The Master Plan

Chapter 19: Harry Gets a Chance to be REALLY Weird.

Harry got up extra early the next day, and was cheerfully knocking on Severus's door before six in the morning. When the man finally answered, a little ragged-looking and bleary eyed, he had to glare and swear a bit at Harry before letting him in. It didn't improve his temper that Harry maintained that same cheeky smile the entire time.

He flopped down into the same chair as the night before and rubbed slightly bloodshot eyes, as Harry cooed and tickled his small pet. Harry'd always been thoroughly annoyed when his Aunt spoke to his cousin in baby-talk, so he knew it would be certain to wake Severus up and get him peppy and snippy. The way Harry liked him. "Who's daddy's ickle wriggly boy?" he murmured, gauging Snape's reaction from the corner of his eye. The man shuddered. "Yes you are! Don't worry, we'll find our baby Sevvie a much nicer little house to sleep in tonight, and I'll get you some branches, and water, and--"

"What did you just call that thing?" Snape demanded.

Harry meandered over and casually slid down to his position of the night before. "Hmm? Oh; baby, I think," he hedged ingenuously. "Yes, isn't that right, my little cutesy wootsie--"

"No. You didn't," Snape insisted. "What did you call it?"

Harry sighed. "I named him Junior," he replied, quite artfully. "Isn't he precious? He--"

"I heard you," the man grated, sounding greatly displeased. "You called him....Sevvie," he spat, cringing when he had to say it aloud.

"Well, yes," Harry responded angelically. He leaned back against the Potion Master's legs again. "I decided to call him Severus Junior. But mostly just Junior for short." He began talking to the snake again, this time in parseltongue, except where he said, perfectly clearly, 'Sevvie,' and 'Junior.'

"Potter. Stop that at once! I will not have my name given to some slimy little worm without my consent, do you hear me?" He gave Harry a prod in the kidney with one of his feet.

"Too late," Harry responded. "I've already told him; he thinks it's his name now. I'm sure we shan't be able to convince him otherwise." He grinned a little, ineffable grin at his teacher's wrath. Well, of course the snake thought it was his name, now, and he would only answer to Junior or Sevvie. But only because Harry had just told him to. "Don't worry so much about it," he added sincerely when the man began to get that worried look in his eye, the one that suggested he was imagining possible consequences. "I'll only ever call him Junior, and I'll probably only ever see him around you, anyways, so no one else will ever hear. And if they did, I should imagine they'd just think I was calling him Harry Potter Junior." He faked another smile at the man, inwardly remembering that he probably wouldn't have children. Not if he really truly decided he was gay, and it was sure looking that way. And certainly not if he eventually wanted to end up with Severus Snape, who undoubtedly did not want children. He hated the things. He was surrounded by them all day, anyways. He was broken from his musings by a particularly loud snort of amusement.

"Gods. Harry Potter, Junior. That's a terrifying thought. Along the lines of 'look out, world, God made two of them.' I tremble in apprehension at what the future could hold." Harry smiled wryly, and the man actually reached out and gave the snake a quick caress on the head with his fingertip. "He's got your eyes, though," Severus pointed out with a mocking air. "Oh, wait, I'm sorry. He's all green." He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose as though he'd just realized what he was saying. "That's enough nonsense for one morning. Feed the thing and get out of here; I have classes to prepare for."

Harry didn't argue, but neither did he try to hide the pleasure in his eyes. He only said in a casual voice, as they were parting, "He has your nose, though. Oh, wait. He's all nose. Well. Yeah, then, I guess he does, doesn't he?" He laughed and ducked the minor curse that Severus sent after him.

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Harry half wanted to tell Hermione about recent events, but he couldn't seem to get her alone. Even using S.P.E.W. as an excuse wasn't keeping Ron away, anymore. He told Harry bluntly, "If you can stand to do it, then by crikey, I ought to be man enough to suffer through it with you. I mean; it's not even as though she's your girlfriend." Harry shook his head vehemently, and told Ron not to worry on that count. He said he was happy for him and Hermione, causing Ron to turn his hair colour. It was funny, but for the first time, Harry genuinely meant it.

