Sex Ed 101

Sex Ed 101
By Sajasma Lee

Chapter Four
In which Snape has his very first counselling session and Neville tries to improve his image

The door to the Gryffindor common room swung open, revealing a determined Harry. Over the years, he had been party to more than his share of Ron and Hermione’s spats, and knew that the first thing to do was talk to each individual alone, pretend to be sympathetic to their reasons, then find some sneaky, underhanded way to get the two of them alone to work it out together.

Harry cast a quick glance around the room for Ron, intending to move on to the next location of where Ron Went To Sulk. Instead, he found Seamus, Dean, Colin, and a few boys from younger years, all gathered around an anxious Neville.

“Perhaps a few natty robes...” Seamus suggested.

“Part your hair a different way,” Dean urged.

“Take up a sport!”

“Quidditch!”

“Neville could never make the Quidditch team!”

“He hasn’t got enough fringe, Dean. Does his mum use garden shears?"

“Neville, can I take your before and after photographs?”

Seamus noticed Harry just then and turned. “Oi, Harry! Come over here and pontificate Neville’s existence with us.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Not for a mate, Harry!” Seamus feigned astonishment.

“It’s alright, Harry,” Neville spoke up amidst the cluster, “I think I’ve got more than my share of opinions right now.”

“Nonsense,” Seamus said, resting his hands on Neville’s hunched shoulders. “Neville, your problems are of the utmost priority.” He looked up at Harry pointedly. “Aren’t they?”

Harry sighed and crossed the room, feeling Neville’s grateful eyes on him the entire way.

“Now,” Seamus began, “We’re all of the opinion that Neville needs a woman, agreed?”

“We are?” Harry asked.

“I do?” Neville echoed, looking completely lost.

“Having a woman let’s other blokes know that you can actually get a woman,” Dean explained, sitting on the edge of a nearby armrest. “That birds find you desirable.”

“That’s not true!” Harry blurted out before he could stop himself. Oh no. Dean turned an expectant eye on him and Harry noticed he had caught the attention of the others as well. Even Seamus, who could never focus on any one thing for very long, was studying him curiously. “Well, I mean. That is to say...”

“Do I sense that our little Harry has a fancy for someone?” Seamus asked eagerly.

“Ooh, who is it, Harry?” Colin chirped. “I can get lots of pictures of her in the girls’ showers if you’d like.”

“What? No! I don’t like girls!” Raised eyebrows and stunned silence met this exclamation. Harry could feel his cheeks burning. “I mean, not now. I don’t fancy a girl right now.”

“What ever happened to...what was her name, Harry? Ching? Chin?” Seamus prodded with a slight gleam of mischief in his eyes.

“Cho,” Harry mumbled. The so-called one who got away. Or, the one whom he never got in the first place. Funny, after fourth year, Cho sort of faded into the back of his mind, as did most superficial concerns.

“That’s the gal. She’s a bit of beautiful, that one,” Dean whistled softly in appreciation. “I wouldn’t mind being her revising partner for Sex Ed.”

“Cor, yeah,” Seamus agreed.

“Do you guys ever talk about anything besides girls?” Harry asked. Did these people not forget that it was only recently that they had just stopped an evil Dark Lord from ruling the world?

Seamus looked at him blankly. “Well, what else is there to talk about?”

“Well...I don’t know,” Harry floundered, gesturing emptily. “Something of importance. Things that mean something. Girls are just so...it’s all so trite. I mean, yeah, they’re great and all, but they’re not everything. Sex and romance and all that rubbish aren’t everything.”

Seamus stared at him in amazement. Dean looked concerned.

“They aren’t?” Neville piped up. Harry suppressed a groan. Neville too? Was he the only one who wasn’t girl-crazy? Or being driven crazy by girls, Harry added as an afterthought, thinking of Ron.

“Well, of course they are,” Seamus recovered brightly. “And that’s why you need our help, Neville. We’ll make you a prince charming in due time...”

“You alright, Harry?” Dean asked softly as Seamus began going into a detailed plan of action for his victim.

