InsaneJournal

Merry Meet Again


A sandwich. A sandwich. He'd give his wand for a--

"Potter."

Shit.

"Out of my way, Malfoy," sighed Harry. He started to circle around the obstacle, but the obstacle stepped back into his path. Harry reached for his wand.

Malfoy held up both hands. "Truce?"

Harry blinked. Truce? Malfoy? Then he remembered Malfoy's mother, in the Forbidden Forest. And he remembered the Manor, and he remembered Malfoy crying in the bathroom, and Malfoy at the top of the Astronomy tower, hesitating, unwilling to do what was finally done by--

"All right," said Harry.

Malfoy actually grinned. A friendly grin.

"Let's smoke on it," said Malfoy.

"Smoke?"

But Malfoy had already turned. Harry followed him, through the corridors, down into the dungeons, down to--

"Snape's office?"

"Yeah." Malfoy opened the door. "His old office, but I don't think Slughorn ever found out about--yeah." A slow grin spread over his face as he tapped a stone that turned in the wall, revealing a small hollow in which a small box and pipe were nestled.


"I don't believe it," said Harry as he and Malfoy walked quickly across the grounds towards the Forbidden Forest. "Snape? Who knew?"

"There's a lot about Snape you never knew," answered Malfoy.

Malfoy led Harry into the forest, halting when they reached a clearing amongst the trees. "Hold this," said Malfoy, handing Harry the box and pipe. Harry held them, staring as Draco gathered wood and lit a bonfire.

"Do we really need all that, just to light a pipe?" asked Harry.

"Give me that." Malfoy yanked the box and pipe out of Harry's hands. He opened the box, filled the pipe, then set a twig to the bonfire and used the flame to light the pipe. He sat down on the forest floor, and Harry followed suit.

"Here." Malfoy handed the pipe to Harry. Harry set it to his lips, thinking as he drew the smoke into his lungs how Snape had put that very same pipe to his lips...

Somehow, Harry found, he had smoked the entire bowl. He looked up, expecting the wrath of Malfoy, but Malfoy had taken off all his clothes and was kneeling by the fire, doing some kind of hand-waving thing. Probably something he'd learnt in Slytherin.

Antlers? Where the bloody hell did Malfoy come up with antlers? Was he mocking Harry's--

Malfoy leaped to his feet and began spinning and twirling in a circle around the bonfire.

"Malfoy! What the hell--"

"I'm dancing in the May! The merry month of May! The merry, merry month of May!"

Harry gaped, watching Malfoy caper round and round with exuberant abandon. He wanted to ask, Are you high? but of course the answer was yes.

"My Lord!"

Harry's jaw dropped.

"My Lady!"

Malfoy extended a hand, still spinning, and Ginny, a flower-crowned and very naked Ginny, stepped forward from the edge of the clearing and took hold of Malfoy's hand. She joined Malfoy in his dance, circling, circling, round and round and round, entwining, untwining, spinning away into the forest, into the night...


Harry waited. The fire crackled on, waiting with him.

"Bugger."

Harry refilled the pipe and lit it. He inhaled, letting the smoke seep into every cell of his lungs before exhaling. He stared at the pipe in his hand. Just as the thought was forming to raise it to his lips for another hit, he heard the softest of footsteps upon the grass. Harry looked up, and gasped.

"Snape."

Snape gazed down at him. He was wrapped in a dark green cloak.

"I thought you were dead," said Harry.

One eyebrow rose in a familiar arch. "Do I look dead?"

"Uh--no. No." Harry stared at Snape's throat, searching for some sign of--

"It's healed, Potter."

Harry blinked. "Healed," he echoed.

"Yes. Healed. Need I define the word for you?"

"No, but..." Harry frowned, still studying the unmarred skin, skin which had been...

"Fawkes?" prompted Snape.

"Fawkes," repeated Harry. "But... I thought..."

"You thought. There's a refreshing change." Snape seated himself next to Harry, then jerked his head. "Would you mind sharing my weed with me?"

"Oh--um--yeah." Hastily Harry thrust the pipe at Snape, who wrapped his long, slender fingers around it and pulled it to his lips.

"I'm glad you're not dead."

Snape looked at him. "Likewise."

"Really?" Harry started. "You always hated me."

"Did I? Always?" One corner of Snape's mouth curved as his eyes, black and intense, bored into Harry's. Harry stared back, wondering desperately what he was supposed to fathom in that gaze.

Abruptly Snape shrugged and drew a long draft on his pipe. "You never were any good at Legilimency," he said, blowing the words out on wisps of blue-white smoke that trailed up into the night.

"Well." Harry shifted on the grass. "No," he admitted. "I guess not."

