Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Author's Chapter Notes:
Well. It's been roughly a month since I last updated. I worked all of Chriustmas and New Years, finished uni related work, moved, cleaned out the old flat and started to unpack boxes in my new flat. It's been busy, but fun.
Anyway, here's the next chapter. The next one will be out in a week, on monday, as usual. Swedish time, in case someone out there thinks that's interesting.
A somewhat random question on my part, but I've been curious about how you feel about Harry's romantic experiments. Too much? Too little? Besides the point?
Enjoy!
Chapter 10
At first Harry had been a bit surprised that it was Snape who was going to teach him how to become an Animagus, not McGonagall. Snape had explained it all to him, though, and apparently it had something to do with Occlumency, meditation and magical ability. Besides, McGonagall seemed satisfied that Snape could teach him, and that was really the important bit. She figured that since Harry's dad had been an Animagus, Harry would grasp it faster and a bit easier. Not everyone could transform, after all. It made him a bit curious if Snape knew how to or not, since he had the theory bit off pat.

They had done this a lot lately, this meditation bit.

"Are you relaxed, Potter?"

"Harry," Harry blurted automatically.

Harry could almost hear Snape roll his eyes. "Harry. Are you relaxed?"

"Mmmm. Feels like I'm floating." He was stretched out on his stomach across the sofa. It felt divine. Snape had talked him into how to relax properly, how to relax every single part of his body. He dimly heard Snape cast the spell that would aid Harry in how to think into his animal. It was strange. They'd done this so many times by now, though, that Harry had learned not to fight the feeling.

One minute, Harry would see himself in a mossy glen, just like Snape had directed him to. The next he was leaping from tree to tree in a warm breeze, protected from the searing sun. He was almost flying through the air on very nimble and sturdy little legs, a long tail helping him keep his balance twitching behind him.

It was quite simply glorious.

"I've a tail," he blurted, elated, realising it was true. "Paws. M'flying through the trees. Oh! Squirrel! Mmmm, s'nice n'tasty…"

"Not a monkey, then?"

"Mmmm," Harry groaned. "Monkey. Yum. Tasty little buggers."

"For some, maybe," Snape muttered. "Did you catch something?"

Harry hummed. "Birdie." He flexed his hands as if they were paws and he was kneading a cushion. "S'too slow. Oh, m'tail's really long. Lookie, lookie…"

"Is there water near?"

Harry cocked his head. "Mmm. Small lake. Wet. Icky."

"Yes, I quite agree. How do you feel?"

"Warm. Niiiiice," he hissed. "I've fur."

"Is it soft?"

Harry rubbed his face against his arm. "Mmmm. Nice ears."

"Do you have your ears right now?"

Harry rubbed his hand over his head. "Mmm, no. Strange. Feels soft."

"Imagine them."

Harry sighed. Then he moved, shifting until he was curled up on his side. Something changed. Harry's ears slowly moved, morphing into something pointed and furry. Then his skull changed, hair transforming into fur, fur sprouting where winter pale skin had been. A tail popped out, rapidly growing, just as Harry's body rapidly shrank in size. He was disappearing inside the robe, until only an agitated tail poked out where his feet had previously been.

"Mnrowpf," Harry sneezed. Then he panicked. It was dark. He couldn't see. Constricted. "Mrrrooeew!"

"Easy." Voice, dark, calm. Hands, gentle, soft. Removing the dark. Picking him up. Holding him, cradling him. "There, Harry. Where are you?"

SNAPE! He wanted to exclaim. SNAPE! He settled for rapidly moving his tail to show his pleasure, how happy he was. The sound that came out was low and purring. "Mrrow," he murmured, feeling very good and safe. Snape's arms were so warm. He butted his head under Snape's chin.

"Very good, boy. Very good. Do you want to see?"

Harry nodded, letting out eager sounds of agreement.

Snape conjured a mirror, then placed Harry in his lap and turned him around.

"Mrriaow!" Harry exclaimed.

"Yes. It is indeed a cat. Shall we see if you can change back?"

Change back? Harry's ears twitched. He thought, BOY I'M A BOY, and suddenly he was. Snape grunted from the sudden change in weight.

Harry was also very naked. In Snape's lap.

