Harry had only been trying to go to the bathroom. Seriously, that was it. There had been no diabolical plan, no sneaky plots for mischief, no midnight walks through the castle corridors. Just a simple trip to the loo to relieve himself. It wasn’t supposed to be that hard. It was going to the bathroom, for crying out loud! That shouldn’t be a huge event. 

Oh, but, no. Life had to be difficult for Harry. Thus, it was early Saturday morning and there he was on the floor in the hallway, stuck to a growling, hissing Snape in a dressing robe. 

Perhaps a recap to dear Harry’s predicament would be in order. 

In the previous night, Snape had instructed him to stay in bed and not to move. Apparently, the distance from Snape’s room and Harry’s room was farther than ten feet. Somehow, Snape arranged his own bed to be nearer to Harry’s room. Harry knew the strict instructions to not leave his bed. But it was early morning, on a Saturday, and with a pulsing full bladder… Well, nature’s call was a bit stronger than Snape’s stern vitriol. 

“Potter,” growled Snape from behind Harry. “I realize things can be difficult for your Quidditch soaked brain to comprehend, but what ‘don’t leave your bed’ didn’t you understand!?” 

Harry winced from the furious tone that was emanating from the man. He could feel Snape trying to pull himself free, but to no avail. Their backs were currently touching each other and quite stuck to one another. The dungeon flooring was cold to Harry’s seat and he really had to go. Waiting ten minutes seemed like an eternity, but there was no way in Merlin’s name that was he going to pee with Snape in the room, let alone stuck to him. 

He was pretty sure Snape felt the same. 

“I didn’t mean to, sir,” said Harry, feeling the man trying to stand up, but with little success. “I just had to use the bathroom and I was half asleep. I wasn’t thinking.” 

“That much is apparent!” shouted Snape with vigor, pulling Harry back with a hard wrench. It didn’t work, however. There was a tired sigh as Harry felt the man run a hand through his hair. “This is ridiculous. That boy will be lucky if I let him live after this nonsense.” 

At first, Harry thought that Snape meant him, but on further contemplation, he realized that a certain blond had a very short lifespan left on earth. For once in Harry’s life, he actually felt just a little sorry for his rival. 

Just a little… 

“So, what do we do?” asked Harry. 

“What does it look like, Potter?!” spat Snape. “We sit here until the blasted spell lets us apart.” 

“On the cold floor?” 

“Yes!” 

“Sir?” 

There was an exasperated sigh. 

“What, Potter?” 

“I have to use the loo. Really bad, sir.” 

“Oh, this is not happening to me,” muttered Snape furiously underneath his breath. “No, a thousand times, no. This is merely a dream, a horrible, living nightmare.” 

Harry fully agreed with the man, there was no doubt about that. This was already far too close and personal with Snape. He certainly didn’t want any more awkward moments, nor did he wish to be anywhere near him while he took care of business. 

Harry had to be cursed, in more ways than one. That was it. The day he was born, he’d been cursed. Maybe it really was something to do with Nargles or whatever those odd creatures were that Luna always talked about. They had to have eaten up all his good luck – that just had to be the answer. Otherwise, there were no good answers to explain why everything bad happened to him. 

At least, that were Harry’s thoughts on that matter, anyway, at that moment. 

His next thought went something along the lines of thinking that Snape had finally cracked and was going to kill him once and for all. The man’s wand was pointing at him and waving it faintly. He had little time to panic, however; because, a moment later, the unmistakable pressure that signified his need vanished completely. 

Harry blinked. 

Well, that was definitely a strange feeling – one that he’d rather just complete himself. He shuddered slightly, disliking the strange sensation in his lower section. There were just some things magic shouldn’t do and this was one of them. 

“What was that?” asked Harry, unable to stop himself from putting out the question. 

“A handy spell for patients unable to be moved from their beds,” said Snape, his voice sounding tired, yet annoyed. Harry’s answer was instant. 

“I don’t think I like it.” 

“The alternative was no better and certainly was not going to happen in this lifetime, nor the lifetime to come, Potter,” snapped Snape, the irritation rising in his tone. There was an exasperated huff and then silence fell upon the two of them. 

