Severus couldn't understand how this was happening. Even while it was happening, he couldn't understand how it was happening. True, he didn't hate the boy, hadn't hated him since probably his six or seventh year at Hogwarts. It had simply become too much effort. He wasn't enough like James to keep it up. But four years of simply not hating someone anymore didn't lay the foundation for the kind of behavior they were now engaging in. And it was true that during wars people always seemed to find the strangest bedfellows. He had never been involved in it, but he had watched it happen over and over again. In the Death Eater ranks during the first war and in the Order now. Regulus and Bellatrix? Remus and Tonks? Surely, from an outside perspective, they were almost as strange a coupling as what was happening now.

And as he reached that line of thought what was happening seemed to crash in on him all at once with as much force as when it had first began. Yes, Harry Potter was still kissing him. He had his right hand caught up in his hair, gripping it rather hard, and his left hand was on his hip pulling it forward in an almost avaricious way, grinding Snape's growing erection into Harry's. Severus' hands had snuck their way around while he was distracted; one was on the back of Potter's neck, making sure he didn't pull away, and the other was on working it's way down Potter's spine, trailing slowly until it reached the curve of Potter's arse and then gripped it firmly. Potter moaned wretchedly into his mouth, his fingers coming quickly to the buttons on Snape's shirt and making quick, if a bit clumsy, work of them. A shove towards his shoulders and Snape let the garment fall away. Potter gasped softly. There was a moment then, where he could have turned away. He could have run, and the mutual embarrassment would have kept Potter from ever mentioning this again, he was sure. But then Potter brought his fingers up and ran them down the length of the scar on his chest. He looked back up into his eyes, pity written on his face. Snape growled. That was the last thing he needed right now. He grabbed Potter's face with both his hands and pulled him into a kiss so hard it was painful, but Potter kissed him back just as savagely. Snape grabbed Potter's thin t-shirt and yanked it over his head. He took a moment to appreciate the pale, lithe, unblemished skin while he kicked off his shoes. He lowered his trousers while Harry kissed his neck and suddenly, off-balance, they fell to the floor. Snape didn't care. He reached down blindly for the button on Harry's jeans, but Harry was drawing back. Snape was momentarily alarmed. Then he felt hot breath through the thin silk of his pants and the warm pressure of a hand slowly massaging his cock through the fabric.

Snape looked down and saw that Harry was staring up at him with an almost curious expression. He had knelt between Snape's legs and all his earlier urgency seemed to have left him as he slowly stroked his member. Snape nearly shouted at him in frustration but he managed a slightly strangled, "Get on with it, then, Potter," and Harry laughed softly.

"Yes, Professor," he replied insolently and Snape rolled his eyes, but when Potter pulled down his pants and took his cock in his warm, wet, soft, pink, oh, Merlin, heavenly mouth, he forgot his retort, he forgot how strange and wrong and inexplicable this was, he might have forgotten his own name. All he could say, over and over in quiet whispers, was, "Harry..."

Harry hadn't left 12, Grimmauld Place in slightly over two years. No opportunity to lounge, though; he had dueling practice in the basement every day with a different Order member. Tonks was always fun, but too clumsy to be much of a challenge. Remus didn't seem to try too hard to hit Harry with anything, and Harry liked Remus too much to try very hard, either. Shacklebolt was alright, but he would stop the training every few minutes to talk about curse theory, about why Harry might want to choose different spells or how he had left his right side open and he really shouldn't do that. Hermione and the Weasleys weren't allowed to practice with him anymore as all they ever ended up doing was talking and catching up; he so rarely got to see his friends. Snape never spoke, just fired curse after curse at him until he was exhausted. After these brutal sessions Harry rather thought he might be ready for Voldemort after all.

The house had been taken off of the Floo network. Owls were restricted to emergencies only and all other correspondence had to be sent to Hogwarts, Care Of. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been communicating through Dumbledore, but as he came so rarely in the last year their letters had slowed to a crawl. He usually only had contact with them when they could come to the house, but their positions in the Ministry made it hard for them to slip away unnoticed. Harry missed hearing from them.

That night, Snape handed him a bundle with a few letters in it and it was the first time Harry thought that the Potions Master might not hate him anymore.

