“No alcohol.”
Harry stopped. Made a face. “Shit.” He’d forgotten. “Yes, professor.”
“And…”
Harry sighed.
“While you’re in town, would you be so good as to pick up four ounces of gold ink at Jot’s & Tittle’s? If it is inconvenient – ”
Harry smiled. “No problem.”
Snape began casting about in his robes, and Harry held up a hand. “Please. My treat.”
Snape stopped searching, looked askance at him. “Have you the faintest idea how much gold ink costs?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “If I need to, I’ll sell a kidney. Anything else I can bring back for you?”
Snape shook his head, disarmed, and Harry grinned and headed for the door.
“Potter…”
Harry stopped, turned. “Yes?”
Snape was pouring a jar of green liquid into a jar of clear liquid. The mix, fascinatingly, stayed clear.
Eyes on the steady stream connecting the two jars, Snape said, “I shall miss you terribly.”
Harry burst out laughing. The hands holding the jars never wavered, but Snape smirked.
“See you later.” Harry left, still chuckling.
* * *
Harry bought the ink first – staggered at the price, though it wasn’t more than he could afford – then arrived at the Three Broomsticks just as Hermione and Ron apparated from London. Hearty hugs were exchanged all around before they went inside and commandeered a booth.
Ron offered to buy the first round.
“I can’t,” Harry sighed. “Snape said no.”
Ron goggled. “Snape said no? What is he, your mother?”
Harry chuckled.
Ron ordered soda for Harry and butterbeer for himself and Hermione.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly Ron, think for once. He doesn’t want Harry to do anything that might interfere with the cure.” She looked at Harry. “Right?”
Harry nodded. “As soon as I’m well, though, I’ve got a bottle of Old Ogden’s Special Reserve in my rooms.” He considered, decided to tell them part two of that plan. “I think I’ll see if Snape wants to share it with me.”
Ron snorted. “That’d be a sight to see – you two, of all people, getting pissed together.”
Harry laughed. “True. You could probably sell tickets.”
Hermione, though, saw a little more clearly where Harry was headed.
“Is there anything you want to tell us?” she said kindly.
Harry smiled. “Not yet, Hermione. But I’m working on it.”
“Is he …” She sought for the words while Ron sipped his butterbeer and watched in puzzlement. “Is he –”
“Responsive?” Harry suggested. Hermione flushed.
“In the interested sense, I meant,” Harry went on, trying very hard not to think about responsive Snape.
“You’re blushing, Harry,” Hermione said severely.
Harry cleared his throat. “Not exactly. Anyway – to answer your question – he’s Snape. You know? I think so, but it’s kind of hard to tell.”
Harry could almost hear it as Ron’s penny dropped.
“Harry! You’re putting the moves on Snape?”
“Well,” Hermione harrumphed. “That was a tawdry way of putting it.”
“But yeah, basically,” Harry said. “You know I’ve thought for years that he was … I mean is …” He couldn’t settle on a word. Amazing? Gorgeous? “Hot,” he concluded lamely.
“Well, yeah, but … I never thought you’d do anything about it.” Ron grinned, raised his glass to Harry. “Here’s to you, mate – you’ve got balls.”
Harry and Hermione both rolled their eyes.
“Thanks,” Harry said. “Enough of that. What’s been going on at the Ministry whilst I’ve been on holiday?”
* * *
It was past 10 o’clock when he got back to Hogwarts. The students had returned to their dormitories for the night and lights were dimming all over the castle as Harry made his way to the dungeons.
Snape wasn’t in his office. Harry would simply have left the gold ink on his desk – though with a touch of unease, considering its value – but he spotted a piece of parchment there, with a word on it beginning with a very large H.
He turned it toward himself and saw the word ‘Harry.’ Nothing else. He picked it up and his name disappeared. The words ‘Bring the ink to my quarters’ appeared, then faded to show a rough map, with Harry a ‘you are here’ dot in Snape’s office, and a line indicating the route he should take.
Harry pocketed the ink jar and followed the line, watching his dot move as he moved, out of the office, past the dungeon-level classrooms, down a circular stair and out into a broad, short corridor with a tall oak door at one end. Harry stopped in front of the door, peering again at the map by the light of torches supported by gargoyle sconces on either side.
The map disappeared. The word noninimicus appeared.
Typical, Harry thought. Not “a friend” but “not an enemy.” Even the man’s permission was grudging.
He spoke the spell and the door – silently, though it looked to be the sort of door that groaned – opened.
