Part 7- Twiggy Bump
The sign swung in the cold, bitter winter breeze, the sign’s words reading “The Twiggy Bump”, in elaborate script that might have been more legible twenty years before. It hung from a metal, rusty pole, creaking every few seconds as the wind brushed against it. The wind had a life of its own, whistling against windows with cracks in them and making hissing noises as it brushed dry, brown leaves carelessly along the frozen road. White, clean snow fell, gathering on the ground only to be trampled and stomped down into dirty ice by visiting wizards. The loud laughter and chatter crackled through the crisply cold air, livening up a normally dormant style of atmosphere.
Severus Snape pushed the door of the restaurant open, his gloved hand hitting the dark wood with a soft thunk. He heard the hinges creak with the movement, and he stepped in, scraping the dirt from his feet against the doormat. He brushed himself off, gracefully, sliding his black leather gloves off and tucking them into his trench coat pocket. He bypassed the coat-rack, not caring to leave his belongings unattended. Sharp black eyes found who they were looking for, and Snape rubbed his hands together briefly to warm them. He walked over, listening to the muddled conversations of the people at the tables around him. He slipped out of his coat and draped it over his chair, sitting down in front of the youthful, green-eyed wizard.
Harry raised his eyes to look at his former teacher, having been cradling a cup of tea within his hands, obviously to combat the cold, Snape noted, since he wasn’t drinking out of the pale porcelain mug. “Hello, Professor,” Harry said, with a smile that lit his face with a warm expression not unlike the one he used when he was speaking to Dumbledore. Severus wondered how he had gotten to that point of affection within Harry’s heart. Snape nodded curtly and ordered a cup of coffee for himself, since the staff meeting had been long and arduous, and he needed some sort of caffeine. One wouldn’t believe how ridiculous Dumbledore sometimes was, even though Snape held him in high regard and respected him greatly. Severus just never really considered the ownership of a good pair of socks important.
Once Snape had gotten his life saving cup of coffee, he relaxed a bit and studied Harry. The younger wizard looked ruffled from wandering in from the wind outside, and Harry rubbed the cup between his palms, smiling softly at Severus’ gaze. There was a long, hesitant silence between them, and Harry couldn’t think of anything to say. He was comfortable in the silence, since Snape was obviously relaxed. He was getting older, however, and Harry had guessed he was in his late forties, since he still looked youthful. He had aged well, without too many wrinkles, and he was rather handsome, if Harry was allowed to give an opinion to his looks. Not quite as ruggedly good looking as Sirius Black, but Harry didn’t want to compare the two. Severus’ hair had grown out, to a length just about his shoulders, cradling a handsomely angular face, pale from having no exposure to the sunshine.
“How are your friends?” Severus asked, softly. Harry brushed his hair back with his hand, raking his bangs away from his green eyes.
“Ron’s out doing Auror work…Hermione decided to go off and study some of the Dark Arts in Egypt, since she thinks there might be some ancient teachings she’d enjoy studying…and Draco…well, he decided to take the Auror job as well, or at least until Quidditch season starts, even though no one really likes him much down at the offices. They think he’s going to betray them at some point, or something,” Harry spoke into his cup as he drank, his voice sounding hollow. Severus still couldn’t get used to the idea that they were friends, even though in the past Draco and Harry had to combine their powers to fight against Voldemort, and it hadn’t been a willing choice between both of them. But once they had returned, the chemistry between the two had changed, and they had become close friends, much to Ron Weasley’s dismay.
“Of course…no one has ever trusted the Malfoys, even though he’s the last in the Malfoy bloodline. But people should be able to trust him soon, even though he never got the spotlight when it came to defeating Voldemort.” Snape rubbed his fingers along the rim of his cup, wiping the remnants of coffee away as he mused to himself, thinking of the Malfoys and their involvement in the war. Draco Malfoy’s involvement in the fighting had been the turning point of the entire battle. Once he had turned against his father, he had created a situation in which Lucius had to let go of all his ties to anything else substantial to his previous social life, since Draco’s vociferous rebellion was living proof that he was involved with Voldemort. Snape still remembered the night he had found Draco wandering within Hogwarts, soaking wet and shivering from a temperature. It had been a miracle that the blonde had even survived, since escaping from Lucius was a feat in itself. His mother had disappeared directly afterwards, as well, having fallen to an obvious fate.
