"That will be sufficient, thank you," Snape said stiffly, stepping away.
The retreat was hardly surprising. What did confound Harry was his own sense of . . . disappointment. Something inside him clenched tight at the withdrawal. He felt almost rejected, which didn't make any sense. Did he really want to be touching Snape?
His brain screamed No, but his racing heart told a different, more honest story. Confused by his body's reaction, Harry gawked at the other man. Snape was supposed to repulse him as much as touching those bugs had. Except, revulsion was the last thing he was feeling.
As close as they were standing, Harry couldn't help but notice how that strong face hardened until it was as immutable as a granite cliff. Still bewildered by his own untoward emotional response to touching Snape's hair, he couldn't figure out what was wrong. The other man looked braced for Armageddon, or for ridicule, he belatedly recognized. That was the same guarded expression that Snape had worn on Saturday after their minds had touched.
Not knowing what to say to make things better, Harry awkwardly offered, "It's very soft."
"What?" Snape snapped, his gaze scouring Harry's face as if searching for mockery.
Realizing what a mess he was making of things, Harry tried to explain, "Your hair. It's very soft."
A frown line formed between Snape's dark brows. "If you're attempting to be humorous -"
"No, I was just . . . ." Just what? Bewitched by the feel of Snape's greasy hair sliding between his fingers? Only, it hadn't been at all greasy. It had been lush and luxurious, for all that the unkempt length looked as though the dungeons' rats had spent the night chewing on it. "I'm sorry. That was a very personal comment. I should have kept it to myself. Can we just forget I said it?" Thinking that a change of topic was definitely called for, Harry all but stammered, "We, er, better start collecting the rest of these bugs if we want to get finished any time tonight."
Still appearing suspicious, Snape nodded.
Harry could feel that dark gaze upon him as he tried to concentrate on catching cicadas. After a moment, Snape turned to his own collection efforts. But a tension had seeped into the room that hadn't been there before. Whenever their collection efforts brought them within arms reach of each other, Harry was intensely aware of the other man, and every time he caught sight of that long hair dangling in Snape's eyes as Snape bent over the floating black box to deposit more cicadas, he couldn't help but remember how it had felt sliding between his fingers.
What the hell was wrong with him? Was he crazy, standing here mooning over Severus Snape, of all people? If Snape ever caught wind of what he was thinking, he'd hex him into the next century, or drop him off at St. Mungo's, with good reason. Forcing all those weird thoughts out of his mind, Harry tried to focus on the task at hand.
Three exhausting hours later, the last cicada was located and transferred to the deafeningly loud box. The insects might be impervious to having magic performed upon their bodies, but, fortunately for their captors, they were subject to locating spells.
Harry watched Snape coax the last bug out of his net with surprising care. The long fingers were gentle and wary of causing injury to the little creature. Harry had never suspected Snape capable of such consideration.
"I think that's the last of them," Harry said, casting the locating spell once again, just to be certain there weren't anymore hiding under the workbenches or seats. A bell-like alarm went off over the bug in Snape's net, but the remainder of the room remained blessedly quiet, the stillness informing him that there wasn't yet another stowaway lurking under the furniture. The Potions lab was now officially clear of loose cicadas.
Once Snape had moved that last cicada into the collection box, Harry asked, "Now what?"
"Now I transfer them to a more suitable habitat," Snape said.
"Are you portkeying them back to the States?" Harry questioned, thinking of the insects' homeland. The hard work had dissipated the tension between them. He felt almost comfortable standing next to his old nemesis.
Snape snorted. "Hardly. It's late autumn there as well. The cicadas wouldn't last overnight."
"Where are you sending them, then?"
"Gryffindor Tower," Snape replied, totally deadpan.
For a second, Harry thought Snape was serious, and then he caught the gleam in those obsidian-dark eyes and chuckled.
"Hermione has a worse temper than Professor McGonagall ever did," Harry warned. "But be my guest if you want to inflict a biblical plague upon her in the dead of night. I'll come by in a few minutes and collect your charred remains, shall I?"