Well, awkward much; oh, yes, this definitely was uncomfortable. But at least Harry didn’t have to deal with a pressing issue at that moment. It was a strange thing sitting on this floor, stuck to Snape. After all the crazy things that had happened to Harry, this had to be the weirdest. Luckily, he was still alive through it all. 

Harry was thankful that today wasn’t Monday. He wasn’t sure what he would do for classes. Snape had classes to teach. Would Harry sit in all of the man’s Potion classes – for all the student years? For a brief moment, Harry wasn’t at all thrilled with being inside the stuffy dungeon classroom for hours. But, the hidden part of his heart – that section that was only known to him – was almost excited at the prospect. 

Why? Well, that was something he couldn’t even tell his friends. 

Maybe he could get a little better at Potions. Then, maybe, the man wouldn’t have anything bad to say about his work. If he got better, then there was a chance… 

Maybe, just maybe. 

But, of course, Harry knew not to get too hopeful with such things. He wasn’t all that smart in his schoolwork. He excelled in Defense Against the Dark Arts, sure; but his other classes were just average. He could never get grades like the ones Hermione always received. With OWLs coming up, Harry was unsure of what his future would hold – if he even lived. Ron had said that he thought it’d be cool to be an Auror. Harry knew that his father, James, and Sirius had been Aurors. He wasn’t sure about his mother, however. 

Maybe if Harry hadn’t gone through all his experiences, he would’ve wanted the same. Sure, he liked to have adventures just as much as the next kid. But, to be honest, he didn’t want anything heavier than a Quidditch match or a midnight stroll through the castle. During his first year, he had tried to go to a teacher about the Sorcerer’s Stone, but Professor McGonagall hadn’t listened to him. Thus, he had felt the call of a hero to go protect the stone from Voldemort. 

Well, he had originally thought it was Snape going after it, but that was beside the point. 

His second year, he had gone to Lockhart for help. In retrospect, that was a pretty stupid choice, but they hadn’t known that their professor was a complete idiot. In the end, he had battled a giant basilisk and nearly died. In Harry’s third year, all the bad stuff had merely happened to him. He hadn’t even been looking for it and he still almost got eaten by a werewolf or had his soul nearly sucked out of his mouth. And his fourth year, you couldn’t have paid him all the gallons in the wizarding world to have participated in the Triwizard Tournament. 

But, nooo, because it was some magical binding contract when your name was burnt out of a glowing goblet, he had no choice but to participate in a dangerous tournament that was life threatening to students three years older than him. 

And don’t even get him started on what had happened during the end of the third task. 

No, Harry was positive: he was done with life threatening situations. He would fight to protect people from Voldemort, since he was the madman’s target, but after Voldemort’s demise, he was done with always fighting to stay alive. He didn’t want a lifetime of this. He was tired – honestly tired. He wanted a quiet career. Maybe not a desk job in the Ministry of Magic, but certainly not something where he had to wonder if he would be going home that night.

But Harry wasn’t sure if he had good enough grades in his other subjects for a different career. There was one thing that he wanted to do, but he was pretty sure that it’d never be – even with the potential of extra classes now. If he even mentioned it to his friends, he knew he’d get a ton of flack about it from Ron and he’d be overwhelmed by enthusiasm from Hermione. 

Not to mention, the professor of the subject would just glare at him for even thinking about it. 

He tried – he honestly tried to work hard in his work. But even after four years of school and now entering his fifth year, he still had a little trouble with a quill and ink – and that always took points off his schoolwork. He always did his work on spare parchment with mechanical pencils that he had brought with him to school. It was just easier that way. 

His teachers throughout the years often scolded him for poor handwriting. But trying to write with a quill was difficult. He always ended blotching the page with ink and having to start over – took him a few months in his first year to learn to dab some of the ink off and even then he still messed up. His hand was shaky when he tried to write.  There was just more control with a pencil. 

Not to mention, he could erase his mistakes. He had this weird habit of his brain thinking faster than his hand. The words would flow onto the page, but his hand would write it oddly. He would leave out words or even write the wrong one down. It was a pain; that much was sure. But he managed it. That was why he really disliked quill and ink. He simply had an easier time with pencils. 

Sometimes, wizards were a little backwards in their thinking, Harry couldn’t help but feel. 

