Chapter 8

I'm genuinely sorry for how long it has taken me to get this chapter out- I've been madly busy but have also had a bit of a block about where I was going to take the story. I like to think I've overcome it somewhat and have a rough idea on where it will go.

For those of you asking for a chapter from Snape's POV…I'm working on it, though it's much more challenging than I thought (kudos to all of you who seem to write so effortlessly as him- I'm finding it super difficult to connect with my inner Severus!) but it is my plan to develop the story using a chapter(s) from his side of the fence.

Not much Harry-Snape interaction in this one but it's dealing with the ramifications of the kiss…more for the next update I promise!

Warnings: Bit of swearing in this one. You've been forewarned if this kind of thing upsets your sensibilities…

As ever, please let me know what you think!

"Life is messy. That's how we're made." – Grey's Anatomy

Harry came to and opened an eyelid, allowing a sliver of bright sunlight to filter through. He groaned as said sliver punctured through his pressurised, throbbing eyeball in to his pounding head. Nausea flipped through his stomach as he tried to remember why there was a curious nagging feeling in his brain. Something that told him that something had happened last night, and that something had apparently been preceded by copious amounts of mixed alcoholic beverages.

Harry tried not to wince at the intensive pain in his head after his summons to Emmy had emerged as a dry croak, and had to try hard not to cry out at her answering crack as she appeared in front of him, her face creased in concern.

"It's ok, Emmy," Harry smiled weakly, trying to head off any high-pitched elf squeak "It's just that punch is not my friend. Would you be kind enough as to bring me some coffee?"

The elf bowed and disapparated, re-apparating with a resounding crack rapidly before leaving again. Harry sighed as he poured the coffee. Why had he let himself get so drunk? He knew that it was never a good idea, as embarrassingly unrestrained as he could be with even a miniscule amount coursing through his being. He briefly thought of approaching Poppy for a hangover potion, but didn't want the lecture. And he definitely didn't want the smug comments from a certain potion-brewing professor, either. Harry tried to remember if Snape had been at the party last night. He definitely remembered walking there with him, but couldn't recall much after that.

As Harry made his way in to his living area, thinking very much of sinking in to the sofa to slob out his hangover for the majority of the day until he was due at the Weasleys later that evening, he stumbled slightly on a rough patch of his old, uneven floor. Cursing quietly as he tried to right the turbulent boiling liquid in his hand, a memory invaded his mind, painful, present, unreserved and unapologetic.

Harry swore again as a porcelain mug fell and shattered at his feet.

He remembered. Harry could feel the sensation of the hot, rough lips pressed beneath his own. His heart was beating out a staccato rhythm and he could feel the pulse of adrenaline, arousal, incredulity coursing through his veins, his self, every fibre of every frayed nerve ending as his awareness told him, in a repetitive loop, exactly who it was beneath his foolish move.

Snape. Severus. His teacher. His mentor.

What was he doing?

He felt tight, pinching fingers digging in to his shoulders, and he was abruptly pushed away, with much more force than his unsteady legs could strictly handle. He felt the clunk of his head connecting with the wall behind as he lost his footing. The alcohol made him slow and foggy, and he shook his head to clear the haze- just in time to catch the back of a retreating figure, sweeping swiftly away from him as if his very life depended on it, the tendrils of his deep charcoal hair whipping behind him.

"Severus," He called, his tongue feeling clumsy and awkward. Damn the punch. "Wait. I…"

The escaping figure did not hesitate, did not stop, did not react, and Harry was left abruptly alone, the quiet firelight still seeming to flicker on in its mocking way, as though nothing had happened.

Harry was frozen. Horror-struck. Was that real? Had that happened? Harry sank in to the sofa, knees weak and trembling. He stared at his toes, running a hand despairingly over his neck and up through his tousled hair. He cringed as his hand found a definitive, raised, egg shaped bruise on the back of his head. Physical proof of his embarrassing rejection. Of this living nightmare.

"Fuck!" Harry cursed, dropping his head in to his hands. What had he been thinking?

Harry tried to keep himself busy that day, but he could not shake the memory, and it ceaselessly played on an endless loop in his head, nearly freezing him to the spot as he allowed himself to dwell on the realisation that, yes, he'd kissed Snape. And worse, he'd wanted to. And even worse than that, which he could barely even admit to himself- he had not wanted it to end once it had started.

The remnants of his brush with alcohol plagued him for the rest of the day, and combined with his disturbing, humiliating recollections he couldn't have felt less festive as he packed for the Christmas break.

