|snarryhols (snarryhols) wrote in snarry_holidays,|
@ 2007-12-14 10:43:00
|Entry tags:||au: magic, fic, rated: nc-17|
In the Bath, for jin_fenghuang
Title: In the Bath
Word Count: 5400
Warnings: no spoilers, no canon
Disclaimer: No harm is meant or intended.
Summary: Snape wants what he thinks he cannot have...and Harry's a bit of a slag.
In the Bath
Severus Snape dug his heels into the slick porcelain of the bathtub in a futile effort to gain traction. His wrist ached where he supported the weight of his arched body, his arm shook, and he knew that water was sloshing over the side of the claw foot tub, soaking the floor, seeping into the cold stone dungeon floor, but he didn’t care. He grunted, the sound coming from deep within his chest, ugly and primal. His other hand wrapped around his prick in a grip so hard it hurt. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped slowly down his brow, making an unhurried path into his eyes.
Snape stroked himself, his eyes shut desperately tight as he shoved the most pornographic images he could conjure into the forefront of his brain. Witches naked and panting, enormous breasts and swollen lips getting fucked from every angle and loving it. Shape’s ardour sputtered, his prick uninterested in buxom, blonde witches. He switched to another favored, if distasteful, fantasy. Lucius Malfoy, naked on his knees, Snape’s prick sliding in and out of his mouth, past pale lips… nothing.
Snape’s wrist beneath his body was on fire and the water was growing cold and so he gave in - just this one last time, he told himself - and slutty, naked Lucius in his mind disappeared, replaced in an instant with smiling green eyes behind thick glasses, a negligent wave and baggy jeans. Potter.
Snape’s hand slowed around his shaft, which was suddenly aching and throbbing with delicious anticipation. The aches in his body were subsumed by the pleasure that burned through him, he heels planted firmly, and he came.
Snape’s body arched hard and wave after wave of pleasure thrummed through him, spurting from his prick, racing down his spine to his feet and he let out a loud, inarticulate grunt.
His body softened and he relaxed slowly, slowly, slipping back into the cooling water, his breath coming in panting breaths. He was flooded with the delicious lethargy that was part and parcel of an intense climax.
Snape pulled himself out of the bath tub and set his feet gingerly on the soaked carpet, tugging an enormous black towel around his waist.
Grabbing a corner of the bath-sheet, Severus scrubbed the fog from the cracked bathroom mirror and looked at his flushed face for a long moment. “You, Severus Snape, are a fool.”
Snape was just barely on time for his date. He had spent too long in the bath and the tips of his hair were still damp, curling slightly under the collar of his dress robes.
Snape knocked sharply on the heavily warded door, which opened almost immediately.
“Hermione, you look lovely, as always,” Snape said, inclining his head as he looked over his companion for the evening.
Hermione stepped back from the door to her flat and showed her guest in.
“Thank you, professor. You don’t think it’s a little…” She paused, pulling at the low neckline of her garnet red robes.
Snape smiled, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I think exactly that, Miss Granger.” He leered, reaching out to brush her hands away from her décolletage. “I do believe that’s the purpose, however.”
Hermione flushed, “Um, yes, of course. May I get you a drink?”
Hermione moved gracefully towards the sideboard and grabbed a heavy bottle of Wizard Whiskey. “McGivins, I assume.”
Snape nodded absently, looking around the flat. He took in the large entranceway-cum-living room which he stood. Large windows and heavy, expensive furniture dominated the room. The rare and expensive enchanted ceiling, however, was the focal point. Snape could see into the large modern kitchen and stretching his neck he was able to see the hallway which led to the three bedrooms that the flat boasted.
Hermione pressed a glass into his hand. “He’s not here, Professor, he had to meet his…um… companion in the east end."”
Snape swirled the finger-full of whiskey in his glass before downing it in one gulp. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Miss Granger.”
Hermione smiled and turned to refill his glass. “Uh huh. You and Harry have been getting along quite well lately, haven‘t you, Professor?”