The time spent on the floor continued in silence. Harry was thankful for it, as was – he was sure – Snape. He tried to keep his thoughts calm, but they still ran away with him. Soon, they were able to divide – the man tested it nearly every two minutes. Snape was instantly on his feet and grabbing Harry by the scruff of his neck. Harry found himself lifted to his feet effortlessly, leaving him frighteningly curious as to where Snape had that power and strength. He was pushed towards the bathroom. 

“You have fifteen minutes to be showered, dressed, and ready for breakfast, Potter,” said Snape, his voice disturbingly dark as he nearly hissed his words, “or I’m coming in and dragging you to the table in whatever condition you possess at said time.” 

With a final push at his back and embarrassing squeak escaping his throat, Harry rushed into the bathroom. As he turned around, clothes flew into his arms with quite a bit of force. He barely caught a glimpse of Snape standing in the hallway, his arms folded, and his dark eyes glaring sparks into the wood of the door as it slammed automatically shut. 

There was a brief moment where Harry just stared at the closed door in shock. Then, he quickly wasted no time in shedding his clothes. He kicked the dirty ones to the side, while placing the clean ones onto the sink countertop. He turned on the shower water and stepped into the tub; shutting the glass sliding doors at his side. 

Harry was used to quick showers back at the Dursleys. Actually, he was lucky to even get a shower at the Dursleys – at least, when he was younger. After his Hogwarts letter, he had to take quick ones and use up as little of the hot water as possible. He loved Hogwarts because he was able to take his time when he wanted. He didn’t always take the opportunity to do so, but sometimes a nice long bath or shower after a hard practice of Quidditch just hit the spot perfectly. 

But today wasn’t one of those times. Harry had no desire – whatsoever – in sitting at the table, dripping wet with shampoo still in his hair, and covered in only a towel. Especially when Snape was in the same room. 

That was a most unpleasant picture in Harry’s mind. 

Thus, he quickly showered, taking little time to really enjoy the warm water that rained down on his back. A few minutes later, he had gotten out of the shower. He dried off as quickly as possible, always nervous if Snape would be suddenly burst through the door. He dressed in his clothes, ignoring the question of how Snape knew what to Accio from his room. 

He didn’t bother to tame his black hair. It seemed even more wild after drying it. He knew if he tried to pat it down that it would simply pop back up. He had spent plenty of time in trying to tame his hair to know this. It would never lie flat. 

He opened the door of the bathroom to see Snape standing there, waiting with his arms still folded. The man was dressed in his usual attire of black robes. How he dressed so fast was a mystery – and no doubt would remain so for a very long time. 

“Right on time, Potter,” drawled Snape, a light sneer lifting the side of his mouth. “I was about to go in and drag you out.” 

Harry was suddenly thankful to the Dursleys for their poor treatment for the first time in his life. 

Breakfast was quiet. Snape said nothing. Harry said nothing. It was certainly safer that way, Harry figured. It was a bit dull, though. He missed his friends and he couldn’t help but wonder if he would see much of them through this. They wouldn’t be able to sit at meals together. He probably wouldn’t be able to study with them any more. In fact, he probably wouldn’t see much of his friends at all. 

Harry let out a sigh before he could stop himself; putting his fork down onto the plate. He suddenly lost his appetite. There was a glare from Snape as he eyed Harry. The man was about to speak up when the fire flared up from the other room. 

Saved by the fire, Harry thought. 

“Hello, Severus, are you awake?” 

Snape put his face into his hands, leaning his elbows onto the table. Once again, Harry was impressed with the very human side of Snape. There was a low growl that rumbled through the man’s throat. 

“Is there no respite for the weary?” murmured Snape. 

“Severus?” 

There was low sigh. 

“In the kitchen.” 

A moment later, Harry went blind. 

Well, at least it felt that way. Harry officially decided that wizards did not understand the concept of color. Snape was the perfect example of lack of color, while Dumbledore was the perfect example of extreme color. Thus, Harry found himself scrunching up his eyes as he tried to take in the old wizard’s appearance. 

Bright yellow was not a color for robes. 

“Oh, good Merlin, Albus!” cried Snape, immediately turning his head away. He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers. Harry sucked in his breath, surprised that the yellow color that was blindingly dazzling had suddenly changed in black. 

Oh, sweet peace for the eyes. 

“Now, Severus, you know I don’t like black.” 