To his shock, Snape gave a legitimate chuckle. With his deep, rich voice, it was a pleasing sound.
"My untimely demise would delight the students no end, so we can't have that," Snape said. "Perhaps I will make alternate arrangements."
"What alternate arrangements? Where do you bring a couple of thousand summer bugs at the beginning of winter? Not the hot houses, surely?" Harry voiced the only solution he could think of.
"It would serve Longbottom right if I did," Snape muttered.
"What has poor Neville done to deserve that?" Harry asked, and then, at the look he received, added, "Recently." When Snape made no reply, he continued, "Neville was concerned when he heard about the bug accident in the Potions lab. He feared that flesh eating carpet beetles might have been involved."
Snape met his gaze. "Hoped for, more like."
Harry laughed, but didn't deny it. To his surprise, he rather liked this sarcastic Snape. "So what are you going to do with them?"
"Come see, if you like," Snape cryptically offered. With a flick of his wand, he directed the floating collection box towards the classroom door.
Intrigued, Harry followed.
The halls were dark and deserted this time of the night, with only Filch and his cat prowling out in the open.
"You don't need to light your wand to see?" Harry asked as they climbed the dungeon stairs. In the darkness beside him, Snape was a mere suggestion of a thicker shadow. The bug box floating three feet in front of them was all but invisible.
A glistening flash of something white that might have been a smile or a sneer sparked beside him. Snape was so tall that the teeth were almost at Harry's eye level. Then Harry heard a smug, "I note that you don't need your wand to illuminate the corridors, either. A result of your misspent youth, I imagine."
"What's your excuse, then?" Harry quizzed, not really expecting an answer.
To his surprise, a subdued, "Insomnia," floated out of the darkness to him. Were he with anyone else, Harry would have enquired further, but it didn't take someone of Hermione's intelligence to figure out that a man posing as a spy in Voldemort's ranks would have had as much cause for sleepless nights as the hapless saviour of the wizarding world.
They passed the Great Hall and out through Hogwarts' main doors, which were tall enough to let a two story Muggle house pass through them.
The night was overcast and bitterly cold. The wind howling in off the lake smelt of snow.
Harry pulled his teacher's robes tighter around himself and followed Snape, through the courtyard with its waterless fountain and relic walls, out to the path that led to Hagrid's hut.
For a moment Harry wondered if Snape were daft enough to put the cicadas in Hagrid's care, but they passed the dark-windowed hut, and continued on to where the path ended at the foot of the Forbidden Forest.
Snape didn't hesitate at the thick wall of winter-bare brush and towering trees. He pushed through the outer barrier.
Harry followed through the thorny bramble, lifting his robes and holding them close to him so that they didn't snag on the thorns. He was grateful he'd worn jeans underneath. The thick denim protected his legs.
To his intense relief, once they were completely under the canopy of massive conifers and other old-growth forest, Snape lit his wand. Harry quickly followed suit.
As the tip of Harry's holly wand began to glow, Snape asked in an almost conversational tone, "Tell me, Potter, if I hadn't lit my wand would you have blundered blindly through this?"
Harry debated lying, and then reluctantly offered the truth. "Probably."
Snape chuckled and started walking. Harry could see nothing that looked like a path between the massive trees that were so thick around that six grown men wouldn't have been able to encompass the girth of their trunks. Still, Snape seemed to know where he was going, so he followed along in Snape's wake and concentrated on not measuring his length on a root or rock in the frozen woods.
A warming charm helped with the cold, but it did nothing to keep the wind out. Even here among the thickest part of the forest, the north winds were howling down like an insane banshee. The bare tree branches overhead moved in an eerie, noisy dance that left Harry nervous and on edge. This type of setting wreaked havoc on his battle instincts, tricking him into seeing threats everywhere. Trying not to be too obvious about jumping at shadows, he followed Snape through the woods.
Their wands' light illuminated only a few feet in front of them. Outside of those two, small rings of silver light, the winter forest was dark and ominous. Its utter blackness was an oppressive weight.
