This story has slashy undertones. If you do not like slash, leave now.

Illusion

By RaeC

No one ever claimed that Severus Snape was nice. Most would claim the greasy-haired git of a Potions master to be harsh, even cruel. Especially if you were a Gryffindor. Which didn't explain Albus' lunacy in placing him in charge of the snivelling brats on the way to London. Just because Voldemort was a smoking pile of ash fertilizing the undergrowth of the Forbidden Forest, did not mean that Severus wished to leave the peace and protection of Hogwarts. And he most certainly did not wish to accompany a pack of raving lunatics celebrating the fall of the Dark Lord upon their early return home.

Severus wanted to celebrate in his own way. With his own house. And in silence. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in his dungeons, in his potions, and forget for the next four months that anything beyond his rooms existed. No Dark Lord demanding his attention and suffering at all hours of the night. No Headmaster with his suspiciously cheerful grins and meticulous manipulations that were, at times, worse than any spell cast by Voldemort. And particularly, no Harry Potter.

But the call of his dungeons would have to wait. Albus needed his expertise, yet again. Something only Severus could do, he said. Watch the boy. So…as a favour to the Headmaster, Severus boarded the Hogwart's Express to, ostensibly, control the little cretins with the other Heads of House, but in reality to observe Potter. If he could find the brat first. His life was on hold once more due to Dumbledore's favourite Golden Boy.

Severus searched the train from beginning to end, nearly overlooking Harry hidden in the last car. Why, of all the compartments on the train, did Potter choose an empty one? No way to simply overhear a conversation and report his findings back to Dumbledore. He would have to carry on a conversation with the boy himself. He sneered at Harry as he entered the empty compartment. "Not sitting with your comrades in arms, Potter?"

"No." Harry offered no further explanation as Severus sat down. Annoyed with the clipped answer, he waited anticipating the moment that the boy would break the silence. He needed to vent and having Harry Potter at his disposal for three hours was just too good an opportunity to waste.

Unfortunately, the boy would not cooperate with his plans. He merely turned back to the passing scenery becoming lost in his own thoughts yet again, his face a mass of conflicting emotion carefully concealed unless you knew what to look for. He resembled 'the forgotten, unwanted child brimming with anger waiting to lash out at the world' more than the image of the perfect Gryffindor.

The first hour passed in silence, broken only by harsh breathing, joyous screeching in the passageway and the clicking of the wheels over the rails. Inside the compartment, it was too calm, too quiet, and too oppressive for someone just ending his academic career and embarking on who knows what escapades. Even Albus was in the dark over the boy's plans for the future and Harry didn't seem inclined to share.

Harry barely moved. If it weren't for the rise and fall of his chest and the occasional shifting in his seat, Severus would have thought the boy dead. His hair looked as if it was sculpted into a dark glossy mess, his eyes dark with suppressed emotion and a glamourie concealed a multitude of sins on his skin. He'd taken stillness and turned it into an art form.

"See something you like, Professor?" Harry purred his invitation as he turned his attention to Severus. Heat, desire, and something else flashed in the boy's eyes. Directed at him.

Shocked, Severus reared back into the seat as if he'd been slapped. "I am merely trying to determine why you are secreted away in the back of the train when your fan club is no doubt searching high and low for you."

The need Snape saw in Potter's eyes quickly faded. Just as he imagined…Potter was playing games.

"My 'fan club' can go bugger themselves."

Snarling, Severus waved his hand at the door. "Then why aren't you at least out there with the rest of the idiots celebrating The Death of Voldemort?"

"Not interested."

"Surely you, of all people, would be relieved now that that madman is dead, Potter?" Severus carefully catalogued Harry's reactions.

"Of course he's dead, Professor." Bright green eyes completely guileless met his own, "I killed him."

This was not how he viewed the boy – the Saviour of the Wizarding World – son of James and Lily Potter, the most popular boy in school did not plot and brood. He didn't wallow in the blood of another. And he most certainly did not proposition his teachers. Gryffindors were happy, carefree children with nothing more on their minds but the next prank.

"How." The question everyone wanted an answer to. Severus leaned forward, using his body and the power of his position to his advantage. Of course, it was assumed that the boy had killed Voldemort, but no one knew for sure and Potter hadn't disabused them of the notion. He'd been found exhausted, drained, and nearly insensible surrounded by the ashes of Death Eaters, Voldemort's wand burned into his hand.

Reminded of the injury, Snape glanced at the boy's hand. Nothing. After two days, nothing remained, no redness, no swelling, no scar. For injury that severe left for so long before help arrived, there should have been some indication of the incident.

Harry leaned forward until he was within Severus' personal space, whispering as if he was imparting a great confidence. "With my wand."

Harry smirked and relaxed against his seat, arranging his robes around his legs. He held his own council, guarding his secrets jealously. Just one more to add to the many hidden depths of Potter's soul. A soul not as innocent as he'd been led to believe or expect.

