted.

“The Potions Master and Harry Potter came out of the former's office and were…” he made wild gestures with his hands and started pursing up his lips, closely resembling a fish.

“Fighting?” Dumbledore suggested gravely.

“No, no, no!…Ki…”

“Killing each other?”

“Kissing!” The wizard gushed out.

“WHAT!” Phineas Nigellus roared; he had opened a sly eye during the conversation; nor was he alone in his exclamation of horror; the other pictures began to gasp and exclaim as well. Dumbledore, on the other hand, waltzed gracefully around in his room, humming loudly, holding the socks as if they were his dancing partner.

When he stopped, he went up to Fawkes and petted him.

“I think, my dear bird, that this deserves a public…feast.”

CHAPTER 31

Severus and Harry were leaning against a wall in one of the dungeon corridors, hugging and kissing when a delicate clearing of the throat distracted them. Albus Dumbledore was standing in front of them, an enormous smile on his face. His gaze moved from the black eyes to the green ones and back. He beamed at them.

“I'll have the house elves prepare a feast in your honour tomorrow evening,” he said.

Severus looked horrified. Harry began to laugh.

“This is wonderful news, my dear boys. All my best wishes are with you.”

Dumbledore embraced the two men warmly; then, looking at Harry:

“Thank you for the socks, dear boy.”

Harry grinned widely while Severus looked faintly puzzled.

“Dobby,” Dumbledore called. Dobby appeared immediately, his tea cosy lopsided.

“Ah, Dobby! Please inform the other house-elves that they are to prepare a feast for tomorrow evening. It is in the honour of these two wonderful wizards.”

He gestured at a shocked Snape and a startled Harry. Dobby squealed and bounced up and down a few times before composing himself and answering Dumbledore that he would inform the other elves right away.

“Seven o'clock tomorrow, my boys,” Dumbledore said, chuckling as he glided away.

Harry and Severus looked at each other.

“Since we are forced to expose ourselves tomorrow, Harry, it is a safe bet that this will be hitting the media.”

I think that's what Dumbledore wants, Harry said, smiling.

“I am looking forward,” Severus said ironically, “no kissing in public tomorrow.”

What? No kissing? No holding hands? Severus, we've got to look credible in the media.

Severus pressed Harry towards him.

“I assure you that I will make up for the lack of demonstrating our relationship in public.”

How?

His lips curved.

“You'll find out one day. Did you really give the Headmaster socks?”

Harry explained the circumstances to him, and Severus's mouth quirked.

“And what do I get?”

A kiss.

Severus bent and received his kiss with utmost seriousness.

In the Great Hall, a hush spread over the school as the Potions Master walked inside holding hands with Harry. Severus seemed rather uncomfortable and tense. Both were wearing their pearls around their necks, which, as Severus had told him later, not only enabled communication between several Telepathi but also communication without eye contact. Harry would require more training to practise non-eye-contact with many people - in his future classroom, for instance. He did not, however, need any training if he wanted to communicate with only Severus.

“The fact that we are lovers and are involved with each other on an emotional-spiritual, mental and physical level makes it easier, actually,” Severus had informed him.

Now, walking into the Great Hall, they were communicating with each other silently without eye contact.

No, Harry, I don't want to kiss in front of all these morons.

Come on, Severus! You're too shy! I spent an hour convincing you to hold hands.

You should have spent two hours convincing me to kiss you in public, wizarding superstar.

Harry vindictively dug his nails into Severus's palm as they approached the staff table. Dumbledore twinkled at them. Severus hastily withdrew his hand from Harry's and sat down gracefully at his lover's side.

Dumbledore rose, spreading his arms.

“Dear all!” he said grandly, “We are all here to celebrate the power of love…”

Underneath the table, Harry tried to place his hand on Severus's knee but received a sharp cuff on his knuckles in return. When Dumbledore came to the part about Harry's muteness, Severus touched his pearl lightly.

“…until Tom Riddle, better known as Voldemort, cursed Harry Potter with his dying breath…”

Harry, refusing to give up, brushed his thigh bodly against Severus's. Severus, without turning his head, resorted to a non-verbal spell which caused Harry to feel a severe pinch on his leg, making him instantly squeeze his legs back together. Dumbledore informed the school on how he had assigned Severus Snape to teach Harry, and how their resentments had given way to love.