Harry turned to Dean, who was usually more sensitive to others’ emotional states than the other boys. Perhaps it was his artist’s nature. “Yeah, I’m a bit of alright.”

Dean just stared at him with his impossibly deep, brown eyes.

Bugger. That whole sensitive artist stuff made it a lot more difficult for Harry to keep his emotions and thoughts to himself, which he had managed to become especially adept at for years now. “I’m fine, Dean.” His tone booked no room for further questioning and the look in his eyes silently begged Dean to drop the matter.

“Therefore,” Seamus concluded loudly, thankfully drawing Dean’s attention away from Harry, “We’ve got to work on your wining and dining skills.”

“Which first means learning some charm,” one of the first years whispered to his friend.

“You’ll be smooth as silk,” Colin chirped, causing everyone to laugh and Neville to pale a shade further.

This was getting ridiculous. Did any of them not see it? “Seamus, I don’t think...”

Seamus glared at him. “Are you trying to stop Neville from his one chance at true happiness, Harry?” Many accusing eyes turned on him.

Harry floundered for a moment, never very good when the attention was on him. He struggled to voice his thoughts, those vague notions of pattern and feeling that had begun in him for some time now and were swirling about his brain in an incoherent and jumbled mess.

“How is he going to be truly happy if he doesn’t be himself?” Harry asked helplessly. Neville stared at him with something indefinable burning in his eyes, which made Harry extremely uncomfortable. He turned away from that something that ever so dangerously resembled hope.

Silence. Harry felt his ears burn and Seamus’s eyes boring into him. At first, Harry thought Seamus would explode in a flurry of anger, but the hard edge in the other’s eyes melted into his usual joviality and mirth.

Seamus scoffed and many relieved eyes turned back to him.

“Are you kidding? If Neville acted like himself, he’d never get anywhere. We all know that.” Neville bit his lip and averted his eyes, whatever was there before now extinguished. “We’re here to teach him how to get along in the world. We’re making him better, Harry. You’ll see. Besides, we don’t see you exactly as one to talk. You’re a good Quidditch player, mate, but leave the real stuff to us, eh?”

Harry faded into the background as once again, Neville’s shortcomings became the centre of focus. He didn’t like what was happening, but he couldn’t say why and really, how could he hope to lead Neville in an area – “the real stuff,” as Seamus called it – which he had no experience in himself? Perhaps Seamus was right.

As it stood, Harry had other pressing concerns to deal with in the form of a certain scowling redhead. As quietly as he could, Harry exited the common room and continued his search.

***

He found Ron at the Quidditch Pitch flying high in the sky at angry, breakneck speeds on one of the school’s standard brooms. Harry watched, fascinated, as Ron looped in the air, narrowly avoiding crashing into the goal post by jerking away at the last moment possible. If anything, Ron turned out to be one of the team’s best chasers, with an acute sense of distance and a natural athleticism that seemed at odds with his gangly body. Harry didn’t try and stop Ron, understanding how the cool wind felt refreshing against one’s face and could blow away all feelings of residual anger with it. Often he flew to burn away his anger and clear his head – occurrences which had risen frequently throughout the years as times became more stressful, Harry frowned.

He waited until Ron began slowing down and said nothing as Ron finally touched the ground, nearly succeeding in stalking past Harry if he hadn’t reached out with an arm and turned his best friend around.

“I just want to talk.”

“I don’t,” Ron bit out. His cheeks were breathless from flying and his bright red hair splayed from his face in wild angles.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Of course you don’t, because that would be the sensible thing to do.”

Irritated, Ron asked, “Do you always find it necessary to stick your nose in other people’s business, Harry?”

“Only when it’s the people I care about,” Harry replied honestly.

Ron sighed and fidgeted with his broom, picking at a few small splinters in the handle. Harry waited patiently while Ron figured out the words. Finally Ron looked up and stared at the distant horizon.

“Things are becoming so serious now, you know? I mean, for years we all had this one big grand purpose and it took up every inch of our lives. And now that that’s done with...well, what now mate? What do we do now?”