There were scars on the boy that went deeper than the one that had been burnt into his palm, hidden more carefully than the masks that Severus was beginning to realize Potter wore everyday. Episodes of his life not fully understood or dealt with, which happened long before the Wizarding World thrust itself upon the shoulders of a boy not old enough handle his fame.

"I'd expect that answer from one of my Slytherins, but not you. You're too much of a Gryffindor to believe that death could be a good thing."

"I never said I was a Gryffindor, Professor." Again with that infuriating, taunting smile. "You did."

"Potter, you've lived in Gryffindor Tower for the last seven years of your life..."

Harry cut him off. "Yes, I have," he agreed amiably.

"Then what the blazes are you talking about, boy?" Potter flinched minutely before gathering his walls around himself again; the crack sealed firmly.

"Tell me, Professor. How long do you think I would have lasted in say, Slytherin?" The boy stood and started digging into his trunk. "One month? Two? A year? " He called from inside the piece of luggage. "Or Ravenclaw, surrounded by students who barely pulled their heads out of their books to see what else is going on? The plodding Hufflepuffs who'd take forever to realize there was danger at hand without someone else to guide them?" Grinning in triumph, Harry closed his trunk, a book firmly held against his body and sat back down. "No, I was much safer in the house that Godric built."

"You are most likely correct."

"I know I am." The boy had the nerve to grin.

"So what are your plans now that you've managed to kill Voldemort?"

The boy's eyes bored into him, as if Harry was searching for something, weighing his worth, how much information to give away before it became 'too much'. And found him wanting. Severus bristled as Potter hid behind his walls yet again. "Get a job. Grow old. Die happy."

"We've covered your long term goals, what about the short term? Where are you planning on staying?"

"Professor, forgive me for saying so, but bugger off. My plans are my own. They don't concern you, Dumbledore, or the Wizarding World." Harry opened his book signalling the end of his participation in their conversation. For now, Severus would concede defeat. The boy would have made a remarkable Slytherin.

---

The train past the halfway mark before either of them spoke again.

"Are you going to stare at me the entire way to London?" Potter hadn't looked up from his book once, yet seemed aware of every move Severus made.

"I didn't realize my presence was so taxing, Mr. Potter."

"Shouldn't you be off saving the train from the, er…what's that word you always use?"

"Idiots? Dunderheads? Failed specimens of the human race?"

"Yes, those."

"I would, but I fear I might not be able to find my seat again."

"Why's that?"

Because it was the only section of the train that wasn't filled with screaming brats, that's why. "It might have slipped your notice, Potter, but you are a fully trained Wizard licensed to do magic. What's to prevent you from making this compartment disappear?"

There was an enigmatic smile on the boy's face. "Absolutely nothing, Professor."

"My point exactly."

Harry snickered, annoying Severus further. He had absolutely no doubt that the boy would have locked him out of the car until they arrived at Platform 9 and ¾, trapping him with the noise and hormonal teenagers on the rest of the train.

Until today, Severus would have sworn the boy was nothing more than one of those hormonally led teenagers he was currently avoiding. One easily impressed by a casual display of power, tricked by false promises, and naively trusting. Seven years of constant bickering and many detentions, had given Severus a false impression of the boy. A false assumption he was positive Potter cultivated.

Did anyone know the boy at all? Was this 'unknown' quality the reason that Weasley had attacked his best friend in the middle of the night? Literally, stabbing Potter in the back?

Potter slammed his book shut and tossed it on the seat. "What do you want, Professor?"

"To understand you."

"There's nothing to understand. Voldemort's dead. I did what you all wanted. Now I'm leaving. It's very simple."

"And leave your celebrity status behind? I'm surprised, Potter."

Annoyed, the boy picked up his book again. "You're more than welcome to it, Professor. Now, if you don't mind…"

Severus did mind. He wasn't getting any closer to discovering Potter's plans for the future and he had less than two hours left. "Pity you didn't take as much of an interest in your studies as you are that book. You might have graduated with higher marks."

"I didn't need 'marks', Professor. I'm The Bloody Boy Who Lived, or did you somehow manage to forget?"

"Hardly."

Harry tossed the book into Snape's lap, snickering as he did so. The Making of a Dark Lord 101. The humour didn't quite reach his eyes. "It was a joke that Hermione started in our 5th year. I've been working on it ever since."

The boy rose from his seat and moved closer to Severus. "What do you think, Professor?" The boy's hand brushed across Snape's thigh as he opened the book. "The history of Voldemort in all its glory. Chapter One – Muggles and Orphans, the fallacy of equality."

"Not every orphan becomes a harebrained maniac, Mr. Potter."

"No…just the really good ones, Professor."

A small surge of magic rippled through the compartment as Harry pulled away. A surge not unlike that of an adolescent adjusting to its newly released power source during puberty. Only this was more controlled, caressing rather than invading. Inviting. Addictive.

