Fic: To Temper His Magic Light

[starduchess]

Title: To Temper His Magic Light
Author: starduchess
Pairing: Snape/Harry
Rating: light R
Word count: ~14,700
Content/Warning(s): mild sex scene, creature inheritance
Summary: When Harry begins dancing and giving off magic by the light of the full moon, he’s not sure what turn his life has in store for him now. But when he reconnects with Snape, he’s positive this is the right course of action.
A/N: Written for snape_potter Secret Snarry Swap 2015. I based Harry's identity on the folk tales of the Salisbury Hare and its connection to the goddess Ceridwen from pagan Anglo-Saxon mythology.
Much love to my ever-so-sweet beta, isisanubis, for her speedy, grammatical checking and the mods for their extreme patience and understanding and keeping the Snarry love alive. Happy Yule, everyone. :)




Harry came out of Dr. Hawthorn’s practice still as unnerved and unsettled as was when he’d gone in. His eyes had been bothering him for several weeks now and they hurt constantly. Dr. Hawthorn said there was some degeneration in his rods and cones, but he had no idea why it was happening. No curses or hexes. No disease. He told Harry to take some pain potions and return if anything changed. It could be the stress due to his job or some other problem.

In fact, he’d been feeling off for months now. Of course, he wasn’t sure if he could ever say that he’d felt one hundred percent on, but for most of his life he’d felt pretty balanced and the few other times he hadn’t, there had been good reason, like after Sirius’ death. The first few years after the war he felt both relieved without Voldemort screwing up his life and stressed in dealing with the Ministry and the Wizarding press. He’d been allowed to return to Hogwarts to finish his schooling, and he’d successfully completed DADA, Potions, Charms, and Transfiguration.

He thought he’d still become an Auror after school, but between the post-war peace and the annoying Ministry for Magic, he came to change his mind about that. Over the next couple of years, he’d flitted around different careers, from wand work to wardings to figurine charming, and even engaged in some philanthropic exercises, such as advocating for better orphanages and Muggleborn assistance. He traveled the world a bit, too, exploring different cultures. He became fascinated by theatre and thought this might be a great way to begin mending the rifts in his world. When he returned home, he joined a theatre troupe and began learning the ropes.

He’d been at it six months now and was loving it. He’d taken lots of acting classes, some singing lessons (which he was pants at), and lots of dancing ones (which he was still shaky at, but getting better). It combined the best of all his attributes: his flair for the dramatic -- as Snape once accused him of possessing -- his hyperactive personality, his ability to think on his feet, his charms and transfiguration skills, and his offensive and defensive magic (which came in handy during mock battles). His famous name even helped garner funds and patrons and get his troupe into any assortment of venues. They’d even scheduled a performance at Hogwarts for the autumn term.

Overall, he was feeling content and enjoying his life, so he became dismayed at these new, unsettled feelings and the strain around his eyes. Hermione said that he could be maturing, thinking about his future and wanting to settle down, but he didn’t think that was it. Ron thought maybe he needed a steady girlfriend, since he’d broken up with Ginny ages ago when she left for the Holyhead Harpies, but he never felt lonely. He even spent quite a lot of time with his godson, Teddy, Teddy’s grandmother, Andromeda, and all the Weasleys.

None of those things were the cause of his dilemma. No, it was some undefinable feeling of … well, that was just it. He didn’t know. He would walk out of rehearsal and head down the street to buy groceries and suddenly feel weird. He’d stop and look around for unfriendly strangers or odd occurrences, but nothing was out of place. It was an internal feeling of … something, something he was supposed to do or somewhere he was supposed to go, but he couldn’t figure out what or where.

He’d gone to his personal healer, Dr. Michael Hawthorn, whom he’d acquired after all the paparazzi brouhaha at Saint Mungo’s got to be too much. He’d built a good rapport with the man, who learned all of Harry’s history, both the mundane and the supernatural, but even Dr. Hawthorn had no clue as to why Harry would feel so strange. Harry left the appointment feeling very frustrated. Before he knew it, he had apparated to Godric’s Hollow and walked down to the cemetery where his parents were buried.

“Hey, Mum. Hey, Dad. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m fine with my job and my friends and my home, but when I’m out by myself, I feel restless. No one knows what’s up.” He stood there for a few minutes in silence, hoping an answer would materialise in front of him. When it didn’t, he began pacing around to let off steam. Soon he was jumping and hopping about, going through the steps of a new routine. He felt free and alive, and all his worries began to bleed away.

Someone gasped. He halted and spun in their direction.

“Whatever are you doing?” asked an older woman standing outside the kissing gate. She wore an old-fashioned peasant outfit and a bonnet head piece, in which her grey strawberry-blonde hair peeked out.

Harry felt sheepish. “Oh, sorry. I was just, uhm, practicing.”

“In the middle of the cemetery?” She began to look suspicious of him.

“Well, my parents are buried just over there.” He pointed in their direction, then he shrugged in half annoyance, half apology.

“Oh,” she said, a bit more relaxed now. “I’m sorry for your loss. How long ago was that?”

“Almost twenty years ago, when I was just a babe.”

Her eyes turned understanding at that. “Ah, that makes sense,” she muttered to herself. “I’m sure they’d be proud. It was a nice jig.”

He nodded his thanks, feeling awkward at the compliment. “I really should get going. Nice to meet you.”

She stared at him for a long moment, not saying anything. He paused, but when nothing more was said, he slowly walked away, and when he was sure she couldn’t see him or hadn’t followed him, he apparated home.

--

The encounter had been a bit strange, but once we was back at rehearsals, he forgot all about it. Activities were ramping up for the first performance since he’d joined and he was just too busy. Besides, the more he worked on the production, the better he felt.

He had invited his friends to come see him, and though he felt very nervous about it, he was also excited. They had been supportive of his decisions, but he could tell they were still doubtful of this latest endeavour. After all, he’d not had the best track record with careers. But he radiated happiness, so they cheered him on, for which he was grateful. Opening night was for a war victims’ benefit and all proceeds would go to families still struggling from the war. Much of the Order and his fellow classmates were in attendance as well as some of the families affected and some of the general populace.

The curtain opened to excited applause and the crowd waited as performers strolled on stage. Harry himself was not on stage until scene two, so he waited in the wings and discreetly watched the audience. They were enraptured by the music, the story, the song and dance, the lighting, and the special effects. He had put his own magical touches on some of those -- little sparks of light and a variation on darkness powder, smells of flowers and sweets and herbs, the feeling of wind or feathers alighting on the audience’s skin -- and he felt mighty proud of that alone. But soon it was time to take the stage.

Three little crups were lost in the woods and Harry’s role was that of a wood sprite who guided them through the next hour of adventures. There was the inevitable clapping and cat-calling when he first appeared on stage. He was dressed in brown tights and a green tunic, which made him look like a fairy or a brownie without wings. He strutted around stage, engaging the crups in mischief and delight, and his own heart soared.

Afterwards, his friends all congratulated him on a wonderful performance. They slapped him on the back and Hermione gave him a huge hug, their joy infectious. He kept smiling, too.

“You were absolutely cute up there,” they teased him, but he felt so happy, he didn’t care.

--

He had two more excellent performances, one at an orphanage, the other at an outdoor summer festival in Diagon Alley, before his first hiccup occurred. They were scheduled to perform for the Ministry’s War Victory celebration, which Harry had previously attended as the main celebrity and hated -- a bunch of pomp and circumstance with nothing good happening and everyone just staring at him in awe or questioning his life’s choices. This year was sure to be different, since he was attending as part of the entertainment, not as an ‘honoured guest.’ He was looking forward to it.

Yet, when he looked out at the audience during scene one, his spirits fell. A frown marred his face as his emotions became uneasy and even a little angry. He couldn’t justify it; there was nothing going on in the group of Ministry employees and their spouses sitting in front of the stage, but somehow it all felt wrong to him. He didn’t want to dance for these people. He could sense their fakeness, their insincerity, their capriciousness, their feral ambition. He tried to put it aside, but the feelings of wrongness intensified the closer he got to his moment on stage. He didn’t know why, but he knew he shouldn’t be here.

“John,” he called to the manager, a big burly guy with a scruffy mustache and jovial laugh, who had been in the theatre business for thirty years and was fantastic at creating cohesive ensembles. He could be a stern taskmaster at times, but his efforts at directing the troupe paid off.

“Yeah, Harry, what’s up?” he whispered so his voice wouldn’t carry.

Harry looked back at the audience and swallowed before looking back at John. “I -- I can’t do this.”

John frowned at him. “What do you mean?” He looked him up and down, not seeing any outward problems. “Are you getting stage fright?”