“All those who claimed and claim that Gryffindors and Slytherins cannot be friends, or more - you may want to think again. But for now, don't bully your brains into such exhausting activities - it is time for your stomachs to take over!”

He clapped, and food appeared on the tables.

Harry, in the meantime, was ignoring his lover steadfastly while people stared at him and Severus, whispering and nudging each other. A hand sneaked onto his knee; he slapped it away and glared at Severus.

If you feel so ashamed of our love and think that it is indecent to show our affection in public-

Severus kissed him fierily. Harry recovered from his surprise and kissed him back.

Dumbledore started applauding loudly. Ginny, Luna and Hagrid were the first to join in before most of the other students started applauding as well. On the other hand, a few students - not only Slytherins - were staring disgustedly at the couple.

McGonagall was polishing her spectacles even though they were perfectly clean while Professor Flitwick was craning his neck for a better view. The other teachers seemed to be suppressing smiles.

Finally, McGonagall tapped Severus with her wand.

“There are first-years in here,” she said pointedly.

After dinner, a few people went outside for the sake of digestion. It was becoming cold; autumn was waiting.

Dumbledore and McGonagall were talking about Harry and Severus, who were outside as well, keeping to themselves.

“Do you really think they'll be happy, Albus?” McGonagall asked.

“Why, Minerva, I think they are most wonderfully suited. They are equals.”

McGonagall narrowed her eyes as she watched her former student tease her colleague naughtily by trying to attach a large leaf to his dusky hair.

“How on earth do you think it happened?” she asked him.

“Love is quite unpredictable sometimes,” Dumbledore said, beaming. Severus gave in to Harry's teasing and whirled around, gently imprisoning the slight wizard in his arms.

“Then why do you sound so unsurprised?” McGonagall asked suspiciously.

Dumbledore simply gave her one of his knowing yet enigmatic smiles.

Severus bent his head for a kiss and received it; then Harry made a sign, one which Dumbledore and McGonagall knew was particular to only their communication; it was one of the signs which they had invented and which rendered their wordless conversation so private and intimate. Severus kissed Harry's forehead in response before resuming their stroll in the grounds.

“Yes, they're perfect for each other. Absolutely perfect,” Dumbledore hummed.

“Students will be telling their parents. The news will be all over the papers. And you know that not only Purebloods despise homosexuality. They'll latch on to Severus's past like vultures and send insults to both him and Harry. Albus, there are going to be a lot of Howlers.”

“It is necessary, Minerva,” Dumbledore said firmly, “it's best to get the worst out of the way as soon as possible.”

During the next days, newspapers addressing Harry's and Severus's relationship could be spotted everywhere in Hogsmeade and at Hogwarts:

WIZARDING HERO: SORDID AFFAIR WITH FORMER DEATH EATER

POTTER AND SNAPE: THE SNOTTER COUPLE

BOY-WHO-LIVED IN ARMS OF SINISTER SEVERUS SNAPE

WITCHES' DOOMSDAY: HARRY POTTER GAY

SHOCKING! POTTER IS A POOF!

Mean and cruel headlines like the above - or even worse - were in full circulation - and so were the Howlers, as McGonagall had predicted. Tons of red smoking envelopes (many of them containing poisonous substances) plagued Harry and Severus, who threw them into the fire immediately. Severus had had to grow a thick skin over the years. Harry, even after his bad experiences with the press, had had less time to do so and found it difficult to hide his hurt and dismay at people's narrow-mindedness. He was anguished at the way his and Severus's private lives were being dragged into the limelight and sullied. If people were hoping that such negative reactions would ruin their relationship, then they were massively mistaken and had no idea how strong and deep their love was. Evenings never failed to find Harry and Severus enjoying and exploring their bond. There was one thing which bothered Harry, and that was the delicate issue of sex. Books and pamphlets could only tell him so much, as could the internet; and he felt that he would have to talk about it with Severus. Considering the wizards Harry had seen him with at Enchanté, he could be sure that Severus would provide valuable information. However, the fact that Severus had had more than one sexual partner made him uneasy and hesitant to broach the subject. Still, they were at a very early stage of their relationship, and they didn't spend all their time in a lip lock.