"Po…pot," Severus cleared his throat and pushed the boy away. "Mr. Potter, that's your side of the compartment. This is mine. Move." His voice didn't quite have the commanding tone he was used to, but at least he didn't stumble over the boy's name this time.

"Why? I like it just fine right here." Harry settled back, resting his head against the cushion. "Besides, your side is softer."

"As befits my age and position." Severus tugged at his robes, straightening out the wrinkles and loosening the top buttons. It was growing increasingly uncomfortable and hot in the small room as Harry soon demonstrated by removing his over-robe.

"How can you wear such restrictive clothing, Professor?" Harry began to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. Pale lines criss-crossed his forearms in stark relief against the boy's tan. It was the first time, Snape had seen them since Harry's first glamourie had failed.

"They hide a multitude of sins," he said softly. Severus traced one of the marks, his finger sliding over the strangely hard/smooth flesh before Harry jerked his arm away and jumped to his feet.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, Potter." Snape wanted to comfort the boy, but he was at a loss as to how. Yet another in a long never ending trail of failures.

The constant infiltration of Hogwarts by Voldemort himself and his minions during Harry's 1st, 2nd, and 4th year. The first time Harry was captured, his blood mixed with that of his greatest enemy, extending the protection given to him by his mother to a bedlamite.

His inability to protect Harry from Sirius Black in his 3rd year. Granted, he had heard rumours the mutt was innocent, but at the time, Severus didn't know that.

Potter's capture by Lucius over the Christmas Holiday in his 6th year. It was two days before anyone noticed the boy was missing and another three before Draco staggered into the Great Hall supporting Harry, both tired and in need of a hot bath and food.

The death of Lupin sent on a suicide mission into a Death Eater enclave by Dumbledore the summer before Potter's 6th year.

And the final insult, allowing the dangerous situation to develop in Gryffindor Tower to the point where Potter was not even safe from his closest friends. The spell hiding the damage inflicted by Lucius and company ended then as his body sought to preserve its resources to fight a more important battle than dignity. Life.

It was a wonder the boy was sane. Or that he spoke to Severus at all. By all rights, Potter should be running away from him as fast as humanly possible. Not touching him. Not leaning over into his face, anger contorting the familiar features into a masculine version of Lily Evans railing at yet another injustice, hands fisted into his robes.

"I'm not ashamed." Harry spat. "I'm angry. I'm bitter. I want to pound something until it breaks, but I am not ashamed. I earned every one of these scars. Each one is a badge of honour. I survived. Don't pity me, Professor. Don't you dare."

Raw power surged through the compartment nearly drowning him in pleasure. The massive flow fell from Potter's hands as they flexed on his chest and sent his body into orgasm.

He'd thought Potter's control over his magic had weakened again until the boy spoke, "Just one of the many tricks I've learned at the hands of Lucius Malfoy, Professor. I'm sure you remember it."

Gasping, Severus tried to control his breathing, shocked at the boy's gall. Yes, he did remember that particular tactic. It's one of the reasons he abhorred sexual activity for so long after 'leaving' the Death Eaters the first time. It was highly addictive and Severus at that moment wanted Potter to repeat his actions. Severus clenched his hands, rage at his inability to control his own body rushed through him, barely allowing him to form two words.

The boy stood over him smirking, a smile that until today, he'd never seen on the boy's face. Knowledge in his ability to control other people. A type of self confidence blended with a healthy dose of conceit that he'd never associated with Potter. Something within the boy was broken and broken badly. For the first time, Severus felt a frisson of fear at being in the enclosed space alone with the young wizard. He hadn't had control of the situation since he'd entered the room.

"Do yourself a favour, Professor. Leave." Potter sat back down in his seat as if nothing had happened, reopened his book, and continued his plan of ignoring Snape.

Severus took several deep breaths and opened his mouth to say something biting, but nothing came out; the screeching of brakes and the train shuddering to a halt made too much noise for anything to be heard regardless.

"You know what?" Harry exclaimed as his slammed his book shut. "I think I'll leave. I'd like to say it's been a pleasure knowing you, but we'd both know I'm lying." The boy smirked again as he tossed his book back in his trunk and slammed it shut.

Severus stood. "Do me one favour, Potter?"

Potter opened the door his back to Severus and the compartment filled with the sound of laughter and joyful calls to family members. "What's that, Professor?"

"Don't procreate."

"I sincerely doubt you'll have to worry about that."

"And why's that, Potter?" Severus raised an eyebrow in the boy's direction.

"Love is for other people, Professor. Not me."

And with that, Potter left, the door snicking shut.

Once again, Severus was alone, with the quiet and his thoughts. Thoughts that centred around Harry Potter and the fact that the boy was no longer a boy, no longer innocent, and very much a mystery.

Severus Snape didn't like mysteries.

--The End--