It was awful doing the S.P.E.W. stuff again, and Ron looked like he was having a tooth drilled. He kept shooting Harry dodgy looks that said, 'By all that's sacred, how can you stand to DO this?' Harry wanted to have pity on him and tell Hermione they wanted to quit, but she looked so happy...He quelled down the urge and tried to think of a clever saying that might actually make people give a damn about house elves. "How about putting something like, 'You have to stand up for those who won't stand up for themselves,' type of thing?" he suggested for the poster Hermione wanted to put up in the common room.

She looked delighted. "Well, needs a bit of work, but that's a very good sentiment, Harry!" she exclaimed encouragingly. "That's just the sort of thing that might get people to look at the situation differently." He smiled wanly at her as Ron suppressed a grimace. Harry had taken advantage of Hermione's friendship enough lately. He'd pretended to do S.P.E.W. stuff with her in the past few weeks; it wouldn't kill him to actually sit through an evening or two of the real thing.

Days were beginning to fly by. Harry knew they weren't, really, it was just that he was enjoying himself, and enjoyment never seems to last long enough. Harry was learning Defense, but he was no longer driven to compete with Hermione. Snape hadn't been making out with HER in a closet, had he? So it must not be brains that he went for. Harry did still apply himself, because he didn't really think Snape went for idiocy, either. And Harry didn't really aspire to be a career moron, anyway. He'd like to be occasionally witty, and surprise Snape with a few well-chosen words or phrases. He liked surprising Snape. Snape's surprise could be fun. Harry liked it when he was surprised. And Harry liked his irritability. And his strength. And his power...God, when he let loose a particularly vicious curse, and his eyes blazed, and his whole body was tall and arresting and stiff...made Harry at least one third the same.

He only wished Snape would kiss him again, notice him again. Ever since that night, Snape had begun to...pull away, a little. He let Harry visit the snake at all hours, it was true, and sometimes he was kinder or more cordial than Harry remembered him being previously, but...well. He didn't let Harry touch him again. He didn't drink while Harry was there. He wouldn't sit in that chair. And whenever Harry made a tentative movement, any sign he might reach out, it became, 'While it has not been...overly odious to put up with your company, Mister Potter, I'm afraid it is time for you to take your leave. I am a busy man, you know.'

He always pulled that out, the work. Harry wasn't sure if he was referring to his Potions Master role, or that of the spy, but Harry knew he wasn't to ask. He tried to respect this one thing, because he really did respect it. He hoped to hell Severus knew that. And that Harry appreciated it. Harry felt it was possible the only person who was expected to sacrifice as much as he was, aside from maybe Dumbledore, was Severus Snape. He prayed the man would not have to sacrifice everything.

Harry had been unable to get Hermione alone, and it was unthinkable to approach anyone else about what'd happened--including Snape, he'd made that clear enough, so Harry resorted to writing in the journal. It was starting to feel...less than satisfactory. It wasn't a person; it couldn't give him advice or even sympathy. Still, in light of the fact he had no one else to talk to, he continued writing. I'm mad about him, he wrote, and it doesn't get any better, it just keeps getting worse and worse. It's like I'm drowning, and all I want is more water...

The next time Lupin was in town, Harry bit the bullet and went to see him. He never mentioned Severus by name, and he didn't tell the man he was gay, either. He just went on where he'd left off; that he'd a friend that he probably shouldn't be friends with.

"Really, Harry, you need to stop worrying so much about what Ron and Hermione think," Remus advised, looking sage.

Harry wanted to howl with frustration. "That's not...well. That is part of the problem, but the bigger part is that I don't think this person wants to be friends with me. Not really. I mean, I think they're kind of humoring me."

"Now, Harry, you know that's not possible." He gave the boy a kind smile. "Who wouldn't want to be friends with you?"

"Well, let's think," Harry said sarcastically. "I could tick at least a few off my fingers: Voldemort, he probably won't invite me to his daughter's wedding, if you catch my meaning, and the Malfoys, they're not really crazy about me, either, Cho Chang blames me for Cedric's death, I know she does, and we-elllllll--Severus Snape has hated me from the moment he laid eyes on me." He stared straight at Remus, yearning to hear him say it wasn't true.