Harry shook his head. “No, not really. And before you ask, I don’t feel sick either. I’m not sure why, but I know I can’t go out there.”

“Why not? We only have a few more minutes before you’re on.” John’s eyes started flitting around the backstage, probably thinking of all the repercussions if Harry didn’t perform tonight.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve got this gut instinct that says not to go out there. I can’t explain it more than that.” He stared hard at John, imploring him with his eyes to believe him. It was weird, but the last time he’d felt this certain of something was when he’d been burying Dobby and thinking about the choice between Horcruxes and Hallows and had settled on his quest for the Horcruxes. He just knew it was the correct action to take.

John stared hard back at him for a minute and then gave a single nod. “Alright. Get Barnaby to take your place and put Rhys in Barnaby’s role. Do you want to stay or go home?”

Harry thought about it and listened to his feelings for a second before answering, “I can stay and help out back here; I just can’t perform.”

Nodding his head some more, John placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Okay, good. Go help out with costuming. We can talk about this more later.” He turned his attention back to the performance.

Harry took this as his dismissal and went off to find Barnaby and Rhys.

The rest of the performance went off without a hitch. Barnaby was his backup, after all, and knew all the speaking parts and dance steps; he just didn’t have the same enthusiasm for the role as Harry did. As Harry watched the audience from the sidelines, he could see Hermione’s confusion when he didn’t appear on stage. He could also sense several people’s disappointment when he never showed, but everyone clapped for the performance anyway.

Hermione caught up with him afterward. “What happened, Harry? Are you sick?”

He shook his head. “No, nothing so much as that. I just … well, I had this odd feeling as I waited to go on, one of those gut feelings that said, ‘don’t go on,’ you know?” He might have felt weird telling this to anyone else, but she had been his best friend for a decade and knew him better than anyone.

True to form, she tuned her mind onto the problem and asked him, “Was it something evil or some dark magic or just a vague unsettling feeling?” She peered at him with intense earnestness, ready to spring into action or research as needs warranted. He had to smile at her.

“More like the vague feeling, but very specific to this performance.” His eyebrows knitted as his focus slid off and down a little, thinking about his reactions and the circumstances. “Or, rather, to this audience.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose a little with surprise. “Was it someone specific or a group in particular or the whole of us?”

He knew she wasn’t including herself in that assessment, since she’d already seen him at his act, but she meant the audience as a whole. As he examined it further, he came to a conclusion. “A group in particular. The Ministry employees. It sounds crazy but I knew they weren’t … worthy.”

She smirked. “Well, I know you’ve never liked most of them. Interesting way to make your feelings known.”

He shook his head in the negative and sighed. “No, it wasn’t a conscious decision. I mean, it was but it wasn’t. I was perfectly prepared to go on stage until I looked out at them during the first scene, and an instinct inside me said, ‘no.’ Does that make any sense?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve been right, but it does seem odd for just entertainment. It’s not like when we were in those life-or-death war situations.” She got a very focused look on her face. “Does it feel magical at all?”

He shook his head again. “No.”

“And you’ve not felt it at any of your rehearsals or other performances?”

“No. In fact, I’ve felt very happy and content each time.” He hesitated but thought it best to tell her the whole truth. “I’ve felt a little unsettled at times when I’ve been out and about by myself. A vague sense that I should be doing something else, but it never lasts for very long, and never during my job. I asked Dr. Hawthorn to look over me and he says nothing’s wrong other than some degenerative condition in my eyes. I’m not sure if this is related or not.” He bit his lip waiting for her assessment.

“It could or could not be; we don’t have much evidence yet. For now, carry on as is and see what happens.” She always had a level head and made logical sense of everything.

“Okay,” he said, nodding his head in agreement. “Well, I need to go rub noses and then help pack up. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Sure. We’re still on for your birthday next week, right?”

“Yes.” He would be turning twenty-one and was looking forward to it. He waved her good-bye and went in search of his fellow performers.

--

Except for the increasing pain in his eyes, for which Dr. Hawthorn still had no answer, Harry felt fine for the rest of the week. No weird instances of unease, no unexplained urges. He practiced with the troupe as usual and even had another performance two days after the Ministry one and nothing felt awkward about it. He chalked it up to his general dislike of the Ministry.

His birthday fell on a Tuesday, so his friends celebrated with a savory dinner at a local pub, including treacle tart and firewhisky to finish off the evening. Harry excused himself after two drinks when the pounding behind his eyes became too much. He stated his goodbyes and thanks for the birthday wishes.

He stumbled home, making a deliberate effort to put one foot in front of the other. But the more he thought of his feet, the less sure he was of his way home. He took a left turn, knowing he needed a left turn to get home, but the street he stared at a minute later was unfamiliar to him. He frowned, but rather than go back, his addled mind convinced him to go on forward, perhaps take another turn or two, and get back on track then. After several more such turns, he was nowhere he knew. Strangely enough, he wasn’t upset about this predicament. Something within him just said, ‘Keep going.’

Tapping his feet, he picked up the pace and headed off in a northerly direction. His vision shifted, although he couldn’t tell what had changed, and then his headache eased off, for which he was profoundly thankful.

Soon, he was enacting dance steps along his path. First a jig, then a foxtrot, some sort of salsa and cha-cha mix, a bit of sensual gypsy, and finally launching into a full scale Irish folk dance. The pavement’s warmth rose up from his soles, so he stepped onto a grassy lawn between two rows of houses and continued the full dance, kicking his heels to his opposite knees and leaping to and fro. He found himself bobbing his head around to look at everything, and as he gazed, he began to see … well, colours that weren’t colours. Or rather, colours like he hadn’t seen before. The grass was green, but not just a green, more like a frothy green. The rose bushes in front of the houses to his right were a green mollusk … wait, what? He turned to his left and the downy willows looked soupy grey when he knew them to be a soft grey before. The beige houses looked normal to him, but there was one very strange one on the end across from him that he could only describe as a singing blue. As much as he tried to shake his head to dispel the change, the strange colours wouldn’t go away.

And still he kept dancing. A carefree feeling arose inside, and he let every worry go as he galloped all over the lawn. Perhaps he was more drunk than he’d realized and it would all right itself in the morning. So he gave himself up to it, shouting and hollering in abandon, laughing his delight.

He finished his dance with a flurry of kicks, a final leap, a landing of feet at 45 degrees to his hips, and arms stretched out wide. His chest ached a little with each heavy breath, but he was smiling in elation. A woman was standing in front of him, clapping.

Harry startled at the unexpected woman. “Oh, sorry,” he said with a small, apologetic smile. “I don’t know quite what got over me.”

“That was your nature, true enough,” she said. She looked on him with interest and … knowledge, he would have put it. There was a deepness in her fishy blue eyes that spoke of vast quantities of unknown facts and cosmic truths.

His smile fell as he beheld her, greying strawberry-blonde hair cascading down from a kerchief over her simple black pinafore, which in turn was over her simple floral peasant dress. “You … have we met before?”

She quirked her lips a fraction, accenting the tiny wrinkle lines there. “Briefly, but I’ve known you a long time.”

Harry’s forehead creased in confusion and wariness. “Look, is there something I can do for you?”

She smiled full out with that and chuckled, causing her laugh lines to appear. Lowering her lashes, she took a calming breath, and opened her rich eyes at him again. “Not me, no. For them, yes.” She turned her head this way and that, indicating the houses all around.

“Wait, there’s nobody out here.” He gestured around them as well. “Do you mean these people? I don’t even know them.”

“You don’t have to know anything about them; you just have to be here. It’s good to see you return, Taliesin.” With those parting words, she walked away, not looking back at him.

He was confused, to say the least. “Hey, who are you? What do you mean my return and that I have to be here? Are you going to answer me?” But she didn’t. He stared after her until she strolled back behind the building to his right, beyond the rose bushes with the strange green mollusk colour. “You just can’t walk away!” But nothing he yelled at her changed her mind. He was left alone in the middle of the lawn.

Completely sober now, he wasted no more time and apparated straight home. He vaulted up the steps without turning the lights on, splashed cold water on his face in the bathroom in an attempt to calm his racing nerves, changed clothes and fell into bed. He was tired, but sleep was long in coming.

--

Saturday found Harry and his friends at The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade for a larger party. Most of his school yearmates were there to wish him and Neville another good year of living. The drinks went around with an open tap, but Harry stuck to butterbeer after his encounter on Tuesday. He caught Hermione by the arm and led her over to a booth once the early congratulations had been given.

