The Master Plan

Chapter 36: Myriad Meetings

Harry tossed. And turned. And then tossed again. And then, for a change of pace, he flung an arm out and struck Ron in the nose.

"Ow! Sheesh, Harry, you didn't have to rough me up," his friend complained in a muffled voice.

Harry sat up, plunked his glasses down on his nose, and gave Ron a grouchy look. "Well, it wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been leaning over me again like that. Why are you in here, anyhow? A day free from classes, I thought you'd be out snogging Hermione senseless. I don't know why you're playing mother hen at me. You couldn't possibly have been checking to see if I was dead; I was flopping about all over the place, trying to get comfortable."

"In reverse order; I didn't think you were dead, I was worried you were having a nightmare. If Voldemort had been in your head, I would have wanted to wake you quickly. Hermione is studying--yes, what do you expect--and I'm bored with studying, and we were both feeling a little fussy about you, considering you won't tell us what happened last night. And last: Ow, Harry! That really hurt! You've got, like, a mean left hook when you're sleeping."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, that's me. Just call me the Homosexual Sleeping Ali of the wizarding world. And I'm not telling you anything because I can't. Dumbledore told me not to." He gave Ron a look that said; 'And considering the summer before last, don't you dare complain to me about it.'

"I know, Harry." Ron sat next to him on the bed. "It's just...you've been acting really funny lately. Like you have these really high highs and then really low lows. Getting all drunk at the Christmas party, going and spending galleons on a whole new wardrobe, giving Blaise the cold shoulder... And then, last night, one minute you're totally depressed because Snape yelled at you, and then you come bouncing in here hours later--after all that anxiety you caused me!--with this strange, dreamy grin. I don't get it!"

Harry looked away, biting his lip. This was the sort of thing he and Ron were still not comfortable talking about. "In the first place, I have not been giving Blaise the cold shoulder. He's the one who said he wants to date other people, 'sort himself out' kind of bullshit."

"Oh," Ron replied quietly. He was not Hermione, but neither was he completely stupid. "I'm sorry, and all, Harry. But I don't think the fight will last. You guys seem to go back and forth, you know? One minute you're all over each other, the next minute you just seem bored with him. And he really is crazy about you; Jack and Seamus both say you're all he ever talks about anymore, and he's the same way around me. Which he isn't very often, but still. I mean, he's the Slut of Slytherin, supposedly, and you've practically got him eating out of your hand."

Harry laughed mirthlessly. "Yeah, the Slut of Slytherin and the Gryffindor Whore; you would think we'd be a match made in heaven." Ron's ears went pink and he flinched a little at Harry's bitter voice. Harry spied this from the corner of his eye and sighed. "I don't know, Ron. At least with you and Hermione, you can always count on her to be smart. Maybe we have such a hard time because we're both guys, both idiots. But...I don't think that's really it. It's just." Harry's brow wrinkled as he tugged at a loose thread on the bedspread, avoiding Ron's eyes.

"What is it?" Ron must have had a hard time asking; Harry knew perfectly well that these were areas of Harry's life Ron did not wish to have the details on.

"I kind of don't want to be with Blaise. I never did. And now I feel sort of bad, because maybe I've just been using him from the very beginning." He looked up squarely into Ron's honest blue eyes, screwing his courage up. "I was still in love with Snape," he added in a very quiet voice. "I am still in love with Snape. I don't want to hurt Blaise, but..."

Ron heaved a sigh. "You do realize that the man treats you like dirt, right? I mean, every time I turn around he's yelling at you, calling you names, hurting your feelings..." Harry started to protest, but Ron doggedly went on. "Harry, if this is really what you want, then I'll respect it. But if this is some masochistic impulse of yours, we're going to have to sort you out eventually. Because I will not stand around and watch him hurt you over and over again. I mean it, Harry; I can't take that kind of torture."

Harry managed a slightly watery smile at this and said, "Thanks, mate. Means a lot to me."

"Harry...I don't know if I even want to know this, but does he even, you know... Could he even see you that way? He's never shown any interest in you, so far as I can remember, aside from a vaguely affectionate-sounding insult here and there." Ron flopped back with his arms behind his head, only his eyes betraying his concern.