He implored this last at Harry, and in his eyes, Harry could see a thousand questions that he couldn’t possibly hope to answer, never mind bear to hear. “I don’t know.”

“I think I really like her,” Ron said very quietly. “A lot. Maybe even love her, if I knew what love was. I just don’t know,” he punctuated his words by kicking a nearby stone. “And the worst part about it is that I know she doesn’t feel anywhere near the same thing. Cor, look at the way she treats me!”

Harry watched as Ron angrily kicked up another stone, watching it sail through the air for several metres before plopping to the ground. “And I’m just sick of not knowing where I stand except on ground that is always giving way, you know?”

Well, no, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to say that aloud. Ron didn’t seem to need any affirmations as he continued, “And I remember the first time I realised that she was the woman I really wanted to stick around. We were in the library researching the history of the Death Eaters.”

“Sixth year,” Harry nodded, “Right before the...”

“Battle to end all battles, yes,” Ron finished with a grimace. “She had this very concentrated look on her face while reading this ridiculously oversized book and her hair was just untamed as it usually is and she was biting her nails. I just looked at her and all I could think was, ‘Wow.’”

Harry scrunched up an eyebrow in thought. “Was that the time Hermione asked you if she had something in her teeth because you were staring at her for so long?”

“Yeah,” Ron laughed and Harry laughed with him, glad to see Ron’s mood lightened. “Always was a bit sore about the teeth.”

“Even after Madame Pomfrey fixed them.”

“They were big, weren’t they? Oh, don’t tell her I said that.”

“She’d kill me as well if I did.”

“She would...” Ron’s smile faded. “It’s little moments like that. It makes me crazy about her. She doesn’t seem to know or care. We’ve done things, Harry. Midst of war, everything’s more intense, all that. Probably all stuff we weren’t ready for under any other circumstance, and now we don’t have that excuse anymore, we’ve gone too far to just go back to being uncomplicated friends.”

Harry remembered feeling the tense attraction between his two best friends that day and had felt decidedly superfluous. He had excused himself early and for the first time Hermione hadn’t argue with him about it, so focused was she on Ron. Ever since then, Harry had always felt a little isolated from the two of them, as if something had displaced his position in the trio, something that he could never be a part of nor hope to find himself. It had felt like one less lifeline to the world, but he had ignored it, cut his losses, because he had bigger things to worry about. It was probably better that way since should he have failed, his two best friends would have had something else to focus on than him.

No, he didn’t want any intimate details on Ron and Hermione’s relationship – for reasons he didn’t quite want to think about – and he was thankful that Ron wasn’t one to share such things. “Well, do you want more than friendship?”

Ron remained silent as he mulled it over. “Yeah. Yeah I think I do. Trouble is, I don’t think she does.”

“Talk to her. Tell her what you’re telling me,” Harry urged.

“Yeah, I’m sure she’d take my feelings, analyse them, compare them to any and all past records of such incidents, and then proceed to hand them back to me on a plate with her notes on what’s wrong with me attached,” Ron said sarcastically.

“Something tells me that it’s different this time around,” Harry said, and then added, “I’m sure she’s read up everything there is to know and can skip that stage.”

“I’ll talk with her soon. Just, right now...I need to think things out some more, maybe on where things are going. It’s not even just her, this is our last year of school and that’s pressure enough as it is.”

Harry folded his arms around himself in a comforting manner. “Let’s not talk about the future, Ron. It’s too scary to think about right now. I never thought I’d have one anyway.”

“That it is,” Ron acquiesced softly. “I’m glad you have one now, though.”

Harry smiled and silently accepted Ron’s sincerity.

Trying to shake off the sudden seriousness of the moment, Ron asked brightly “Well, now that I’ve bared my lovelorn soul to you in a very poncy manner, what say you, chum of mine?”

“Oh piss off,” Harry grinned. “Your soul is hardly that interesting.”

“Ouch!” Ron feigned hurt, and then poked Harry in the shoulder with the end of his broom, “Well, if I’m not so interesting, what about you? Any reasons to bear your lovelorn soul? Quid pro quo, mate.”