“Harry, how are you?” she asked, smiling, but her mood faded as she took a good look at him. He seemed haggard, and his face kept moving back and forth, taking in everything in the room. “Is something wrong?” She looked around as well, searching out possible threats. “Are you being stalked or do you just have a bad feeling?”

He snorted a little at her obvious concern and instant reversion to their war days. Of course, with how much the press and the general public could hound him even on a good day, maybe she had a right to retain her paranoia. “It’s not something I can pinpoint, but yeah, something’s up.”

“What?” she asked, giving him her full attention.

“The other night, after dinner, I found myself dancing in the middle of London and this woman shows up saying she knows me, and that I’m supposed to be here for ‘them,’ although I’m not sure who ‘they’ are supposed to be, and then she walks off.”

Hermione looked perplexed. “That sounds both ominous and creepy. How do you feel about it?”

“Well, I was having a wonderful time, and I almost feel like there is something odd I’m supposed to be doing for people.”

“Is this your people-saving thing coming back?”

He thought about it, but shook his head. “No, not quite. I’m not sure how to put it. But that’s not the really odd thing.”

“Well, what is?”

“My colours are all messed up.”

Hermione half-smiled in bewilderment. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve never been colour-blind before, but now I can’t see reds, any reds. And my blues and greens are bizarre.”

“How so?”

“They’re more intense, different. Two shirts I knew had been the same shade of blue before are now completely different. One’s cloudy with, I don’t know, more grey in it, and the other is teddy bear blue. You know how a teddy bear is brown, right? Like that, like a brown blue.” He drew his shoulders back, sliding his arms across the table in frustration. “I can’t explain it any better. Just, everything’s weird.”

“Have you been to your healer?” she asked, leaning a little more forward.

“Yeah, when I started getting aches around my eyes. He thought it was degenerative or maybe hereditary. I went back on Thursday after this weirdness happened. He says my red cones have been deactivated and that I have a lot more blue and green ones now.” He put his elbows on the table and rubbed his eyes under his glasses with both hands.

When he looked back at Hermione, she shrugged. “Maybe you’re just aging, Harry. Not that you’re old!” she hastened to assure him. “But maybe it’s something showing up at full maturity.”

Confused and slightly irritated, he said, “I don’t feel old … well, not in that way. Emotionally, sure. We all did after the war. But not physically.”

“Well, try not to dwell on it too much. All we can do for now is keep an eye on it. No pun intended.” She took another swallow of her drink as Harry nodded his agreement. “Why don’t we get back out there with everyone? No use moping in this corner.” She gave him a pointed look that promised a lecture if he didn’t abandon his worries for one night.

He chuckled. “Point taken. I’m coming, I’m coming.” He got up and followed her back into the crowd, mingling with all his friends and joining in the raucous laughter. Music started up about half an hour later, when everyone was well into the drinks, and most of his friends bounced in an erratic pattern around the room. Harry had the urge to take over the dance floor and show them all how it was done. In the past, he would have squashed that urge, but his attitude toward public displays had changed quite a lot in the last few months, for the better, he thought. So he jumped into the middle and began sashaying.

His friends all noticed and cheered him on, the yells and wolf-whistles spiking everyone’s interest, and Harry grinned at them. He went into full entertainment mode as people started clapping and stomping in time to the music and a circle opened up around him. He thought he’d never felt better.

And then his magic opened up.

It felt like a geyser opened up inside his gut and a fountain of energy surged up through his head and poured out over the crowd. It felt energizing and orgasmic. He laughed with the joy of it, letting even more pour out of him. He wasn’t afraid; he could tell he wasn’t losing his magic -- more just kept coming -- and it was the most natural feeling in the world.

The cheers continued to mount in appreciation and enthusiasm until they were loud enough to vibrate the roof of The Three Broomsticks. And nobody cared. It was all fine and wonderful.

--

Harry woke up the next morning expecting to be hungover but only ached in his legs from all the dancing. His spirit felt happy and content.

He went about his usual Sunday routine, relaxing at home, and had a normal week at work, preparing the performance to be given at Hogwarts in another couple of months’ time. Other than his lack of seeing reds, which caused a bit of giggling with his fellow performers when he mistakenly picked up the red jacket instead of the green one to go with his orange outfit (although that, too, was only yellow to his sight, now), he felt fantastic.

On Thursday, he received an owl from Hermione: “Meet me for drinks at Mon Dieu at four o’clock this afternoon.” He scowled at her choice of the hoity toity wine bar, but at least he could order a port there he enjoyed. The owl had not waited, so he didn’t worry about a reply.

At four he apparated to a side street around the corner from the wine bar, checked for loiterers and paparazzi, cast a few privacy spells just in case, and then sauntered into the joint. It was dark and tasteful, lots of wood panelling, leather chairs and sofas, and bits of fine artwork on the walls. He noticed Hermione already sitting off to the left with a glass of white wine in her hand.

She motioned him over and they embraced. “Harry, hi. How are you feeling?”

He sat in the chair opposite her and shrugged. “I feel great. How’s this week been?”

“Great,” she said, a little too perky. “In fact, everyone’s been too great.”

“What do you mean?” he said in confusion. “What’s wrong with that?”

The waiter accepted Harry’s drink order right then and left again. Hermione pierced him with a stare. “I mean, everyone’s been too happy and too cheerful and too full of the most incredible luck.” She let that sink in, but he still looked confused. “So, I guess you haven’t heard. Ron made an astounding result on his Auror test on Tuesday and received a recommendation for it. Seamus landed three dates this week. Neville got a promotion at work and he doesn’t even know why. Sales in George’s shop went up 23 percent. And I won the Escomar case, even though the evidence was clearly against us and I’m not even a full lawyer yet! Harry, what did you do?”

“Whoa! Hermione, slow down,” he said, pulling back and putting his hands in the air in a clear sign of appeasement. “Why do you think I had anything to do with this? Maybe it’s karma. You know, making up for all the bad things that happened to us during school.”

“No, it’s not karma. It’s because of the magic you released on Saturday!” she mock-yelled in a stage whisper, not wanting to alert the bar staff. “I’ve run into every one of our friends who was there that night, and we’ve all had something great happen to us.”

Remembering the magical burst, Harry gulped in guilt. It hadn’t felt bad at the time. Before he could respond, the waiter brought his port. “Thank you.” The guy nodded and walked off again. Harry took a swallow, the thick body of the wine acting to blanket the nerves in his stomach. “Look, I don’t really know what happened, but I just exploded in happiness that night. I didn’t mean to call that magic up and I certainly didn’t wish good or bad things on people. It just happened. And from the sound of it, it’s not bad.” He took another sip, focusing on the sweet, dark caramel flavour.

“I know you wouldn’t hurt anyone, Harry, but this could be something wrong, especially if it happens a lot or if there’s going to be, as you say, some cosmic karma that will rebound back on you for it. Promise me you won’t try that again.”

“Well, I didn’t try it the first time, but I’ll make sure to hold back next time.” He felt a little affronted at her accusations, but he knew all she was asking him for was to be careful.

“That’s all I ask for now. So, how goes the theatre?”

They continued in discussion for another hour, enjoying their friendship.

--

The next few weeks were uneventful until the beginning of September. His troupe had performed a splendid afternoon matinee and enjoyed a hearty meal afterward. Harry left the cafeteria at twilight and decided to walk back home. The night air was warm from the still-summer weather, though not as humid as it had been earlier in the day. He was whistling to himself, when he turned left at the crosswalk three streets down, and it wasn’t until he passed four shops he didn’t recognise that he realised he’d gone the wrong way. Once acknowledged, it didn’t bother him and he kept on walking.

He stopped in front of some dilapidated townhouses with faded, chipped paint, cracked window panes, rusting door hinges and screens, and rivers of broken-up concrete that connected one weedy yard to the next. No street lamps were lit, and a pall covered the area in decay. He felt sad for a moment at the loss. Shaking off the feeling, he returned to whistling a merry tune, and before the first verse was concluded, he was hopping around in spry accompaniment. It didn’t seem weird to him at all. In fact, he felt light, happy. That same joy as before, mixed with a tinge of magic, exploded outward from his center and pushed aside the pall like a Patronus before Dementors. He could sense it as it soaked into the wood planks and stones of the houses and the dirt below his feet.

He didn’t stop until the tune was finished. Coming down from a nice high, he stood there panting. A bit of logical unease crept in at last. Who else had urges to dance in the middle of nowhere and let magic go out from their fingertips with no purpose? There had to be something wrong with him. Maybe he should talk with Hermione again.

--

She didn’t have any better ideas of what could be going on with him, so she made him promise to apparate everywhere he went. Harry agreed, not happy with the feeling.