He might have let out a highly undignified noise. But then he was diving for his robe. Harry wrapped it around his hips like a towel, his blushing reaching a fair bit down on his chest.

"Well," Snape said, voice very dry, "that was…interesting. Not quite what I had in mind."

"I thought Animagi changed with their clothes!" Harry squeaked.

Snape cleared his throat. "Some have problems with that part in the beginning, I believe. It will come."

"Naked, Snape!" Harry protested.

"I hear Minerva had similar problems," Snape muttered. "To the joy of her instructor, I'm sure."

"Ew! That's, ew! Gross."

Snape shrugged. "Your loss. She was a very attractive woman when she was young. Albus has pictures." Changing the subject, he asked, "Can you change again?"

"Um." Harry frowned. He wasn't sure what to think about. He'd felt small, warm. Safe. Small. He was cat, purring under Snape's hands.

"There we go," Snape said.

"What?" Harry demanded, only it came out as a loud chirping meow. Oh! He'd changed again. With a delighted noise, he leaped for Snape's lap and hands and demanded a thorough petting session. It felt so nice, he purred, basking in the sure hands that stroked his fur and scratched his ears and – Mmmmmnyes – under his chin.

"Such a demanding boy, you are."

Harry purred louder.

Later that afternoon they let McGonagall know. She cracked a smile at Harry's problem, was suitably impressed when he demonstrated his transformation for her, and promised to look into what species he was. There was an essay looming, and he promised to have it done by the time classes started up again.

—x—

When Tuesday rolled around, the tree he and Snape had purchased had stood undecorated – naked – for two days. Which was simply unacceptable. By noon, when Snape still hadn't returned to their flat – was it theirs, truly? Harry was quite sure he wanted it to be – Harry stormed the man's office.

"Snape."

"Yes, Harry?"

Harry momentarily lost his thread. Then he refocused. "The tree, Snape. Are you trying to get out of your duty, sir? You promised to decorate it with me, and the box's been standing by the tree since Sunday."

Snape sighed, pushed away the essays he corrected and stood up. He didn't look particularly put out. "That I did. Shall we?"

"Now?" Harry asked eagerly.

"This moment is as good as any other."

"Great! Come on. You have a star, right, for the top?"

"An angel." Before Harry could argue the worth of a star versus an angel, Snape added, "Your grandmother gave that one to me. She seemed to think I'd need a guardian angel to look out for me at Christmas."

Suddenly, there wasn't a more perfect decoration to place at the very top of a Christmas tree.

"Did…you and Mum reconcile? I mean, you said the other day you'd held me as a baby…and I just wondered, you know?"

"In a way. Albus told her I was a spy. It seemed to lift a weight off her shoulders. By then it was too little, too late. And Potter and I never saw eye to eye. But given time, I would like to think…"

"You'd have been like an uncle, wouldn't you? I mean, a proper uncle. Not like, um."

"Yes, quite. As I recall, my name was particularly troublesome."

Harry grinned. "Really? What'd I call you?"

Snape smirked. "Sssss," he hissed.

Harry burst out laughing.

—x—

The letter to Charlie brought an unexpected, and quick, response. Harry was alone in the flat at the time, Snape being at a staff meeting, when there was a knock on the door. Well, there was a knock on the door leading to Snape's office. It sounded like a chime in the flat itself.

"Odd," Harry murmured, as he cast the spell Snape had taught him to reveal the person on the other side of the door. He'd mentioned where he was staying in the letter, a bit stupid, maybe, but part of him had been hoping Charlie might come visit. He'd just sort of expected another couple of letters first.

Charlie Weasley stood there, looking both curious and bored at the same time. Harry's stomach did a weird little flip, then he hurried through the flat into Snape's office.

"Hi, Charlie." He grinned.

Charlie frowned. "I know you, don't I?" he asked. Harry's grin quickly died.

Feeling almost sick, Harry managed a low, "Yes. We…last summer…"

Charlie's frown deepened. "Last summer is a haze," he said, sounding troubled and a little scared. "Can I come in?"

Mute, Harry nodded. He carefully closed the door behind Charlie's back, then led the way back into the flat.

"Never thought I'd ever step foot inside Snape's office again," Charlie said lightly, attempting to joke and failing miserably.

