Severus Snape sat nonchalantly in his office chair, leafing through an old potions periodical with languid flicks of his elegant fingers. Only someone who knew him intimately- and Snape would have readily conceeded that no one of this description existed- would have noticed that the potions master's thin frame was held even more rigidly than usual, his already pale lips were pursed so tight that they had become nearly white, and his obsidian eyes, instead of focusing on the glossy pages in front of him, kept surreptitiously glancing at the office door. Every fibre of Snape's tense being knew that there were still five minutes to go before the boy was due to arrive for his lesson, but the knowledge did nothing to quell the odd tinge of remorse that persistently stung at the edges of his mind like a paper-cut. Perhaps he should have gone after the drunken imbecile after all... but no, the boy had an odd habit of surviving, and Snape would now have the pleasure of gloating over a surely hungover-

'Morning!'

It was only through a Herculean effort of will that the startled Snape did not immediately leap of his seat and hex the young man. Not only had Harry seemingly perfected the art of walking noiselessly, but he looked like the poster-boy for a popular wizarding energy drink. He had the glossy hair, good looks and bright, confident smile of a male model, and for a minute the potions master lost himself in amazed contemplation of how well the boy looked. Sceptical that it could have just been Harry's youthfulness that aided such a speedy recovery, Snape decided to address the issue directly.

'Well, Mr Potter, I'm surprised to see you conscious at this early hour, given your antics last night.'

A puzzled expression graced the boy's handsome face, and from the heightened colour of his soft skin Snape quickly divined, with a wicked smile, that the young man could not remember what had happened.

'Well' Harry paused, disconcerted by his hazy memories of the previous night and by the fact that he seemed to back on last-name terms with the potions professor. 'I suppose I just recover quickly' he said, risking a cheeky grin 'maybe you only feel the effects when you're, you know, more advanced in age...'

Snape, never one to pass up such a golden opportunity, replied in his most deep, insinuating voice

'Be that as it may, Harry, but you seemed to find no fault in my age last night...' The potions master let his speech trail off, his rich tones fading softly into the air, curling around the younger man's ears like silk.

Harry stared at him blankly for a moment, then his bright green eyes widened and a scarlet tinge slowly appeared on his shocked face, creeping down his body until it disappeared under his clothes.

'Wh- what do you mean?' he stuttered, fighting off the mental image that was forcing itself to the front of his brain.

Snape feigned a hurt look.

'Come now, you could hardly forget what happened, how much it meant to both of us... my love.' The older man took a step forward, his usually austere expression softened into one of hope and longing. Harry's mouth hung open, and in his desperation to remember what could have possibly happened he gave in to the fantasy- no, that was the wrong word- the scene that his imagination was trying to thrust in front of his vision.

He saw himself in Snape's strong arms, enveloped in the soft fabric of his robes and the intoxicating smell of aniseed. Feeling long fingers gently caressing his back, sending cold sparks flying up and down his spine, the vision-Harry looked up at the potions master. To his surprise, he saw not the figure of hate that he had always known, but the countenance of his friend, which -now that his vision was free from prejudice- appeared surprisingly attractive to him. The features had not changed, the hooked nose was still as protuberant, the skin still as sallow, hair just as greasy; but his attitude towards them had. They were as much a part of the man as the obsidian eyes that were burning a hole through his body, making various parts of his anatomy grow warm in response, and he realised that he could like them for their virtue of being a part of someone he cared so deeply for. The vision-Snape's lips curved into a gentle smile, and leaning down he very slowly brushed those lips against-

Harry inhaled sharply, bringing the room suddenly back into focus, and seeing the potions master standing before him with a wicked grin on his face he involuntarily took a step back.

'As amusing as your obvious revulsion is, it is hardly conducive to our aims today. I was merely indulging in a laugh at your expense; all that you did last night was run around like an idiot' said Snape, with a slight touch of bitterness in his voice.

'Ah.' said Harry, staring at Snape from where he stood rigidly, a faint blush still tinging his cheeks. The young man strove desperately for something to say, but a variety of emotions tied his tongue. Not only did he feel a natural embarassment for having been fooled so easily, but he was also ashamed that he had somehow offended the potions master. Added to these was an anger at having been called idiotic- Harry had conveniently forgotten that before he had found the hangover cure next to where he had passed out in the Room of Requirement, he had had much the same opinion of himself- and something else, some subtle, troubling emotion that lurked in the shadows of his subconscious like a frightened animal. Whatever it was, Harry instinctively knew that it was not the overwhelming sense of relief that he would have expected to feel at this point. Confused, and aware that he was still gaping foolishly at Snape, the young man decided to inject the first thing that came into his head into the silence.