September was busy with fall festivals, which meant lots of performances, and twice Harry refused to go on stage just minutes before his part. Both times he got the same odd feeling of wrongness, and when he looked out at the crowd, he could see patrons who looked smug and haughty, and he knew it was for them he wasn’t supposed to dance.

John wondered if he was sick, but Harry assured him he wasn’t. So John would shrug and then shift cast members around.

He apparated just about everywhere he went, unless it was next door to the eatery for lunch, so it was with annoyance that he found himself with a clear itch on the night of the first Tuesday in October. The urge had struck again. It was causing him to carve out a lower platform in his living room from all the pacing he was doing trying not to go for a walk. Around ten o’clock, he gave up the fight, grabbed a jacket, since the fall chill had set in, and walked out of his abode. Again, he had no specific destination in mind, so he let his feet do the thinking for him.

Soon, he was in the Muggle Parliament section of London. The place was fairly dark and deserted with only a light or two on in any of the many stories of windows. Probably a lawyer working late or it was the night crew cleaning, Harry thought. A sour smell was in the air from all the petrol exhaust, which made his nose twitch. He looked around but couldn’t see any police or night security. With a toss of his head, he started tapping his toes on the sidewalk and broke into a soft-shoe number, complete with imaginary cane and top hat, though he supposed he could conjure one if he really wanted, but it didn’t seem important.

He was bathed in the spotlight of the full moon as it peeked from behind a cloud. He felt radiant and once again the magic poured out of him. It bathed all of the area around him, but he could feel specific tendrils of it head off to the lighted Parliament rooms. There was a connection there; he was sure of it.

When he was done with the dance and the strange feelings, he shook his head in utter bewilderment at what was happening to him. He had a sinking suspicion that it had something to do with that woman he’d met before. He apparated to several parks around London, clicking his heels up a few times and calling for her before waiting with no response, then heading to the next location. After he’d tried all the major parks, he apparated to Godric’s Hollow where he remembered seeing her first and still nothing. Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, and the Forbidden Forest were all empty, too. On a whim he tried the Forest of Dean. The place wasn’t quite as eerie as it had been when he and Hermione were there during the war, as most of the leaves were still on the trees and there wasn’t frost on the ground. He didn’t have that sense of about-to-be-caught this time, but it still creeped him out.

Without analysing it, he waltzed through the steps to an English carol, a medieval circle dance with alternating men’s and women’s parts. A third of the way through, he could feel another presence nearby; halfway through, she stepped beside him, clasped his hand, and completed the dance with him, perfectly in sync.

They ended with a traditional bow to the center. He dropped her hand and turned to her, questions already on his lips, but she beat him to the opening. “Greetings, again, Taliesin. I see you’ve been busy. Good.”

He caught the name she called him this time, but he filed it away for later consideration. That was the least of his worries. “What do you know about this? Why am I urged to dance and shoot magic out at random?”

She looked affronted at that. “Oh, it’s never random. But it might be a bit intense at the moment.”

“Intense? Why? Why now?”

Her face softened with a small, knowing smile. “You had a birthday, yes? Cycles of seven, I hear.”

He was flummoxed. So she did have answers. Unfortunately, she also appeared to be channeling some hybrid of Dumbledore and Trelawny. He bloody hated riddles. “How long will that last?”

She sniffed in amusement. “You are young and new. You will feel the intensity until you find your balance, your anchor. Not long, though, and then you will settle.” She turned and walked away from him.

“Wait! What’s your name? How can I find you again?” He tried to run toward her, but he felt slow and sluggish and she felt more distant by the second. As he watched, she walked around some trees and behind some underbrush and was gone without a goodbye.

“Great,” he muttered to himself. Feeling tired and irritated, he apparated home and fell right into bed.

--

He called Hermione a few days later and met with her at the wine bar again after work. He explained everything that had happened in the last two months.

“And she’s called me a strange name both times: Taliesin. Can you look it up for me?” It seemed like a long shot, but it was better than nothing. The dancing and the magic were the other clues, too.

“And you’re sure she said cycles of seven?” Hermione was jotting down notes to put into an archive search.

Harry nodded his head. “Yeah, in relation to my birthday. Twenty-one is three times seven.”

“And what exact dates did all this happen? Maybe we can pinpoint a pattern there.”

He magically produced a recent calendar and triangulated dates. “I was feeling weird all through July, but the first magical outburst was at the party August 4th. And then September 2nd, and again a few days ago, October 2nd.”

Hermione cast an astronomical chart over the calendar and her eyebrows rose when she examined it. “That’s every full moon, Harry. And also a power of seven, every 28 days.”

“Great. So I’m out there with the werewolves.” He took a swallow of his port, but it tasted rancid in his mouth this time. Nothing was comfortable with this new twist in his bizarre life.

“Well, you’re not exhibiting any werewolf behaviour --”

“Except for the red colourblindness.”

“-- but it is another connection to look into. I’ll run the figures this next week, okay?” She looked at him in earnest, hoping to give him some reassurance. “Just try to lay low, alright?”

With a weary nod he accepted her help and advice.

--

Nothing else happened in October, thank Merlin, but his troupe was very busy practicing for the Hogwarts performance. They had booked for the Halloween feast, but the closer they got to that date, the more jittery Harry became. He finally talked to John about it.

“I don’t understand it, but something weird is going on with me. My instincts keep kicking in and pushing me to spur-of-the-moment decisions, and I don’t think we should go on stage during the feast night.”

“But, Harry, it’s been booked for months. The faculty and staff are all waiting for us, and the kids are excited. We can’t back out, and I really don’t want to replace you.”

“I know, and this time I don’t want to be replaced ... at least, I don’t think so. Rather, I feel this need to be there, but not on that night.” He sighed. “Maybe it’s that I don’t really like this holiday. My parents died on it, after all, and my schooling experiences were never good on it either.”

“Well, I can talk to Headmistress McGonagall and see if there’s an alternative.” John put his hands on his hips and looked exasperated. “Are you sure you’re not sick?”

Harry threw his hands up. “Honestly, I don’t know, though I feel more cursed than sick. Look, maybe see if we can move it back one night, just until the first of November. Claim it’s an All Saint’s Day thing.”

John’s eyes roamed to the side while he thought about that. He nodded his head in a zig-zag pattern from side to side. “Yes, yes, that might work. I’ll let everyone know what she says.”

“Thanks.” Harry sighed with relief.

--

McGonagall gave the okay to move the performance back a day, stating she was more comfortable with this arrangement since the children wouldn’t be as riled up as they would be the day before. Harry let out a breath and felt so much lighter after he heard the news. He went to the Burrow for Halloween, as he’d been doing since they all left school, to celebrate the holiday.

On the next day, he went up to Hogwarts with the troupe and helped set up as usual. He felt the expected nostalgia at returning here, smiling at the portraits, sniffing at the lingering scent of pumpkin juice, and eyeing the children ambling through the halls in their House uniforms. He did have a bit of a double take when he first noticed a Gryffindor uniform. It wasn’t red. Or at least, it wasn’t red like he remembered it. It was like a dull green. The Slytherin green was bright with a hint of musty blue, while Ravenclaw’s blue was metallic, and even that was a little bit off from his memory. The only colour that looked the same was Hufflepuff’s yellow. He had to shake his head at the weirdness of his life.

It took them two hours after lunch to erect the stage, charm the lighting and music effects, and create a hidden side area for props, costumes, and makeup, but all was in readiness long before the dinner hour. They placed everything under invisibility and repelling charms, so no one could disturb it during dinner.

The troupe ate a light meal and then disappeared behind the curtains to get ready, while the students and staff ate their normal dinner. Night had fallen by the time the last bite had been eaten and the house-elves had cleaned up. McGonagall had already announced that tonight was the performance, so everyone was eagerly waiting for it to start. Harry, already in costume, surveyed the crowd, happy with all the eager faces and not a trace of wrongness to be felt. As he viewed the staff table, he smiled at the carefree peace and camaraderie, one that had been missing during his later years here, thanks to Voldemort and his DEs.

And there was Snape sitting on the end, talking with Professor Vector and looking much healthier than he’d ever seen the man. Gone was the sallow skin and haunted eyes. He was still pale, but he’d added a little weight and the tension lines had faded to nothingness. As he stared, Snape glanced up and caught his eyes. They locked gazes, and Harry couldn’t breathe as his whole being fell into those black depths.

John touched his shoulder and broke their connection. “Are you alright? Do you need to back out after all?”

Harry shook himself and smiled. “No, I’m fine. Good, actually. Are we ready to start?”

