Precipice
Chapter 1: His Mysterious Manner
Severus Snape was a complicated, mysterious man. He was both otherworldly in his secrecy and grounding in his somewhat unorthodox teaching methods. He moved with a purposeful and cat-like grace (somehow too slowly yet too swiftly); spoke in serpentine whispers and sonorous vibrations; devoured his surroundings with hard, piercing eyes that possessed the warmth and color of depthless obsidian.
It seemed that, in efforts to soften his harshness, the gods themselves had bestowed upon him the soft black hair that waltzed gently over his shoulder blades and the long, strong, elegant fingers that were so careful in their precision; the tall, almost femininely slim yet capable figure and straight, tapering back.
Or so the sum of his parts was to Harry Potter.
The boy sighed deeply in his chest, lamenting his fate for the umpteenth time. There always seemed to be something wrong in his life, or it just wouldn't be completely his, it seemed.
Not that it was, of course, wrong to be infatuated with Severus Snape, or even with a professor, or even with a man. It was just wrong for him.
And, as usual, there was nothing he could do about it. As with everything else, he would have to go with it, not against it. He would have to seek out the solution to the problem, solve the flaw in the plan, and make the wrong right. That seemed to be his sole purpose in life. He could not fathom actually being happy, though many would point out that he often already was, or seemed very convincingly to be quite often.
If he were to more accurately diagnose the root and cause of his depression, he would realize it to be born of loneliness, alienation, and of course, his fairly abusive childhood history.
The child in him recognized Professor Snape as an ally, as someone who had the capacity to understand him, to protect him. He was strong, and he was smart. The burgeoning adult in him noticed that he was uniquely attractive in a sinister and unusual way. He also possessed an innate darkness that mirrored the same in Harry's own soul, that which he was afraid to explore or to express.
He had carried the burden of his feelings for the professor for a little over a month now. They had simmered and stewed and grown and developed quickly (much like one of Snape's beloved potions). Becoming infatuated with Snape was rather like falling into a precipice for Harry; just as swift, unknown and frightening.
It had happened just after his professor had caught him illicitly viewing his memories in the pensieve. Just after Snape had recognized the pity in his eyes and rejected it. After he had grabbed him by the collar and threw him towards the door, ordering him in his most dangerous tone of voice to 'get out'.
After the door had slammed shut behind him, and he was gulping in fearful breaths to steady himself beyond it, Harry had fallen for his professor. The combination of the sorrow he had felt for the boy Snape had been, the realization of how powerful a wizard he had made himself despite his wretched beginnings, and the scary welling up of his first ever pangs of arousal at having been physically ejected from the room by the much taller and more powerful man, were all too much for him to fully comprehend. He was awed, afraid and overwhelmed.
This must be what love feels like, he had thought.
'It has to be love,' he thought desperately as he watched his professor turn towards him as if in slow motion, his hair fanning out around his back as his robes did the same, those black eyes boring into his wide, hungry ones. Snape leaned forward on his desk, never breaking eye contact with his famous student.
"Mr. Potter!" Snape bit out suddenly, his voice sharp as the crack of a whip.
Harry literally jumped in his seat, wondering why the man felt the need to shout at him like that when he was paying him the most devout of attention.
"It seems you have almost managed to perfect the art of appearing to watch me intently while at the same time not hearing a word I've said. Well done." His voice oozed with sardonic revulsion. The classroom erupted with nervous titters from several of the Gryffindors (not being able to help themselves at so humorous a moment) and snide guffaws from the majority of the Slytherins.
Harry's stomach jolted with excitement. There must be something seriously wrong with him, he thought angrily. Several things, at the very least.
"Enough." Snape effectively silenced the room with the quietly uttered command. His eyes narrowed on Harry once more.
"Detention, seven p.m., with me, Potter." He sneered at the boy one last time and returned to the lesson at hand.
Harry strained to pay attention despite the excruciating thrill of anticipation coursing through his very veins.
Something very wrong, indeed….