"I brought you your letters. You may read them now if you like," he said, setting the letters on the table and walking down the stairs to the basement to begin their lesson. Harry marveled at the letters for a few moments. He left them sit before following Snape down to the basement, preferring to save them for later. Had Snape brought the letters himself? Or had Dumbledore told him to? It certainly sounded as though Snape had thought to bring them on his own. And he couldn't think why Snape would try to take credit for them if Dumbledore really had simply asked him to drop them off. It's not as though Snape was the kind of person to lie about something as menial as that.

For some reason Harry couldn't get his mind off the letters as Snape fired curse after curse at him. It made him a bit slow, something that was noticed and immediately punished by faster, stronger spellwork. Perhaps Snape did still hate him...

They finished two hours later, Snape pushing him harder than he could ever remember. The man had even removed his outer robes and long-sleeve shirt, so they were both in sweat-drenched trousers and undershirts as they cleaned up the basement. It was the first time Harry had seen Snape without sleeves. The Dark Mark was still black against his skin. His arms and shoulders were rather stockier than Harry would have thought. The man was actually built pretty well.

"You were distracted today," Snape said. It was the first time he had spoken to Harry during a lesson.

"Er, what? Was I, Professor?"

"It was obvious. Every time we have dueled you grow quicker and sharper. You are getting a sense of timing and can anticipate most of my spells rather well. Today you nearly let three curses hit you. Something aside from your health and well-being was taking up space in that head of yours." Snape shrugged his shirt back on and started doing up the buttons. Harry stared at him. He noticed, and looked uncomfortable. "What, Potter?"

"Did you just compliment me, sir?"

Snape fixed him with a stern look. "I asked you what is so much more important than your ability to not get yourself killed by the Dark Lord when he decides to come for you."

It was Harry's turn to be uncomfortable. "Oh, er, well. Just, nothing." It seemed Snape wasn't prepared to accept that answer. "I just - thanks," he said lamely.

"What exactly are you thanking me for, Potter?"

"For the letters, sir. From my friends. Thank you for bringing them. You know. Even if Dumbledore told you to. I still appreciate it." Harry turned quickly to collect his own robes from the ground.

Snape was silent for a moment. "If the mystery of what those letters say is so distracting, Potter, you could have taken a moment to read them before you came down. It's no use practicing if you're going to be useless," he said scathingly.

Harry stood and turned back to the older man. "No, that's not what I - I'm not thinking about what the letters say. I'm sure they say the same things they do every time."

"Then what was so distracting?"

"I don't, I... I'm just. Glad you brought them is all." Harry scowled and started up the stairs. "Can't you just say 'you're welcome' like a normal person?" he added under his breath.

"Dumbledore didn't tell me to bring them," Snape said quietly. Harry paused, but he really couldn't think of anything to say to that, so he kept up the stairs to the kitchen.

Harry had been planning on going straight to the shower, but everyone was in the kitchen. It was so crowded there was barely enough room for himself and Snape, crowded at the door to the basement. Everyone was talking over each other. Harry could feel Snape tensing behind him. He wondered what was going on. At that moment Dumbledore came in through the other doorway. A hush quickly fell.

"The time is almost upon us," he said quietly. "I have finished my mission that I started what feels like a lifetime ago. And now that it's finished I may tell you all what it is I have been doing." His eyes scanned the room before he spoke, meeting with Snape's for a fraction of a second. "Severus," he said softly, then turned back to the rest of the Order.

"Come, Potter," Snape said quietly.

Harry twisted around to look incredulously at Snape. He was gesturing at the door to the basement. "Leave? What? Are you mad? This is important, this is-"

"Less important than what I am about to tell you. Come. I will disclose to you Dumbledore's announcement, but we must take care of something else first."

With a sense of deprival and a great amount of confusion Harry allowed Snape to pull him back down to the basement.

"What's going on?" He demanded immediately. "What's Dumbledore saying? Why can't I listen with everyone else?"

Snape took his time removing his wand from his robes and fiddling with it. Clearly Snape was uneasy or agitated, enough that he was showing signs of it. This could not be good news.

"I will tell you what Dumbledore is saying. But first I have to perform a spell." Snape paused. He did not look at Harry. "On you."

Harry stared at him. "What is this all about, Snape? You have to put a spell on me? You better tell me exactly what's going on."

At that, Snape looked up with a hint of a smirk on his face. "Oh, but I can't."

"You said you would tell me!"

He raised an eyebrow. "I can tell you. After I perform the spell."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Well, what kind of spell is it, then."

"I can't tell you. Until after it's been cast."