“Mr. Potter enjoys screwing his way through the bachelors of England, and I believe I’ve asked you to call me Severus on more than one occasion, Miss Granger.” Severus snapped out the girl’s name, layering it with the disdain that had worked so effectively while she was a student.
It had little effect on her now, however and the chit smiled at him and handed him another glass of spirits, this one containing even less alcohol than the previous glass.
Snape glared at the glass and took a small sip, savouring the liquid as it lit his tongue and cheeks and throat on fire. “Lovely,” he murmured.
“Thank you again, Severus.” Hermione said, dropping into a small curtsey, a Snapean smirk set firmly on her lips.
“Charming as always,” Snape said dryly. “So, Hermione, what’s the plan for this evening?”
“Besides making Charlie green with envy, you mean?” Hermione asked, turning to the large foyer mirror and making small nervous adjustments to her Sleakeasy-ed hair.
“No script tonight, then? You haven‘t plotted the Arithmantical probabilities of which actions will entice your swain and which will not?”
Hermione laughed, then, the nerves that had been building up all night, escaping with the high, anxious sound.
“You’re right, I’m being silly. Severus, if I haven’t already thanked you for this, then I do so again. Thank you.” Hermione stepped in front of Severus and made adjusted the collar of his robes, lifting out the hair that curled softly beneath it.
“I can’t think of any other way. To him, I’m still just his little brother’s friend.”
“It boggles the mind, that you believe showing up with the notorious Snape will change that. More than likely the chap will think you’ve finally lost what remaining marbles you have and have you committed.”
Hermione laughed again, and this time it came easier. “You, Professor Snape, have no idea how people see you now, do you?”
Snape looked at the girl, a brow arched. He had become friends with her after the war, the two of them spending months in each other’s pockets as they convalesced at St. Mungos.
They had discovered rather quickly that whatever differences and grudges they had were no match for endless weeks of tedium and physical therapy they endured.
Being hit by the same curse meant being healed in the same manner. Though, Severus would never admit it, he had grown to love Hermione during those painful, long months. She was the friend he never had, not as a child and certainly not as an adult. He should have known better really, than to open himself to her.
Like any good friend of Potter, Hermione was bound and determined to drag him into one inane, dangerous or ridiculous scheme after another.
Tonight, he was to be her beard.
Hermione took one last look in the mirror and held out her hand. Severus grabbed it with his larger one, and with a sharp crack the two of them Apparated to the Ministry. Tonight was one of the biggest celebrations of the year. It was the Aurors' Annual Christmas Ball and attendance was mandatory for all members of the Order of The Phoenix.
The two disappeared with a sharp crack and they were inside the largest of the three ballrooms at the majestic Hawthorne Hotel located hundreds of feet below downtown London.
The room would have made Flitwick giddy, Snape thought, taking in the myriad of enchanted decorations. Twenty foot fir trees grew from the marble floors, and as Snape and Hermione passed by, he could hear them gently humming Christmas carols. Fairies floated lazily on the air, encapsulated in shimmering silver orbs, swaths of silver and gold fabric draped every surface and the room was lit with hundreds of beeswax candles.
Severus breathed in deeply - the mingled scents of fir and candle was a soothing one.
Hermione leaned into Snape. “I see the Ministry has decided to give tasteful a try.”
Snape laughed softly in agreement. “I rather enjoyed last year’s display,” he said. “You must agree, my dear, that forty elves sporting reindeer antlers was amusing.”
Hermione stopped walking and glared at her companion.” It would have been more amusing, I think, if the antlers hadn’t been adhered magically. It took Ginny, Bill and I three days to break the spell. The poor little creatures must still have neck pain.”
Severus snorted and pointed Hermione to one of the large bars set up around the perimeter. He was in a rare mood tonight, - already slightly drunk, Severus was more relaxed than he had been in a while. Having Hermione by his side and most of his enemies in Azkaban will would do that for a fellow, he supposed.