Harry blushed again. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“There is too, too, too,” Ron sing-songed. “Who could the lucky girl be? Millicent Bulstrode?”

Harry shuddered in revulsion.

“You’re right. That girl is packed like a charging rhino. Militant dyke, that one is.”

“Ron!”

Ron shrugged, “Hey, the shoe fits!”

As much as Harry wanted to protest that, or how rude Ron was being, well, it was a fairly true statement. Ron gave him a sidelong glance and smirked, reading Harry’s thoughts.

“Well? Come on! I’m your best mate, Harry! We share things like this.” Ron pressed.

“I am telling the truth. I like to think that I have better things to think about than –”

“Malfoy.”

Harry blinked, then followed Ron’s seething gaze to the end of the pitch where Draco was leaning against one of trees that lined the area. A haughty smirk graced his features and managed to be just subtly insulting enough without looking like he was trying.

“Trying to brush up on your poor skills, Weasel?”

“At least my efforts show during matches,” Ron replied.

“Oh really? Some would argue a case against that,” Draco sneered.

“Alright, enough,” Harry broke in, tired of the constant bickering. Draco’s lazy grey eyes focused on him. “What do you want, Malfoy? If it’s to scrap...well, I’ve had enough of that to last me many lifetimes, and I like to think the years have matured you somewhat.” He gave a pointed look at Ron to assure that this last also included him, to which Ron flushed, but the hardness in his eyes didn’t recede.

Draco just stared at him, face placid and unreadable. And just when Harry was about to start fidgeting under that gaze and Ron was about to toss off another insult, Draco’s smirk reached a new level of mocking and he held up the unmistakable golden fluttering of a Snitch. “I want to play, Potter.”

“You’re off your duff, Malfoy,” Ron said.

“I wasn’t addressing you, Weasel,” Draco snapped.

Harry studied Draco speculatively. “What are you proposing?”

Ron gave him an incredulous look. “You can’t honestly be taking this wanker up.”

“You may be an alright Seeker, Potter, but I’ve no doubt that your speedy little broom gives you a leg up on the rest of us. I say we put your skills to the test with the school’s ordinary brooms. No advantages, anything goes.”

“Oh you’re so full of shite, Malfoy! Harry could knock you sideways blindfolded with one arm tied.”

Draco’s eyes took on a strange gleam and he arched one haughty eyebrow. “Oh really? Why doesn’t the Hero Harry Potter prove it then?” With that, Draco suddenly barked out ‘Up!’ and a broom that Harry hadn’t noticed earlier flew up from the ground and landed in Draco’s outstretched hand. True to his word, Draco carried an old Cleansweep, battered and looking as if it had seen better days.

“Anything goes?” Harry inquired, fingers touching the wand he kept in his sleeve.

Draco’s smirk took on the vestiges of what appeared to be a genuine smile. “Down and dirty, Potter.”

Ron appeared uneasy. “I’ll get Madame Hooch. I don’t trust him, Harry. His word is as good as Voldemort’s. He’ll probably hex you and make you fall off your broom to do what his master couldn’t!”

“Piss off, Weasel,” Draco spat, grey eyes icy, “This is between me and Potter.”

Ron was about to open his mouth with an insult when Harry lightly touched his shoulder. “Go on, Ron. Malfoy’s right.” He glanced at Draco who was still glaring at Ron, “We need to settle this once and for all.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone, Harry.”

“I’ll be alright. If I can handle Voldemort, I can handle Malfoy of all people.”

Ron smirked, but still looked worried. “True enough. You hurt him, Malfoy, and I’ll make your life a living hell.”

“Duly noted, Weasley.”

“Go on then, Ron,” Harry said, taking Ron’s broom. “I’ll meet you at supper. And be sure that you talk to her.”

“I will, Harry...good luck!”

“Luck will have nothing to do with it,” Harry replied and grinned. He was actually looking forward to this. Already his body tingled for the air, the adrenaline rushing through his veins, and the competitiveness sparking the edges of his mind.