Harry shrugged, waved him through the supply closet, then closed that door as well. "I'll get tea," he muttered and fled for the kitchen.

Leaning against the counter, Harry clenched his eyes shut and took several deep breaths. Just seeing Charlie again erased all the months since last summer. Every emotion, every feeling, desire and urge – it was all there again, as if it had never gone anywhere. It hurt. It hurt so bad.

Wasn't he even important enough to Charlie that the man'd remember him?

Harry shook his head and set about preparing tea with unsteady hands and burning eyes.

When Harry returned to the sitting room, Charlie was standing with his back to Harry, hands in his pockets, as he inspected the books Snape had on Magical Beings and Creatures. There were a few about dragons in there, mostly ones that had to do with potions, but Harry'd had them all out at one point or other. The ones that didn't have with potions or arcane spells and charms to do were rather good, but the rest just went over his head.

"Any good?"

Charlie started and turned around. "Yeah. Rather. Um." He narrowed his eyes. "I have this feeling I'm supposed to know you, Harry. I recognise you. I recognised your voice. But I don't remember you. When I got the letter it stumped me, because I never get letters from complete strangers, but at the same time I felt that I should know you. And I just knew what you look like. I couldn't stop thinking about it, so I knew I had to come here."

Harry's face lost what little colour it had. "You…forgot?" His hands were trembling so bad he almost couldn't hold on to the tray any more, and he put it down on the table. "You don't– nothing?"

Charlie focused his eyes on Harry, his arms crossed over his chest. "You make me think of mummies," Charlie eventually said. "And that's completely daft, 'cause—"

"We went to the cinema and saw The Mummy," Harry said. "You'd never been to the cinema, and since I'm half-blood I guess you figured I could take us."

"Cinema…" Charlie trailed off. Harry filled in, "Really big telly," just as Charlie said the same. Charlie shook his head. "See, why do I know that?"

"'Cause I took you. You." Harry cleared his throat and blinked his eyes. "You said it was a date."

"But I don't remember!" Charlie exclaimed. "And I didn't even remember that I didn't remember until you sent that letter!" He sounded upset and angry and confused, all rolled up in one. "But I should! I should 'cause I know you bloody suck at poker and I don't even know who you are!"

Something in Harry snapped. "You fucking wanker!" he shouted.

Charlie's eyes blazed. "How the fuck am I a wanker? You're the one who says you know me!"

"I know! 'Cause you do! You fucking seduced me, you git! Is it all just some, some game to you? The big, bad Dragon Keeper—!"

"No! Who are you?"

"I'm Harry Potter, Charlie! Harry Potter! First time I met you I was fourteen!"

"I've never seen you in my life!"

"You kissed me! You—"

"What is going on here?" Snape demanded, voice silky and low. It shut both Harry and Charlie up. "I could hear your caterwauling out in the corridor."

"Nothing," Harry muttered.

But Charlie said, "I don't remember him."

"You don't remember?" Snape raised an eyebrow, his tone bordering on mocking.

Charlie looked almost afraid, but he didn't back down. "Yeah, exactly, Professor: I don't remember him. I don't know who he is. I've never seen him in my life. Except I should have, right? I recognised the owl, Hedwig. I knew what Harry would look like. But I don't remember. And until just now, I didn't even remember that I didn't remember half of what I did last summer. And that's just bloody…wrong."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "You have no recollection of who Harry Potter is?"

Charlie ran a hand through his hair. It was shorter now than it had been last time Harry saw him. Still as wild, though. There was a fresh burn scar on his left hand, the skin still shiny.

"No, I…there's nothing." Charlie said, sounding obviously frustrated. "Oranges?"

"A Clockwork Orange. Second time at the cinema," Harry said shortly. "It was a Wednesday. It rained. You discovered the delights of Chinese takeaway."

Charlie winced and shook his head.

"Nothing? We talked for hours! You kept dragging me off—" Harry snapped his mouth shut. He took a deep breath. Clenched his fingers into tight fists, because at least then he couldn't feel how badly they trembled. "The Quidditch game? The pancakes? That Welsh dragon reserve? The dragon glasses? Nothing?"