John nodded and signalled to McGonagall. She and the teachers left the staff table and joined the student body for the performance. Excited whispers ran up and down the House tables until the lights went down, and a lot of shushing wafted around the room before all went silent.

The music started in low and grew as the stage was revealed and the first performers strutted out. Harry stood back and waited while the first poems and dances enthralled the audience. The kids oohed and clapped in all the appropriate places. Soon, it was his turn. With nerves twisting in his gut, he blew out the glittery pixie dust, which was charmed to swirl around the stage in front of his arrival. He placed a gliding charm on himself and leapt through the side curtains, the spell allowing him to fly a bit and then slide the rest of the way across stage. The Hogwarts students went wild as they recognised the Saviour of the Wizarding World in his current role. He let it wash over him as he spoke his lines and hopped around, fully in his element. His first dance was a modified alman, a processional court dance in moderate cadence, lining up all the other actors to follow him on their adventures.

The next hour went by as all good entertainment should, with joy and awe. All of the cast were smiling brightly as the final act took place. Harry glided on stage, his arms swept up and one leg kicked back like an ice skater’s. He stopped front and center, his fellows taking positions in two rows behind him, and they waited for the music. A few blaring notes sounded on a trumpet and then the stomping beats of a jig started in. As one, they bounced and kicked and leapt with the staccato, vibrant rhythm, the tempo picking up speed as they went.

Halfway through, Harry felt his magic build in his core again, and rather than suppress it, he let it rush out of him and over the audience. He felt light and happy, and he wanted them to, too. As the ending raced toward them in a crescendo, he noticed one magic tendril focus on the tall, imposing figure near the back -- Snape, he was sure of it. He danced his heart out and poured as much magic as he could, focusing it on the man who had saved him during all his school years. Snape deserved some happiness and a bit of a thank you from him, so Harry tried to say it all in his dance.

The final note sounded with a bang, all the dancers stomping down in unison and halting in sudden silence. Harry’s magic, too, ceased in the blink of an eye, and all was still for a moment. Then, thunderous applause broke out as the students jumped to their feet, whistling and shouting and clapping and making a huge ruckus. The troupe took its curtain call and bowed and waved, all with great cheer. Harry had never smiled so big.

--

After the students had all been sent back to their dormitories and the stage had been removed and stored for future performances, McGonagall came over to Harry. “Congratulations, Mr. Potter! It’s so good to see you so well.” She pulled him into a hug such as any good grandmother would do.

Harry returned it with affection. “Thanks! It’s good to see you, too. Hogwarts looks to be doing well.” He gestured to the walls around them.

“Yes, after all the repairs were done to her structure, we decided to update her finishes. Make them a bit more shiny and new.”

Harry smiled. “Sounds good.” He glanced around, seeing the new wall sconces and other tidbits he’d missed earlier. No wonder the place looked so happy. He spotted a figure waiting in the shadows, knowing exactly who it would be and wondering how much trouble he was in. Giving a small grin to McGonagall, he said, “Excuse me, Headmistress, but I need to go. Maybe we can have a cuppa sometime?”

McGonagall returned his small smile with one of her own and inclined her head once. “That sounds delightful, Harry. Anytime you wish.” She patted him on the shoulder and then walked off to fulfil her duties.

Harry pivoted and took a few steps toward Snape. “Hello, sir. You’re looking much better than the last time I saw you.” He swallowed. The black eyes bored into his own, making him feel like an errant schoolboy again, but he squashed those feelings, especially when he’d done nothing wrong to elicit them this time and was a fully grown adult in his own right.

“Reveling in your celebrity status, I see.” Snape sneered at the jibe, but it didn’t have the harsh bite that it used to.

Harry smirked. “Ah, but now I’ve actually earned it. And I don’t mind, since their eyes only show joy and happiness, not contempt or distrust.”

“Yes,” he drawled out. “Quite the performance, Mr. Potter. You were quite … gifted on stage.” His tone was not scathing but suspicious.

“Ah, you felt that, I take it? Just something I’ve come to do.” He was not at all surprised that Snape had noticed his magic. It was rather hard to ignore, he thought.

“So you enjoy dousing the audience to make them fawn over you, is that it?” Now, it had turned scathing once again, as it had been in his school days.

But Harry was more mature and felt he could hold his own now. He also felt a bit like flirting, not sure where that feeling came from, but going with his instincts all the same. “Nope, that was all for you.” And somehow, he knew that was right. Tonight’s performance had been for Snape.

“Is that so?” Snape’s eyes took on a heated look. “And I suppose the green tights were purely for my benefit as well.”

Harry laughed. “No, that was part of the normal costume, but I could give you a personal tour of the dressing rooms, if you’d like.”

Snape growled and lunged forward, catching Harry off-guard with his kiss. It was forceful and demanding and Harry moaned into it, feeling his world tilt.

They broke apart, panting, and Harry had no idea what to say or do. “I … I … wha- … I didn’t …”

“If you talked half as elegantly as you danced, you’d win Performer of the Year, Potter.” He didn’t release his hold on Harry, but he wasn’t menacing about it either.

“Hey, I was stunned, alright? It’s not like other people’s former professors are kissing them. This really was a bit unexpected, you have to admit.” He gazed into Snape’s eyes and felt that same connection there, but he didn’t trust it, not yet. “Look, I’m knackered and really should get home. We’ve three more shows this weekend.” He backed away, not sure what had prompted all this closeness with a man who had hated him for years.

“Come by for tea or owl me for dinner,” Snape said, his tone insistent and brooking no argument.

Harry nodded after a pause. “Okay. Well, goodnight, Professor.”

“Goodnight, Harry.” He said it with warmth and affection that made Harry’s eyes bug out in surprise. Where was this coming from? He stood there gobsmacked as Snape turned and walked off, presumably back to the dungeons.

It wasn’t until John came over and clapped him on the back, saying, “Are you ready to go?” that he finally snapped out of it.

“Yeah, sure. Great performance tonight, yeah?”

“Spectacular.”

--

Harry received a frantic floo call from Hermione about a week later. “Oh Merlin, Harry, what have you done?”

He’d wondered if she had heard about the crazy magic at his show. “Me? Nothing.”

“Oh, don’t you nothing me. I just talked with McGonagall and she said you sent out another magical wave during the show and now all the students have passed their quizzes and tests with Outstandings! You can’t keep letting your magic control things!”

“I’m not consciously letting it out, it just comes when it wants to. And weren’t you looking into it?” he asked, confusion mixed with irritation.

“I did, and it does seem to come at the full moons, which was Hogwarts performance night! Anyway, this is what I found out. There weren’t any magical records about such outbursts, but I did find a reference to Taliesin in some Muggle mythologies. He was rumoured to be a great bard under the guidance and wisdom of the goddess Ceridwen, so that may explain your abilities on the stage. At first that was the only similarity to your condition, so I checked all the references to Ceridwen, and guess what?”

“I don’t know, Hermione. I’m related to some far off water nymph?” He really resented her bookishness sometimes.

“It’s Anglo-Saxon, so not far off, and not a water nymph -- a rabbit.”

“What?” Harry sat straight up and bumped his head on the mantel. “Ow! Would you rather come through?”

“Oh, okay.” She stepped through the floo, carrying two loads of books. “I’ll just set these down for a minute. There. So, the Salisbury Hare is an ancient, pagan myth connected to Ceridwen about a hare that shows up at the full moon, dances, and brings good luck and good feelings to those who see him, and he refuses to be seen by those who would trick others.”

Harry snorted. “Like most of the Ministry employees.”

“It makes sense for all your symptoms as well as why that woman you met, who I think might just be Ceridwen herself, would say ‘you need to be here for them.’ They must need your help in some way.”

He ran his hands through his unruly hair, thinking about the connections. “What about the intensity and her warning about needing an anchor?”

“Well, she did say that these things happen in sevens? And that it wouldn’t be too long before you settled, right?”

“Yes.”

“So I was thinking that you’ve had four full moons so far, so you may only have three more to go at this intensity. By the time the last one comes in late January, you should have found whatever this anchor is.” Hermione picked up one of the books she’d brought and started looking through it.

“But how will I know what it is?”

She ignored him for a minute, still engrossed in the book, before closing it. “No, it’s not in there.” She rummaged through the rest of them, picked out two books, and handed him one. “Here, look in this. Check the index for ‘anchor’ or ‘center’ or ‘focus.’”

He reluctantly took one; he still hated research. “What are all these?”

“Books on folklore and goddess worship.”

“Great. First a trumped-up dark lord, now a goddess,” he muttered as he flipped to the back. There was a reference to focusing, so he switched to page 93. “Huh. This might be it, Hermione. ’When one of enormous power comes into his own/the world should tremble at his hefty might/unless thereby another shouldst then come/to temper and control his magic light.’ It was under the focusing tab.”