0000

The Weasleys had, as always, a loud and busy house, a seemingly endless string of visitors. As fond as he was of everyone here, and as included as he felt amongst the homely environment and festive air, all he really wanted to do, if he was honest with himself, was hide away for a few days until he could stand to even think remotely about the previous evening. He was almost glad when he could escape to one of the top floors and collapse on Bill's old bed, letting his eyes shutter closed in his exhaustion.

Christmas day swung by in a flurry- there were children, and presents, and wrapping paper and squeals of delight. There was chopping and prepping and washing and eating- a lot. Afterwards there were games and snowball fights and laughter and mulled wine, and though he tried, Harry couldn't really enjoy a single minute of it. He was restless and distracted, and knew that it had not gone unnoticed. At several points he caught Hermione, Mrs Weasley, and even Ginny giving him side-long, concerned glances.

He was glad when he could finally escape from the scrutiny that had him plastering a fake smile on his face all day. He nursed a bottle of firewhiskey as he brooded over the disaster that had become his working life. How on earth was he going to deal with this? He was relatively sure that if Snape was not his supervisor it would have been as easy as breathing to go back to ignoring each other. But then, if Snape hadn't been his supervisor in the first place he was also very certain none of this would have happened. Could he approach McGonagall and cite that their 'irreconcilable differences' meant they hadn't managed to successfully work together? No, he didn't think she'd buy that one.

Harry slapped his palm to his forehad. How could he have been such an idiot? Such an immature, ridiculous, drunken school boy to act so inappropriately. He would be lucky if Snape didn't hex him in to oblivion the next time he had to face him, and he was certain that, this time, they would never be able to repair the tentative beginnings of the truce they had built.

Harry sighed as he paced the room, pausing at one end to press his hands against the rough, stone wall, resting his forehead against it and enjoying the distracting, gentle cool. He felt as if he needed to walk, really walk, as the rhythmic feel of his feet on the floor was keeping him from shouting out his frustration in the tiny, oppressive room.

Silently he made his way downstairs, climbing tentatively in to the dusty kitchen grate. Taking a handful of his own floo powder from a small box in his robes, Harry spun to his own quarters in a rush of flame and soot. He paused to grab a hooded sweatshirt to pull over his t-shirt and ratty jogging bottoms, the vague, damp chill of Hogwarts settling over his bones once again and forcing his cool body to shiver.

He set off down the corridor, thinking of heading to the roof of the astronomy tower, the thought of the view overlooking a snow covered Hogwarts alluring to his muddled mind.

As Harry listened to the echo of his own footsteps rattling through the deserted, empty quiet, he spotted a pin prick of light floating toward him. It was almost directly in front of him before he realised, with a sickening tug, the source.

A vaguely surprised Snape was swooping through the corridor toward him, looking more furious with every step as he took in the approaching figure. Panic flared in Harry's chest with such intensity it was almost painful.

Harry fought hard against the urge to turn and flee in the opposite direction. He knew Snape would most likely curse him before he'd made it three feet.

He stopped a few metres from Harry, and said nothing. The loudest silence Harry had ever experienced pressed upon him, filling the space between and around them.

"Er…Hi." Harry started, struggling to maintain that unflinching, accusing gaze.

The silence roared on.

Snape started toward Harry again, and he could not stop his involuntary flinch, as he anticipated a painful, silent hit from his stony-faced mentor. Instead, it did not come. Snape strode past him, that unique scent assaulting Harry's senses again as it rolled off his usual billowing robes.

"Professor…" Harry called "w…wait, please…" He reached out to touch Snape's wrist as he caught up with him, only to feel his grip yanked violently away as Snape turned on him, rage flaring through his depth-less eyes. Harry noted his sallow, pale features and, deep bruise-like shadows resting underneath blood-shot eyes.

"What, Potter?" He replied, his voice dangerously contained "What could you possibly have to say to me?"

"I want to explain…" Harry started again, searching for the right words. What was he possibly going to say?

"I care not for any useless, garbled, stuttering school-boy explanation coming from you, Potter. Kindly remove yourself from my personal space and stop polluting my oxygen with your useless attempt at trying to justify your pathetic, vaguely violating behaviour." Snape hissed, acid coursing through each angry word, chosen specifically to hit him where it would do the most damage. No one could say Snape wasn't consistent.

Harry winced and felt his cheeks flare. He didn't think he'd ever felt more humiliated, or more ashamed.

"I'm…I'm sorry Professor. It was inappropriate, and it shouldn't have happened, and it definitely won't again."