Lupin did not look him in the eyes. "Well, Severus Snape is rather a special case, Harry. He's rather intolerant of other people at the best of times and...we really were quite horrible to him, back at school. And you do look strikingly like your father."

Harry'd sort of deflated after that. Like your father. How he used to love hearing that. Before he actually knew anything much about the man. Now it was getting to be another burden. Be better than your father, be as good as your father, be what your father would have wanted you to be. It was just impossible. He knew perfectly well that he couldn't please a dead man, and that, if his father COULD see him, now, pride was not the emotion that rose to mind when Harry thought of how his dad would feel about his crush on Snape. Harry couldn't take it, anymore, and changed the subject, asking how Lupin was holding up, and whether he'd like to play some wizards chess.

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It had been weeks since that night in the closet, and Harry still hadn't mentioned it to anyone. He did manage to tell the others about the snake. That wasn't personal, so Ron could know. "...so it had something to do with her wanting to teach Ophi...Opho...Er."

"Ophiomancy?" Hermione asked brightly, withering his pride just a little. He had so looked forward to being able to say just one word she didn't know, too.

"Yeah. I guess when I made that mess in detention, He felt me and tried to see what was going on. And when he sensed the snakes, he took one over, but put too much into it or something. Lost control, I guess, and that's what blew up the balls." He was just now getting around to mentioning it, some weeks later. It hadn't seemed important, for some reason. Not as much so as the kiss, anyway, which he didn't really even want to talk about.

"Hmmm." Hermione had that look in her eyes. "I wonder what he planned on doing once the snake got to you."

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Snape didn't, either, or wouldn't say. Just prattled on about Ophiomancy, and some bloke named Chalchas, and another called...Shalmaneser? I think. And said, 'The Dark Lord felt you working all that magic, tried to get into the castle, blew up the balls, set a snake on you, and no, I don't know why.' Basically," he amended.

"Ohhh, he talked about Chachas?" Hermione was going full tilt now. "He was that famous Greek Ophiomancer, they have a picture of him with wings on this gong, I think...Do you know how he supposedly died? No, really, because he supposedly died laughing, about having outlived the prophesied hour of his death. Er. But not by much. Or he just thought he'd outlived it, and didn't wait long enough."

Ron stared at her. "Died laing? I'm sure. That would be a really crazy way to go. Where the heck did you read that, anyway? You pick up the strangest facts sometimes, really." He looked rather impressed, and Hermione flashed him a wicked little grin.

"If you picked up a book sometimes, you might have found it. You'd have liked a lot of the stuff in there. You'll just have to suffer, because I'll not tell you where. But that other guy Snape was talking about, he was an Ophiomancer, too, and the King of Assyria, besides. He..."

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Halloween came, and it felt kind of peculiar. Hufflepuff was holding a party. A costume ball, of sorts. Only sixth and seventh years could come, but it was...like, a real social event, one not planned out by adults. Though, once they found out about it, they couldn't leave it well enough alone. After finding that everyone was allowed to come, so there wouldn't be an hurt feelings, the staff had allowed for the party to be held--as long as a teacher was present.

Everyone was going to the party--Ron and Hermione were even going as Lancelot and Guinevere, and Ron'd gotten one of the castle's suits of armor to let him wear it. Which Harry thought profoundly odd, no matter how you looked at it. He had to admit, though, that Hermione looked quite nice, with a fancy old gown, and a garland in her hair. They kept asking if he planned on going, and what he'd go as, but he just couldn't decide.

For one thing, he was sure he'd be the only gay guy at the party. The thought of standing around and drinking punch in the Hufflepuff common room and watching everyone snogging each other--or worse, trying to fend off someone like Ginny or Millicent Bulstrode or someone from snogging him (!) made him break into a sweat. They might not, but you never know. And it wasn't as though Severus would be there to dance with, or even talk to. He was sure he'd be utterly bored.