“I think he deserved a lot more out of the war…it’s not like I want to be centralized on all the time, you know,” Harry said, his voice frank. Severus eyed him for a moment, making the teen reconsider his wording, even though Harry wasn’t about to change it. “I know what you’re thinking, that I enjoyed all the fame and loved every second of it, but it really isn’t like that at all. It was unfair, and it left a lot of people behind because of it. No one said anything about it, but I knew that everyone hated the fame I was given just because I was the last one to wave a wand at Voldemort. I hated it, too, even though everyone thought I loved it. Even you.” Harry’s green eyes locked on Snape’s black pair, and the potions teacher looked away, mainly because he knew it was the truth. “I loved the first few seconds of it, and then it all faded away. All of it’s a nuisance, now that I don’t want to be famous. It’s an odd thing, wanting to be a normal person instead of someone famous…it’s something everyone wants, but once I had it handed to me on a platter I didn’t want it.”
“Of course,” Severus’ tone revealed nothing of what he was thinking, his voice flat and emotionless. It didn’t give a hint as to whether he believed Harry or if he didn’t, and Harry didn’t care. If Severus didn’t want to believe it, it was up to him, but all he could do is tell him what the truth was. Harry fumbled for something to speak about, since he had talked himself into an uncomfortable corner.
“So how did you meet my Dad? Was it just off of classes, or did you two meet somewhere else?” Severus was jolted into the present with the question, having still been mulling over the outcome of the war. Harry flushed lightly as he saw he had taken Severus out of his train of thought, but he didn’t say anything to apologize for the intrusion. Snape raised a slender eyebrow and then put his cup down with a soft click, thinking a bit.
“We met at the very beginning of our first year, outside of the Hogwarts Express.” Severus could understand Harry’s curiosity-he knew nothing of what his father was like, except for bits and pieces of information that he had gathered from all of his experiences as a wizard. “He was an interesting person-quirky, loud, boisterous. I admired that in him.” It wasn’t the only thing that Severus admired about James Potter-but he wasn’t about to think about it or speak of it, so he pushed it into a dark corner within his mind, reserved for further thought later. “He and Sirius Black were ten times worse than the Weasley twins, and once they had met Remus, the three were the most admired troublemakers in the entire of Hogwarts.” Harry didn’t even notice how open Snape was being, and Severus felt a little naked as he let his defensive shields down.
“Admired?” Harry’s eyebrows rose in curiosity, and he sipped at his tea one last time and settled it upon the table, gazing at him intently.
“Of course,” Severus said, gazing down upon his coffee and studying his reflection. “They’re the only ones who were successful with their tricks. They never got caught, and everyone knew who completed the tricks-but the professors were clueless, they knew nothing of what the three were doing.” Severus pondered a bit, reminiscing over the past. It had been a long time since he had thought of what the Marauders had accomplished, and the memory of James setting a Crackling Flooflepuff, which exploded with a loud, flatulent sound, and filled the air with a quite unpleasant smell, upon Professor Sliva’s seat, brought a slight smile on his lips. Professor Sliva had been the Potions teacher during their day, a nasty old woman who had a tendency to take points from Gryffindor and Slytherin alike. Of course, none of the students had enjoyed her company, and the unpleasant thought that Severus had turned into another teacher just like her plagued him. He enjoyed being unpleasant sometimes, but being disagreeable came with a price, one that he never really considered a price mainly because he didn’t care. Snape stared into space a bit as Harry gazed at him intently, trying to strip away the defensive layers himself with his green eyes so he could read into his teacher’s thoughts. The difficult task was soon defeated as Snape looked over at him, his black eyes studying his former student. Harry looked away, and then a question rose within the surface of his mind. Why was Severus being so…affectionate about them? Hadn’t they almost killed him?
“You were so bitter, though-you know, back in my third year-you said my father and his friends had played that prank upon you, and it made you so angry when you had found out that I had been wandering around Hogsmeade…why…” He trailed off, mostly from a lack of being able to word himself correctly.