CHAPTER 32

A/N: Two words: Sugary lemon.

Ron and Hermione accepted Harry's news and lover without screams of shock; they had been informed well in advance and were not surprised, though the twins did send Harry a letter which produced vomiting sounds when he opened it. Luckily, Severus wasn't around. He was around, however, to pull the cracker Fred and George had included with their missive. It exploded with such force that flakes of paint fell from the ceiling of Harry's room. The flakes were accompanied by a score of very kitschy pink and red hearts and a crooning love song. Severus rolled his eyes and cleared up the mess with an elegant flick of his wand while Harry doubled over with laughter. Hermione triumphantly wrote to Harry that she had been waiting for his announcement and wished him and Severus all the best and that she was certain they would both “survive”. Lupin informed Harry that Tonks's hair had gone neon green when she had heard the news. Mrs Weasley sent them a very kind card telling them to both spend Christmas at the Burrow. She also added that if Severus bullied Harry, then she would send him, Severus, a Howler.

“That,” Severus commented, “will not be necessary - as long as you behave.”

In that case, I am looking forward to the Howler, Harry answered cheekily, because I have every intention to misbehave.

Severus and Harry made the most out of the little time remaining until the start of the new term, spending hours together talking, strolling and simply enjoying each other's presence.

I wonder what our lessons will be like after the holidays are over, Harry mused.

“They will be normal. I do not want our relationship to influence our lessons - or vice versa. No kissing, hugging or otherwise demonstrating a lover's affection in any way during your training. And should you attempt to disobey me, then I will interpret your behaviour as not taking me seriously.”

Harry listened to him without amusement. He knew that if he started acting playful and romantic in Severus's classes, then Severus would feel disrespected; his authority would be undermined.

In the meantime, however, Harry himself had to still play teacher. With Hermione's help and input from Lupin, Tonks and Ron, who told him what they found particularly difficult about a computer from a non-Muggle's point of view, Harry compiled a sheet of questions and announced to Severus that he would be testing his computer skills three days before term started.

“You actually want to test me?” Severus said rather snidely.

Harry nodded, straight-faced.

Severus snorted. He seemed so blasé about it that Harry felt annoyed and added a question on the sheet, which, he felt quite sure, would stump the Potions Master.

On the day of the computer “exam”, Severus did not bother to knock on Harry's door; he climbed gracefully out of the fireplace, dusted the Floo ash off his robes and swept past Harry, who led him austerely to his desk and courteously gestured at a chair. Harry himself sat at the back, a piece of parchment in his hand to take notes and a big hourglass at his feet.

He also insisted on checking Severus's robes and palms, calmly ignoring the seething glare he earned from the Slytherin.

“Do you think I would hide scraps of paper up my sleeve or scribble on my palms if I wanted to cheat?” he snapped, failing to see the humorous part of the whole procedure.

Harry picked up a gong. Severus was looking increasingly put out.

“I never regarded this as a…martial activity,” he commented. Harry struck the gong, and the hourglass flipped over automatically. Severus brushed back his hair in a rather conceited manner and switched on the computer. He perused the question sheet.

“Oh, Harry dearest, do you really expect me not to accomplish such an easy feat?” became a familiar refrain as he ploughed through the questions and accordingly answered them.

On reaching the final question, he traced his mouth with his finger, narrowing his eyes. Harry watched him smugly.

The printer is not working. Please solve the problem.

“This exam is a farce. Now I am supposed to do repair work for you,” he said, glaring at the printer.

Ten minutes later, Severus was glowering at the computer screen, drumming his fingers on the table.

Bonus points, Severus? Harry asked sweetly.

The last grains of sand fell into the lower half of the hourglass, and the gong activated itself on its own.

Severus rose and stared at Harry.

“What is wrong with that printer?” he asked softly.

It's unplugged, Harry explained simply.

There was a pause. Then:

“I beg your pardon?”

Harry pointed at the printer with a languid foot.

I adjusted one of the plugs slightly. Unless you got down on your knees and actually peered at the back of the printer, you wouldn't guess that something was wrong. And you were looking at that print jobs panel and the ink level and…Harry began to laugh.

