His wonder-widened eyes trailed the strange bugs as they dispersed in the verdant forest. For a while, Harry could hear their humming call, but as the insects lighted for the night, their noise died down, leaving the spring portion of the forest as strangely silent as the winter wood.
It was moments like this when the true magic of what wizards could do touched Harry with awe. That this man he'd always considered ugly and callous could create such incredibly detailed beauty stunned him as much as Snape's enchantment of the forest.
Harry looked up at Snape's shadowed face. Their wands' light cast a blue tinge to both their skins. Catching that dark gaze, he softly said, "You've done something extraordinary here -" The 'sir' he'd been about to tag on felt wrong. Swallowing hard, he asked, "May I use your first name?"
He'd expected some hesitation, but Snape readily answered. "Yes, of course, you may." As if sensing his surprise, Snape said, "We're colleagues. Longbottom, you, and Professor Weasley are the only staff members who don't call me by my given name."
"It always seemed disrespectful somehow," Harry said.
"When has respect ever influenced any of our interactions?" Snape asked.
Harry thought that the question had been intended as a joke, but there was too much truth in the inquiry for laughter. Snape's lowered gaze told him that the man had recognized how off his question had sounded. Seeing that discomfort, Harry cautiously offered, "Now?"
After a brief pause, Snape gave a consenting nod. "Yes, perhaps you're right."
Those words, as close as he'd ever come to genuine praise from Snape, should have elated him, but that strange tension seemed to be back between them, only ten-fold. Harry could tell that Snape was aware of it, too, by the way the other man hastily averted his gaze.
"Severus?" Harry tested the name, liking the way it rolled off his tongue.
Snape gave a cautious sounding "Yes?" in response.
"Will you call me Harry? Like you said, we're colleagues. You're the only one who calls me by my surname."
Snape clearly didn't want to do it. Even though he couldn't read any clear emotion by the limited light of their wands, Harry could tell by the way those dark eyes shifted from his own.
"How come it's okay for me to call you Severus and not the reverse?"
"For one thing, your name isn't Severus," Snape replied.
"You know what I mean!" Harry snapped.
"If you are heard calling me by my first name, it could be dismissed as something done to irritate me. But if I should start to call you by your given name . . . . "
"What? The world will stop spinning?" Venting a loud, defeated sigh, Harry asked, "Why has it got to be so damned hard between us? This isn't a big deal. My name is Harry. You can call me by it."
"I've called you Potter for nearly sixteen years. If I begin to suddenly address you as Harry -"
"What? People will talk?" Harry joked and stopped dead as he realized that was precisely the issue. "That's it, isn't it? My god, I can't believe this. Why would you even care? You despise most people."
"For good reason. However, my personal feelings aside, I'm not the Boy Who Lived. I'm a former Death Eater. People assume the worst where I'm concerned. If I deviate from my normal behaviour patterns, scandal will follow as surely as day does night."
"Scandal? How is calling me by my name a scandal?" Harry demanded, totally pole-axed.
The silence stretched. Finally, Snape spoke in a much calmer, if far more reluctant tone, "If I were to suddenly begin calling you by your given name at staff meetings and official functions, it would be noticed. Certain . . . conclusions might be drawn, conclusions that you would no doubt prefer to avoid."
"What are you talking about? What conclusions?" Harry asked, completely bewildered. From Snape's tone, it was clear he expected to be instantly understood.
"You've been on the teaching staff for more than four years. Surely, someone must have told you about me?"
"Told me what?" Harry asked, completely at a loss. Did Snape really think his co-workers had nothing better to do than to sit around gossiping about him? But, then, when Harry thought back over some of the things he'd heard in the staff room since that damned Prophet article came out, he understood what Snape might be referring to. Hogwarts was a very small place. Close contact tended to bring out the worst in some people.
"That I . . . " Snape drew a deep breath, ". . . that I'm a homosexual."
Snape was gay!
Harry knew he was gaping at the other man, but he couldn't help it. The revelation totally threw him.