"I'm sorry, mate." The worst part was that Charlie did look so fucking sorry, too. "I know you know how many species there are." Charlie snapped his fingers. "Oh. And you had a funny scar somewhere. Like a zigzag. A tattoo?"

Snape raised an eyebrow, darting a glance at Harry who was reflexively smoothing his hair down to cover the scar in question.

"No tattoo," Harry muttered. "You said I should get one, though."

Snape ignored that part. He came over to stand next to Harry, then placed a hand on the boy's forehead and brushed back his wayward fringe. "This scar?"

Charlie blinked, squinted a bit, then nodded. "Yeah. Zigag. I…might've…" His tongue came out, quick as lightning, and wet his bottom lip.

"Yes," Harry muttered, "you did." And Charlie had licked the scar, more than once. It had tickled and itched at the same time. With Snape still so close, his hand absentmindedly running through Harry's wild mop of hair, Harry took the opportunity for what it was and leaned against Snape.

"Most refer to it as a lightning bolt," Snape said, out of the blue.

"I guess." Charlie shrugged. "The letter N, a bit distorted."

Snape shook his head. "You have no recollection of the symbolism?"

"No."

"You have no recollection of Harry?"

Another little shrug. "No, not really. Maybe if I stayed here the entire day, more and more would come trickling back. It's like I know I'm supposed to know all this, I can see it, there, just out of reach. But every time I grab for it, it's gone. Like, I thought something looked odd about him earlier, but just now I realised it's that his glasses are different."

Snape narrowed his eyes a little. After a quick, darting glance at Harry, his dark eyes sharp and attentive, Snape said, "The words 'Harry Potter is the Boy-Who-Lived' have no meaning to you?"

Charlie frowned, but in the end had to shake his head. "No. No, I don't think so. Boy-Who-Lived?"

"Voldemort." Snape's face looked as if it had been carved from stone, but Harry still thought he could see Snape's left arm twitch, as if the mention of the name hurt him. He could certainly feel it, but then Snape stepped away.

Charlie paled. "Dad says he's been infiltrating the Ministry. There've been attacks that he says have been swept under the carpet. New Minister isn't so keen on letting the public know what's going on."

"I see," Snape bit out.

"What?"

A dark glare in his eyes, Snape turned to Harry. "Why were you sent to stay at Grimmauld Place so abruptly this summer?"

"I…" Harry blinked. "I was just there, one day." It had been very early on in the summer. Almost immediately after school let out. Dumbledore'd never let him leave that early before. He… "I've no idea. I don't remember. But Dumbledore hasn't really been talking to me since fourth year. I dunno. I was just...there."

No matter how hard Harry thought, how much effort he put into it, he still couldn't remember what he had been doing before he'd loitered outside of that library for so long before finally going inside.

"D'you want me to call Bill?" Charlie asked.

"Bill?" Harry was feeling more than a little confused.

Snape shook his head. "I must confer with the Headmaster."

Then Snape was gone, swept away in green flames.

"…what's going on?"

Charlie let out a great puff of air. "I've no idea. What's the 'Boy-Who-Lived stuff'?"

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again. "You….you don't know."

"Know what?"

Harry swallowed, then sank down on the sofa. "Voldemort tried to off me when I was a baby, but it didn't work. So someone decided that I was the 'Boy-Who-Lived'." He ran a hand over his face. "Could we not talk about that?" Charlie shrugged, so Harry asked, "Why did you want to call Bill?"

Charlie sat down as well, then reached for the neglected tea Harry'd brought earlier. "He's a cursebreaker."

"Yeah, I know that, but…" Harry trailed off. Charlie'd only think they needed a cursebreaker if there was a curse that needed breaking. Like… How Charlie could have completely forgotten about a person, up to the point where he didn't even know that Harry was somewhat famous in that morbid and sick way. Yet, Charlie still knew who Voldemort was.

Or how Harry suddenly had no recollection of why he'd left his relatives so early this year. The more he thought about it, the less sure he felt he'd even been at Privet Drive this summer.

"This summer, you said it was odd how your parents never came to see me. 'Cause, normally, Mrs Weasley is always trying to pull me into your family. Feeding me and hugging me and knitting me jumpers…"

Charlie eyed him. "Yeah, you'd be sure to pull several of her maternal instincts."

"Skinny and underfed?"