Snape ordered two glasses of elf wine, handed one to Hermione and then leaned back against the bar, surveying the room. He could make out most of the Order members and soon he and Hermione would make the rounds. Neither of them were social by nature and it had become a tradition, of late, for them to have a fortifying drink before braving the masses.
Lupin and Tonks were already quite relaxed. The idiot wolf was dancing his idiot bride around the deserted dance floor. Tonks’ hair morphed from green to red as she was dipped and spun.
The Weasley’s had commandeered a large table for themselves and Snape spotted a small cotilerie of floating fairies surrounding Fleur. Another glance told him who was responsible, Fred and George were looking decidedly innocent as they spoke intently to one another. One of the Weasley’s, however was missing.
“I don’t see your dragon tamer, Hermione, are you certain he’s coming?”
Hermione was fingering a loose curl that had escaped. She looked utterly charming and Snape allowed a rare feeling of wistfulness to overtake him. He should have courted her, himself, he thought. He should have married an attractive sensible witch, settled down to raise attractive, sensible babies.
“Ron said he might be late. He’s not the only reason I dragged you here tonight, Severus. It’s time we found you a nice witch or wizard.”
Severus brought out his patented scary glare. “We?” he asked.
Again, Hermione shrugged off his attempt to intimidate. “Yes, we. You don’t seem to be doing very well on your ow… Harry!”
Severus turned and just caught the back of a messy head as he was jostled to the side and his date enveloped in a bone-crushing hug.
The Boy-Who-Lived-To-Irritate-Severus-Snape bussed Hermione on the cheek and whispered something in her ear that made her laugh.
Severus stared at the man in front of him. He wore simple black robes, with only a hint of green embossed stitching at the neck. Years ago, he had ditched his heavy glasses and now he sported neat wire rims, though Severus rather missed the old unwieldy pair. Harry Potter had grown into an unassuming looking man. He was of average height and weight, and his features, but except for his brilliant eyes, were common.
“Don’t mind me, Mr. Potter.” Severus drawled, though his mouth had gone dry.
“No worries, mate, he’s just excited.”
Snape turned towards the unfamiliar voice and experienced, not for the first time, hatred at first sight.
The man was dressed in Muggle clothing more appropriate for a bordello than a formal function. He was blond and tall, with ridiculously blue eyes and even more ridiculous, blue eyelashes. His outfit was white leather and looked, to Snape’s eyes, to be painted on a broad shouldered, fit frame.
“And you are?” Snape asked icily.
The man laughed and stuck out a buffed and manicured hand, “Name's Phillip, mate and yourself?”
“I am not your ‘mate’ and my name is Severus Snape.”
Phillip took a step backwards and surveyed Severus. “You’re Severus Snape?” he asked incredulously, “Well, folks have it wrong, mate, you’re an alright looking fellow.”
Snape reached instinctively for his wand, a hex on his lips, when Hermione and Harry finally disentangled themselves and joined their dates.
Severus felt a firm hand on his wrist as Hermione discreetly shoved his wand towards the floor.
Snape felt his face flush with anger, turned on Harry.
“I see you can’t keep your nasty little mouth shut for long, Mr. Potter.”
Harry’s own cheeks reddened and the welcoming smile that was on his lips faded.
Philip slung a casual arm around him and smiled toothily at Snape. “Nah, not Harry, mate. This bloke hasn’t said a word about you. I just meant, you know, from everything I’ve read about you, I would have expected to see some kind of, you know, greasy vampire or something.”
Hermione gasped beside him, her hand tightening on Snape’s while her other one hand reached for her own wand.
“How dare you?” she gasped.
Harry turned in shock towards his date. “Phillip, what the hell?” he asked. “Severus, I’m sorry, I don’t know what…”
Phillip took a step backwards, his hand falling from Harry’s shoulder. “Oh, man, I’m sorry. That came out all wrong, I meant no offence. I just… well all I know about you guys I got I from the papers and texts so…” Phillip smiled again, this time less certainly, “Sorry.”