He'd been prepared for anything but that. For a second, the words hardly even registered; they were so anti-climatic. But then as their sense penetrated, so did the humour of the situation. Laughter burst out of him at the absurdity of it all. That they could be standing here miles from anyone in an isolated wood, and Snape would openly confess to having been a Death Eater, but reluctantly admit to his sexuality – while speaking to another man with the same proclivities – amused the hell out of him.
Snape straightened to his full height, his features going as cold as the winter-locked forest behind them as he snarled, "I'm glad you find this so amusing, Potter –"
"Oh, for . . . calm down. And, we've already established that my name is Harry. I'm not laughing at you! That'd be the kettle calling the pot black, all right?"
"What are you blithering on about?" Snape demanded. "What do you mean 'the kettle calling the pot black'?"
Once again, the separation between Muggle and Wizard world was hammered home to him. Snape clearly had no clue what the metaphor meant.
"Obviously, the same co-workers who never told me about you, never told you about me," Harry offered with a chuckle.
"Told me what?" Snape asked, his voice still filled with asperity and anger.
"That I prefer men. You mean you haven't read the headlines in the Prophet? Boy Who Lived a Poof, Saviour of the Wizarding World Grows Into Pervert – those were two of my favourites."
"I never read that trash," Snape answered. After a moment, he thoughtfully asked, "You're . . . ?"
"Similarly inclined, and the whole bloody Wizarding World knows about it, thanks to Rita Skeeter," Harry answered the question Snape didn't seem able to voice. "So don't worry about smearing my reputation, such as it is."
"But surely you wouldn't want your name . . . tied to mine in such a manner?" Snape questioned.
"Profes – er, I mean, Severus, my name's been tied that way to everyone from Professor Flitwick to Ron's dad. I'm used to it."
"That's still no reason to foolhardily court disaster," Snape chided.
"People are going to believe whatever they want to believe. The ones who matter will know the stories are rubbish. As for the rest of the world," Harry shrugged, "I can't live my life worrying about what people will say about me. It hardly matters if you call me 'Harry' or not. If we're seen speaking in public, the slander sheets will turn it into a sordid interlude." After a moment's thought, Harry softly said, "But, maybe you're right. Perhaps you'd better still call me Potter – to protect your own reputation."
At the bark of laughter that earned him, Harry looked up at Snape's shadowed face.
"Do you seriously think my reputation could sink lower than it is at the present moment?"
"I suppose even a sordid affair with the Boy Who Lived would be an improvement over Saturday's accusation," Harry chuckled.
"Well, I wouldn't go that far."
Hearing the sardonic lilt, Harry recognized Snape's brand of humour and didn't take insult at the reply. "In any case, why don't you just call me whatever you're most comfortable with?" Seeing a flash of white teeth in the shadowy wand light that could only be a totally predatory sneer, Harry laughed, "I meant either Harry or Potter."
"Pity. I've been waiting for years to call you some of those names aloud," Snape lamented.
"I'm sure you'll get around to them in time," Harry said. His gaze turned to the empty box and the now silent forest around them. "Looks like we're done here."
"Yes, we should be starting back," Snape said, not seeming in any more of a hurry to return to the castle than he was.
If nothing else, their midnight brushes over the years had established that they were both insomniacs. He knew that Snape would probably get as little sleep as he would if they returned to Hogwarts right now without unwinding first.
Harry considered the hour, and the company, and then softly said, "I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Do you want to stop into the Three Broomsticks for a late supper? We could apparate from here."
"Late supper? It's past midnight," Snape said.
Harry was becoming sensitive enough to the nuances of Snape's speech patterns to translate his words. Anything not phrased as an outright negative usually meant that Snape was interested, but wanted to be convinced. Snape's inherently cautious and suspicious nature demanded that he make the idea of any social contact firmly the other person's responsibility. Harry couldn't help but wonder what kind of rejection it had taken to instil that type of caution in this proud man.