Ron and Hermione, however, refused to let Harry beg off. They told him he'd have to come, it wouldn't be the same with out him, and on and on until he finally groaned and gave in. "But I don't know what to go as!" he'd whined, secretly hoping it would give him an out.

"Go with Padma Patil, then," Ron told him. "She doesn't know what she wants to be yet, either. You could go as something together--like a donkey. You could be the rear end. The ass of the ass!" he snickered, and Harry punched him lightly in the arm.

Harry didn't ask Padma to the party, but he did ask if she had any ideas what to go as. "I really can't decide," she told him frantically, with only a week left. "I'm going to ask everyone I see today, then tonight I'll just take a deep breath and pick one. If I think of something good, do you want to do it, too? We could go together," she suggested.

"I dunno," Harry shrugged. "I don't really want to go at all, but Ron and Hermione wouldn't leave me alone about it. So I guess I have to, but I haven't a clue what costume to pick."

"There are a few other boys like that," she informed him. "No girls, though, they all know what they're doing. But they said they won't let you into the party if you aren't in costume," she fretted. "Oh, I know! What if we could get a group costume? Then maybe it wouldn't be so bad. If you guys were all alike, you don't have to feel so uncomfortable about dressing up, and you don't have to come up with any creative stuff."

"Yeah, actually, that might not be too bad," Harry agreed, secretly relieved. Going with a group; that would mean he wasn't exactly going with Padma. "What kind of group could we do, though?"

Padma's eyes were glittering. "I'll ask around. Don't worry; I promise I'll have it all figured out by tonight. Will you ask around and see if the other guys want to do it? Look, I'm late for class, just send me a note, all right?" She waved at him as she hurried away. Harry smiled a little. Maybe Halloween wouldn't be so bad.

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He was wrong. It was worse than he'd ever anticipated. Padma Patil, by virtue of having asked someone--exactly the wrong person, whoever the hell it was--had made up her mind and gotten her heart set on being Queen Cleopatra. This, in and of itself, was not a problem. Harry thought she'd make a pretty nifty Cleopatra, because of her dark hair and eyes, and had even told her so, when she'd first started explaining. Then she told the boys what they were going to be. Not 'asked' the boys, because that implied they had a choice. The look in her eyes, and the slight feverish cast to her face said that they had better not try refusing, because refusing was not an option and everybody needed at least some teeth left in their mouth. Which was why Harry and the others kept theirs shut.

And why Harry, Ernie Macmillan, and two guys Harry didn't really know very well ended up going to the Hufflepuff Halloween Party as Cleopatra's retinue of Egyptian slaves. Even the word slave was demeaning and horrible and humiliating and exciting, or would be if you only belonged to Snape and Harry felt sick and twisted and very, very embarrassed about it. But not nearly as embarrassed as he ended up feeling about his costume.

All four boys stared at them, when Padma brought them out that night, brandishing them with pride. "I made them myself," she said. They were very well made, but they were still a little...

"Um. A bit short, aren't they?" asked Richard Havenblast, the only Ravenclaw male in the group. He looked vaguely horrified. Padma's eyes narrowed as she lowered the, well, Harry supposed it was supposed to be a tunic or something, but his mind kept calling it a skirt, and raised her wand.

"Too short, d'you think?" she asked, too sweetly. No one could be that sweet with their eyes so narrow. Ernie nodded, and got a Hacking Hex for his trouble. She hit him with a few other curses; just to be sure she'd made a point. "Put. Them. ON." She glared at them, wand poised and eager. Harry and the others grabbed them and hastily ran to change.

Oh, God. This really was humiliating. He couldn't look at himself in the mirror--he kept thinking he saw an underage, cross-dressing dilly boy. This was the worst thing that ever happened to him. The other guys looked embarrassed, too. Except the Slytherin, Jack something-or-other, who looked as cool as only a Slytherin could look. Which made him seem less a swish than the rest of them, somehow, which was completely unfair. At least the rest of them were as uncomfortable as Harry, and he knew it was probably the worst moment of ALL their lives. Harry knew he could face death with equanimity, now, because he was sure that this was worse, and that nothing could ever be worse than this. Yeah. He was sure of it.

Until Padma brought out the eye-liner.

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