Severus collected himself, his anger draining away. It was foolish to let this moron bother him.
“Indeed. And where were you during the war that you know so little about it?”
Phillip smiled again and Severus felt the urge to hex the shining row of teeth out of his mouth and down his stomach… with his fist.
“Well, I was still at home, wasn’t I? Nah, I missed all the excitement, didn’t even arrive at Hogwarts ‘til a year after it was all over.”
Hermione had lowered her own wand and was staring at Harry in disbelief. “Exactly how old is your date, Harry?”
Severus suddenly felt ancient and he was only closing in on fifty. If this little twit Philip had only entered Hogwarts after Voldemort had fallen that made him, what, eighteen? At the most.
Harry’s face was burning red and he looked from his friends to his date and back again.
“Phillip?” he asked. “Please tell me you’re of age.”
The boy laughed and he sidled closer to his date. “Mate, we met at my Birthday bash. You telling me you don’t remember the number on the cake?”
Harry was gritting his teeth. “We met at Babylon and you sure as hell have to be eighteen to get in.”
Harry looked up at Snape and Hermione, there was a sort of desperation in his eyes and Snape heard Hermione snort with laughter. He too, felt suddenly better.
“In fact, Mr. Potter, you only have to be eighteen to drink at Babylon , you can be sixteen and still enter. Are you sixteen, Phillip?”
Snape took great joy in seeing all the colour leave Harry’s face. The boy wasn’t sixteen, Snape had been around adolescents too long to not be able to gauge whether or not they were of Wizarding age, but seeing the look of terror on Potter’s face was well worth it.
Phillip laughed, again. “No, man, come on Harry, you know I’m, seventeen. What’s the deal?”
The panic left Harry’s eyes but the verdant green hardened. “Right, then. Hermione, Severus, I’ll see you shortly.” And with that Harry grabbed his date’s hand and led him, protesting the whole while, towards the exit.
The loud crack of Apparition, signaled when the two men were gone. Hermione was already halfway to the floor, clutching her stomach with laughter.
Snape raised a brow at her, maintaining his dignity for only a moment before he too succumbed.
“He… he said, that maybe Phillip was an…an international businessman…that…that’s why he was away so frequently.”
Snape swallowed much of his mirth, and turned them towards the bar, so that their rather juvenile snickering was not on display to the rest of the guests.
“I would imagine that being an international man of business would be rather difficult whilst still at boarding school.” ,” he said, and he signaled the bartender to bring two more glasses of wine.
He stared at his own reflection, in the beveled mirror behind the bar, with satisfaction as Hermione again, collapsed in laughter.
The night was going well. Charlie Weasley had arrived and now spent most of his time following Snape and Hermione around with his eyes, glaring at Snape when he could and pretending he wasn’t doing anything of the sort when Hermione would glance over.
He had finally gotten up the nerve to approach the two of them when they were just finishing a standard waltz.
Severus bowed gracefully out of the way and sat at one of the tables reserved for the Order, whiskey in hand. The table was occupied by a snogging werewolf couple, Sirius Black and his new wife, Hestia Jones and the final unlikely couple of Minerva McGonagall and Mad Eye Moody.
Snape was pleased that Minerva seemed to have finally gotten over Dumbledore’s death. He even approved of the newly affianced, Moody. The man was as paranoid as ever, but it seemed to amuse the former Headmistress of Hogwarts and Severus had become accustomed to the soft sound of the older woman’s laughter.
The chair beside him was suddenly pulled out and the defeated form of Harry Potter slumped beside him, a large lager in his hand.
The younger man gulped back a large portion of his drink and then dropped his head into his hand.
“Hogwarts”, he muttered. “He attends Hogwarts.”
Snape bit back the immediate jealousy and forced a smirk on his face instead.