'I wasn't...er, I mean... um, how was yesterday?' he finished somewhat lamely.

Snape eyed him curiously for a second, and then sighed as the memory of the previous day came to him.

'It went adequately enough. Nevertheless, we missed an entire day of training, something that we can ill afford to do with the Dark Lord breathing down our necks.' He paused. 'I recall that I left you to do research- did you mange to learn anything useful from the bottom of that bottle?' The potions master allowed himself a brief smirk, even though the knowledge of how little time was left was urging him to be serious.

'Actually, we did manage to come up with a few things.' retorted Harry, slightly offended, if not surprised, that Snape would think that he had been shirking his work. He then proceeded to rattle off a list of the useful spells that they had discovered, as well as giving a brief account of those that had proved inadequate and the possible tactics they had considered. By the end of his recitation Snape looked faintly -albeit unwillingly- impressed, an expression that Harry was unused to and one that made him extremely tempted to stick his tongue out at the older man. His levity was quickly dispelled, however, as he was required to spend the next few hours demonstrating all that he had described, practicing the essential spells and receiving invaluable advice from the potions master, even if it was usually accompanied by sarcasm.

Throughout this, Harry continued to wrestle with the scene that his imagination had presented him with earlier, willing it back into whatever disturbed corner of his mind it had emerged from. For all his pains, the thought of kissing Snape always seemed to be at the front of his mind: a problem exacerbated by the extreme proximity of the real man. Every time that the potions master came close, or even said his name, the younger man's skin prickled and his pulse sped up, somehow making him feel light-headed. Attributing this strange phenomenon to his guilt at not having corrected the older man earlier - the phrase 'obvious revulsion' kept meandering through Harry's thoughts in Snape's mellifluous tones- the younger man desperately sought an opportunity to rectify the situation, spurred on by the fact that Snape was being even more aloof than usual, a fairly reliable indication that he had been offended.

Despite his constant watchfulness, no suitable opportunity for this arose during their overview of the rest of his research. Harry's hesitancy was not the result of cowardice, but rather the result of an instinctive feeling that he needed to be utterly certain of what he was going to say before he opened his mouth. Unfortunately, every time that he thought he might have thought of something suitable, one glimpse of Snape was enough to erase every word in the English language from his brain and leave him staring blankly, yet intently at the older man.

As the morning began to wane the two men finished their review, sagging gratefully against the rigid wooden support of Snape's desk in exhaustion. They perched, one at either end, both knowing that there was much more work to be done, but neither having the energy to do so. At last Snape opened his eyes, staring blankly into the shadowy area at the other end of the classroom and slowly trying to martial his thoughts.

'It might be prudent to consider some procedures for... emergencies.' Harry looked across at the potions master, unconsciously studying his profile and suddenly much more alert. He stared at the curtain of jet-black hair that obscured the older man's head, wondering what thoughts were plaguing the dark, brilliant mind within. Without looking, Snape slowly reached behind him for the book that lay on the desk, absently running his fingers across the battered wood in his search. Harry, ever mindful of the injury he seemed to have done to their friendship earlier, reached out for the book in the hope that his helpfulness would help him to atone. His fingers had just touched the spine of the dusty volume when several longer, colder fingers also found the same target. Feeling Snape's rough fingertips stroke up the soft back of his hand made the younger man shiver in surprise, and his eyes snapped from the book to the potions master; whose calm demeanour had momentarily escaped him and who jerked his hand away from Harry's as if he had been caught in some illicit act. Regaining his composure with some difficulty, and trying to ignore the fact that his fingertips burned as if they longed to be back on his student's skin, Snape said

'Are you going to pass me my book, Harry, or should I leave you to caress it for a while longer?' in what he hoped was a normal-sounding voice, although there was a barely perceptible crack in his voice over the word 'caress'.