"You're as thick as your father." Snape sighed, staring after the faded wisps. "Reading only the surface, and that barely. Never arsing yourself to see the subtext, the subtleties, the shades of nuance. Color escapes you entirely."

Harry clenched his fists. "I'm not my father," he protested.

Snape glanced at him. "No," he agreed, turning back to his pipe. "No, you're not."

Harry watched him. "Share?"

Snape smirked. "Be my guest," he said, handing over the pipe.

"Thanks." Harry smoked. "What am I not seeing, then?"

To Harry's great surprise, Snape laughed: not a mean, malicious laugh, but a soft, almost sympathetic laugh. "If you can't see it for yourself," he murmured, "I can't show it to you."

Harry scowled. "Bloody helpful," he grumbled. He handed the pipe back to Snape, who gazed into the bowl and frowned.

"Uh--here."

"Generous of you, Potter." Snape received the box Harry held out to him. He tapped out his pipe and refilled it. Touching the tip of his wand to the bowl, he lit the pipe and drew deeply upon it.

Harry studied Snape as he stared into the distance. He wondered what Snape was thinking.

"So... um..."

"Not tonight, Potter." Lazily Snape waved his hand in Harry's direction. He was still staring into the forest depths. "We'll have all the time we need, later."

Later...

Harry put away his questions and contented himself with watching Snape smoke.


The pipe was empty, and still Snape sat, pondering who knew what.

Harry was reluctant to break the silence, but finally his need outweighed his reluctance. "Um... could we...?"

Snape's mouth twisted. His eyes glinted with amusement as he looked over at Harry. "I think we've smoked enough for one night," he said, setting the pipe aside.

"Oh." Harry nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

Snape leaped to his feet.

"Come, Potter." Gazing down at Harry, he stretched out one hand. "The winter is over. Summer is at hand."

"What...?" Yet Harry found himself reaching for that hand, pulled up by that hand, and led by that hand into whirling, circling, dancing around the great bonfire.

Harry wanted to ask what the hell they were doing, but Snape kept him moving, spinning, breathless. He could not stop, even should he want to, and Harry wasn't sure he wanted to stop. The heat of the dance pulsed through him, the fire, the flame, flowing through him. The green cloak billowed around Snape, revealing...

Harry blinked, looked quickly away, hoping Snape had not noticed. He danced on, glancing back, met by a familiar smirk...

Snape had noticed.

Harry threw himself into the dance, kicking his legs higher, throwing his arms wider, spinning, spinning...

And Snape was spinning with him...

Heat... flame...

Harry cast away his clothing, not bothering to see where it landed. It may have been consumed by the fire.

They danced.

Faster and faster, they danced, Harry and Snape, together they danced the circle round...

Flame and forest, cloak and skin, shadow and glow...

Nothing was always...

Everything was changing...

Harry fell to his knees, reaching, pulling, imploring. Snape held back, his eyes wary, uncertain, the mask of control cast away and revealing...

In a burst of bravery Harry seized the opportunity before him, not daring to think, else he would think, What the hell am I doing? He couldn't believe he was doing it, he couldn't believe Snape was letting him do it, at any moment Snape would erupt with an angry cry of protest, and Snape did cry out, but it wasn't in protest...


Harry jolted, and found himself lying in the dark. He was indoors, in a room, but not his room in Gryffindor Tower. He stared, bleary-eyed, at the ceiling, trying...

The Headmaster's quarters. Snape's room.

Snape's bed.

The hospital wing had been full, and Madam Pomfrey had insisted that Harry not return to the dormitories, at least for one night, until she was assured that his condition was stable. She had sent him to the seclusion of the Headmaster's quarters, because of course those quarters would not currently be in use...

Tears flooded Harry's eyes. He tried to force them back, to no avail.

Snape was dead. No Fawkes, no healing, no frolic in the Forbidden Forest--

Choking, Harry put a fist to his mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that forced their way to the surface. He rolled over and buried his face in his pillow--in Snape's pillow--

"Snape..."

You're as thick as your father...

Convulsions shook Harry's entire body as he poured out a sudden and overwhelming grief. He'd spent seven years hating the man, hating a man he hardly knew at all, would never have opportunity to truly know, had hated...

Always?

When the sobbing subsided, Harry lay still, staring into the night.


At last Harry sighed, reached for his glasses, rolled over to slide off the bed--and found himself staring into the eyes of Snape.

He was lying on his side, on a bed that had been placed next to Harry's while Harry had been asleep. Snape's eyes were deep, fathomless, but they glittered with life. They regarded Harry with curiosity, as if struggling to bring him into focus. Harry flushed, recalling his dream.

Snape moved, just a little. He opened his mouth, breathed in, and let out a single, raspy whisper:

"Legilimens."