"I...don't know for certain," Harry admitted. "He does push me away a lot, but that could stem from any number of reasons. He could be afraid of getting hurt, or he could be trying to protect me...or himself...but he can be really, really wonderful, too. He. Er. He kissed me. Twice. Once just this morning, in fact. But...I mean; I just don't get it. Sometimes he does...things...that seem like only someone who really loved me would do. But he said he didn't. He said a few weeks ago that he could never have feelings for me. So...why does he do nice things, then? Why did he kiss me?" He looked at Ron rather shyly from behind his lashes, and was relieved to see the redhead seemed more contemplative than murderous.

"You mentioned kissing once before. I can't even imagine it. Well, I don't much WANT to, really, but...I just don't know. I mean, nothing makes sense. Snape kissed you because he likes you--too weird, and he doesn't act like it. Snape kissed you because he feels sorry for you--just as weird, and he's never felt sorry for you before. Snape kissed you...to try to drive you crazy, getting you to guess at why. There. That could be it."

Harry gave a wry smile and said, "Well, he did sort of kiss me like he was trying to drive me crazy."

"Huh?" Ron replied, looking puzzled.

Harry cleared his throat. "He...he kind of pushed me up against the wall and--and--it was like he was trying to devour me, starting with my mouth and working his way down into my soul--and he was caressing my face with his hand--like all over my face; touching and feeling and petting--and it was. Just. Breathtaking. Scorching. It was like we were two flames trying to consume each other. And I know he wanted it, too, because he--" Harry broke off to look at Ron, who had his eyes clamped shut and his nose scrunched up. "Er. Sorry."

"Well...I'm not going to go with my first reaction here, because I don't think 'Eurgh, Snape-cooties! You're probably infected!' or 'I'm going to be ill,' is what you're hoping to hear." Ron sighed a long, long breath out. "It rather sounds like he likes you, too. So. I think you need to dump Zabini, and work on getting the...person...you really want. There. That's what Hermione would say, isn't it? Better?"

Harry considered this a while. "Yes...but...I'd like to know what you think. I mean; are you okay with this? Are you going to be sick or angry every time you look at me? And even if I did somehow 'get' Snape--if he suddenly fell madly in love with me and wanted me to move into his dungeon, and spend all his time making goo-goo eyes at me--could you even stand to be friends with me?"

Ron gave him a half disgruntled, half amused look. "In the first place, if Snape started making goo-goo eyes at you, you'd probably just get bored with him, since you're obviously a bleeding masochistic lunatic. In the second place...I dunno. My first instinct was to tell you that I'd be all right with it--eventually...give or take a few thousand years. But...I mean, you told me you'd written about how you felt in that journal. So I've been kind of thinking about it, getting used to it, already. And I've been watching Snape pretty closely, too, wondering why you were even interested, and...Harry, I wouldn't take it as gospel, but I think it is just possible that he's got a thing for you, too. He watches you like he doesn't watch me or Hermione. Like, with this really intense look on his face. Like you're the only person in existence, or at least the only one that matters.

"And every time someone mentions Zabini, he sort of twitches, like he's been jabbed with something sharp. And every time he sees you with Blaise, he gets this homicidal look in his eyes, and sort of tenses up. I kind of tested him on that, that time you were angry with him and stopped coming to class for a few nights? The first time you didn't show, he asked, 'And where is Mister Potter?'

So I said, 'He's out with his little sugar daddy.' He just stared at me, so I added, 'Oh, you know, they're doing the whole Romeo and Juliet bit--"I love you, Blaise! Not as much as I love YOU, Harry!"'

And he just kept on staring at me and muttered something about how that wasn't how Romeo and Juliet went at all. And he said, 'And I suppose Mister Potter and Mister Juliet are far too otherwise occupied than to care if the Dark Lord plans on killing us all tomorrow?'

So I told him, 'It's funny you should say that, because Harry said he wouldn't care if he DID die tomorrow, so long as he was with Blaise. Isn't that sweet?' And he got all twitchy again and started gritting his teeth. And then on the next night, he didn't even say anything, so I said, 'Harry said he's sorry he can't make it tonight, but he's learning more important lessons from Blaise. Like how not to be a virgin.' And man, did he SLAM that cursed candlestick down on his desk! He was jealous, Harry. Totally jealous."

Harry gave Ron a reproachful look. "You shouldn't have done that," he said. Then, "Do you really think he was jealous?"