“Come, now, Mr. Potter, when one goes through the entire male population of the Wizarding world, one will run into the occasional student.”
Harry turned his head only slightly, black hair falling into his face.
Snape resisted the urge too tack the errant lock back into place.
“Not funny.” Harry grumbled.
“Quite funny, actually.”
Harry propped himself onto his elbows and took another swig of his drink.
“What the hell am I doing wrong?”
Snape rolled his eyes. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“Come on, Snape. I know you‘re dying to tell me where I‘ve gone wrong. You must be simply bursting inside to tell the golden boy how and why he‘s a fuck up.”
“Golden Boy? Really, I think we have a starting place. Mr. Potter, when one refers to himself as an iconic figure it can certainly be no surprise when he is treated as one.”
“You know I don’t see myself that way, I was just saying that to…”
“Manipulate me into helping you, Potter? Is that what you were going to say.”?”
Harry grinned sheepishly and signaled for another glass of beer. “Yeah. Uh huh”
“Very well. My advice still stands, Harry. You go out with people obviously more interested in what they can get from you than in you personally ... Though I would imagine you are aware of this.”
“Er, what do you mean?” Harry asked, taking a large gulp of his drink while he tried and failed miserably at looking doe eyed and innocent.
“I‘m actually rather impressed by it Harry.”
“What’s that, again?”
“In fact, it’s almost Slytherin of you. I approve.”
Harry couldn’t stop the small smirk that lifted the left side of his mouth.
“Well, I am a guy after all.”
“Yes you are. Unfortunately, despite your best attempts at living a slattern’s life, you are still Gryffindor to the bone.”
Harry laughed at that. “You don’t think a Gryffindor can sleep around.”
“I walked the halls of Hogwarts for nearly twenty years, Potter. I know for a fact that most Gryffindors have the sexual mores of the common rabbit. What I am saying is something quite different.”
It was Harry’s turn to roll his eyes. “And do you think you will be saying it any time soon?”
Severus snorted and leaned back in his chair, stretching his back. His movements pulling the fine fabric of his robe tight against his chest. He didn’t notice that Harry’s eyes followed the movements of his body with great interest. Green eyes following the line of broad chest and narrow waist with open admiration. Snape wouldn’t have believed it had he seen it anyhow.
“You are as tiresome as ever, Potter. What I am trying to say, if you could focus for just a minute longer, is that, teenagers fornicating in a boarding school and you fucking every fame fame-hungry whore in Hogsmeade are two different things entirely.”
Harry’s laughter washed over Snape in a wave, warming the hard tight spot that usually resided in his chest.
“…Fame Fame-hungry whores in Hogsmeade. Really? By Merlin, Snape where do you come up with these things? I bet you have a book, don’t you? One you keep at your bedside table and when these little gems strike, you record them for later use?”
Snape adjusted the sleeve of his robe. “If I may continue?’ he said haughtily.
Harry waved his hand in a rather flourishing genuflect. “Of course, kind and gentle sir, by all means.”
“You’re thinking with your cock.”
“You, Harry Golden Boy Potter, are thinking with your cock. You can get anyone you want, yes?”
Harry shifted in his seat, a small dull flush staining his cheeks. “Basically.”
“Men, who shouldn’t look twice at you, are on their knees gagging for it?”
“Now, now, no need for your outrage. You’re a passably handsome man, Potter. Good physique, fine skin, no obvious deformities.”
“You’re welcome.” Severus said. “Now, we both know, that insanely hot little bastards, like that brat you brought with you tonight, wouldn’t be caught dead with a rather plain looking thirty year old who dresses like a middle aged accountant if he weren’t Harry Famous Potter.”
Harry bit at the nail of his thumb and glared at Snape.
Snape stared pointedly at the ragged, bitten nail in the man’s mouth.
“This, of course, would all be fine, if it weren’t for one little thing.”