When Ron was out of sight, Draco turned back to him and grinned with similar anticipation. They locked eyes and both knew what the other was feeling. Without a word, Draco released his hold on the Snitch and they watched the small, winged-ball speed away out of sight.

“May the best man win.”

Harry looked away from the sky to find Draco pointing his wand at him. He had about two seconds to process things as they were, before he swung his leg over his broom and kicked off just as Draco’s “Stupefy!” was uttered. The Cleansweep, not nearly as sensitive as his Nimbus, shuddered and reacted slowly, and Harry caught the edge of the spell with his leg, feeling it go numb.

Soon, Draco was floating up beside him, causing Harry to instantly whip out his own wand and hold it defensively. Draco just smirked.

“That was dirty, Malfoy.”

“Exactly, Potter.”

His numbed leg upset his balance and Harry found it a chore to stay upright on his broom. Time to even the odds a bit. Rolling sideways, nearly falling off his broom in the process, muttering a spell aimed for Draco’s right hand. Draco turned to face him and instinctively jerked his hand away so that Harry’s spell hit Draco’s broom full force.

Immediately, Draco’s broom began losing height, as it would suddenly seem to weigh several stone more than possible. Harry smiled as Draco tried to keep his broom in the air, cursing all the while and shooting him daggers. Until the spell wore off, Draco wouldn’t be able to clear the tree line and even then it would take deft manoeuvring. But if anyone could ride out a spell, it was Draco, and he proved his years of flying experience by flying at a slight angle to keep all of the spell’s added weight from dragging him down further.

Eventually, both spells wore off and once again the two opponents faced each other, wands drawn and eyes wary.

“Nice trick,” Draco sneered, his wand hand twitching.

“I’ve learned a few things.”

“I suppose you’ve had to, being the world’s most wanted little boy and all.”

Harry scowled. “Jealous?”

“Of you? Not on your life.”

Harry was about to respond, but instead ducked. The old broom shuddered beneath him and suddenly rolled sideways, leaving him upside down in midair as Draco’s disarming spelling flew overhead.

Draco was laughing as he struggled to right himself. “Careful, Potty, these old brooms can’t handle some of your fancier moves. You’ll have to break her in a bit more slowly. You know, butter her up a bit. A little foreplay goes a long way.”

“That’s crude, Draco, even for you.”

“I just thought I’d deal with you more on your own level.”

“Say what you want, but you’re a terrible duellist, Draco,” Harry gritted out.

“I could kick your arse several times over, Potter.”

“No, no I don’t think you could. Already you’ve had several chances to take me out while I was vulnerable and instead you wasted time gloating.”

“That’s a bit hypocritical of you, Potter. You didn’t take me out either.”

“I’d rather prolong this game. I have no burning desire to take you down, Malfoy, I never did. Yet you continue to pursue me as if I had deeply wronged you in some way.”

A strange, cold glint lined Draco’s eyes. “Maybe you did.”

“Your overconfidence is your biggest weakness,” Harry noted and decided to be a little cruel, “It’s the same failing that Voldemort had and you had better watch it or you’ll go down too.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “What are you saying, Potter, that I am going to go down the dark path to become the next Dark Lord?”

“All signs seem to point that way,” Harry shot back.

Draco smiled bitterly, “You’re no different than the rest of them then. Small-minded, prejudiced sots.”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk about prejudiced – ”

“You don’t know a thing about me, Potter, so shut your mouth!”

Harry clenched his jaw and stared straight ahead, scanning for the Snitch, but keeping Draco in his peripheral vision should he try something. His relationship with Draco had always been mercurial at best, the past few years having intensified that. Sometimes Draco did things that surprised and confused him with their kindness, like returning Harry’s photograph. Or taking care of him when he was injured, and it was just the two of them in the middle of nowhere, alone for miles in the midst of war. And other times, it was old school rivalry, with petty insults lined with real malice. Sometimes Harry looked at Draco and felt like the other boy would truly be happy with Harry’s death.

There.

Hovering close to one of the goal rings, was the golden Snitch.

