Don't Sing Me A Love Song
By 999Angel
Chapter 1
The morning had been dazzling. Brilliant and clear, it was perfect weather for flying. His afternoon was free, since his last class ended before lunch, and all Harry Potter could think about was leaving his cares on the ground while doing what he loved best. It was true that his Firebolt was no longer the international standard racing broom, but that didn't matter. Harry simply wanted to feel the elation bubble up inside him - the true peace of mind, body and soul that only flying could bring him. But…yes, in Harry's life there always seems to be a BUT…now that the afternoon had finally arrived, it was raining.
This was no gentle spring rain that tenderly nurtured the grass and the flowers. This was a battle being waged across the sky. Lightening flashed and he counted off the seconds, waiting for the thunder. Harry jumped when it came, even though he had been expecting the crash. Only someone with thoughts of broom-assisted suicide would be flying in this weather, Harry thought as he pulled out his journal and began to write.
Professor Potter had settled into his position as the newest and youngest DADA professor in Hogwarts history. The students liked his classes, and they liked him. He was famous, after all, and they were in awe. After the first tiresome week of swooning and giggling, things got easier as Harry managed to convince his students to see Professor Potter and not He-Who-Defeated-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He was twenty-one and memories of what it was like to be a student hadn't dimmed in the four years since he graduated, as was evident in his classes. He remembered how he loathed hearing the words "wands away," so his lesson plans included numerous practical lessons. His easy going demeanor and the fact that he never favored one House over another, were the reasons his students found him so likable, so approachable. His students came to him with questions about DADA, teenage angst, and surprisingly enough, Potions!
Harry was standing atop the Astronomy Tower, watching the storm. He reread what he had just written, not sure from where the words had come. He just knew that they were honest. Flipping through his journal, he mused about the circumstances that had led to him getting top marks on his potions NEWT.
Harry had vowed that he would show Snape that he was not the reckless child the man obviously thought he was. He talked to Hermione on the train home at the end of fifth year. He sent Hedwig to her as soon as he arrived at the Dursley's. Every day that summer, he reverently bowed his head and softly stated, "For you Dad, and you Sirius. I'll show that greasy Slytherin bastard!" With this invocation, Harry began his studies. It never occurred to him that dealing with his grief was not the only reason he wanted to prove himself to the Potions Master.
On the second day of the summer holidays, Hedwig arrived with a letter and a small box. Harry patted her head and then opened his letter (After all this time Hermione's letter was still tucked inside his journal). He pulled it out and read it.
Harry,
I do hope your family is treating you well. If they aren't, please tell someone- me, Ron, Lupin, Tonks, anyone. Don't sit quietly suffering when you don't have to. We're all really worried about you Harry. The box contains all of my notes from Potions. I had Tonks shrink them for me. I know we cannot use magic away from school, so she charmed them to go back to normal size once you open them. If you want to go over the notes, text, or anything with me, just send Hedwig and I'll send you an answer back with her.
I know you are wondering what Tonks was doing here. It was Mum's doing. She invited Tonks to dinner. Mum wanted to hear about what it's like being an Auror. Mum thinks I need more positive female role models. Honestly!
Tonks was really great. Mum embarrassed me though. It got better once I reminded her that the Inquisition ended centuries ago. I'm glad you have decided to spend the summer studying. I don't think you are doing it for the right reasons Harry, but if you're learning, I guess the reasons don't really matter. Hope to see you over the summer.
Love from,
Hermione
Harry stroked Hedwig, telling her what a clever owl she was. She nipped his ear and went to perch on top of her cage. He plopped on his bed when he opened the box, there was a whooshing pop as the pages enlarged. He sifted through the pages, amazed at the effort Hermione put into her studies. Hermione had kept all their exam papers, as well. He would have to take advantage of them and test his knowledge. He knew that Hermione would be more than willing to "grade" them. By the start of term, Hermione wasn't going to be the only one who sounded like they had swallowed the text.
Grief had threatened to consume him that summer, but he refused to let it. Everyday without fail, Harry studied. Everyday, Harry thought of Sirius and his parents and wondered what it would be like to have a normal life. He remembered something Dumbledore had said at the end of Harry's first year - when you love and are loved deeply, your loved ones are never really gone. He'd said something like that, anyway. For James, for Sirius - Harry studied hard all summer. Snape was never going to take another point from Gryffindor because Harry didn't know the answer.
Lightning flashed, bringing Harry back to the present. He tucked Hermione's letter into its envelope and sat quietly watching the rain. He had taken to haunting the Astronomy Tower back when he had still been a student. Sunsets from there were breathtaking. Harry came here for the view and sometimes when sleep eluded him, he watched the stars. Mostly, he just reflected or wrote in his journal.