“Clearly, then, there’s someone out there who’s supposed to anchor your powers. You have to admit, they’ve been a bit heavy-handed these first four outbursts. Have you met anyone yet, someone whom you’ve had an instant connection with?” She took the book back from him and read the whole passage, turning back a few pages to begin the chapter over.

In the meantime Harry was lost in his own thoughts about Snape. His persona had come out of nowhere and broadsided Harry. He could feel it, a deep connection that may have been there all along but certainly showed itself last week. “I think I may know who.”

Hermione looked up from the page. “And?”

“Severus Snape. My magic … it flowed to him during the show and afterward, he …” Harry blushed. “He came on to me.”

Her eyebrows rose. “That’s an interesting development. But he has always looked out for you, Harry. If you’re sure ….”

He nodded his head several times. “Yes, that feels right. I knew I had to be there that night, at Hogwarts, and all my magic went out to him. Well, obviously not all as all the students seem to have benefited, but most of it.”

“So he’s your focus, and by the time you accept that, he should be able to manage your outbursts.”

“Ugh, he’s going to hate me again for forcing another bond on him. How will I ever get him to agree?”

She shrugged. “Ask him to dinner. Lay out all the details. Appeal to his logic and his sense of rightness.”

Harry snorted. “Yeah, like I have any logic and he has any rightness.”

“Don’t doubt before you even begin. Just be open, go to him, and be persistent. I know you’re good at that last bit,” she said with a cheeky grin.

He glared back at her. “Oh, bugger off,” he joked with her. Then, he sighed. “Thanks for your help. I’ll see what he says.”

“Good, then I’ll just take all these and be gone again. See you, Harry.” She gave him a hug and flooed out, books teetering on each arm.

--

He did owl Snape, asking him to dinner. Snape agreed for the following Friday, November 16. They both arrived outside a little Chinese cafe in Muggle Soho, since Harry did not want any press or fans hounding them on their first date.

“Hello, Professor. How are things?” he said to break the ice between them, as they walked into the cafe and took a seat off in a corner to the right. The place was dim and decorated with the usual cheap Chinese paintings of warriors and dragons with even cheaper plastic gold trim on the framings. There were a few ivory statues and one nice calligraphy scroll in the back near the till. The smell of salty soy sauce and frying chicken made Harry’s mouth water.

“Quaint, Potter. If the food’s as bad as the decor, I will regurgitate it onto the wait staff.” Snape did not look pleased.

Harry laughed, though. “Oh, it’s good. They’re much more concerned with flavour than they are about window dressings. I promise, you won’t get sick.” He gave his best smile, which faded a bit at Snape’s continued scowl. “I really appreciate you coming tonight. We have much to talk about.”

“Oh, yes,” Snape sneered at him, “Pray, do tell what magic you unleashed on the school. Everyone made perfect or near-perfect potions for a week. The number of points that could have been awarded would have overflowed the House counters, if it had not been for the prudence of the staff to limit such awards. Care to explain?” His black eyes speared Harry’s mind and quickly read all the surface thoughts he was holding about this Salisbury Hare incidence.

Harry pushed Snape back out of his head, which gave him an instant headache. “Dammit, Snape, stay out of my head!”

“My apologies, Harry. I find it quicker and more accurate to glean information off one’s mind than to wait for it to be spoon fed to me in half truths. Besides, you’re pants at Occlumency. Especially, as I am to be your anchor, as you seem to think.” His eyes softened a tad, and the corners of his mouth hooked a fraction upward.

“Well, at least that means I don’t have to tell you about all this.” He rubbed at his temples. “It does feel right about this anchor thing. I’m just not sure what it means moving forward.”

The waiter chose that moment to appear with water glasses and took their orders.

Snape regarded Harry under close scrutiny. “Well, I would like to perform my own research on the matter. Hogwarts may have some other books available. Human anchors generally have several levels on which to operate, from what I understand: a mental link, a magical one, an emotional dependency, and a sexual component.” He paused.

“Sex?” Harry squeaked. He was stunned this could go that far.

Snape smirked at Harry’s unease. “Frightened, Potter?”

He shifted in his seat. “Not exactly. I just wasn’t expecting it. Will it really contain all of those? Hermione didn’t say how it worked.”

The man must have taken pity on him as he dropped the smirk and took on a more business-like tone. “Not necessarily all of those, and it could just be physical contact that’s needed, such as hand touching.” At this he shifted his hand over on top of Harry’s.

Harry’s mouth went dry as his breathing quickened. Thoughts of the kiss from last time flitted through his mind. “Yeah, or maybe more?”

“Would you like there to be more?” he purred, his dark eyes becoming pools of hot tar that could drag Harry under.

With small, nervous nods, he said, “Yeah.” He knew in that instant he wanted it to be more, needed it to be. “Yes, please.”

The waiter brought their food and broke the tension. They dug in, and the delicious moans from Snape as he devoured his Moo Shu Pork sent Harry’s libido skyrocketing. It was hard to partake of the meal with all that sinfulness close by.

Finally, he wiped his mouth and cleared his throat. “So, uh, how do we go about this?”

“Elegant use of the English language.”

“Prick.”

“How have you been dealing with your changes and sudden outbursts thus far?”

Harry huffed. “Mainly, by ignoring them. Hermione figured out that they were happening on every full moon, and in between those dates, nothing seems to come about. Well, except my urge not to perform for certain people. I lost my reds back at my birthday, but I haven’t noticed any other change in my eyesight since.”

“You lost your reds?” Snape’s expression narrowed in confusion.

“Yeah, my red cones are deactivated, according to my healer. I forgot to ask Hermione why that would be, if it’s tied to this at all.” He pushed his plate away, indicating for a busboy to take it.

“That’s something else to consider. Come, let us pay and leave this roach motel you called a restaurant.” He stood up with the ticket and headed for the till.

Harry got up and followed Snape. “Hey, wait. Aren’t I supposed to pay for dinner? I did ask you out.”

“Ah, but I asked you first. Allow me.” He handed the cashier a twenty pound note and waited for change to be placed back at the table.

“I’m glad you had some Muggle currency,” he said, still frowning at Snape’s about-face with the kindness. Once they were outside, he asked, “What do we do now?”

“Now, you will lay low and try to stay out of trouble -- I know that’s difficult for you -- and I will research.” He smirked on his way over to a side alley, expecting Harry to follow.

“You git, I never asked for all that trouble, or this one, for that matter.” He didn’t get to protest further, however, as Snape grabbed him and pulled him into the alley and close to himself and concluded that action with a snog. Harry was overtaken by his own desires and leant into the kiss. They were both panting and hard as rocks when they broke apart.

“You should go. We don’t know how this will affect you without some better knowledge first.”

Harry didn’t want to leave, but he knew he needed to go. He stepped back to catch his breath without Snape’s presence quite so near. “Okay. Shall I owl you for next time, then?”

Snape nodded. “Or I might owl you first, if I find anything useful.”

Harry agreed and then apparated home. The warning about the effects this could have on him pushed him to the bathroom for a cold shower, as he didn’t even want to risk wanking at this point. His libido calmed down, but his thoughts kept churning well into his sleep.

--

The next two weeks were uneventful, not even a call from Hermione nor a missive from Snape. Harry was becoming anxious as the next full moon approached, November 30. It was another Friday night, and this time they had a performance. He was edgy all day with his coworkers and John even forced him to take a half-hour break in the afternoon to clear his head. He went for his usual walk around the theatre block, but he still felt off, like he had been before his birthday. Maybe it was some odd rabbit nerve; he didn’t know.

There was no urge to not perform tonight, even as he watched the patrons take their seats. Most of them seemed angry or agitated to be here. Maybe their spouses had insisted on it and weren’t in the mood for objections. Or maybe they’d all had bad weeks at work and hadn’t yet destressed. Oh, well. Part of the entertainment business was to give them something happy to focus on. With a nod to John, who signalled the lights, he stepped back into the shadows and the show went on.

His magical outburst came near the end of his second dance. He tried to control it this time, to force it to stop or slow down or back off some, but there was no change. It flowed like a billowing cloak over the audience, though most didn’t seem to notice. It coalesced on a figure in the back, and Harry instantly felt the connection with Snape. He had come to the performance tonight without any warning to Harry, who stumbled slightly at the power in those eyes, even from a distance. He finished the dance, and his magic faded out. He said his next few lines and walked through the curtains to backstage.

After the show, he caught Snape loitering outside the theatre. “I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight.”