Harry took off and behind him, he heard Draco swear and follow him. He wanted to fly irregularly, but his broom responded sluggishly and only served to slow him down further. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and Harry looped away, seeing the magical remnants of a spell fly below him, issued from Draco’s outstretched wand. The spell flew into a nearby stand, exploding into a large, burning hole. Harry wondered breathlessly what it would have done had it hit him.

He was behind Draco now, a position Draco was aware of, caught between wanting the Snitch and avoiding being in such a dangerous spot – back turned to one’s enemy. Draco clumsily tossed off spells, his wand pointed carelessly behind him. On his Nimbus, Harry could have easily avoided them, but on the Cleansweep, it was slow-going, and each swerve to avoid an incoming spell slowed him down. A few times, Harry could feel the traces of the spell brush by him. Okay, time to end this. Harry pointed his wand and spoke, aiming for the middle of Draco’s back, “Expelliarmus!”

The effect was somewhat different on a broom than on one’s own feet, buffeted by strong winds and magical flying objects. Draco’s wand flew out of his hand and sailed past Harry to fall to the pitch below whilst Draco tumbled forward, still holding onto his broom tightly, but fast losing all control of his movement and direction. It was enough time for Harry to catch up and even sail past him, eyes now only for the Snitch which threatened to go flying off again.

If anything, Draco could fly and fly well. He soon recovered and was once again neck and neck.

“Come on, Potter! I’m defenceless! Take me out!” Draco shouted at him. “Prove yourself to be the champion warrior that you are!”

Harry spared a quick glance at him and was shocked by the almost murderous rage he found in Draco’s face. No, this was becoming way too personal now. Holding his hand high so that Draco could clearly see it, he let his wand fall from his fingers.

“I’m better than that!”

Draco, clearly surprised, laughed, confusing Harry by the sudden shift of emotions. “Stupid is more like!” And with that, Draco dropped his body close to his broom and pushed on further.

Harry grimaced and kept his eyes on the Snitch, which began wildly careening away. The chase was on. Lines and colours began blurring as Harry took on more speed in chasing the Snitch. He was only half aware of Draco’s location, and it was more or less in line with his.

He would have to give more respect to his team-mates later, as riding the Cleansweep was absolutely terrible compared to his Nimbus. Several times when Harry thought he had the Snitch within reach, it would suddenly jerk away, and his broom wouldn’t respond fast enough to catch up with it.

After almost crashing into a stand, Harry had enough. Draco was right. His faster broom had always given him an advantage. Time to rely on skill. He concentrated on the Snitch’s wild, chaotic movements and soon recognised a pattern of sorts. The Snitch would always reverse direction at periodic intervals, slowing down in order to do so, sometimes after following a path for an extended period of time, sometimes in short, jerky movements. The key then was to know when it would change direction and be there for when it happened. Harry waited until the Snitch followed a course of short and abrupt directional changes before making his move. The Snitch began following a straight, long path and he could almost feel it when it started to change direction again.

Looping around a ring, Harry gripped his broom with his leg and set it into a spin, following the change of the Snitch. It gleamed in the far edges of his vision, taunting him, and Harry shot his hand out, feeling the solid, fluttering weight in his palm triumphantly.

He was about to close his fingers around it when suddenly a much heavier, faster Draco slammed into him, nearly sending him off his broom had he not been gripping it so tightly in the first place. Instead, the collision sent Harry’s controlled spin into something less so, and soon Draco and him were spiralling sickeningly fast to the ground, brooms and legs entwined. Draco’s fingers also curled around the Snitch, trying to pulling it away from Harry’s grip.

“Let go, Draco! I got it first, you bastard!” Harry gritted.

“You did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

“Draco!”

Hearing the panicked note in Harry’s voice, Draco looked down and paled.

Feeling his stomach come up into his throat as the ground rushed up to meet them, faster and faster, Harry closed his eyes and braced for the harsh impact.