Strange really, a surreal journey down memory lane, he mused. The ravings of an eleven-year old…Fluffy, Norbert, Quirrell. "Merlin's beard, how did I ever survive that year in one piece?" he wondered. Casually flipping pages, he stopped at random entries. Ah, fifth year…dementors, Umbridge, Grawp, thestrals, private lessons with Sev - I mean Snape.
Harry turned the page and found artwork that he had long forgotten. The border was HP + SS repeated over and over with a few small hearts spaced between them. He grinned. The only manifestation of an adolescent crush caused him to blush and shake his head. The crudely drawn image was a large bubbling cauldron. A shirtless Harry stood behind it and a shirtless Snape behind him. Snape's long thin fingers were covering Harry's on a stirring rod. Snape's heavily muscled biceps sported a tattoo that said, "BOSS." The look on his face said he was hungry, and that Harry looked quite tasty. Harry had told no one of this. Since it was Snape, he couldn't see telling Ron or Hermione. For about eighteen months, Harry had obsessed over Snape. Thankfully, no one ever noticed or cared.
"That's what this is about isn't it, Potter," an inner voice spat at him. A voice that sounded eerily like Snape's voice.
"Mmm, …that voice." It was so intense, and it hinted of many things…dark… powerful… sensual. "How did they expect hormonal teenagers to focus on something as meticulous as potion making when that voice of his was so distracting? Severus Snape, you sexy bitch." Harry grinned and let out a deep sigh not realizing that he had spoken those words.
"Mister Potter."
"Great," Harry muttered, " that sounded almost too real." His grin widened.
"Potter!" the speaker was clearly annoyed.
Harry jumped. He blushed and looked around. There he was, draped all in black, the Sex God of Slytherin House, sinister perfection personified. Harry gulped. He snapped his journal shut and leapt to his feet. In the name of all that is sacred, please, please, please let him not have seen that drawing, Harry prayed to himself knowing that was impossible. There was no way that Snape hadn't seen it.
"Um…Hi…I didn't realize anyone was there."
"Obviously," The older man sneered.
Before Harry could stop himself, he blurted out the first thing that came into his head. "Does that patented sarcasm of yours come naturally or did it take years of practice?"
Then things got weird.
"Professor Snape? Sir? Are you all right?"
Snape was shaking, trembling almost. His whole body was in spasms. He was gasping and snorting instead of breathing and he was flushed. He swayed and seemed in danger of falling down. Harry had never before seen Snape do anything this undignified.
"Here sir, please sit down." With a flick of his wand, Harry conjured a squashy armchair.
Once seated, Snape proceeded to do something that Harry was certain few, if any, people had ever seen Snape do. He was…laughing. Not a chuckle or a snicker but hearty laughter. It was unlike anything Harry had ever heard; but then again, this was Snape. Laughing was not something one expected Severus Snape to do. Once his initial shock wore off, Harry found that he liked it. It was warm and rich, and strangely comforting.
"What's so bloody funny?" asked Harry once Snape had become quiet.
One glance at Harry and it started over again. The shakes and tremors and then hearty laughter. Harry stood there, puzzled, and waited for the greasy git's laughing fit to pass.
With a swish of his cloak and the raising of an eyebrow, it all vanished. The flush and the laughter were gone. His eyes were dark and slightly foreboding. "How does he do that?" Harry mused. "Switching from ordinary bloke having a good laugh to evil Potions Master in less than a second. Like a bloody light switch." Snape was sitting there calm, dignified and just a tiny bit scary.
"I needed a good laugh, Potter. I thank you."
Harry was dumbstruck, but thankfully only for a moment.
"Now that you have your wits about you, care to enlighten me as to what is so amusing?"
"In answer to your earlier question, Potter, you were supposed to be too terrified of your nasty potions master to ever be able to entertain any thoughts whatsoever about my voice."
"WHAT?!!!"
"I wish you could have seen yourself, Harry. Even Longbottom couldn't have managed that look. Priceless." Snape chuckled.
"Um…well, glad to be of service," Harry returned cheekily. The fact that Snape had used his given name was not lost on him.
Snape's stare made Harry feel like he was some jarred specimen suspended in some foul liquid on one of Snape's office shelves.
"What are you doing up here, Potter?" Snape asked in a conversational tone, but Harry was too frazzled to be that perceptive.
"I'm not a student any more, you can't take house points," spat Harry.
"I noticed," purred Snape. "It's a bit hard not to since you are in all the staff meetings. It's never easy for us, is it?"
"What?" Harry's voice had not cracked this badly since he was fourteen. Regaining a modicum of composure, he continued, "What the hell are you on about?"