“Which is?” Harry muttered, mutinously ripping part of the quick from the tender nail bed. He hissed in pain and stuck the thumb into his mouth.
Snape sighed and grabbed Harry’s hand from out of his mouth and began wrapping it one of the fine lawn napkins.
“As fun as it’s been for you, Harry, you want more than to get your dick wet.”
Harry choked a little. “Christ, Snape, nice expression.”
“So what do I do?”
Snape blotted Harry’s thumb again and drew his wand slowly across the red and torn flesh. The skin knitted seamlessly and Snape stroked the tender flesh with the pad of his thumb. When he realised what he was doing, he looked up, and his breath caught at the intense gaze staring back at him.
“Well… That’s, I mean.” Snape cleared his throat, “…that’s entirely up to you, Potter. Now if you will excuse me, I need to find Hermione. If I’m correct and remember the boy from his own school days, Charlie will just about have her waltzed into the cloak room…. randy bloody red heads.”
Just after 1am, Snape eased his long frame into a hot bath and shut his eyes. The sandalwood bath oils quickly went to work and he began breathing long slow breaths, easing the tension of the night from his body.
It hadn’t taken Charlie Weaseley long to stake his claim on Hermione. Perhaps the girl was right and it was his presence by her side that had decided the dragon keeper’s actions. Personally, Snape thought it was the red dress. Either way he was pleased that at least one of them had gone home with the object of their affections.
Of course a Granger and a Snape were two entirely different entities. People like Hermione deserved to get what they wanted while he himself…
Snape ran his fingers over his chest idly and allowed his mind to wander.
The night had unfolded as they so often dido, at Ministry events, in a haze of drinking, insults and laughter. Admittedly most of the insults originated from Snape and the laughter, from Harry but the men were having a fine time. There were never ending bottles of brandy, wine or beer to lubricate them with good cheer and when Harry leaned in and said, “Let’s dance.”
Severus had covered his surprise expertly and simply inclined his head in agreement. “I lead.”
Harry rolled his eyes as he led them onto the crowded floor. “Of course.”
Snape reached out and pulled Harry into his arms, their heavy robes swirling against each others legs as the band struck up a slow, romantic song.
They moved slowly about the floor. The music was lovely, the ballroom beautiful and the man in his arms moved with effortless grace. Harry’s body was firm beneath Snape’s hand and as he shifted slightly closer he could smell the rather tantalizing scent of clove aftershave on his clean skin.
“You use my products?” Snape asked, moving closer and inhaling the scent of his second best selling shaving ointment.
Harry’s eyes were heavily-lidded as they moved slowly around the floor. “Yes.”
“That’s good.” Snape murmured. Harry’s body was now tightly pressed against him and his breath caught in his throat. He had but to incline his head the smallest amount and his lips would touch Harry’s.
Snape was tilting his neck to do just that when he felt a sharp pinch on his bottom.
“I just wanted to tell you and Harry, good evening,” Hermione broke in, standing before the two men, her cheeks flushed and a silly grin upon her face and Charlie standing closely beside her.
Snape cursed her timing for a moment before he blessed it. He was losing his mind, he was just had been about to kiss Harry Potter at the Aurors' Annual Christmas Ball.
“So, Charlie’s dropping you off before he goes home, then?” Harry asked mischievously.
Snape smirked as the redhead flushed, an unbecoming reaction on Weasley’s across the globe.
Hermione looked pointedly at Harry’s arm which had wound itself around Snape’s neck, “Goodnight, boys.”
Snape sunk lower in the bath and allowed the fragrant water to cover his face. He sunk to the bottom of the tub and listened to the utter stillness for just a moment. It was a strange silence, here, under water. Almost alien, the quiet of it, the peculiar nothingness. It was soothing and Snape surfaced for just a brief moment to inflate his lungs before sinking back beneath the water.
He had to just let this thing go. It was absurd in the extreme. Harry Potter? For Circe’s sake, had he completely lost his mind? What was it about himself that always desired the impossible. That made him strive for that which was so far out of his reach it was idiocy to even contemplate?