Charlie grinned. It made Harry's stomach do a weird little flip. "Yeah, something like that."

Harry bit his lip. "I know Ron always thought those jumpers were the worst thing ever, but to me they were probably the best part about Christmas. I'd never had someone who cared enough about me to do something for me like that before." Harry flashed Charlie a wry smile. "And I'd always be just enough smaller than Ron that I'd fit into his old jumpers as well by the time next Christmas rolled around."

"So that's why Ron stopped complaining about them," Charlie mused.

"I guess," Harry said. He reached for the tea, preparing himself a big cup of sweetened, milky tea, then sat back on the sofa, feet pulled up on the cushioned seat.

Charlie stared at him for several long minutes, looking relaxed and comfortable and just a bit curious. It wasn't clear to Harry what Charlie was curious about until the man actually spoke up again. "Could you tell me about it?"

"'Bout what?"

"Us. This summer." Charlie tapped the side of his head. "See if it can start this old thing up," he joked. Harry smiled despite himself, then shrugged.

"I guess," he said.

So Harry started talking, haltingly at first, then with greater confidence. Charlie didn't interrupt or look as if he didn't believe a word coming out of Harry's mouth. But he did look both curious and interested. He made enough noises that let Harry know the man was both listening and agreeing with Harry that he didn't feel completely disheartened. But most importantly of all was probably when, every once in a while, Charlie would suddenly know something, a titchy little bit of memory that Harry had overlooked or forgotten about. It was just enough for Harry to keep going, that flickering light of hope in his chest going strong despite it all.

It was just enough, too, Harry reckoned, for Charlie not to think it was all some hoax.

"You said we made pancakes a lot?"

"Yeah, basically whenever you came back from Romania, or wherever you'd gone off to." Harry drained his cup of the last of the tea, then put it down on the table. "Well," he amended, "I made the pancakes. You mostly watched."

"I watched?" Charlie drawled, eyebrows raised.

Harry's grin was cheeky. "You'd made me wear this awfully frilly apron, then shrank my jeans until they were so tight they might as well've been painted on. Then you watched."

Charlie ran his eyes over Harry's curled up frame. "I can see how that would've appealed to me."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Soo…" Charlie sat up straight, the grin on his face warning Harry before Charlie'd even completed his sentence. "What say you we make some pancakes?"

Harry just laughed and shook his head. But it'd at least give him something to do other than worrying his arse off. Snape had been gone an awfully long time, hadn't he? And, yeah, the whole mess with Charlie hadn't exactly panned out the way he'd hoped it would, but working himself up over that wasn't really worth it, either. It'd make him sick, and Harry really didn't want to be sick. Not when he was finally getting on top of his problem, so to speak.

Charlie had cleaned up the tea while Harry had been thinking. A poke on his nose drew him out to see Charlie gazing down at him, teasing twinkle in his eyes.

"What?"

Charlie smirked. "You do have an apron, right?"

"Twat!"

"What can I say? I've got an apron fetish."

Harry rolled his eyes. He nudged Charlie to the side, then stood up. "Oh yeah, 'cause that explains it all, doesn't it?"

But Harry knew he'd wear the apron. He always had in the past, after all. It wasn't until he bent over to pull out a bowl from the deepest recesses of one of Snape's cupboards that he felt his jeans tighten to an almost alarming rate.

Charlie whistled. "Yeah, I can definitely see why I kept wanting you to make pancakes."

"You're a right pervert," Harry told him. He had an urge to slap Charlie with a spatula, but that was just pushing it, in his opinion. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the counter.

"I know," Charlie leered. "As I recall, you used to like it."

"And what do you remember, exactly?"

"I'd do this," Charlie explained, stepping up so close their chests were touching. Then he reached behind Harry and goosed Harry. "Ah, yeah. You'd go all red."

Harry rolled his eyes. "'Cause I wasn't sure if I liked it or not, twat."

Charlie cocked his head to the side. "Yeah. No rush, right?"

"Exactly. So. Pancakes?"

And for a short time, it was almost as if nothing had changed.

"Be my guest."

Unlike the times in the past, when Charlie had lounged back against the kitchen table, Charlie stepped up to stand next to Harry. He rolled up his sleeves, then took over the stirring the batter. "You've more skill flipping pancakes," he told Harry.