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"If you would but test my--my loyalty, my lord..." Dear God, he had almost said PATIENCE. "Just give me a task. I swear I will fulfill it." Or reveal myself as a spy, but why bother you with something as trivial as the truth?

"Very well, then, Severus," Voldemort smiled slowly, and Snape got the distinct feeling he had just walked into a trap. "There is one way you could prove yourself, beyond all doubt. As you so perceptively pointed out, my plans of late have had a tendency to go awry. I wonder why that is?"

"Ah, I imagine you mean the failures incurred by the Malfoys. Have you spoken with Lucius regarding the recent incident, yet?" Snape desperately tried to steer the conversation--the blame--in another direction.

"Lucius is being punished for acting without my orders," the Dark Lord replied coldly. "Although it is not only the Malfoys who have failed me. No matter, because Thursday night, I assure you, nothing will go wrong. This coming Thursday, you will execute your assigned task exactly as requested, or die trying." He gave Severus another slow, snake-like smile. "Or you will wish you had."

After fifteen years of doing this sort of thing, Severus's instincts were well honed. Right now, they were screaming at him. They said someone was about to die...and he might not even be able to influence who it was.

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Blaise had lived through one of the worst days of his life. First to be roused before five in the morning with the news Harry had gone missing--Harry! His Harry!--and then the hellish ordeal of keeping the Slytherins in their own portion of the castle--God, what an utter bitch that had been! (Although he was quite proud of himself, for Snape had said to keep them in, and keep them in he had! Being a star Charms student had allowed him to cast Avertere on the common room doors, and a Summissi Spell on a few of the more likely transgressors, rendering them unable to even aspire to leaving their rooms.) And then, finally, Harry had shown up at the door; 'my hero' Harry, telling them they were safe. Blaise didn't need to be told Harry had saved them again. And standing there, staring at the Gryffindor, watching Harry's brave, tired, face telling them all that they would be all right, that a professor would explain things to them soon, that it was over...he was just so...so...

Blaise knew he was lying, of course. They all must have known; they were Slytherins. And if not one student in their house had advance warning of what had happened the night before, he'd snog Hermione Granger. Well, he WAS running out of fresh males around here; that was for sure. Although not, he felt, so badly so that he'd need to start on the female portion of Hogwarts. But Harry'd said they were safe, and for at least as long as he was standing in the doorway, they'd believed him.

Because he was Harry.

Blaise certainly believed him. Harry hardly ever lied. At least it seemed he tried not to...and, strangely, that was one of the nicer things about him. Blaise didn't mind lies; he'd been taught that truth was a weakness. But Harry was generally truthful, and he was anything but weak. Blaise had tried to forget about him in the past week; had ignored him, had focused on schoolwork during the day, and at night, had thrown himself into meaningless sexual encounters with boys whose names he did not even bother to learn. But no matter how good it was, no matter how easy it came, no matter how thoroughly he acted out his passive-aggressiveness (and he knew perfectly well that was what it was), there was still always and only one name on the tip of his tongue. Harry.

Why couldn't he forget the damn Gryffindor? Why couldn't he just walk away? Why, at the very least, did Harry have to be so bloody...celibate? He kept saying he wasn't ready, but Blaise just couldn't understand what he was waiting for. And now, without Harry, instead of the heedless, refreshing freedom that he loved so much, he found nothing but frustration. He lie awake nights, thinking of Harry. There was just something inexplicably...wonderful about him. The boy had this damned enduring sweetness that just...lingered. Not on the lips so much, but in the heart. And one got the feeling he actually meant things when he said them. That was so far beyond Blaise's experience that he hardly knew what to call it. Just like the feeling he got by being with Harry. He'd heard the name of the mythical beast in fairy tales, but had never thought it real. They called it Love.

He had made his decision. He would have to swallow his pride (when had he ever really had any?) and see if Harry would still have him. Taking a few deep breaths, he headed for Gryffindor tower.

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With sleep eluding him, and Ron and Hermione out mixing with the other houses the moment students were allowed to leave their dorms, Harry couldn't decide what to do. He took Junior out and played with him for a little while, feeding him bits of cockroach clusters and petting him absentmindedly. Junior, perceptive little reptile that he was, asked Harry what was bothering him, and Harry ended up having a most informative chat with the snake.