Snape narrowed his shrewd eyes "It most certainly will not. As of the first day of term, my supervision of you will be terminated. It is my sincere hope that I will have no further contact with you from that point forward. Goodnight, Mr Potter."

Harry was left with a strange sense of déjà vu as he watched a retreating figure stalking away from him once again, leaving him in a dank and desolate corridor.

0000

Someone was waiting for him as he stumbled ungracefully over the iron grate and back in to the Weasley kitchen. He quickly cast a scouring charm over his soot-covered self, not meeting the questioning, intense gaze searing him from the other end of the kitchen table.

"Night-time wanderings, Harry?" Hermione questioned "I thought we'd all grown out of those…"

"You, maybe," Harry quipped, giving her a brief smile as he slid in to a seat to her right "I have to do it on a regular basis as part of my employment contract, remember? One of the many perks of being a Hogwarts professor…"

"In the early hours of Boxing Day morning? When you have Christmas off?" She returned, eyebrows raised and arms folded.

"I couldn't sleep and I didn't want to wake any of you." He explained "Though, uh, clearly that didn't work so well, sorry." He gave her a small sheepish smile, which she returned.

"No problem," Hermione replied, waving her hand in a brief gesture of dismissal "I'm putting the kettle on. Tea or hot chocolate?"

"Actually, 'Mione," Harry stifled a yawn "I'm kind of exhausted. I might just go to bed…"

"Not so fast, Potter," Hermione rounded on him as he began to rise, pointing the teaspoon at him. Rather aggressively, he thought "This is your opportunity to tell me what's been going on with you."

"Nothing's been going on with me. I'm fine." He was starting to get exasperated. He loved that she cared enough to wait for him to return from his contemplative pacing, but did she not understand that some people didn't want to share their 'feelings' at every given opportunity?

"Nice try," She replied, placing a much of steaming chocolate in front of him "But I've known you for over a decade. You'll need to be a little more convincing."

Harry sighed "I don't really want to talk about it."

"You never do, Harry," Hermione answered, her voice soft, her eyes kind "And it hasn't been particularly helpful for you so far."

He didn't know how to answer that one.

"So," she added, shrugging at him as she sipped her tea expectantly "Here we are…"

Harry glared at his cup, chasing a drop of chocolate down the edge of the cream mug. The silence dragged on and he brooded over his discomfort, feeling vaguely annoyed with his friend.

He raised his eyes to gaze at Hermione, who was still watching him unapologetically. In for a penny, in for a pound he thought. He suspected that she would find out eventually. He had also known his friend for a long time and knew the word 'Hermione' was synonymous with 'dog' and 'bone'.

He took a deep breath.

"I kissed Snape."

To her credit, Hermione only choked on her tea for three straight minutes before managing to look at him, face red and eyes streaming, to declare "You did?" in a rasping, questioning voice.

Harry nodded "At the Christmas party. I drank my body weight in spiked punch and he walked me back to my quarters and it just sort of…happened."

"Hmmm," Hermione mused thoughtfully "And how did that go down?"

"About as well as the night he found out Sirius escaped."

"That well, huh?" Hermione grinned.

Harry grinned back, and then his face dropped "I bumped in to him tonight, pacing the corridors. He told me he never wants to see me again. He alluded to the fact that he felt as if I'd molested him." Harry felt thoroughly miserable, and more humiliated than he could ever remember.

"Jesus, Hermione," He exclaimed, running exasperated fingers through his mussed hair "The whole thing is a fucking mess. How could I be so stupid?!"

"You're not stupid Harry," Hermione soothed "And you're certainly not the first person to do something like that under the influence of alcohol. Though remember it only removes your inhibitions; it doesn't make you in to a different person."

"What does that mean?" He demanded in return.

"Are you gay, Harry?" She asked, clearly, unashamedly.

Harry felt as if he'd been winded.

"Pardon?!" Harry spluttered "That's…a…I…uh...Hermione!"

"Well?" She continued "Are you?"

"Hermione!" He exclaimed. "No! I'm not."

"It's perfectly alright if you are, you know." She carried on sipping her tea, unruffled by Harry's quivering near-meltdown opposite "There's not as much stigma attached in the wizarding world as there is in the muggle one, thankfully- most people in this community have the intelligence to realise that you love who you love, and that's really the end of it."

"I am not in love with Snape!"

Hermione smiled at him and patted his hand as she reached to collect his empty cup "You have a decision to make. Was it a drunken mistake you never want to repeat-"

"Ofcourse it was! Why would you ever think I would-" Harry interjected, earning him a glare.

"Or is it a part of you that was revealed when your barriers were dropped?"