Harry shook his head. "This is mad. You can't just cast spells on me with out telling me what they are."

"Sit down, Potter."

Harry looked around. As he already knew, there was no where to sit. When he looked back, Snape was settling himself cross-legged on the floor. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

"Look, can I talk to Dumbledore?"

"No. Sit."

"I don't want to do this, Snape. No offence, but this is really weird, and I don't think-"

"Sit, Potter."

Harry sat.

Snape leveled a look at Harry. "You saw very clearly that Dumbledore meant for me to take you away from that meeting, do you disagree? What was that?"

"I said no, sir," he repeated sullenly.

"He knows exactly what I am doing. He is the one that realized it needed doing in the first place. I don't suppose you will believe this, but regardless. I can... sympathize with your position."

"My what?"

"Merlin, save me," Snape muttered. "I know it is difficult to accept that this spell must be cast on you without answers regarding why or what it will do. Especially since it will be almost certainly intolerably painful. But you will be furnished with all the information you desire once the spell is complete."

"I still don't think -"

"It hardly matters what you think at this point, boy," Snape snapped. Harry drew back. "It is what must happen. I assure you that once it is complete, not only will you be one very large step closer to your goal but you will wish it could have been done years ago." He sighed. "No more talking. None, you understand?"

Harry opened his mouth but was silenced by a gesture from Snape. The man was digging in an inside pocket. He drew out a small jewelry box and a piece of chalk. He placed the box open on the floor between them and drew a circle around it. He leaned over and used his thumb to smudge the circle and make an opening at the point closest to Harry. He watched all this with confusion. Snape had said it would hurt. Harry didn't understand. Was this some kind of pentacle? Was this Dark Magic? What was the box for? With no reassurance from Dumbledore Harry had half a mind to get up and run from the basement.

Snape took out his wand. He pointed it directly at Harry's scar and started muttering quiet Latin phrases, aenean at aliena tibi vasa ex aere et aethere, domi, non potest non esse, quia hoc uas... Harry's anticipation and a strange tingling sensation behind his scar grew with every syllable. He was immobile, he couldn't run now if he wanted to. The tingling grew into pain, hotter and hotter, as though something was burning his skull from the inside out. Something was pushing, pulling, piercing, expanding, forcing, something, something terrible was happening in his mind, like a fiery tumor was being excised with no anesthesia. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't hear Snape's spellwork or see the dusty basement or feel his heart beating anymore all that existed was pain. So much that the pain became Harry's entire world. There was no memory of past, no hope for future. For a moment, for an eternity, he was suspended in writhing agony.

Suddenly the pain dropped off. His head still hurt an incredible amount, but for now it was less than it used to be and he shoved the thoughts aside. He tried to catch his bearings. He could hear voices talking quietly, but he couldn't understand them. He tried to open his eyes but it felt like they were stuck. He tried to wiggle his fingers; he could, but the effort required was too much to make the exercise worthwhile. He tried concentrating on the voices.

"But you saw it go to the box, you physically saw it?"

"Yes, I saw it physically rip out of the boy's skull and then make it's way to the box. Yes, it's in the box. It's safe in the damn box, Dumbledore. But who knows if Potter will ever move again? I repaired the bone and skin with my wand and applied a numbing agent to his entire face but that will do little to help if it ripped parts of his brain! There is no magic that can fix brain damage."

"Did you see rips in his brain?"

"No, but he was covered in blood I could barely see a thing."

"Nothing we can do now but put him to bed until he recovers. Wait and hope."

"If he recovers."

"That's hardly helpful, Severus. It had to be done. We knew there were risks. We weren't completely sure it would even work. But this was the best way to weaken Voldemort. And it is the only way that Harry has a chance of living beyond the war."

Harry felt hands, arms, lifting him. His head fell back without the strength to keep it steady. Someone lifted his head so it rested in the crook of a shoulder and he lost consciousness as he was carried up the stairs.

a/n: If someone wants to have a go at writing a better/longer/more detailed opening scene that'd be lovely, just drop me a PM. I've never really written smut before, but I think Harry/Snape pieces are better for having it. I think seeing their intimacy is big part of being able to have a believable transition from canon! Harry and Snape to the Harry and Snape that you want to see. I'm trying to work on overcoming my inability to write smut but I thought I'd throw it out there. And if anyone would like to perhaps consider being my... "smut beta"... for upcoming chapters send me a message as well.