The wet smack of his wand hitting the palm of Snape's hand snapped Harry out of his apathy. He gritted his teeth. That man had nerve...

Hands balled to fists he advanced on Snape ready to strike, with bare force if necessary. Snape so had it coming.

He even made it halfway across the room before, with a casual flick of Snape's wand, Harry found himself frozen in place. Unable to so much as blink, he watched as Snape pushed himself up out off his raggedy armchair and with exaggerated care flicked away lint from his sleeve. Harry seethed.

All Harry could do was suffer in silence, Snape's greasy, slimy magic sliding over him holding him fast, his rage rendered futile, bottled up, filling him with the red hot desire to Crucio Snape till kingdom come.

Snape stepped closer, looking him up and down as if he were some disgusting specimen in a jar ready to be cut up for a potion. Harry loathed that self-satisfied smile. Loathed Snape taking his sweet time to smooth and fold the evening newspaper he had been reading.

"My what do we have here: Potter, the proud hero. What a truly Gryffindor plan." His wand still pointed at Harry he circled around him, taking no pains to hide the gloating in his voice. "Masterfully executed, I must say." Snape stepped behind Harry, mere inches away from touching. Harry could feel Snape's breath brush against his ear, could feel the heat of his presence, smell the familiar scent of Marcus' cologne. A shiver ran through him, making him glad that the spell hid his reaction. How he hated Snape at that moment. Hated how he was not Marcus. Hated his own impotence. Hated how he could not snap his head back and break that ugly nose of his.

Snape took a step back, giving Harry a long slow once over. " Even though, I am surprised, I must say, that you are not wearing a skirt." Snape sat back down with the same infuriating prissy care, taking a sip of his tea, twirling Harry's wand between thumb and index, looking smug beyond words. "What a pity, you do have the legs for it. Now, what shall I do with you ..."

Do to him? Do to him? That bastard, that sodding bastard. With the memorizes of that night in the pub flooding back, fresh and hot and angry, Harry felt the tsunami of his magic sweep over him, freeing him in an earth-shattering wave of power. Window rattled under the magical force and caught Snape in the center, throwing him backwards, wand flying under the impact of his armchair hitting the floor. Tea spilled on the floor, trickling from a crack in the pot, an amber puddle quickly being soaked up by an ancient throw rug.

Legs in the air, movements sluggish, bereft of his former grace, Snape tried to scramble to his feet with his his dignity intact but Harry was faster. "You fucking bastard, did you think you could get away with this?" Harry loomed over him, seething. He reached down and pulled Snape to his feet by the front of his shirt, slamming him against the nearby wall for good measure.

"Let go off me, Potter!" Snape tried to kick him, pushing against Harry's chest.

"Fuck you, Snape!" Harry pushed him against the wall again, noting, with satisfaction, that Snape's head hit the plaster with a crack. Snape stopped struggling, glaring at Harry.

"And here I thought you enjoyed being fucked like your mother." Snape's voice had lost its smugness, the word were hissed, as in pain. He winced when Harry shook him, each impact with the wall showering them with tiny flakes of dust. "You. Sick. Fuck. I hate you. I HATE you! "

Snape fought to get free. "Me? Sick?" His voice dripped with contempt. "I am not the one who Polyjuiced into Lily. Let fucking go of me!" Harry tightened his grip as Snape struggled, surprised and disgusted at how easily he could hold Snape, how little resistance the man could muster.

"God you are pathetic, you know that?" Harry shoved him against the wall again for emphasis. A trickle of blood soaked into the plaster where Snape's head had hit. Snape's glare promised murder.

"Physical violence... I should have known." He closed his dark eyes, his voice low and full of venom. "Go ahead, Potter, get it over with and hit me, break my nose again. Why don't you call me Snivellus while you are at it. Make your father proud."

"I AM NOT..." Harry stepped back, looking at his raised fist as if it belonged to someone else, breathing hard. He started to shake, wrapping his arms around himself. "I am not my father!" His control of the situation fleeing with the realization of what he had nearly done.

Snape struggled to stay upright, fingernails digging into the whitewashed walls. "No, you are not. He didn't leave me to die.." His knees gave and he sank to the floor, defeated.

Harry took a step closer, looking down at Snape who was sitting on the dirty floor, staring into space. He turned away, looking out the window. The remnants of what must once have been a geranium, their shriveled stalks reaching beseechingly towards the grimy window, their bright red pot out of place in this world of dust and gray. "We… we came back for you and, and you were gone... how did you survive?" He ran a hand through his hair, turning away from the yellowing curtains. "We looked for you, you know. How did you?" He sat down next to Snape. "I mean, I saw you die... "

Snape's hand subconsciously covered the vivid scar on his neck. "No thanks to you, or that bloody Order of ours. What did you think?" He sneered. "That I, of all people, rush into battles unprepared... like a silly little schoolboy?" Snape ran his fingers over the back of his head, wincing. The tips came back red. He studied them as if he had never seen them before, testing the consistency of his bloody between thumb and forefinger. "I gave everything," his voice contemplative and distant, bitter. "And how did they thank me?"

Harry blinked and shook his head. No, he was not going to let Snape guilt trip him into obedience. "Thank you? Are you out of your mind? You fucking killed Dumbledore!"

"On HIS BLOODY ORDERS!" Snape winced under the volume of his own voice, carrying on in a soft hiss. "And don't you fool yourself, so did you! What did you think you were making him drink in that cave? Pumpkin juice?"

" The cave? But I… He… I just wanted… How do you know? I never told anyone ..." Harry turned towards Snape, blinking, looking guilty.

Snape sneered, his eyes gaining back their dangerous glitter. " Occlumency, Potter. Any halfway skilled Legilimens can read you like and open book. A dull book, certainly, but that is beyond the point. Aren't you supposed to be an Auror or something?"

"Ha, bloody ha." Harry scrambled to his feet, scanning the room for his wand. He found it behind the upturned occasional table and picked it up. "I still miss him." He sat back down next to Snape.

Snape harrumphed, leaned back against the wall, winced and shifted to a more comfortable position. They sat in silence for a while.

"What are we going to do now?" Harry ran his hand through his hair again, giving into the urge to say, well, something.

Snape carefully rested his head against the wall. "Buggered if I know." The toppled over lamp cast his face in shadows, hiding his expression.

Harry reached for his wand, pointing it at Snape, who tried to scramble away, looking alarm. "Going to take your revenge now, Potter?"

"Hold still, will ya." Harry gently lifted Snape's chin, turning his face away from him.

"What do you think you are doing?" Snape tried to jerk away, but Harry held him gently but firm.

"Shush. I have done this before. Let me see if I can ..." Harry ran his fingers through Snape's hair, ghosting over the injury. "Got quiet a bump there, Professor." He could feel Snape suppress a wince. "You know, you kinda had it coming." He watched as the wound closed within seconds of the healing spell. "There, that should fix it."

Harry's hand lingered on the back of Snape's head, untangling the matted strands. Snape leaned into the touch, his face half turned towards Harry, his eyes closed. Harry's hand stilled.

Snape cracked open one eye. "Who said you could stop, Potter. I was enjoying that."

Harry hid a smile but continued the caress, enjoying it more than he would ever admit to anyone. It was strangely soothing. Snape closed his eyes again and Harry's hands, no longer under the scrutiny of that intense stare, developed a mind of their own. Bold fingertips ran over Snape cheek, his thumb brushing Snape's bottom lip. Snape's mouth opened slightly, and Harry gasped when Snape's hot wet tongue touched finger.