Rather than making a fuss over the landmark admission, Harry prompted, "So about the potion?"
Severus' dark, glinting eyes seemed to soften as he picked up his story. Ten very confusing minutes later, Severus finished up with, "The new potion should cure pneumonia twice as fast as those presently in use. I applied to the Ministry for a patent this afternoon."
"So this is a victory celebration, then," Harry said with a grin. "Congratulations!"
To his delight, a pleased blush lightly tinted Severus' sallow cheeks. "Thank you." Severus seemed to consciously force himself to ask, "And what of you? How was your day?"
This was another breakthrough of sorts. For the last month, Harry had pretty much carried the conversation by bringing up subjects and events or enquiring into how Severus passed the time. This was the first instance where Severus returned the favour and attempted to make small talk.
Harry considered how best to answer. When Hermione had asked him the same question at dinner tonight, Harry had told her of his spat with Ron over his friendship with Severus and then gone on to his discussion with Carl Westfield later in the day. Harry knew that mentioning what had happened with Ron this morning would only alienate Severus at this point. Taking a deep breath, he approached what should have been the more sensitive topic. "Carl Westfield stopped by to see me after class today."
Harry didn't miss the sudden tension that claimed Severus' lean form. The other man straightened in his seat.
"Oh?" Snape said.
Feeling nervous himself, Harry softly said, "He, er, asked if I could talk to you about something."
Harry hated the guarded expression that removed all traces of Severus' earlier good humour. "What was it Mr. Westfield couldn't speak to me directly about?"
Wishing he could just tell Severus that it was okay, he tried to do so without offering the idiotic platitude that Severus would probably only sneer at. "It's nothing dire or ominous. Carl couldn't help but notice that you're grading him far more leniently than his friends for the same mistakes."
Severus was silent for a moment before he tentatively said, "I've been attempting to make Mr. Westfield's Potions class as non-threatening an environment as possible."
"That's why he asked me to talk to you about it. He didn't want to hurt your feelings because he knew you were being nice to him," Harry explained.
Severus muttered a suspicious sounding, "But?"
"But the kid gloves treatment reminds him of why you're being so nice to him. I think Carl just wants things to be normal again," Harry said. "I . . . imagine you don't know how to treat him right now. I know I've had some trouble figuring out how to treat him and I'm not in the horrible situation you are with him."
Harry expected Severus to explode with anger, but Severus surprised him with a subdued, "Your estimation is correct. I don't know how to interact with Mr. Westfield now."
"So you're treating him like one of your Slytherins?" Harry asked.
Severus gave a slow nod. "It seemed wiser to err on the side of caution than to risk . . . . I don't mind the dunderheads hating or fearing me for things I've actually done to them, but this is . . . difficult."
"Try impossible." Harry could hardly believe that Severus was actually talking to him about this. But, then, who else did Severus have to discuss his problems with? Feeling guilty for not having thought to ask Severus how he was coping with the Westfield issue more frequently, he softly added, "I think both you and Carl are handling the situation very well."
"We both know if that were the case, Mr. Westfield would have spoken to me himself," Severus softly denied.
"Not necessarily. Carl is very confused right now. I don't think he knows how to behave around you any more than you know how to behave around him," Harry said.
Severus took a sip of his golden cognac and said, "You seem to have a rapport with Mr. Westfield. With all the students, if we're being honest." Harry could hear the resentment that Severus was no doubt attempting to conceal. "Have you any suggestions on how to proceed in this situation?"
That Severus would ask his advice both shocked and honoured Harry. Trying to remain as casual as possible, he tentatively suggested, "Well, I wouldn't stop being nice to him. I think he needs that kind of reassurance right now. But perhaps you could grade his papers the same way you do his friends'? That way he wouldn't feel so . . . signalled out."
Of course, Severus wouldn't be in this situation if he graded everyone's papers fairly, but Harry knew better than to voice such a thought. Right now there were larger issues to be dealt with than Severus' unfortunate despotism.