Severus's eyes flashed sparks.

I knew you would think it a complete loss of dignity to ever stoop or kneel. It's…psychological.

“You…brat!” Severus breathed, enclosing Harry in his arms, “so naughty, and so subtle after all!”

He took Harry's face in his hands and studied the happiness and humour written all over his features, from the sparkling green eyes to the curved mouth.

“Well, Professor Potter, how did I score?”

Full marks. I added that printer question only to get your goat.

“Get my dragon is a more appropriate expression,” Severus murmured, kissing Harry deeply, “my name is not Aberforth, you see.”

Are you sure I cannot act the same way in your lessons?

“No, you can't,” Severus growled.

Not fair, Harry complained.

“You do not have an official post as a teacher…Not yet, at least,” Severus reminded him, now kissing Harry's neck and sliding a long finger around the collar of his jumper, making him shiver.

Sev?

Severus, who seemed quite pleased at Harry's abbreviation of his name, raised an eyebrow.

“Yes?” he asked seductively, squeezing Harry's thigh.

Uhm…You won't laugh at me?

“I won't.”

It's, well, it's about sex, and I am not very well informed on the, uh, mechanics of lovemaking between two men.

Severus listened to him with utmost gravity. He had been wondering when Harry would broach the subject.

“Let us sit down,” he said, shutting down the computer and taking the question sheets with him.

“Now…I recall that Madam Pomfrey distributed the standard pamphlets on human sexuality during the sixth year…something which was introduced towards the end of the eighties at Hogwarts, which is shamefully late.”

The pamphlet excluded homosexuality, Harry said, and the references are in the Restricted Section!

“Ah yes, homosexuality is unfortunately considered non-standard by many people, which is even more shameful.”

I am surprised that there are no courses…no classes on sexual education at Hogwarts. Some of the Muggle-born students have got non-magical siblings, and they had sex education courses at their Muggle high schools.

“I actually discussed the issue recently with Albus, Harry.”

And?

“He started talking about the weather.”

But he's usually so open about everything!

“Which is why there has to be a subject about which he is especially close-minded,” Severus pointed out logically.

And sixth year is late for a pile of pamphlets…

“Ah well, you are familiar with the precautions in the dormitories. No boys in the girls' dormitory.”

But the other way round…

“There is a monitoring spell attached to those four-poster beds…”

What?!

“Weight and temperature. Two people, high temperature…You see…”

Harry blinked. Then he quipped:

But anything can happen during the holidays when people go home…

“That,” Severus said softly, “is beyond my control. I agree with you on the inadequateness of pamphlets and the overwhelming foolishness of granting limited access to books which deal with the basic needs of human beings. It is astonishing that there have been no surprise pregnancies so far - at least, not to my knowledge. Apart from pregnancies, precautions where sexually transmitted diseases are concerned are vital. I am planning to send an owl to Madam Pomfrey and Madam Pince. Health care and books are an ideal combination.”

You seem to have taken a rather recent interest in the whole thing.

Severus flushed and resumed:

“Now, there are many ways two men can have sex...”

Leaning back with Harry's hand in his, Severus proceeded to give Harry a detailed and admittedly clinical description of various procedures, including the importance of protection.

Okay, so the interdental position-

Severus's mouth twitched.

“You mean intercrural.”

Harry went crimson, and Severus rubbed his knuckles with unnecessary vigour across his lips.

The term started, and with hormonal teenagers back within the castle walls, Harry's own hormones began to reach dramatic levels when around Severus. The fact that he was forced to behave normally in Severus's lessons contributed to his condition. He would enter and leave Severus's quarters as usual. Later, he would either revisit Severus's quarters or Severus would seek him. Then their lips would clash, and their hands would go wandering frantically over each other's backs, hips and thighs, throbbing abdomens and steel-hard arousals pressed and rubbing together, eliciting moans and even greedier kisses and first shy touching through robes and trousers. To both Severus's and Harry's surprise, it was the latter who took the initiative to go beyond the textile barrier.

On a cold Saturday evening, Severus was writing a list of Potions ingredients which he had to order from the Hogsmeade Apothecary when Harry slipped silently into his quarters, mischief written all over his face. Severus, who had his back turned towards Harry, was aware of his footsteps but not of the expression in his eyes. Harry wrapped his arms around Severus's waist and kissed his neck, pushing away his long dark hair with his hand.