The soft grass felt like cement, as they crashed to the ground. Their brooms snapped in half like twigs, sending them both rolling. Harry landed on his back and groaned. That hurt. Somewhere he had lost his spectacles. He was still gripping the crushed Snitch in his hand though. Harry was about to smile, but felt childish at the thought. They could have been seriously injured. Only then did he realise that something heavy was on top of him.

Draco was lying on his body, his head pillowed on Harry’s chest in an oddly comfortable manner. Their legs were still entwined and Harry was about to check if Draco was conscious or not when Draco lifted his head, pinned Harry to the ground with one surprisingly strong arm, and pointed Harry’s abandoned wand at his throat. Convenient, that.

“I think it’s safe to say that I win,” Draco whispered, caressing the tip of Harry’s wand at his jugular.

“You win,” Harry conceded and gulped. But Draco wasn’t getting up. Draco felt very warm and very solid on top of him. And he wasn’t getting up. Harry’s heart sped up a few kilometres as Draco was staring intensely into his eyes and he was leaning down to – what? –

“MR. POTTER AND MR. MALFOY!”

Draco jumped back and broke away from Harry, who sat up abruptly, trying to make it look like they hadn’t just been in a disturbingly intimate position. At the far end of the pitch, a furious McGonagall was fast approaching them, with an equally furious Hooch and Pomfrey not far behind.

“What the blazes did you two think you were doing?” McGonagall shouted.

“You could have seriously hurt yourselves!” Pomfrey exclaimed. She quickly knelt down next to Harry and Draco and began checking them for injury.

“Abusing school property like that!” Hooch continued. “Did you honestly think that we wouldn’t have noticed spells flying every which way on the Quidditch pitch?”

“What you two have done is most despicable!” McGonagall picked up. “In front of all the children who look up to you too!”

Harry, embarrassed, couldn’t meet his Head of House’s face. He winced as Pomfrey none-too-gently yanked an ear towards her and peered inside.

“And you will pay for what you have destroyed!” Hooch added, staring mournfully at the broken splinters of what was left of her two brooms.

“Nothing more then some bumps and bruises,” Pomfrey assessed, “You two were very lucky.”

“The Headmaster will be most displeased when he deals with the two of you, personally!” McGonagall concluded. “Gather your wands, right now!”

Gingerly, Harry stood up and took up his wand. They had to search longer for Draco’s, but when both were recovered, McGonagall marched them straight up to Dumbledore’s office.

“Well, I must say that I am extremely disappointed with the both of you,” Dumbledore frowned. His eyes held none of their twinkle now and Harry hoped his face wasn’t burning too badly. How could he have behaved so childishly?

They sat in front of Dumbledore’s desk, with McGonagall, Hooch, and Pomfrey flanking them on all sides. It was most intimidating and even Draco was looking decidedly uncomfortable.

“You both are in the very last year of your education and the time for childish rivalries must be put away. I expected better from you two.”

“Especially you, Harry!” McGonagall scolded.

“And Mr. Malfoy,” Dumbledore added. “You both have survived a devastating war, and were both quite heroic during those dark times. Have you two learned nothing?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Harry said, unable to look anywhere but at his hands in his lap.

Draco said nothing, but he, too, was not looking up.

“You will repay the damages to Madame Hooch’s brooms. You both will have detention every night for one month starting next week, and a letter will be sent home to each of your guardians detailing your behaviour.”

Harry inwardly groaned. Who knew what Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would think of this. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than dealing with his guardians when he got home? He still had almost a month with them until he achieved his majority.

“Who are we to have detention with, sir?” Draco asked, speaking up for the first time.

Dumbledore pinned Draco with an inscrutable gaze. “Well, Mr. Malfoy, since you and Mr. Potter both insist on fighting with each other, I believe that a lesson is in order. You will spend your detentions with Harry’s Head of House, Professor McGonagall, in order to better understand Harry’s background.”

Draco winced under McGonagall’s harsh glare. Harry blinked, knowing where this was heading, and dreaded what Dumbledore would say next. Dumbledore turned to him.

“And you, Mr. Potter, will better understand Mr. Malfoy’s background by spending all your detentions with Draco’s Head of House, Professor Snape.”