There was a long, drawn out silence, as Harry and Severus stared at each other for a while. Then Harry realized something, with a bit of a shock, and he accidentally nudged his elbow into his teacup as he moved, which tilted over and spilled dark liquid onto the table. With a murmured incantation, Severus took out his wand, and it was instantly cleaned. Harry wiped his bare elbows off with a handkerchief; thankful he had rolled his robe sleeves up before leaning against the table. The thing he had noticed about his teacher wasn’t in his face, because he always had the same expression and rarely smiled, but it was in the black eyes that had always been coldly bitter. They weren’t cold, nor were they angry, and Harry felt a chill go down his spine. They were almost…human…warm, not so like hard, shattered black glass as they had been before. Their staring contest ended abruptly when a waitress came over to their table, requesting their orders, and both of them ordered, Harry looking a bit dazed. Something had happened to his teacher, and he had just realized what it was. His teacher has become more human, not so bitter, and perhaps had become forgiving of all the difficulties the world had given him-and surely, there had been many.
“Of course I haven’t forgiven them for what they did to me. There is no point in hating them.” Severus’ words were clipped, as if he had realized he had given too much of himself up, and didn’t want to reveal much more. The short lapse in his personality, which had revealed more than Harry had ever thought the tall professor to be capable of, had ended. Harry’s cheeks flushed a bit in disappointment.
“I wish I could have seen my dad when he was in school with you…” Harry said, mainly to himself, his voice melancholy and filled with a sort of grief Severus hadn’t heard since he had been in Hogwarts as a twenty one year old, sitting in a tall, uncomfortable wooden chair as he was being questioned. It was the kind of grief that was intangible, the pain of having been unable to help someone whom was close. Severus turned his face away, the brief flickering of memories, the sight of the blood and dismembered limbs, flashing through his mind. The rain, mixing with the horrified tears on his cheeks, at the sight of tufts of hair scattered upon the ripped up rug, blood soaked and clinging to the ruined cloth, tricking through his head almost like the rain had on that fateful night. “…what was he like?” He had probably asked the question countless times, but no one had given him the answer he had wanted. Severus looked up at the words, and his brow furrowed a little. Harry saw the guarded look flash across his teacher’s face, but Severus relaxed momentarily.
“He was…” Snape trailed off, wondering how he should say it. “…the classic trickster, the joker, the one person that was happy all the time and serious when the situation called for it. Intelligent, to the point of brilliance, every prank he pulled being planned into perfection, and performed the same way.” He turned his face away. He did not want to say this, for it revealed what kind of person he was, as well. He did not want to open up this much-he had opened up enough, and there were certain boundaries which he put upon himself. Harry saw that he had gone as far as he was going to go with his former professor, and he dropped the subject quickly.
The conversation passed quickly, and even though Snape wasn’t about to admit it, he enjoyed speaking to Harry, despite the fact he wasn’t the one usually talking. They kept on talking long after the meal was done, Harry having drunk a little too much of the local alcohol the restaurant sold, while laughing at a story he himself was telling. Severus sat there in silence, just admiring the flush on Harry’s cheeks and enjoying the happy expression upon his face. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink?” Severus slid the glass mug from Harry’s reaching grasp, and the wizard pouted quite fetchingly as he fell back into his seat. Snape gave a mild smirk and looked at the grandfather clock next to the door, while an owl perched upon it hooted as the hour turned. It was about six o’clock, much later than Severus would have thought they had been out. It was partly my fault, he mused to himself vaguely, as he looked at his own empty glass next to his clean plate. Harry had gotten a taste of it and had ended up ordering it since he had enjoyed the flavour, and the things he had told Severus would probably scandalize the poor wizard into a ruddy blush as well as hiding, because the humilation would be too great. Severus left eight or nine gold coins upon the table, enough to cover their meal, the drinks, as well as the dessert Harry had been pining for, and he got up. He stretched his arms towards the ceiling as Harry relaxed, the sound of his voice trailing off as he watched Snape slip his gloves as well as his trench coat on. Severus had no idea that Harry could eat as much as he did, but then again, Hogwarts’ feasts probably had prepared him for it. He was a wisp of a slender boy, skinny probably from the constant workouts from his Quidditch practices.