“Afterwards,” Severus murmured, continuing to write. Harry suckled at his shoulder and nibbled at his earlobe.

“Harry Potter,” Severus growled; his tone belied the fact that he did not push Harry away.

Returning to kissing Severus's neck, Harry slid his hands underneath Severus's robes and into his underwear, encountering the eager hardness took it boldly in his hand. Severus inhaled sharply, dropped his quill and leant against him while Harry supported him with one arm, pressing and rubbing his hips against his lover's backside so that he could feel Harry's own arousal. The tall wizard became increasingly tense and breathless as the small fingers stimulated him, charming him with their inexperience and their inquisitiveness. Harry's heart and groin were pounding. He could hardly believe that he was doing this, touching Severus so intimately, exploring him like this for the very first time.

Finally, Severus gasped, his body shuddering.

“Harry,” he moaned, as if he was tasting something delicious.

He turned around after the last thrills of pleasure had faded, locking his eyes with Harry's; he lifted him up in his arms and planted him on his desk; he stood between Harry's legs and proceeded, with his long skilful fingers, to satisfy him in return, kissing him with abandon while he heightened the pleasure.

Within a few minutes, Harry was panting wildly into Severus's neck, his arms pressing Severus frantically against him.

When they drew back to look at each other, Severus licked his hand which was covered with Harry's fluid.

“Do you want to taste yourself?” he murmured, inserting his tongue into Harry's mouth. Harry's eyelids fluttered, delirious at the things Severus and he were doing so spontaneously to each other. He was amazed that stern reticent Severus was not holding back at all.

During the rest of the evening, they indulged in a feast of slow sensuality. They spoke to each other telepathically, exchanging seductive whispers.

Sticky, exhausted and hungry, Severus and Harry stared into each other's eyes as they lay on the couch in front of the hearth, all their clothes on the floor.

That was…Harry broke off and simply smiled.

Severus smiled as well, one palm on Harry's sweaty thigh.

Wait until you are inside me and I am inside you, once we are both ready to take that step. Wait until I lay my soul at your feet in ways which will make you shudder and scream mentally with unbelievable pleasure, Beautiful Eyes.

Harry blushed.

You're my Mysterious Pearl, he breathed back, and I am dying to shudder and scream mentally with unbelievable pleasure.

CHAPTER 33

It was the beginning of December. Severus was playing with Harry's laptop, eyes glued to the screen while Harry practised wand movements. Their lessons were proceeding very nicely, with Harry behaving respectfully and soberly while his lover instructed him.

“Some teachers stare at the wall as if there was a spider or some other magnetic focal point drawing their attention. Pupils who are not looked at by the teacher will never feel involved. They will feel bored. One has to make them feel important.”

Harry did not dare point out to Severus that he still made his pupils feel rather the opposite of important, for he recognised a characteristic glint in the black eyes as a warning when he was on the verge of remarking on Severus's own teaching methods.

Harry had been tentative about their roles in their relationship, especially when they became intimate. He knew that Severus possessed a headstrong and therefore dominant personality; however, Harry was happy to discover that outside the classroom, he regarded Harry as his equal and was actually only too happy to yield to Harry initiating something sexual between them. Both he and Severus liked to take things slowly, with plenty of hugging, kissing and eye contact. It was reassuring. Things had been growing increasingly heated between them, and Harry felt that it was only a matter of time until they took their relationship to the next level. It seemed so difficult to recall how much they had still hated each other a year ago. And now, they shared such a deep bond and understanding, sometimes communicating in sign language, and sometimes via Telepathy. He sometimes forgot that he had had a voice. Once, Severus had taken Harry's hands in his and asked him:

“Do you miss your voice, Harry?”

I did at first. Now, it's more like thinking back to the times when I had a voice, but without yearning. It's hard to describe. You know… he had smiled up at Severus. If I hadn't lost my voice, then you and I would never have been thrown in together and fallen in love.

“I don't suppose so,” Severus had said.

So how can I regret the loss of my voice when I've got you? Harry had asked him; and to that, Severus had had no answer except to kiss the young man he had once hated and whom he now loved so much that it was beyond words.