"Yes, perhaps you're right. Misters Mangra and Smithers aren't bad students. There can be no harm in it," Severus agreed.
At first, Harry didn't understand Severus' bewildering reply, but then he finally realized that Severus was now intending to extend his preferential treatment to Westfield's two best friends. Harry felt his jaw drop open as he searched for something to say. He simply could not understand the way Severus' mind worked sometimes. After a moment, he closed his mouth and said nothing.
He didn't think Carl was broadcasting what Severus was doing to the entire student population or even his entire house. As long as Carl's marks weren't wildly different from those of his two best friends, it was possible the boy would never realize what was going on, and that was really all that mattered, that Carl feel more comfortable in class.
"Thank you for the suggestion," Severus said in a pleased tone, breaking Harry's shocked silence.
Seeing the humour in the situation, Harry smiled and said, "Any time." Then, thinking that they could both stand a change of subject, he asked in an interested tone, "Just how many patents do you hold?"
"Seventy-two, including this afternoon's discovery," Severus promptly replied.
"For?" Harry bravely enquired, uncertain if he were up to the minutiae of arcane Potion experimentation.
Severus' startled expression gave him the feeling that he wasn't asked that question very frequently.
"Do you seriously want to know all that information?" Severus questioned.
Sensing the genuine eagerness behind Severus' hesitant inquiry, Harry knew what his answer had to be. "Yes, I do."
Harry leaned back in his seat and watched the play of expression over Severus' face as he detailed his life's work. It was the most passion he'd ever heard in Severus' voice – well, aside from when the man was screaming at him.
Being Severus Snape's friend might be weird as hell, but it was definitely worth the strangeness, Harry decided as he listened to the impressive list of accomplishments. He didn't understand it, but every peculiar peccadillo he unearthed in Severus made him want to know the man better.
*~*~*
Potter was back again. This was the third time this week that Severus' former nemesis had shown up at his lab door. Two school evenings, and now a Saturday afternoon.
Under the pretext of stirring a brewed cauldron, Severus surreptitiously watched the younger wizard patiently chop slugs.
Potter's shaggy black hair was as unkempt as usual, but Severus was beginning to appreciate how the unruly locks framed the attractive face. The disorderly hair wouldn't have even been presentable on another wizard, but somehow on Potter, it was appropriate.
Severus watched those square, capable fingers as they moved the slug and knife, chopping with an easy rhythm, looking for all the world as if it were something Potter enjoyed doing. Those fingers were calloused from holding onto a quidditch broom and darkened from years of daily exposure to the elements during his time with the Cannons. They were a sharp contrast to Severus' own pale-skinned hands with their chemical-stained, yellowed fingers.
Adjust the slug, chop. Adjust the slug, chop. Potter looked content to dice the slimy molluscs forever. The night before last it had been stinkweed Potter had cut with an equally unperturbed attitude. The man almost seemed happy to be in the dungeon doing tasks so unpleasant that even Severus disliked them. In between bouts of sporadic conversation, Potter was humming softly under his breath.
He's doing it simply to annoy me, Severus told himself, irritated by how well Potter was succeeding.
Severus kept giving the man the most noisome tasks to help him with, knowing that sooner or later, the adult Potter would tire of doing the same chores as he had as an adolescent in detention and then his own life could then return to normal. But Potter accomplished the work without complaining, for the dubious reward of nothing but his company. What's more, Potter kept coming back for more.
Severus was at his wit's end, for he had no clue what Potter truly wanted from him.
A cessation of hostilities, Potter had said, a state of détente. But there was a difference between non-aggression and . . . well, the companionship Potter had been offering over the last month and a half.
Severus knew it couldn't be real. He wasn't the kind of man who inspired this type of camaraderie. And even if he were, there was simply too much history between them. Every self-preservation instinct he possessed kept insisting that he was being set up.