“Come on,” said Snape, quietly, into Harry’s ear as he slipped his arms underneath his students and lifted his heavy weight up off of the chair. Harry’s head leaned against Snape’s lips, and the professor pulled away abruptly, leaning from the enticing smell of cinnamon. The biggest mistake he had made, he knew, was to forget about telling Harry that the drink was alcoholic. Once Harry had started slipping away into his fuzzy stupor, he realized that he had forgotten. The restaurant had emptied except for a few late goers, who had decided to munch a bit from their busy shopping. It was only two more days until Christmas, Snape mused again, irritably, as Harry leaned heavily against his shoulder. “I should get you back to the castle and brew you a Cleansing Potion,” Snape murmured, and he vaguely hoped that Harry wasn’t going to collapse on the way.
“Mmpgh…” Harry responded, and Snape looked down at him with an amused expression. He had probably never gotten drunk before. Severus helped him out of the restaurant, dressing him in the last cloak upon the rack, and they stood in front of the near-empty building for a while as Harry adjusted to the cold. Severus’ breath puffed out cloudily into the icy air, as Harry took a tight hold onto his other shoulder. Snape looked down upon him and quirked an eyebrow, wondering for the life of him why he had let Harry get drunk in the first place. Thankfully, he didn’t collapse, and Harry looked up at him with bleary eyes. There was a moment of unreality, and Snape looked down upon him for a moment. His chin was tilted up perfectly, his green eyes half shut and a flush of intoxication upon his cheeks. He found Harry to be beautiful, the pale skin asking for his lips to run across it, like vanilla candy. He hated the idea, because of James…he paused a bit, wracking his brain. His own knowledge of his sexuality wasn’t clear enough for him to judge whether he was gay or bisexual…the problem struck him as odd…why was he contemplating kissing Harry-one of his former students? But what chance would present itself after this…? Against his better judgment, he pushed the thoughts away. He forgot his misgivings and leaned down, the people around him melting away from his consciousness. There was no embarrassment, no shame, no doubts left behind, as he kissed Harry’s parted lips. They obediently molded themselves to his own, the sweet taste of liquor within Harry’s mouth asking for someone to experience it themselves, and Severus heard the younger wizard moan deeply. Then there was a swift yank, and Harry pulled away abruptly, as if he had awakened from a dream. Harry stumbled back, gasping deeply as he stared at Snape through blurred eyesight. “P-professor…no…I’m sorry, no…” Harry seemed to have panicked from the kiss, his voice still slurred.
“But you have to get a potion for-“
“No!” Harry said, harshly, jarring Severus painfully. He had stepped over boundaries, he knew, and he had nothing to say in his defense. The long haired Potions teacher stood there limply, staring at the ground as if he were some sort of abashed child whom had put his hand into the cookie jar, and was caught by his parents. “I’m sorry, so sorry…” Harry choked thickly, and he swept past Severus, brushing against him as he swayed unsteadily. Snape didn’t move as he disappeared from view, still stunned from the abrupt rejection. He wiped at his face, the poor excuse to let tears fall having presented itself. He covered his face with his gloved hands, slowly composing himself. He drew his damp hands away from his face, and begrudgingly started his way up to Hogwarts. He felt very heavy, as if some sort of weight had placed itself upon his shoulders, and it was so painful he nearly burst into disgraceful tears again. Disappointment flooded him miserably, slipping into anger quickly-anger at himself, and anger at what he tried to do. The feelings provoked more tears, but he blinked them away and hoped he could get to the dungeons before he turned into a blinking mess of crying. He quickened the pace, wanting to escape from the public eye of others whom could see and gossip, and he went down to his dungeons.
Relieved, Snape opened the door of his office, where Moth was sitting nipping at a swinging pendulum on his desk, and he collapsed into his chair. He abruptly grabbed onto the soft gray owl, which squawked in surprise, and buried his face into the feathery chest, finally letting himself give in to the miserable, indecent tears.
(AN: ::phew:: That was a long part. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed-hope I’ve met your expectations-if I haven’t, do tell me what I did wrong. I know it’s difficult to think of Snape (of all people) crying because of this, but I think it’s quite plausible-he’s human, just like anyone else. Bwah. Thank you all for reviewing! It’s really encouraged me to keep on writing!)