Harry explained that he missed Severus, the man who'd caught Junior, and that he wasn't sure if Severus liked him. This was a difficult impression to explain, as snakes don't have any concept of 'like' or 'dislike,' and don't mate for life, and pretty much view other snakes as 'someone who could eat me,' 'someone I could eat,' or 'someone I could make more snakes with.' Uncertainly, Harry vaguely put his relationship with Severus in the latter, although this did not serve to clarify things very much.

Junior, with his tentative, yet developing understanding of the human psyche, had created a new category for people like Harry--'someone who will feed and pet and entertain me.' The last concept was extremely new wave thinking, for a snake, and he was very proud of himself. Few snakes had enough leisure time for entertainment, not to mention for creating words to represent it. Junior listened to Harry's troubles attentively, and although he had probably not been trying to say anything particularly comforting in response, nonetheless he managed to do so.

Harry had had to jog the small reptile's memory of who Severus was, as he had not seen the man in some time, and snakes do not have fantastic memories. After realizing who Harry was referring to, Junior had noted 'I thought he was someone who could eat me, but instead fed me and petted me and played with me.' Harry thought this was odd, because aside from the one time the Severus had reached out a tentative finger and stroked Sevvie's head, he couldn't remember the man touching the snake, and he certainly couldn't remember him ever playing with him. It took a lot of questioning and clarifying, but Harry finally realized what had happened. Severus had spent time holding, stroking, feeding and even speaking to the snake, although Junior of course did not understand the words. It had been the night Severus found the journal. Severus told Harry that he did not return his feelings, that Harry's feelings were inappropriate, that Severus could never love him; and then, after Harry'd left, he'd apparently taken the snake out and carried him into the bedroom, where he'd sat with the Junior curled around his wrist, just as Harry had once done, and had a long heart to heart with him. Junior implied the man had been very upset. Harry would have dearly loved to know what Severus said that night.

Eventually Harry finally gave up on sleep altogether and decided to join the rest of the school in the Great Hall, where rumors were being traded, and the students attempted to comfort one another. There was too much on his mind, and he wanted to talk more with Ron and Hermione. They were the only ones who knew about Snape, and he felt desperate to discuss...not what had happened last night, exactly, but the repercussions of it.

Death Eaters had been in Hogsmead. Snape had definitely not been with them. He had not been summoned. They hadn't told him. They'd attacked, and they hadn't warned him beforehand. To Harry, that could only mean one thing; they suspected. Voldemort suspected. And if that were true, Severus Snape was a dead man walking.

And just what, exactly, could Harry do about that? Call Voldemort out? That would be bloody stupid, even for him. He wasn't ready to face Voldemort yet. Besides, he had learned his lesson from last year--not to go rushing out when he thought someone else was in trouble. God. Did he have to think of that now? His head spun; visions of Sirius falling through the veil began to blur, becoming visions of Snape in Sirius's place. He could not lose two men he loved so much because of his own recklessness. If he had just stayed the fuck out of it and trusted Snape in the first place, Sirius would still be alive.

He would just have to trust Snape now. He would have to trust him to know what to do. Trust Snape to handle it. And above all, never, never let Voldemort use Harry against the Potions Master the way he had against his godfather. Voldemort couldn't know about this: Harry--Snape--the kiss--Harry's feelings. What had Severus said when recovering in the hospital ward? 'I will rip each and every thought from my head, and render my lips unable to say the words, before I let that monster use me to get to him... Already, I plunder my own memories ruthlessly before facing the man...' Voldemort was a skilled Legilimancer. Harry was sure he rifled through Snape's thoughts every time he called the man to him. How horrible for Severus, to have to endure what amounted to mental rape, again and again and again.

And all it would take was one slip up, one word out of place, one memory of one unguarded moment. One infinitesimal suggestion that Severus did not wish Harry dead, or that he had not fully done what the Dark Lord wanted. Whatever Voldemort did when he saw that likely wouldn't impact Harry at all, as far as Voldemort would know, but Severus would be just as dead. There was only one thing Harry could do--he could stop giving Snape memories that could put him at further risk. Stop giving himself memories that would implicate Snape if Voldemort got into Harry's mind again. That was all he could do. He had to stay away from the man. Because he loved him. He could not lose Severus because of his own thoughts and desires. He would just have to avoid him; that was all.

He rounded the corner and walked straight into the Potions Master.