Snape let out the breath he was holding and appeared to be counting under his breath in a foreign language.
"Potter."
All Gryffindor courage abandoned Harry at that moment. He turned on his heel and began to gather his things. "Arrogant bastard," he muttered under his breath. The anger was quickly replacing the embarrassment and was rushing over him in waves.
"Harry…wait…Harry."
Snape sounded sincere but Harry was too angry to give a damn. Blood pounded in his temples. 'Just fucking great, I just wanted to fly for a while and work off some steam but the rain put a stop to that. I get so lost in memories of my school days that I don't even notice the greasy git himself sneaking up on me. This is going to be one beauty of a headache.' Harry was so lost in his thoughts that he almost did not hear Snape speak.
"Please."
"What did you say?" Harry said, turning to face the other man.
"I said, 'please.' Stay. I'd like to speak to you."
Harry stared at him.
"Sit." Snape conjured a chair with his wand. Another flick of the wand and there was a small fire.
"I noticed you aren't wearing a cloak, and it is a bit chilly up here."
Harry smiled weakly and sat down. "Thank you," he said. He tried to balance his journal and a couple of other books, but the journal slipped out of his grasp and fell open to what he had written today. He lunged for it, but Snape was faster.
"A journal, Potter?"
Harry just sat there and tried to remember how to breathe. 'Well, he had to have seen that picture I drew fifth year. What I wrote today couldn't be any worse', Harry thought.
"Yes, a journal. And it's Harry."
"Mind if I look at this, Harry?"
"Yes, a bit, but since I don't think it's possible to be further humiliated today, go ahead and read it. But don't turn any pages. It's open to what I wrote when I first got up here."
Harry squirmed in his seat.
"Ah, Potter the poet"
"You know what, Snape? Bite me! Just read it and be done with it. Keep the scathing comments to yourself."
"Sorry."
Harry pinched himself…hard. This is so unreal; Snape had said the words 'please' and 'sorry'. Harry shook his head to see if it would clear.
"I am sorry, Harry."
"'S'okay"
Snape bent his head to read the words. Harry just blushed. He stood and walked over to the railing. Snape began to read aloud.
I had something on my mind
To do this afternoon
Except the rain won't quit
And the dark is falling soon
Don't sing me a love song, unless you sing it close to me
Nothing anymore is ever what it seems
I have no hope and I have no dreams
Don't sing me a love song, unless you sing it close to me
I know a life together
It will never be found
But I'll always look you up, if you're still around
Don't sing me a love song, unless you sing it close to me
Nothing anymore is ever what it seems
Still a man needs hope and a couple of dreams
So maybe sing me a love song
Come and sing it close to me
"You wrote this?"
"Yeah," Harry mumbled. Harry walked back to his chair but didn't sit down.
"What did you have to do this afternoon?"
"This has been a very weird day," Harry moaned.
"Yes, but would you tell me what it was?"
"I wanted to fly. This morning was perfect for it, but I had classes to teach."
"Who is she Harry?"
"She?"
"The singer of love songs from your poem." Snape said in his most seductive tone. His voice made Harry shiver. That voice promised to be his undoing.
Harry blushed. How could Snape not know? Harry walked back to the railing, but this time, he leaned against it, facing Snape.
Harry had finally gotten his sexuality all sorted out during his sixth year. He liked girls. They were pretty; they smelled…nice; they made wonderful friends. He dated several girls and had even kissed a few of them, but nothing compared to what he called his first REAL kiss. It was New Year's Eve at The Burrow. Harry and all six Weasley brothers had been playing a drinking game that just kept getting sillier. Fred and George had dared Charlie to kiss Harry. Charlie had been out of the closet for ages. Well, the brothers all knew, at any rate. Molly and Arthur were a different story. Charlie, never one to back down from a challenge, kissed Harry with all the enthusiasm he possessed. Harry always wondered if the twins had planned this. Charlie was amazing. Kissing girls had never felt anything like this. The kiss grew deeper until finally Ron got disgusted and pulled them apart.
"Harry?"
"Sorry, I was remembering something, my first real kiss."
"And is this kiss what inspired the poetry? Lucky girl."
"No."
"Pardon me?"
"The kiss I was thinking of has absolutely nothing to do with that poem."
"Miss Granger?"
"What are you kidding? She was like a sister to me. She always had eyes for Ron anyway."
"Not Granger then. Chang? Surely that Ravenclaw seeker has..."
Harry cut him off. Harry began pacing back and forth.
"Not her. I fancied her once, but that's ancient history. She-," Harry hesitated. He turned and walked in the opposite direction.
"She what?"