'I was just trying to help', croaked Harry, handing the object over whilst assuring himself that he would have come up with a much wittier retort had his heart not been playing up again. Trying to somehow slow the temperamental thing down, he contemplated the long hours of tuition still ahead, realising that if he was still distracted by these feelings of guilt he would not be able to give them his full attention, something that -in the circumstances- he could not afford to do. Taking advantage of the fact that the older man had his head buried in the book, scanning the small, densely packed print for the potion he sought, Harry blurted out:

'I wasn't revolted.' The older man slowly looked at him, a quizzical expression on his face that indicated to Harry that he would at least be allowed enough rope to hang himself. 'I mean, earlier, when you were talking about what happened- what didn't happen, when I was drunk. I didn't think it was disgusting, I was just a little... shocked.' He was going to add something to the effect that it was a fairly cruel trick to play, but then remembered to whom he was speaking.

'I see' replied Snape, turning his gaze back to the open book, 'and why did you feel the need to tell me this now?'

'I... you seemed offended. I wouldn't want to lose your friendship.' This last word, spoken in a slightly strained voice by the younger man, slowly dissipated into the air, leaving an uncomfortable silence between the two. Snape, who was slightly struck by a sudden surge of emotion, fought the urge to resort to the sarcasm that had long been his shield against displaying any sort of feeling, and said:

'As most of your fellow Gryffindors have found out, it takes much more than that to offend me.' He paused, keeping his eyes determinedly on the page in front of him. 'Nevertheless, I appreciate your concern. Nothing between us has changed.'

'Oh. Well that's ok then' said Harry, smiling for the first time in several hours. 'What are you looking for?'

'Something that is evidently not in this book' replied the potions master, closing it with a snap and looking at his interlocutor 'and probably in one in my office. Please excuse me for a minute while I go and find it. I assure you that my absence will not be an indication that I have taken offense to something and desire to terminate our friendship'. His tone was rich in his incincerity; and he could not resist sending the younger man a withering- if obviously joking- glance before getting up off the desk. Harry scowled at thus being made fun of, and actually did stick his tongue out at the older man- but only once he had turned his back and was walking to the other room.

Once in the safety of his office, Snape took a deep breath and pressed his hands against the ancient bookcase for support. He kneaded his hands into the wood, endeavouring to compose himself and assess what had happened. Contrary to what he had told the boy, and as much as he hated to admit it, he had been slightly saddened by Harry's subdued, erratic behaviour that morning, and the thought that he was physically repellent to the young man had tortured him all morning. Now, however, Snape felt his lips irresistibly forcing themselves into a smile as he remembered their conversation. The reserved part of him hated the way that the young man could affect his previously unflappable emotions; how one minute he could feel numb, bereft of something he once thought he would never have felt, and the next his body could grow warm as hope seemed to flow through his very veins. Friendship.. it was such a small, banal word, and yet it was the one that seemed to now be infused with the most signifance out of all those in the potion master's extensive vocabulary. Perhaps, from these tentative beginnings- but Snape had never been disposed towards optimism, and remained determined to employ his usual caution in every respect, rather than lose everything in some foolish gamble. If his soul felt slightly lighter as a result of hearing the boy call him a friend, something that no-one had done in a very long time, then he would simply enjoy the feeling without expecting anything more.

And yet, as he left his office and beheld the younger man sitting on the desk, a content expression gracing his handsome features, a stab of longing tore into his heart and stomach. Despite having been independent for so long, he wanted to bind himself to Harry in some permanent, unrelentingly possessive way that would soothe the ache that seemed to permeate his entire body, increasing in intensity the closer he came to him. With his mind throwing fantasies of life with his student in front of his eyes, and a heart rent by longing, Snape composed himself as he had always done, and went on with the lesson.

That night, preparing for a well-deserved sleep after what had seemed like decades of tuition in the cool, musty dungeons, Harry suddenly caught sight of a large black cloak among the pile of clothes on his bed. Realising that it was Snape's, the one that he had stolen during his drunken oddessy and unthinkingly thrown together with the other things he had slept in, when he had returned from the Room of Requirement that morning, Harry picked it up with the intention of putting it in his bag for the next day. Without realising what he was doing, he held the thick material to his face and inhaled the scent that clung to the fabric. The familiar smell of aniseed was almost comforting, although it was accompanied by a odd desire to see the older man again. Puzzling over the significance of this, and suddenly wondering why he was embracing his teacher's clothing, Harry hastily stuffed the garment into his bag. They may have been friends, but he was fairly certain that the older man would not find his actions normal- after all, he couldn't remember what Ron smelt like, and they had been friends for much longer. The mental picture of himself sniffing his best friend made the young man laugh out loud, and he immediately climbed into bed, hoping he would fall asleep before his sanity crumbled even further.