Snape hoisted himself into a sitting position and reached over the side of the tub for his wand. Behind the bookshelves where he stored his more theoretical potions tomes, he kept a small packet of Muggle cigarettes. Years earlier, he had stolen a pack from Sirius Black and to his utter dismay, he had found himself picking up the habit. Not often mind, but when he was feeling particularly, well, low, he would have one or two. The Accio’d packet was crumpled and old, the fags inside stale, but Snape lit one with a sybaritic sigh and blew of plume of smoke at the ceiling.
Severus Snape was a man to whom self evaluation came naturally. He lied to many people, often on a daily basis, but he had seldom lied to himself. And he knew it was the perversity of his nature that drove him to covet what could never be his. In Hogwarts as a lad he had desired, of all plebeian things, popularity and, acceptance -, as a young man, he had desired recognition of his brilliance.
“Well, that’s not quite right.” he said aloud, exhaling a cloud of smoke. It wasn’t recognition he wanted - it was admiration. He wanted the world to tell him that he was better than those who had tormented him, that Severus Sebastian Snape, was a man who was wanted. The problem of course, as with most such dreams, was that Severus Sebastian Snape had done little to be admired for. When he had finally realized this, he had set himself upon a new path and began to seek redemption.
As a veteran of two wars and the survivor of too many skirmishes to count, Snape had finally realized one thing. He no longer wanted the adoration of the masses. He no longer cared that people too lazy to fight a madman thought he was bright or handsome or any of the other puerile dreams of his youth. What he did want. However, was even more impossible. He wanted one person to want him above all others. One person to recognize the life he had tried to live had value. One person for whom Snape came first. That he wanted that one person to be Potter, well…
Snape smoked and thought late into the night. He thought of his failures and then he thought of his successes, and of the long, long road it took to get him here. Safe. He was safe at last, had his own business, his own house, and his friends. It wasn’t so bad, he thought.
Snape tossed the rest of the fag into the toilet and leaned back into the tub, closing his eyes.
The water was spelled hot and the gentle lapping of it against the porcelain of the tub soon lulled him into a gentle sleep. Images lazed around his brain- Potter in his arms, house elves and magical antlers, Hermione’s red, red dress spinning graciously across the dance floor.
He dreamt of swimming, swimming in the hot springs located in the depths of the Forbidden Forest. It was the infernal sound of a noisy woodpecker which disturbed his lazy swim…
It took him a long moment to realize the sound wasn’t coming from his dreams but from his window and he cursed aloud, throwing his wrapper on and setting his feet onto the cold hardwood floor. He stalked across to open the shutter only to find a large snowy owl perched on the ledge, hooting softly with impatience.
“Oh, it’s you.”
Hedwig turned her head to the side, twittered once and lifted her foot. “What idiocy does the boy want now, I wonder?” he said aloud, though his stomach had instantly clenched in anticipation and the fog of sleep washed from his mind.
He absently handed Hedwig a treat and returned to his bath, spelling the water hot once again. Letting it’s soothing heat ease his sudden nerves.
Severus, (it read,)
Were you speaking of yourself tonight? When you told me I wanted more than shallow men, were you telling me something else entirely?
I think you were.
Meet me, please tomorrow night. I know it’s Christmas Eve, but neither of us have family and I’m sure the Weaseley’s wont miss another body around the table.
I’ve managed to secure us a table at Hollybees- I used my fame to do so… just so you know.
Anyhow, the reservation is for 9pm .
Snape read the letter, then he read it again and a few more times after that. During the third or fourth reading, he began to hum. It was a tuneless little sound, something he had heard earlier in the evening, something about reindeer and chimneys. The pruny fingers that weren’t clutching tight Harry’s letter splashed the water gently to the tune.
And as Snape began to doze off once again, he no longer dreamt of the evening past, but of all the evenings future that stretched out in front of him.