Harry flicked his wand, trying to levitate the pieces of furniture within range simultaneously - minus Severus's chair and desk, naturally. He was so absorbed that he did not notice Severus stop typing, shut down the computer and rise from his chair. Slender fingers curled around his wrist. Harry closed his eyes as he felt soft lips breathe upon the sensitive area which joined his neck and shoulder. He arched his body against Severus, who, by applying pressure to Harry's hand, gently brought down his arm until it was next to his side. Severus breathed in the scent of Harry's freshly showered skin, noting the way it reacted - the way Harry reacted - to what was a shadow of a kiss. He turned his lover around in his arms.

“Open your eyes,” Severus whispered silkily.

Harry opened his eyes and smiled at him.

What do you see? Harry asked.

“I see you, beloved, and myself reflected in your eyes.”

Harry stood on tiptoe and kissed him lingeringly on the forehead.

His spell exercise was forgotten as Snape twitched his wand out of his hand. He bent his head and began to kiss a trail from Harry's throat to his shoulder, sliding down the collar of his robes as he did so; and then he was kissing those luscious lips, parting them and entering the moist sweetness of Harry's mouth, triggering an enthusiastic response from the tongue which could no longer speak verbally but had its own seductive language as it pressed against his. The kiss was slow and charged with desire. It was followed by another one, lingering and delightfully depraved, eliciting a breathy moan from Harry. When their kissing and caresses became demanding, something clicked inside Harry with absolute certainty.

Severus, make love to me. I want you inside me.

“Harry, are you sure?”

Yes, if you are sure, too.

“I am more than sure, love.”

Snape carried Harry to his bedroom, kissing him all the while.

Harry lay down in bed, nervous and excited in a wonderful way. Severus gazed down at him.

“If you want me to stop, tell me immediately.”

I will.

They both smiled at each other.

“You once wrote an essay on what one can do with one's hands,” Severus said, kissing his forehead.

Will you call forth the music of love with your hands? Harry asked, smiling.

I will call forth the music of love and more. Do you know that you are wonderfully eloquent?

I am always talking inwardly, Harry answered, running his hand through Severus's hair.

You and I will speak the language of love now, Severus said to him. Then: Harry?

Sev?

Your fingers are tangled in my hair.

Harry hastily loosened his grip and withdrew his hand. He attempted to caress Severus's face but almost poked him in the eye instead.

Harry Potter!

Oh dear, sorry!

Severus tried to adjust his position by holding his weight on his elbows and moving his body. His elbow slipped on the silk sheet, however, and he fell on Harry with a small thud, who was overwhelmed enough by this unexpected occurrence to lose his telepathic voice as well as his breath. Severus flushed as Harry looked up at him reproachfully.

“I'm sorry, love,” he murmured, rolling off Harry.

Harry began to laugh, exhalations of air escaping from him audibly. He couldn't seem to stop. Tears spilt out of his eyes and he clutched at his sides and writhed with mirth. Snape glared at him, his mood spoilt. Finally, Harry calmed down enough to indulge in arousing kisses and caresses with Severus. When the tall wizard lay down upon him, however, Harry dissolved into giggles. Severus, furious, jumped from the bed, snatched up his robes and underwear on the way and left the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He was joined by Harry five minutes later. He had put on his jeans and jumper, and looked rather apologetic. Severus ignored him. Harry folded his arms around his waist and pressed his face into his neck.

“Go away,” Severus growled. Harry inched his way around so that he was looking into Severus's black eyes.

I'm sorry for laughing. But it was funny.

“This was supposed to be our first time together.”

You did flatten me out.

“And you tugged at my hair, nearly poked out my eye and then laughed at me. Do you want me to dunk you in the lake again?”

I was laughing at both of us. It was cute, you know.

“How amusing.”

Let's try again sometime later.

“Go away,” Severus repeated tersely, managing to get rid of Harry by means of applying a sharp elbow to the young man's ribs.

I love you.

Severus ignored him grumpily.

Harry prudently retreated. Severus was not the type to forgive or forget easily - rather the contrary. However, his temper calmed down enough to be on speaking and kissing terms with Harry by the evening. A week later, they initiated another attempt. They had shed all their clothes and were thoroughly enjoying themselves when Severus made the mistake of licking at Harry's ribs. Harry squirmed and wriggled.

