The Potions Master's Courtship
The blue potion gleamed in the muted light and Harry touched a hesitant finger to the innocuous-looking vial.
Parchment crinkled as he picked up the note that accompanied the sleeping potion. The wording hadn’t once changed in the last month.
Pleasant dreams.
S. Snape.
Tracing the elegant, spiky letters with a fingernail, Harry stared at the note before deciding, as he always did, to trust the potion.
In the morning, Snape looked at him for a long tense moment before nodding.
Harry didn’t ask, didn’t disturb the precarious equilibrium between them. This small ritual, unexplained and mysterious, somehow comforted him.
------
A green hangover potion had replaced the sleeping potion in the vial by his bedside. Harry stared at it for a long bleary moment.
He grabbed the vial and rushed to the Great Hall. “How dare you, Snape? Are you spying on me?”
Snape’s dark eyes narrowed as he pinched his lips together. “Don’t flatter yourself, Potter,” he said. “Any idiot in the castle knows that you went out with Weasley, and any idiot’s dim-witted flea-ridden Kneazle knows that the two of you drink to excess.”
Seizing the vial from Harry’s upraised hand, Snape forced the potion down his throat.
------
Harry came down the stairs, followed by a parade of floating boxes, and found Snape lurking in the Entrance Hall.
“Professor Potter.”
“Professor Snape.” Harry flicked his wand to halt the boxes midair.
“The Headmistress informed me that you were moving to Hogsmeade. I took the liberty of preparing a selection of first-aid potions for your cottage.”
Harry stared at Snape. “Why?”
“I wanted - I - take them.” Snape thrust the box of potions at him and turned to leave, but was stopped by a light touch.
With slow, hesitant motions, Harry pushed away the hair hiding Snape’s face. “Thank you.”
Parchment crinkled as he picked up the note that accompanied the sleeping potion. The wording hadn’t once changed in the last month.
Pleasant dreams.
S. Snape.
Tracing the elegant, spiky letters with a fingernail, Harry stared at the note before deciding, as he always did, to trust the potion.
In the morning, Snape looked at him for a long tense moment before nodding.
Harry didn’t ask, didn’t disturb the precarious equilibrium between them. This small ritual, unexplained and mysterious, somehow comforted him.
------
A green hangover potion had replaced the sleeping potion in the vial by his bedside. Harry stared at it for a long bleary moment.
He grabbed the vial and rushed to the Great Hall. “How dare you, Snape? Are you spying on me?”
Snape’s dark eyes narrowed as he pinched his lips together. “Don’t flatter yourself, Potter,” he said. “Any idiot in the castle knows that you went out with Weasley, and any idiot’s dim-witted flea-ridden Kneazle knows that the two of you drink to excess.”
Seizing the vial from Harry’s upraised hand, Snape forced the potion down his throat.
------
Harry came down the stairs, followed by a parade of floating boxes, and found Snape lurking in the Entrance Hall.
“Professor Potter.”
“Professor Snape.” Harry flicked his wand to halt the boxes midair.
“The Headmistress informed me that you were moving to Hogsmeade. I took the liberty of preparing a selection of first-aid potions for your cottage.”
Harry stared at Snape. “Why?”
“I wanted - I - take them.” Snape thrust the box of potions at him and turned to leave, but was stopped by a light touch.
With slow, hesitant motions, Harry pushed away the hair hiding Snape’s face. “Thank you.”