With a shrug, Harry went off in search for a pan. "Want me to teach you?"

"Mum's tried and failed, mate."

"I do it the Muggle way, though."

"Don't see how it's any different."

That was how Snape found them when he came home, pressed up close next to each other in front of the cooker, flipping pancakes, talking and laughing. There was a plate on the table, teeming with pancakes, even as yet another perfectly golden and crispy pancake sailed through the air towards the waiting pile curtsey of a neat piece of magic.

The left pocket of Harry's jeans had a white, hand shaped flour-print. Snape raised an eyebrow at the frilly apron the boy was wearing, but didn't comment on either that or how the trousers had shrunk so much in size.

"For which army are you cooking?"

Charlie started, but Harry threw a grin over his shoulder. "Dunno. Are there many kids left in Slytherin?"

"Some."

"What did—"

"Oy!" Charlie exclaimed. "Imminent pancake failure!"

Harry laughed and turned back, flipped the pancake over with a deft flick of his wrist. "There. How much batter left?"

"Just one more."

"You said that four pancakes ago," Harry said in a sing song voice as he floated the finished pancaked over, then poured the very last of the batter down in the pan. It was done in a matter of minutes, and once it was on the table, Harry turned to Snape, a serious expression on his face, even as he was sucking on his bottom lip in worry.

"While Albus has not forgotten," Snape said slowly, "he did admit that he has observed that several members of the school, the Order and the public at large do seem to have forgotten in various degrees both the Boy-Who-Lived and Harry Potter. Minerva, for example, has forgotten about the Boy-Who-Lived, but not about Harry Potter. She is hardly alone in this among the staff."

Harry paled.

Snape told him to sit down, and the boy did. Charlie slid into a seat next to him. With a wave of his wand, Snape soon had plates and cutlery, as well as various supplements that could be added to the pancakes on the table.

"Harry."

Harry raised his head and looked at Snape, hopelessness and fear and anguish plain to see in his eyes.

"Why didn't he tell me?"

"I believe he didn't wish to worry you," Snape said with a grimace.

"Bollocks," Harry muttered.

"Someone has gone to great lengths to ensure you would fall into obscurity, Harry. That is worrisome." Snape had prepared a pancake as he spoke on his plate. "This is very good."

"Don't have to sound so surprised," Harry mumbled, fighting a pleased smile. "I can cook, y'know."

"Knowledge and ability are not the same."

"He makes the best pancakes, doesn't he?" Charlie added.

Harry shrugged. "I always thought Mrs Weasley's were fab."

"That's just 'cause you weren't cooking them. I'm telling you, as an expert, yours are way better." Charlie's grin was bright and wide, the right corner of his mouth smudged with the bramble jam he'd smeared on his pancake. Harry's fingers itched to wipe it off. "Where d'you buy your jam?" Charlie wondered, peering closer at the handwritten label on the jar.

"He makes it!" Harry chirped, before Snape could make something else up. That right there was another little hidden, fascinating bit of info on Snape: the man made his own jam. "It's really good, isn't it?"

The look on Charlie's face was priceless. The he grinned, shook his head and put the jar back down on the table. "Prepare it in a huge cauldron, do you?"

With an indulgent smirk, Snape reached out and took it. "Of course. Smoke Charms and a Green Illumines casting added for effect, naturally."

—x—

What Harry really wanted to do was have a long talk with Snape about Dumbledore and why no one— Fuck. Harry closed his eyes tightly. He wanted Snape to talk to him about why Charlie had forgotten, and he wanted Snape to explain it to him in detail.

Bugger it, Harry wanted Snape to 'fix' it, just wave his 'magic stick' and it'd be done, back to normal.

As if Harry was a little kid and Snape the all-knowing, powerful and all-mighty Parent. When in reality… When in reality, Harry hadn't even started at Hogwarts yet when he'd realised that adults really didn't 'know' everything, or were all that much smarter, or had the ability to make everything better again.

"Hey."

Harry opened his eyes and looked up. Charlie was sprawled in Harry's mismatched armchair. He'd said it was the coolest piece of furniture he'd ever seen, barring the somewhat levitating bed Bill'd had in his first flat.

"He'll be back before you know it."

