Nobody ever asked my birthday


Harry Potter had a goal, for sitting on top of the Astronomy tower. He wanted to figure out how to tell Hermione that she wasn't the sole source of answers, and though hers were wonderful, she needed to let other people take a turn sometime, even if their right answer was different from hers.

That wasn't really what Harry was up here thinking about He was stewing, worrying his own fingernails into his thighs. Harry had been watchin Snape these last couple of days. It wasn't all that unusual for Snape to study Harry, come to think of it. It had been part of what had prompted Harry and his friends to think Snape was trying to steal the Philosopher's stone*, after all. Those had been glares, the hard eyed stare that reminded Harry not of Uncle Vernon, but of Aunt Petunia's icy gaze. He'd felt just as much outrage because of it, too.

Over the summer and through the fall, Harry had found Snape giving him considering glances. Thoughtful, interested. Still watchful, the quiet of someone truly listening, even when Snape was at the high table, and couldn't possibly hear Harry without some sort of charm. Not that Harry would put that past Snape - Mr. Nobody Talk To Me I'm Eating.

Harry, however, was distinctly more uncomfortable with the glares Snape had been sending him.

Shit. Harry found the framework slotting into place. Those were the looks Snape had shot the Marauders. And Harry was certain Snape had thought of them as despicable cowards.

It had been cowardly, hadn't it, not just asking Snape?

Harry wanted to bury his head in his hands. He'd ruined something, and for what?

Worse, he well remembered Snape's words about Snape needing something to tell the Dark Lord.


How was Harry supposed to tell Snape, NOW?

He'd be lucky to get to see his heart, before Snape finished murdering him.

Why hadn't he said something then?

Snape would, at the very least, just slam the door in Harry's face. Harry wasn't going to be able to get him to open up. Not even for critical information.

Harry needed to do something... Maybe, maybe if he gave Hermione a note...

He was still pondering thoughts when he fell asleep.

Harry woke to Flint, the ugliest lad in Hogwarts. He tried to simply sit up, not scootch away in fear.

"Mister Potter. Apparently you lack the common sense to sleep on your downy bed, and instead have decided that flagstones make a wonderful place to nap."

"Erk." Harry managed, still fuzzy around the edges as he rubbed at his glasses.

"Up you get." Flint said gruffly, "You're after curfew, but seeing as though you haven't encouraged anyone else to aid in your lawbreaking... Which is rather refreshing I might add. I think if you go straight back, I'll let you off with a warning."

"Thank you," Harry said.

"Straight back or you'll regret it," Flint said.

*I am American. We will be using Proper Names here, not stupid made-up things like Sorceror's Stone. Hmph!

[Reviews welcome! I'm not procrastinating here, and yes, Harry is an idiot.]