“Full moon, Potter. And I knew you’d be here. No need to announce myself early.”

“But what if I’d decided not to go on stage? Or what if it wasn’t supposed to happen until later, after I’d apparated elsewhere?” Harry was still a bit miffed.

“In either of those cases, I would simply have done what we are doing now -- talking after the show -- and then I would have gone with you wherever your instincts took you.”

“Oh,” he said, deflating a little. “Well, next time warn me anyway, okay?” He put his hands through his hair in exasperation, but he startled and looked up when Snape chuckled. “What’s funny?”

“You look adorable when you’re flustered.” Snape was smirking at him.

No, Snape was flirting with him. The world had definitely gone ‘round the twist. “Now I know you’re lying. I’ve never been adorable.” He looked around, but all his other cast members had already left and the place was deserted. “Do you wanna go for a coffee?”

Snape raised an eyebrow at him. “Caffeine is a stimulant. It’s too much for this late at night; I’d prefer a tisane of chamomile or lavender.”

“Oh, well, okay. If you know a place, can we go there?” Harry looked hopeful. Tisanes weren’t really his thing and he wouldn’t know a good shop from a bad one, so he hoped Snape had one in mind.

Snape nodded and said, “I do.” He took Harry’s arm and side-along apparated him to a little tea shop in Knockturn Alley that had a decent reputation and was open late, or so he told Harry. Harry shrugged and followed him inside. The place was pleasantly clean with a nice floral smell, though subtle, and the simple wooden furniture was well polished. They ordered their teas from the bar and sat down. Harry tapped his foot in nervousness as they silently waited. It wasn’t long before the teas were brought out.

“So, did you like the performance? Either one, in fact? I never asked you the last time.”

“Both were quite charming, even without the magical addition.” Snape sipped his chamomile.

Harry gulped his Earl Grey to calm his nerves and winced a little at the hot, citrusy beverage. At least he had asked for milk in it, so it wasn’t as hot as it could have been. “Good. Did you find out anything from the Hogwarts library?”

Snape looked away and frowned. “Not much more than your Granger did. I don’t know where this sort of creature inheritance would come from, or perhaps it was just fate on your part. However, you do seem to have manifested most of the traits of this Hare, including the colourblindness.”

Harry almost dropped his cup. “Really?”

“It seems that rabbits as a whole do not have red colour cones in their eyes. They only have blue and green.” He watched Harry slump in something like defeat. “That should be the least of your concerns, anyway, as roughly ten percent of the male population suffers from the same condition.”

Harry decided to whinge a little. “But I liked those reds.” He sighed, looking over at Snape and getting no sympathy there. “Anything else?”

“There was a lack of information about the anchor or center, but it is definitely a person with whom you will have a close bond. There is no indication of exactly how close or how the bond should be formed.”

“Great,” Harry muttered.

“May I suggest we go with your instincts? They have proven you right before and seem to be controlling the magic on their own, at least until we bond.”

“So you do think it’s you?” Harry asked a bit anxiously. He wasn’t sure he could take Snape’s rejection about this.

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Idiot. I just said we have to go off of your instincts. I have no such urges for these accounts.”

“Fine, fine.” He put his hands up in the air. “We’ll just play it by ear, then. How do you want to proceed? And don’t mock me. I’m not having any distinct urges about you right now and I just want to know how far you’re willing to go. Maybe we’re just supposed to be friends, or maybe you have to come to every full moon rising with me, or ...” and here Harry paused, “... maybe we’re supposed go much further.”

Snape’s countenance had gone rigid at the mention of mere friendship, but it melted into heat with those last words. “Oh, yes, Potter. Perhaps that indeed.”

Harry blushed and finished his tea.

--

They spent the next few weeks getting to know each other as adults, having dinners and late night teas, strolling through the holiday-lighted parks, and taking in a Christmas concert or two. Neither had a lot of time off, since they were both still working and Harry’s performances happened on weekends, but they snatched moments when they could. They partook of a lot of snogging and heavy petting, getting considerably more eager to cement their intimate relationship, but both held back for some reason. It left them yearning and frustrated but resigned to let the magic dictate.

Harry had already told Hermione about their development, and she, in turn, had told their friends so it wouldn’t be a surprise when Snape showed up to their occasional get-togethers. A few of them, Ron included, gave Harry worried glances when he met for drinks, as if to ask, “Are you sure you’ve got your head twisted on straight, mate?”

“I’m good,” he told them. “We reconnected at Hogwarts and found we had a lot in common.” They looked at him very oddly, but he chuckled. “He’s no longer my professor, so things are better between us.” When they still didn’t change their minds, he changed the topics.

At least, things were better, until Severus arrived for dinner on Thursday, December 20.

“Hi, Severus, come on in. The weather turned so cold yesterday that I thought we could have some warm, hearty, butternut squash soup. How went the end of term?” Harry flicked his wand and Snape’s traveling cloak sailed off to the front wardrobe, while the two of them walked back to the kitchen, the scent of cloves and garlic so heavy in the air that they could already taste it on their tongues.

“The miscreants were as rambunctious as ever,” he said in a tired tone.

Harry grinned. “That bad, huh? Well, you can have a sherry or a cocktail first, if you wish.”

“Sherry?” Snape sneered. “Have I cast a glamour to look like Trelawny, perhaps?”

Harry laughed out loud. “Sorry, I almost forgot about her. Hermione takes a sherry first thing when she comes over. Would you care for firewhisky then?”

“Please.”

“Coming right up.” He placed the glass in front of Snape, who’d sat down at the small dining table off to one corner of Harry’s flat. He sat across from him with his own glass in hand. “Soup’s all ready. We can eat whenever. Speaking of teachers, how’s McGonagall and the rest of the staff?”

Snape took a sip and gave him a stern expression, which asked if he really wanted to go there. “They are all fine. What about your friends? Any juicy tidbits or scandals?” He loved to ask after those things; it seemed to be a constant source of amusement for him to see hormonal teenage relationship problems continue beyond school. Harry knew he still called them all idiots.

“Seamus is on his third guy in a month. I’m not sure what his problem is. And Hermione’s going to pull Luna’s hair out over the Yule festivities tomorrow. Speaking of which, I was hoping you would join me.” He watched Snape’s face for a reaction.

Snape’s scowl was not the facial expression he was hoping for, though. It was mostly confused, although irritation was evident there as well. “What is this? I thought you had a performance for Yule?”

“Oh, we do, but it’s early -- 6 to 8 pm -- so all the revelers can go home and still celebrate. I’m scheduled to meet the girls at nine. I’d really like it if you’d come with me.” Harry took a large sip of his whisky. His stomach simmered with nervous energy.

Snape put his own glass down and leant forward, dark eyes embedding knives in Harry’s skin. “So let me get this straight. You have appearances tomorrow, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday Christmas Eve, which will take up your day and evening hours, and you’ve already mentioned you’ll be at the Burrow for Christmas and possibly Boxing Day as well, and now you wish to spend even more time with other people!”

“Hey, look, the holidays are a busy time and everyone wants a piece of everyone else’s attention. I thought we could share in that, at least.”

“And so my wish to have your sole attention is meaningless, is it?”

“I never said that! What I said is that I have friends and family who want to see me, and if we’re to be this weird bonded thing, I thought you could be a part of the family, too.”

“I have never been a part of that, Potter, nor have I ever cared to.”

“Maybe you’ve never tried!”

“Oh, so enjoying my peace and quiet in solitude is now a distinct failure of my character.”

“Stop it! There’s nothing wrong with you except being a great, reclusive git.”

“Then maybe I should take my seclusion elsewhere.” Snape stood up at that point, chair scraping the floor, and fled back to the entryway.

“No, wait, Snape!” He flung himself out of the chair in order to catch the man before he could disapparate. “Severus, please, don’t be like this. You can have a good time spending it with me.”

Snape cast his cloak on and wrenched open the door. “This farce of an anchor relationship ends now. Good day, Mr. Potter.” With that, he walked past the wards and disapparated away.

Harry stood there with his mouth catching only flies. He had no idea what went wrong or why Snape objected to a simple social gathering. And he couldn’t even ask the man as he had no idea where Snape’s residence was. Feeling dejected and concerned, he closed his front door and sank back into the chair in the kitchen. He watched the play of candlelight within the whisky and tried to ask his new stupid powers, “What now?”

They didn’t answer.

After a while, he arose to put away the soup. He was no longer hungry and he felt numb inside, which no food nor drink could dispel. He shuffled to his bed and lay in the dark, never having felt so alone before.