“Would you mind staying still?” Severus said crossly.

That tickles!

“Fine. You go ahead,” Severus said tiredly, lying down on his back and closing his eyes.

Harry pounced on him, pinning him down with his body. Severus, startled by this radical course of action, accidentally kneed him in the stomach.

Harry immediately curled up into a foetal position, clutching at his tummy. The dark-haired Slytherin murmured a profuse stream of apologies and wrapped his arms around Harry. They lay quietly in bed for a few moments. Then Harry turned to him with a heart-warming grin and laughed into Severus's neck. Severus could do nothing but join him. It felt good to laugh like that at the series of little misfortunes which cropped up whenever they wanted to consummate their love.

Severus trailed his fingers down Harry's back, knowing that Harry loved that particular caress. Seriousness set in.

Snape touched the firm cheek and traced the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.

The young man had an exquisitely delicate face. His mouth was a sweet fruit-flower which Snape proceeded to taste languidly, feeling the petals yield to his seductive invasion and fold over his lips.

“Tell me to stop if you experience discomfort or pain, Harry.”

I will, Harry answered with shining eyes.

“Please do. Otherwise I'll make you take an Unbreakable Vow.”

There was no need to stop, and a wonderful while later found them lying in each other's arms, Harry smiling and playing with Severus's hair. Severus murmured to him telepathically:

I would like to show you something tomorrow.

And what is that something, Mysterious Pearl? Harry asked eagerly.

You'll see, Beautiful Eyes.

The next day, in the evening, Severus led Harry to a room near the Potions classroom; opening the door, he revealed an enormous rectangular pool of greenish-blue water. Silvery stairs attached to one edge of the pool led right into the water. Separated from the large pool was another pool, but very small and round.

“I have to keep fit somehow. And, like you, I love the water,” Severus said, gazing at the pool. He turned to Harry, who was gazing at the pool with wide eyes, “I swim regularly in the large one, and the small pool is for bathing and relaxing. The water of the pool is enchanted to change colour, temperature, and depth, and it is charmed to ward off bacteria. If you join me for a little swim, then I'll show you the pleasures of the water. You are the only one to whom I have shown this place. And please don't tell anyone, because this is not a public swimming pool.”

Thank you for letting me see something which is so private to you, Severus.

They exchanged a kiss.

“And now, if you would care to strip…”

Shall I fetch a pair of swimming trunks? Harry asked.

“Swimming trunks?” Severus's mouth curved upwards. “There's no need of any kind of gear, I think.”

Skinny-dipping?

Severus snorted and shot him an amused glance. He inclined his head and whispered into Harry's ear:

“Mr Potter, I have admired and worshipped you in all your naked glory, if you care to recall.”

Harry blushed at the memories.

Severus smiled and touched a rose-tinged cheek, then whispered into Harry's other ear:

“So innocent, so sweet…and yet so wayward. I am taking my wand into the water, but leave your wand behind.”

He stepped back and undressed quickly, leaving his clothes in a neat heap at the edge. He went down the stairs, his long black hair curtaining his back, wand in his left hand. He slid into the water smoothly and vanished underneath the surface.

Harry removed his socks and finally his underwear. Although Severus and he had seen each other without clothes, he could not help feeling a little shy and exposed, especially because of the size of the hall. He lay down on his stomach and gazed into the depths of the water. He thought he could see something shimmering at the bottom. Severus emerged and swam gracefully to the edge of the pool. Stretching, he cupped Harry's face, locked him in a kiss, then grasped his forearms and pulled him inside the pool. Harry began to splash water at Severus, who raised his eyebrows, dived underneath him and appeared behind the young wizard. Severus had a playful side which charmed Harry completely. They raced each other until Severus took his hand and guided him down to the depths of the pool, casting a Bubble-Head Charm on them both. Harry stared, fascinated. Beautiful colourful flowers, shells, turquoise seaweed and lots of other things which he hadn't thought possible to survive in the shallow depth - shallow when compared to the depth of a sea. Severus glided next to him, watching his reactions. The floor was covered with smooth pebbly rocks. Harry rubbed his toes against them. They certainly felt real. The walls consisted of stone walls with all kinds of plants growing in their crevices. After diving around for a good while, they resurfaced. Severus removed the charm.