“Change them when you leave,” said Snape, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. “You know better than to come into my quarters with some eccentrically colored robes.” There was a low sigh mixed with a growl. “My eyes…” 

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that?” 

“Albus, why are you here? Again?” 

“Oh, well, I have some good news,” said Dumbledore, smiling at the pair of them; his blue eyes twinkling happily. Even Harry knew it was too early – on a Saturday, no less – for such pure happiness. Snape didn’t even bother standing up from the table. He merely looked up at the old man, an almost bored expression appearing over his impassive features. He gestured lightly towards Dumbledore. 

“Do enlighten us, Albus.” 

The old man puffed up in excitement. 

“I was doing some studying about the spell you two are under – and I must say, it’s a very interesting spell indeed. Did you know that—” 

“The short version, if you please,” growled Snape, the image of his patience wearing thin. 

“Very well,” sighed Dumbledore, looking disappointed. Then, he gave the pair of them a twinkling smile. Harry could almost visualize the stars sparkling next to the old man’s face. “Apparently, the distance that the spell restricts will extend when the two participates agree on something.” 

Harry’s brain immediately substituted ‘participates’ with ‘victims’. There was a moment of silence as this information sunk in. 

“Potter! Agree on something!” said Snape, almost desperately. 

“What?” blinked Harry, looking at him in surprise. At the dark look that was sent his way, he quickly came up with the first thing that crossed his mind. “I, uh… I like French toast. Do you, sir?” 

“Yes,” hissed Snape, looking extremely strained as he said this. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, appearing surprised by this statement. Harry watched the man for a moment, before he nearly smiled. 

“You’re lying, aren’t you, sir?” 

“Yes,” snapped Snape, appearing even more angry than before. There was a wise, but undeniably amused chuckle from Dumbledore. 

“Agreeing on trivial matters won’t extend the distance very far. The point of the spell was to bring two wayward children closer together.” 

There was something extremely suggestive about that statement. Snape seemed to catch the insinuation just as Harry did. The man was glaring at Dumbledore with every fiber of his being. Harry was almost surprised that the old man hadn’t keeled over already. There was so much power and fire in those glares. 

“Why didn’t you tell me this yesterday?” demanded Snape through gritted teeth. 

“I just found out this morning,” said Dumbledore, smiling just a little too innocently as he touched the tips of his fingers together. 

“Why don’t I believe you?” 

“Well, that is your prerogative, Severus.” 

“It’s also my prerogative to password my fireplace, so you are no longer welcome in these quarters,” snapped Snape. 

Dumbledore ignored him perfectly. 

“Aperio Logi will reveal the distance that you are currently required to maintain. Try to agree on something and see how it goes.” 

Snape looked at Harry expectantly and once again, he felt put on the spot. He tried to think what the two of them would agree on. What did Snape like or dislike that Harry could agree with? They both hated Voldemort, probably. But that was a depressing topic to agree on, honestly – and Harry didn’t want to touch the Umbridge topic with a ten foot pole. That was just asking for troubling questions and Harry wasn’t about to talk. 

There was really only one subject that Harry was sure that Snape liked – however, he wasn’t positive that he really wanted to mention it out loud. But he did want to be able to leave Snape’s presence eventually. Better to say it and agree, then forever be stuck at the dour man’s side. 

“I think potions are… interesting,” said Harry, his voice low as he spoke. He didn’t look Snape in the eye. A moment later, there was an elaborate scoff. 

“Please, Potter, you are a terrible liar. Every student in this school knows you hate—” 

“Severus,” came Dumbledore’s chiding voice. “Try the revealing spell.” 

There was a low growl. But Harry heard the murmuring of Snape saying the spell. He looked up, his eyes widening slightly as he saw the result. 

The dusty, green lettering of ‘ten feet, eleven inches’ floated in the area in front of them. They slowly misted in the air before fully disappearing. Harry glanced over at Snape, who – in turn – looked back at him. There was a gentle light of surprise in the man’s dark eyes. Harry quickly turned his gaze away from those piercing orbs. 

Well, it appeared that there was some hope for the future. At least, that was what Harry felt. He thought that maybe Snape was thinking the same thing. If they could extend the distance between them, then life could go back to normal, right? They only had to agree on stuff and be somewhat pleasant to each other. That wasn’t so hard, right? 

Right…