Harry let out a tense breath, blowing his hair upwards and out of his eyes. He let his head drop backwards as Hermione set the used cups to wash with an efficient flick of her wand. She stopped beside him and planted a gentle, brief kiss on his forehead.

"Either way," She murmured, gently "It doesn't change anything. You are still my best friend."

Harry gave her a small smile.

"Hermione?" He called, just as she was crossing the threshold to the living room "Don't-"

"-Tell anyone? Especially Ron?" She finished, giving him a tender smile "Ofcourse not. 'Night, Harry."

0000

The following evening, Harry could be found stacking the fresh wood that he and Ron had just chopped in the yard beside the kitchen fireplace, when he heard a knock at the door. Mrs Weasley, who was busy preparing dinner, answered with a surprised "Minerva! We weren't expecting you until tomorrow! I'm afraid it's a bit of a squeeze tonight but I'm sure we can-" Harry watched Minerva put out a friendly hand to stop her explaining.

"That's quite alright Molly, I've come to speak with Potter, actually. It won't take long." She turned to nod at him with a glint in her eye. Harry was sure that, whatever it was, it would have some form of a telling off involved. Harry shook his head. Some things never changed.

"Outside, please, Mr Potter." The stern address came. Harry followed with his head bowed, avoiding any eyes in the room.

He tramped through the deep snow in the Weasley's back garden, leading the way to a quiet part of the garden with a small bench under a sheltered wooden arch. The arch was lit by hanging festive mason jars filled with candles, gentle, charmed snow falling inside them like a never-ending snow-globe, the lights of the fairy lights in the hedge behind glinting off the glass and creating a glow over the surrounding snow. It was a beautiful night, the air crisp and the atmosphere clear. Harry gazed at the stars as he sat heavily next to Minerva, determinedly not looking at her as he sighed at the sky.

"I had a visit from Professor Snape this morning." she began.

"Oh?" Harry replied, attempting to sound nonchalant.

"Yes. He is demanding to be removed from any role involving tutoring or supervising you. I thought you two had formed some sort of truce- you certainly appeared to be getting on much better, had become friends, even, if the Christmas party was anything to judge by."

Harry felt his cheeks flush suddenly and was very glad of the dim lighting.

"Are you going to tell me what has changed? Severus seemed more…upset…than usual when discussing you, which, considering all of the years you have been irritating him is definitely saying something." She gave him a wry smile.

Minerva was being firm and was obviously more than a little exasperated, but her concern for both Harry and Snape was clear. Harry felt doubly ashamed of the mess he'd created, realising it extended beyond just him and his former Professor.

"I…we…argued." Harry stuttered in reply, knowing it would not be good enough for the discerning Professor before him.

"That is nothing new, Potter, and I know you both well enough to know it is more than that. Explain, please."

"We disagreed, and obviously he can't put his ridiculous grudge aside." Harry shrugged, eyeing the footprints his snow boots had left.

"So," Harry continued "Who is going to be my supervisor now?"

"Nothing has changed, Potter. If you really have just had an 'argument', you should be able to make up as you have the other multitude of times you and he have had a spat and then forgiven each other." Minerva sniffed, making him feel even more like the school boy he so often felt like these days.

"This one was different, ok? I don't think it can be fixed."

"You had better find a way to fix it then, Mr Potter, or you could find your Professorship in jeopardy." Her austere gaze burned, and Harry felt warm despite the late December chill.

"Do you ever think it could be detrimental, forcing him and me together? Some scars go deep, you know. They don't just go away by telling people to get on with it. I've tried. It's not working. Is there nothing else that you can do?" He pleaded, miserably. He'd give anything not to be forced in to close confines with Snape at the moment, and was considering, for the first time since obtaining the post, whether he'd just be better off at another school, or even in another job.

"You are not dealing with this like the adult you are, Harry! There is no other option- either you find a workable solution for your tutoring, or you look for an alternative post, and that may involve considering a career outside Hogwarts."

"I can't believe this! My professional opportunities are being penalised because one Professor cannot get over his dislike of a former pupil! How is that fair?"

"Potter, you know as well as I do that you are in this situation because of the way you have both behaved, so do not try the innocent victim stance with me. It will not work. I have had the same conversation with Severus and I do not expect to have it with either of you again. I have enough of a game sorting out playground squabbles amongst the students let alone being forced to do it amongst my staff. Grow up, Potter, and figure it out."

She stood swiftly, and swept out of the garden, her long, velvet robes whispering over the crunching snow.

Review? I promise to update soon. Thanks!