***

“Sir?”

Severus looked up from the papers he was marking, irritated to be interrupted. Hannah Abbott stood nervously in the doorway of his classroom, looking as if he was about to morph into a giant troll and eat her.

“What?” He snapped.

Her wide, little nervous eyes grew larger in fright. “I-I’m h-here for my...”

Oh blast. Counselling session. He had forgotten about those, or forced himself to forget about them.

“Oh...right.” Face reflecting his distaste, he stood up and motioned for Hannah to follow him into his office. The girl was almost hyperventilating now and clearly her whole body was trembling.

“Have a seat before you pass out, Abbot,” Severus indicated a chair in front of his desk and seated himself behind it.

The girl nearly collapsed into her chair, face as white as a sheet. This would not do. The little gasp-y noises she was making were beginning to annoy him. He had to make some effort of civility.

“Would you like some tea?” he asked as gently as he could, trying to contort his face into appearing gentle.

Horrified, Hannah nearly bolted right there and then. “N-no, sir. Never, sir!”

“It’s not like I’ve poisoned it, Abbott!” Ooh, calm, Severus, calm.

Hannah sat perfectly still, as frozen as petrified wood. “I would love some tea, sir.”

Severus got up to make the tea, cursing himself at his bumbling social skills. What was Albus thinking? Oh, this was so ridiculous. Carrying back two cups, he placed one before the frightened girl and settled back down with the other.

“Thank you, sir.” She didn’t touch it.

Okay, fine. He wasn’t going to hold her mouth open and pour it down her throat.

“Well – ” What did Albus do to make children more comfortable? Be friendly with them? “ – Hannah...child...is there anything you would like to discuss?

“No, sir.”

“Any happenings in your misera-er, life?”

“No, sir.”

“Problems?”

“No.”

“Psychoses?”

“Uh, no, sir.”

The passing of minutes was thoroughly felt by both parties as Severus tried to burn to holes into Hannah’s skull and Hannah appeared too frightened to even notice. Severus gritted his teeth and the handle on his teacup snapped off by the unconscious pressure he put on it. And such a lovely set it was, too. Okay, he was tired of being nice. “Miss Abbott, I suggest you start unveiling some deeply personal information about yourself right now or these sessions will prove an exercise in torture for both of us.”

Hannah bit her lip and looked down, fiddling with her fingers in her lap. Severus leaned forward. “Yes? Yes, what is it?” he prompted.

“It’s just that...” Hannah began.

Disgustedly, he realised he was perched on the edge of his chair. Severus sat back and reached for the handle on his cup only to grasp at mere air.

“See, I’m best mates with this girl. And I really like this girl. We met as first years and ever since, we’ve done everything together. Throughout the war, we always covered each other’s backs and I comforted her when her mum was killed. It was like a soul connection you know? Deeper and more intense than anything I’ve ever felt before.”

Hannah sighed, distractedly grabbed her cup and drank from it before continuing. “And now I find myself with these feelings for her. You know, feelings that I thought I was supposed to only have for blokes, right? I want to do...well, things. Like snog her and touch her hair. I don’t know what to do! I never thought I’d be one of those types to lean that way but she’s all I ever think about and you know, I think she likes me that way as well. She’s always touching me. And, you know, I like her touching me.”

She trailed off again and smiled slightly, but then frowned as another thought occurred to her, “But how will people react? Will they think me gross? How will mum and dad react? Is it wrong? This is the best and worst thing to happen to me in my life and I don’t know what to do! What can I do, Professor Snape? What can I do?”

Hannah stared pleadingly up at him, hands clenched tightly around her cup of tea, desperation and glimmering hope a hair’s breath from falling off the edge into the abyss of gloom. To Hannah, her problems were the knife’s edge of continuing existence and eternal death and it was up to him to guide her along that rocky road to salvation.

He stared at her.

He really couldn’t help it.

Severus threw his head back and laughed.

***

TBC in Chapter Five: In which Severus Snape continues his helpful counselling sessions and Harry speaks with Hermione

***

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