--

The next few days were stressful at best. He felt lackluster and exhausted, and his costumes felt like lead weights dragging him under. Yule was hard, since he kept wishing Snape could be there with him to light the log and laugh and wassail. The Burrow on Christmas Day was almost worse. He wasn’t able to hide his glum mood from the Weasleys, and Hermione finally took him aside to ask after Snape.

“It’s like we broke up because he didn’t want to share me.” He rubbed his forehead and temples, chasing trails of tension without success.

“That very well may be it, Harry. He’s used to his privacy and being rather cloistered up there at Hogwarts. And really, anyone in a new relationship tends to spend all their time with that other person, at least for starters. You’d only just begun, and so soon he sees you throwing social parties at him. I can’t fault him for being irritated.”

Harry sighed, his whole body drooping into the sofa. “Yeah, you’re probably right. But what about my anchor? What will happen at the next full moon, do you think? That bloody reference we found said I needed him.”

Hermione tried to reassure him. “If you’re sure he’s the one, then he’s the one. Maybe your bond doesn’t need to be a very deep one. Maybe as long as he’s here, somewhere in the UK, you’ll be alright. We won’t know until next week. In the meantime, you should owl him and apologise.”

Harry nodded his head in agreement, though not with enthusiasm. He was positive Snape wasn’t going to forgive him so easily.

--

Sure enough, he didn’t hear back from Snape. The week dragged by in quiet monotony with only one performance on Saturday. The full moon was on Sunday, and Harry, who had no desire to spring around like a furry rabbit in the middle of nowhere with snow-covered hills, attempted to drink himself out of it. Three shots in and he was gripped by the urge to get up and move. He fought it, but the chair was hard and the night was calling. Perhaps if he walked the flat it would settle him? But that didn’t help. It just made him more agitated, caged, feral. He poured another drink and knocked it back. It didn’t solve anything; instead, it added dizziness to the mix.

Couch, he thought. If he lay down, perhaps he wouldn’t have the strength to get up again. This worked for half a second, until his brain formed its own timpani section and began practising the opening processional hymn. He was up and out the door before he even knew it.

He had no clue where he was going. His feet walked two streets down and turned left, then another three and turned right. The night air was crisp and bit into his flesh. His breath made cute little clouds, and the snow crunched under his boots. He sobered up quickly and berated himself for both the absurdity of his attempt to get drunk and his inability to fight his instincts. Snape would sneer at him if he was close by.

But he wasn’t, and a deep sadness filled Harry. He’d lost something precious over a simple misunderstanding. Oh, he knew he’d try to see the man again when the term resumed at Hogwarts in January, but there was no guarantee that Snape would deign to meet with him. While still dwelling on this fact, he apparated away, letting fate take him where it would.

He appeared in the middle of another run-down old street. Mortar and brick were crumbling off the sides of the houses, and the roof shingles were curling up like old paint chips. Many of the glass windows were broken in, leaving behind ragged teeth that tore at what remained of the curtains, and much of the wood was riddled with termite holes. The yards looked like a homeless man’s beard, straggly and unkempt, full of weeds and dirt and grime, and there was the stench of dead things not far off. Harry felt sorry for anyone who had been reduced to living in such hovels. Well, he thought, maybe his overabundance of good luck could help these people -- it seemed to be what he was here for -- so with a deep breath, he began dancing.

It was a slow piece, with long swaying movements that dipped and lunged at counter intervals. It wasn’t even a real piece, just something sad and melodic that flitted through his head. His magic rose, thick and slow, and poured over the ground like lava. He felt it burn away the disease and the decay, replacing it with warmth and light.

A large portion of it gathered around him and then pushed out toward one house in particular. Harry felt it connect to the occupant there and he gasped in surprise. He had no idea Snape’s house was in a place like this.

He kept moving to his inner chorus as he willed his inner being into Snape. The man himself finally opened the door and stood watching Harry for a long time, his face hidden in shadow. Harry altered his dance, adding in a roll of hips and a glide of hands, something seductive and titillating. He kept his eyes on Snape, his expression open, holding nothing of himself back. He hoped it was enough. He hoped he was enough, even with all his failings and missteps.

For several long moments more, Snape merely observed this fae creature before him. There was tension in the air, anticipatory, but it never grew, just hung there, a mist waiting in the dark for sunrise. Time felt suspended, the only movement Harry’s undulations, until Snape started forward.

He walked with slow deliberateness toward Harry, whose eyes were large and pleading. He didn’t stop when he reached Harry, he just fell into step with him, their two bodies moving in tandem, their gazes locked in a tantric meeting of souls.

And then they were kissing -- slow, urgent, tender, fierce -- all of it rolled into one. Snape placed his hands on Harry’s waist as their bodies melded to one another, and Harry’s hands went into that jet black hair he’d been fantasising about. They pulled at each other and urged each other in slow sensual abandon.

The dance faded from Harry’s mind and his steps stopped. He released Snape’s mouth with a little pop but didn’t pull away. So much hung between them and he had to say something. “I’m sorry.”

Snape stared him down, cautious and waiting, but not menacing. “Go on.”

Harry licked his lips. “I misunderstood your motivations and intentions the other day, and I’m sorry for that. I do want to spend loads of time with you.”

Expression softening, Snape gave him a small nod. “Apology accepted. And I can be a bit difficult at times as well.”

Harry chuckled at that. “You don’t say.” He lowered his eyes in nervous anticipation. “I’m not obligated to be anywhere tomorrow. I mean, I was invited to join Ron for his typical New Year’s Eve party,” he felt Snape stiffen beneath his hands, “but I’d much rather spend it quietly here with you.” After a second’s hesitation, he glanced back up to wait for his answer.

Relaxing, Snape gave him a small smile and said, “A much better proposal, Mr. Potter.” He leant in and kissed Harry again, slow and deep and full of want. “And what of tonight?” he whispered into Harry’s lips.

Harry answered with a return kiss and a simple, “Yes.”

Snape led him back to his house and up to his bedroom, eyes smouldering all the way. Once inside, Snape pulled Harry to him, beginning again the sensual dance they’d enjoyed out in the street, kissing him, slow and sweet. Harry fell into the rhythm, into Snape, the pulse of the beats surrounding them, fueling their fire. Little by little they removed each piece of clothing, until nothing was hidden from the other. It was a worship, an exploration, even as they knelt on the bed together. Each touch was a joy, and each kiss was a yearning for more. It lasted for ages, a timeless moment that culminated in the moving triumph of their mutual ecstasies.

And even after, they continued to touch and couldn’t bear to be apart, so they slept soundly, spooned together.

--

It didn’t take long for Harry to move into Snape’s house. It was bigger for both of them and more accommodating for Snape’s needs (it had a potions lab in the basement, after all), and the neighbourhood was improving with alarming speed, thanks to Harry’s new abilities. It would take a while yet, but the area was flourishing and would one day surpass everyone’s hopes and dreams. People were buying up properties and making repairs, and the grounds were springing back with lush greenery and flowers. Harry felt truly happy for the first time in his life, and he could see in Snape’s eyes an equal happiness. Coworkers and friends alike couldn’t help but notice the positive change in both of them, so after one look, they all gave their blessings.

With Hermione’s help, Snape and Harry planned a small bonding ceremony for Monday, January 28, the night of the next, and incidentally seventh, full moon. Kingsley Shacklebolt presided as they said their vows to each other. There was great applause at their bonding kiss and they both looked radiant as they glided in a foxtrot across the dance floor, Harry’s magic coming out and bathing their friends in prosperity.

At some point later in the reception, Harry thought he spotted that woman again. He managed to slip away from his friends and husband long enough to corner her leaving the garden were the wedding had taken place.

“Uhm, wait, Ceridwen?” he said, still uncertain of Hermione’s estimation.

But the woman turned when addressed and smiled at him. “Hello, Taliesin. Congratulations on your bonding.”

Harry smiled back. “Thanks. And thank you for your advice, even if it was a bit riddlesome at first.”

“It is good to have you back in the world, Taliesin. You are needed.” She gave him a fond smile.

Harry was a little surprised by her statement, but he’d been wondering about it since Yule. “So I take it I’ll still be hopping around and dancing and giving off magic for years to come?”

“Yes, but you have your mate, so it will be easier now. Let your inner wisdom guide you.” She smiled one more time and then walked away, disappearing into the night.

Harry watched her go, feeling light and calm. He took it all in for a moment, smiled, and returned to the party.

And every full moon after that, Harry felt the urge to appear before some downtrodden soul and perform, releasing a small bit of his magic to lift them up out of despair. Snape came with him every time, basking in the surge of Harry’s magic and watching his lover’s graceful dance.

It was a peaceful way to save others, and Harry couldn’t be more content.


-The End-