Harry tried a grin and lightly teasing tone. "Rosmerta's open for another two hours. Her roast pork's even better than her stew. What do you say?"
To his confusion, Snape tensed beside him. After a moment, he warily asked, "How do you know I enjoy roast pork?"
Harry sighed. "We've been eating at the same table for four years. It's the only meal you ever take seconds on. I'm sure you know what my favourites are, too, don't you?"
A longer pause followed. Snape seemed to be internally debating something. Finally, he gave a waspish, "If you think that I have nothing better to do than memorize your food preferences, then you're a bigger egomaniac than even I imagined."
Harry's new understanding allowed him to laugh at words that as little as a week ago would have had him sniping back. Pushing it to see just how far Snape would allow him to go, he joked, "You're just irritated because I noticed something that the Army of Light's most famous spy failed to note!"
Harry held his breath, waiting for explosion or cold denial.
To his delight, Snape gave an exasperated sounding huff and said, "If we are going to the Three Broomsticks, we should do so now."
As far as concessions went, it wasn't much. But, considering their tumultuous relationship, Harry felt like he'd won a major victory. Diversion was better than an outright lie. He knew how rare an honour it was for Snape to trust anyone enough to be honest in their presence when self-protection might call for deceit.
Feeling a strange lightness inside that he finally recognized as happiness, Harry didn't remark upon the evasion, saying instead, "I'll meet you in front of Rosmerta's, all right?"
Unlike their last venture there, tonight when Snape nodded in agreement, Harry was totally confident that the other man would keep their assignation. That odd buoyancy growing stronger, Harry apparated out of the Forbidden Forest to await his dinner companion on Hogsmeade's main street.
It might be strange as hell to be friends with Severus Snape, but he was enjoying it immensely.
*~*~*
"Good morning," a wry sounding voice greeted him as Harry stood before his bathroom mirror trying to do something to, if not tame, then, at least capture, his errant hair. He was way overdue for a haircut.
"Ron!" Harry cried, turning with a wide grin. For a second, he just stared into his friend's tired blue eyes, then he flung his arms around the taller man for a quick, slightly self-conscious hug. Ron might be sleeping a room away, but Hermione was the only one who'd seen him for any length of time since the attack on poor Carl. "It's been weeks!"
"I know," Ron said, patting his back as they disengaged. "I'm only here for a few hours before I'm due for another sweep."
"Still looking for Burke?"
"It's become our life's work," Ron grumpily answered.
"Ah." Giving the hair up as a lost cause, Harry led Ron back into his bedroom. "So what have you been doing?"
Ron launched into a list of all the estates, holdings, and possible hideouts he and the Auror team he commanded had searched in the last three weeks. It was a staggering number. Harry was exhausted just listening to him. While they talked, they headed back through the adjoining door into the Weasleys' sitting room, taking a seat on the blue couch.
"Morning, Harry," Hermione greeted as she came out of the loo in her white bathrobe with her wet hair wrapped up in a turbaned brown towel.
"Hi," Harry replied, grinning as she hurried into the bedroom to dress for class. Fortunately, he was already dressed himself, so he'd have some time to spend with Ron before he had to teach his first class of the day. "Gods, I've missed you!"
Ron grinned back at him. "Me, too. I get to see Hermione awake every now and then, but it seems like forever since we were both conscious at the same time."
"Speak for yourself." Harry chuckled.
"Don't even pretend that you're not sleeping. Every time I've stuck my nose in your door when I get home in the wee hours, you've been snoring like a hibernating dragon."
Harry smiled at the exaggeration. "Severus gave me a large bottle of his Dreamless Sleep potion. It works really well."
"I'm glad to hear it. It's about time you got some decent rest," Ron said, then enquired in a wry tone with a lift of his brow, "Severus, huh?"
"Er . . . ."
"Hermione tells me that you've been spending a lot of time with the greasy . . . with Snape," Ron seemed to catch himself. "What's up with that?"