"I only saw her a couple of times. She always wanted to talk about Diggory. She was jealous of Hermione, but there was never anything romantic between 'Mione and me. It just seemed that she was a very small part of my life. She was from before…and…well, then Sirius died. After that, nothing from before seemed to matter so much."
"Thank you for your honesty, Harry."
Harry moved back to the chair and this time he sat in it.
"I've always trusted you. Well, I have since the end of my first year. I didn't when I thought you were the one jinxing my broom, but it turned out to be..."
"Quirrell. Ah, yes, brilliant decision to hire that one."
"Powerful as he is, Dumbledore is still human."
"What, Dumbledore's Golden Boy…?"
"Stop it!" Harry roared. "You never bought into the whole Boy-Who- Lived mania before and I see no reason for you to start now. To finish my sentence, I may have hated you at times…ok, most of the time… but I always trusted you."
"Is that the reason you returned to start your sixth year sounding like you memorized the text? Because your old study habits were from before?"
"No, but I don't think you want to hear the real reason."
"Perhaps one day you will enlighten me."
Several moments of silence passed before Harry remembered that Snape still had the journal on his lap.
"May I have that back, please?"
"Certainly, but on one condition."
"What?"
"Who is she, Harry?" Snape asked with a piercing look.
"There is no she."
Snape raised an eyebrow and glared at him. 'He has no idea how sexy he is when he does that,' Harry thought as a shiver danced up his spine. Imitating his favorite house elf, Harry mentally banged his head against a wall chanting, 'Bad Harry, bad Harry.'
"Professor Snape, there is no mystery woman in my life. There never will be. I would really rather not say who I wrote that about…it's…it's private." Harry let out a sigh of relief. Thankfully, his voice did not betray him. His words came out even and sure.
"Surely, you haven't become so cynical that you've given up all hopes of settling down and siring a few brats for the sole purpose of torturing myself and the rest of the staff as you once did," Snape said handing the journal over.
"I'll never have children. I'm okay with that."
"Sounds as if you've given this a great deal of thought."
"I had to. Granted, The Daily Prophet wouldn't make as big a deal about it now as they would have while I was in school. But it would still make the headlines. I can see it now, in bold type, plastered across the front page. 'Harry Potter, respected hero or swotty nancy boy? The Boy-Who-Lived shattered the hopes of single witches everywhere when he came out of the closet." I got tired of it all. Everyone expected me to be perfect. 'The savior of the wizarding world' and all that rot. How many of them, those people who set me on this pedestal as a tragic little hero, would be asking for my resignation if they knew my sexual preference? I chose to be just Harry. Being homosexual is part of that. I had no choice but to be discreet about it."
"I am as well."
"Yeah, I know."
Silence and a penetrating glare from Snape prompted Harry to speak.
"At the staff party just before the start of term, I was talking to Madam Hooch about Quidditch. All of a sudden, she gets this weird expression on her face and just blurts out that there are two homosexual teachers at Hogwarts. She pointed to you. Then she gave me this lurid wink and went to get some more of that awful punch that Hagrid spiked with …well I have no idea what he spiked it with."
"Ah, yet another thing to tempt me to poison that woman's morning coffee. Muggles have a different view about these matters. The wizarding world is much more tolerant, but I agree, The Daily Prophet would report at as the scandal of the moment."
"Look, I know you didn't come up here just to dissect my personal life, or lack thereof. You wanted to talk to me about something?"
"Yes." He said with the faintest hint of a smile. "I understand that I have you to thank for the recent lack of explosions in my classroom."
"What do you mean?"
"A first year Gryffindor admitted that she and other students benefited from your knowledge of potions."
"I see."
"What exactly did you tell them, Potter?" he sneered but there was no real malice in it.
Grinning Harry said, "I told them they shouldn't be afraid of you. Respect you, yes. But not fear you. Most of the reason that Neville went to pieces in your classes was because he was terrified of you."
"And?"
"I told them that you hated incompetence and not to take it so personally. I also told them that not everything is easy. I offered to answer any questions since they seemed to be unwilling to see you outside of class. Part of being brave is asking for help when you need it. I learned that lesson the hard way, as I'm sure you noticed."
"Indeed."
"I don't mean to be rude or anything, but it's time I got washed up for dinner. I'm starving."
"Still have the ravenous appetite of a teenager, I see."
"Maybe I'm just trying to make up for my childhood. Starvation was one of their favorite punishments for me." Harry stood and gathered his things.
"Surely, you are joking. Dumbledore wouldn't have…"
Harry cut him off politely. "I'm not joking, but that's a conversation for another day."
"As you wish, Harry." Snape stood and with a casual wave of his wand, the chairs and the small fire vanished.
They made their way down the staircases in silence.
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