Harry scowled. "I don't—"

"You look at Snape as if he's the best thing that's ever happened to you, and you don't know what to do with that. It scares you. Mostly, I think, because you don't think you deserve it." Charlie eyed him shrewdly. "First, I figured Snape was your dad, you know? He's not, though, is he?"

Harry's heart pounded something awful.

"Except I get the feeling you want him to be. I get that look all the time at work, you know. I'm in charge of the orphaned dragons. They all look at me as if I'm their mum, instead of a sizeable snack."

"I'm not a dragon!" Harry snapped.

Charlie rolled his eyes. "That wasn't what I was saying. I'm saying that you want Snape to take you in fulltime. Permanently."

Shifting and twitching a lot, Harry felt himself heat up. "…is it so bad?" Harry whispered. "I mean. He's, um. I don't know. D'you really think so?" he asked, eyes bright. Because if Charlie who didn't know him all that well any more could see that from just having pancakes with them, then maybe the idea wasn't as farfetched as Harry'd sort of made himself assume it was.

"From what I can see, the Professor takes care of you, looks after you and protects your interests."

"He doesn't lie to me," Harry added.

"Doesn't treat you like a little kid, then?" Charlie looked sheepish. "Let's just say he wasn't real happy with me about what I did to you last of August. Longest visit to the loo in my life," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh." Harry's grin was just a little bit hesitant. He couldn't decide whether to be angry or what, that Snape had laid into Charlie about what they'd done last summer. All in a bathroom break that couldn't have been longer than, what, three minutes?

"So, d'you remember, or…?" Harry hesitantly asked, instead of asking just what Snape had said to him.

Charlie looked pensive for a moment. "I kept having this dream about you. It confused me, because at the time I kept wondering why I was giving head to a complete stranger, but now I know it wasn't really a dream."

"I kept wanting to ask why you did it, Charlie. You were always telling me there wasn't a rush, that it'd happen when the time was right. Afterwards, it felt like you'd got me drunk, and then got me off. It…didn't feel good."

"I may not remember my exact reasoning back then, but I know myself, and I know I'd never do that. If I were that type of person, I'd never be able to work with dragon kits. Responsibility, and all that. New-born animals can tell what sort of person you are, and they don't trust dishonest types." Charlie stood up, then came over and sat next to Harry on the bed. He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry, almost by reflex, leaned into the man. "In my dream, I don't remember that I forced you."

Harry twisted around, then leaned his head on Charlie's shoulder. "I don't think you did, really. It was just that I was drunk. It bothered me forever, and at first I didn't know what it was that was bothering me, exactly. It wasn't until someone else started hitting on me that I realised I still felt all uncomfortable and awkward about sex… It hit me that if I'd been sober, then I never would've done what I did with you." Charlie's arm felt good around his shoulders.

"Yeah," Charlie eventually said, "Me, too. Truth is, I didn't really start dating until after Hogwarts."

"Seems like a good idea."

"Boyfriend?"

Harry shook his head. "Turned out he was a twat. Just wanted to bugger me, scratch a notch on his bedpost and move on. Dumped him."

"Prick." Charlie laughed suddenly. "I'm way too much of a Weasley to want 'casual encounters', as they say. That, and I like my dragons too much."

"You used to talk a lot about your work."

Charlie laughed. "I usually do. So, did I bore you or fascinate you?"

"That last one, definitely. You know, for my birthday you even got me these neat tumblers with dragons on them."

Charlie was still for a moment, then he nodded. "I actually remember that, now you mention it. I've been wondering for the longest time why I'd bought four back in August for delivery in December. Guess I know now."

Harry perked up instantly. "Present?"

"Christmas gift," Charlie corrected. "You'll have to wait a couple of days more."

There was a sudden sharp knock on the door as Snape rapped his knuckles against it from the outside that started both of them. "Weasley, get off the bed," he called. Was that amusement in his voice?

For a short moment, Harry and Charlie gaped at each other, eyes wide in incredulity. Slowly, Harry's face went beet red even as Charlie threw his head back and laughed.

"Snape!" Harry exclaimed.

"Still on the bed," Snape called back, sounding way too smug.

"—put a Chastity Ward on your bed!" Charlie wheezed out between bouts of laughter.


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