Wow! Beautiful! Did you perform all the enchantments?

Yes - with some input from Albus. He does so love sea flowers…

And I do so love you.

They kissed passionately, their bodies pressed close together. Severus's hand snaked between them, fondling the young man intimately for a few minutes. Harry threw back his head as he felt himself pushed to the brink of endurance.

Not yet, Severus's voice whispered in his mind. He swam to the edge of the pool, displaying a perfect breaststroke, Harry next to him.

Severus lifted him in his arms, climbed up the silvery stairs and set him down on the side of the pool, conjuring a soft fluffy blanket for them to lie on beforehand.

A flush suffused Harry's face as Severus lavished kisses on Harry's body, crawling up now and then to taste Harry's lips.

Harry arched his body as the kisses reached the part which joined the thigh to the hip. Severus was a master of sensuality and knew Harry's particularly sensitive parts.

Harry shivered as he felt the long fingers close around his arousal. He moved on the blanket, fingers digging into the cloth. Then he felt Severus's mouth take him and he screamed mentally, hips jerking for a moment with shock. Severus pleasured him for a minute before crawling on top of Harry and kissing him deeply. Harry was delirious with the sensation of Severus's tongue, which had suckled at his arousal a few moments ago, exploring his mouth, exchanging the taste of himself between them.

They made love very slowly on the blanket, not getting enough of each other, changing positions all the time; once it was Severus writhing on the blanket, then it was Harry again, all the time delaying that moment of exquisite climax. They became two rivers, which, floating separately, meet and merge together, impossible to divide.

Severus's cries of ultimate pleasure echoed off the walls that evening. Harry's face displayed the myriad of sensations he was feeling, and his telepathic bond reached out to Severus's mind when he finally reached the peek of rapture. His view dissolved into colours, and the hum of magic caressed his ears, as did Severus's sounds of enjoyment and the expression on his face when he, too, was engulfed by the same lake of bliss in which Harry was floating. Their fingers interlocked frantically, the blood escaping their knuckles with the pressure. Harry squeezed Severus's body between his thighs with all his force until the shock waves faded. A sheen of combined water and sweat covered their skins.

Finally, when they had recovered their breath from their pleasure, they went over to the little pool to clean up and cuddle. When they climbed out, rubbing themselves down with the soft towels, Severus summoned a bottle of exquisite-smelling cream because their extended stay in the water and the hygiene charm which eliminated germs and bacteria (the equivalent of Muggle chlorine) was bound to make their skins dry.

Mmmh, Secrets de Sorcellerie? Wow, how many wizarding brands are there I don't know about? Harry said, reading the label on the bottle.

“Let's see. Be-Witch is a product line only for witches, obviously, as is Nymph. Soi-gné is another one for wizards.”

Looks like French names are popular.

“French, mon cheri, is a language of love and desire.”

Indeed?

“Indeed.”

Can you speak French?

“Only about ten words,” Severus whispered, “but I can offer you what I believe is called a French kiss. However, don't ask me about the etymological origins of this intriguing term.”

Harry accepted the offer eagerly and was rather breathless afterwards.

“Lie down on your stomach, I am going to rub this into your skin,” Severus said. Harry obeyed, displaying his back. Severus rubbed in the cream and massaged Harry's back. Harry closed his eyes, enjoying Severus's ministrations enormously.

A little later, it was Severus's turn to enjoy a massage. Harry had small and gentle hands which spoilt him to his heart's content. They were pleasantly groggy when they retired to Severus's bedroom to sleep.

I am looking forward to teaching, Harry said, touching his pearl.

In the meantime, I will be your teacher and your most willing pupil, Beautiful Eyes, Severus breathed, kissing him.

In his office, the Headmaster of Hogwarts was humming contentedly, a speculative look on his wise face.

“You know, Fawkes,” Dumbledore mused as he patted the phoenix, who was looking decidedly shabby, “I do wonder from time to time what kind of relationship Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin really had before they quarrelled...”

Fawkes squawked and burst into flames. Dumbledore chuckled.

FIN

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