But for what? What purpose could this interaction possibly serve? It wasn't as though Potter were planning to publicly embarrass him, for everything they did was private – helping him here in the lab, a dinner or drink in Hogsmeade, stopping in to see him during a shared free period – if Potter abruptly stopped any of these bizarre behaviours, it wasn't as though anyone besides the two of them would know.
Still, Potter had to want something, something more than the Dreamless Sleep potion Severus had been giving him. In case that were the fool's sole motive for inflicting his company upon him, the other night he'd told Potter that he didn't have to keep coming by, that he'd still supply him with the potion. All that had earned him was a hurt look before Potter had asked if he wanted to go to the Three Broomsticks for drinks that night. It was driving Severus mad.
The worst part of it all was that he didn't seem to be able to turn away from the friendship being so mysteriously offered to him. Severus knew all it would take to put an end to this nonsense was a legitimate attack – not the insults he heaped on Potter daily that the younger man simply laughed off, but a truly Slytherin campaign of malice – only, he didn't seem to be able to muster the resolve to do it.
He tried to tell himself that he'd given Potter his word that he would attempt a state of détente, that his forbearance was a matter of honour. However, he wasn't that good at self-deception.
In his heart, he knew the truth. Potter's company, his incessant cheerful chatter, had eased the gaping void of loneliness that had been his life since Albus' death. No matter how insulting he was or how often he turned a sour expression on Potter, the other man simply laughed it off and kept coming back for more. It was such a novel experience to have someone smile when they saw him, instead of grimace and avert their eyes, that Severus found himself savouring their time together, even though he knew it couldn't last and that there had to be an ulterior motive for it all. But like a true Slytherin, he would take advantage of the situation until it all went to hell, which it inevitably would. If Potter didn't get tired of playing this masochistic game, Severus knew his own personality would sooner or later drive Potter away, as it had everyone before him. He knew that. Yet, there was a part of him that hoped he was wrong.
It was that unfamiliar emotion that was troubling him the most. Nothing had ever frightened him so much as hope, not even the insane Dark Lord he'd served.
He'd learned the hard way that hope was the most traitorous and cruel of emotions. Every time he'd dared trust in it; he'd paid dearly for his foolishness. He'd hoped for acceptance, power, and prestige when he'd joined Voldemort's cause at seventeen. Instead, he'd received a life of slavery and revilement. He'd hoped to make amends for that error by joining the side of light. That venture had cost him more years of slavery and the only childhood friend he'd ever had. His hopes for the Dark Arts position had been permanently thwarted, for not even Albus Dumbledore would dare place a former Death Eater in that position. As for Severus' hopes as far as social interaction went, every time he'd tried to accept someone's overture of friendship over the years to ease his solitude, he'd ended up being played for a fool. With regards to romance, those humiliating lessons still stung his pride. In no area of his life had hope ever panned out, not without presenting him with a price tag too dear to pay. He was an addled, old fool to think that would change this late in his life. And with Harry Potter, of all people.
For both their sakes, Severus wished Potter would get to his point soon, so that this ridiculous charade would end and he could go back to his simple, solitary existence. The longer this farce took to play out, the more it was going to hurt when it ended. Already, he was placing too much significance on the time they spent together.
"Severus?" Potter called him back to the present.
"Yes?"
"When we're done here, do you want to go check the cicadas and then stop in at the Three Broomsticks?" Potter's melodic voice echoed through the cavernous Potions lab.
That was another thing Severus didn't understand. For some reason Potter seemed to enjoy going to check on the section of the forest he'd charmed. This man had defeated the most malevolent dark wizard Britain had seen in three thousand years; Potter had enough power to raze or enslave this land single-handedly if he so chose, yet the man acted like an enraptured first year over that stretch of woods.
Just like the fact that Potter was here with him at all, it made no sense.
Once, Severus would have gone out of his way to squash the excitement and anticipation in those moss green eyes. Tonight, he merely glanced at the grey, cloudy sky visible through his laboratory's narrow, high dungeon window to ensure that the rain had stopped and then agreed, "If you wish."