After about twenty minutes of brisk walking, Snape came to a stop. "We're here."
At first Harry couldn't see what was different between 'here' and half a mile back. He peered at the shadowy forest just outside the ring of his wand light. Beyond the ferns and skunk cabbages . . . wait, the ferns and skunk cabbages they'd passed earlier had all been dead and brown, frozen with the first frost yesterday morning, but these were as green as June growth.
Harry raised his wand towards the nearest tree and saw lush green oak leaves dangling down overhead. His gaze following the trunk down, he could see delicate white ginseng blossoms around the roots. Now that he thought about it, he could smell the rich perfume of growing herbs and moist plants. The wind wasn't bothering him anymore either. Astonished, Harry realized that the forest in front of him was alive with unseasonable vegetation.
"It's like June," Harry marvelled aloud.
"May, actually," Snape corrected.
"How far does it extend?" Harry asked, thinking he saw more leaves on the understory trees further back.
"One square mile. I estimated that would be a sufficient range for this number of cicadas."
"You bespelled miles of forest to be spring in October?" Harry asked.
"Obviously. Why so shocked, Potter? You saw Albus enchant the rose garden to bloom in December during your fourth year."
"Yes, but . . . that was just the garden. This is . . . ." his words faltered as he took in the scope of Snape's accomplishment. This wasn't a glamour like the one that concealed Hogwarts from Muggle eyes. Four miles of terrain had been transformed to suit a wizard's will. This was extraordinary.
"Much more difficult," Snape finished his sentence for him.
"When did you do this?" Harry asked.
"After I dismissed third period, I walked out here to find a suitable habitat. I thought this would do them. It's far enough back that most of the students won't stumble upon it."
Harry gazed up at Snape's stark-featured face. He could tell that the other man was pleased with his accomplishment beneath his outer reserve. Startled, he realized that Snape must have invited him out here to show off his work.
As Harry stared at that imposing face, he considered how frustrating and lonely it must be to be Severus Snape. Professor Dumbledore had really been the only person who bothered with the cantankerous Potions master. Since Dumbledore's death, the rest of the staff had been more than happy to honour Snape's wishes and give him the wide berth he demanded. But there had to be times when that self-imposed solitude was daunting, times like this when Snape had done something truly amazing and there was no one to share it with.
Holding that dark gaze, Harry softly praised, "It's incredible." After looking around, he asked, "What about wildlife? Won't the other forest creatures devour the cicadas this time of year? This place would be like a buffet to the other Forbidden Forest residents."
"I verified that no sentient magical creatures live in the affected square mile. I've warded the area so that only the creatures who have nests or dens will be able to freely enter and leave the enchanted radius."
"You placed a security ward around it?"
"Yes," Snape answered. "No outsiders will be able to enter until the cicadas have retreated back into the ground."
"But I'm standing inside it now," Harry pointed out.
"You're standing with me," Snape answered.
"Oh. What about birds? Won't they eat the cicadas?"
"Normally, the cicadas number a hundred thousand per acre. Millions are sacrificed every time they swarm. Fortunately, most of the avian population has already migrated. Those which remain will do only marginal damage to the cicada population."
"You've thought of everything, haven't you?" Harry admired.
"I'm sure there's something I've overlooked, but on the whole, I think that the majority of the cicada population will be safe here," Snape sounded pleased with himself, and well he should, Harry thought. This was no small feat the Potions master had managed.
"I'm going to release them now," Snape said.
Harry watched Snape's wand guide the floating black cicada container past the point where the frost hardened ground gave way to moist fragrant loam. With another flick of his glowing wand, the containment spell ended. Like bats swarming from a communal cave at sunset, the thousands of cicadas they'd laboriously gathered tonight rose from the box like a shifting, black genie.
Some of them naturally spiralled towards the winter end of the woods. As they did so, the cicadas seemed to hit an invisible barrier that herded them back towards the spring eco-system.
