~ Chapter Fifty-Three ~

"What is your name?" In a dull, lifeless tone, Harry responded immediately.

"Harry James Potter-Black." Summoning a high stool to his side, Snape sank slowly onto it, licking his dry lips nervously. The damage was done, now; to not take advantage would simply be a waste…

At some level, Severus knew that if he was trying so hard to justify his actions then he probably shouldn't be doing this. Today, though, that level was buried under thick layers of pain and resentment.

Snape tried to ignore the drugged boy sitting placidly in front of him, instead looking over his shoulder to eye the snifter of firewhisky he had just finished pouring himself when the insufferable brat knocked on his door. Voldemort had called him that evening, wanting an update on the new batch of Slytherins, delighting in Snape's reports of the older snakes, practically cooing over the prospects for his twisted little child army. Less than two months before they were to be marked; something the Dark Lord had gleefully reminded Severus numerous times. It had been a short meeting, and one which Snape had escaped without a single curse thrown his way. He almost wished he had been tortured; maybe then the guilt for being forced to condemn innocent children to a lifetime of servitude to a madman wouldn't feel quite so overwhelming.

As the remorse began to rise again and overwhelm his senses, Snape shot off the stool and quickly strode over to retrieve the whiskey, bringing it back with him to sit in front of Potter.

"You don't mind, do you?" He asked sarcastically, not really intending his false courtesy as a question. As he raised the glass to his lips, however, Harry responded in a soft, lifeless voice.

"Yes, I do mind. It scares me." Snape's brow furrowed and he looked at the younger man incredulously.

"Why?" He asked automatically, too on-edge emotionally to give his usual careful consideration to each of his inquiries. Snape began to lower his glass in concern as all the remaining color drained from Potter's face, thinking he must be having some sort of belated reaction to the potion. A moment later, however, the young man started speaking again, and Snape could only stare at him, frozen in shock.

"I'm not comfortable being around people who are drinking alcohol. When my uncle drank… it was always worse." Snape could feel the echo of his hammering heart like a current through his body. He had noticed a moment of hesitation in Harry's answer, and while part of him—the part that was in denial that perfect, spoiled Harry Potter could never have been mistreated—wanted to ignore it… he knew that a noticeable hesitation under the influence of as much veritaserum as Potter had just taken could only mean that the boy was trying desperately to hide something. To hide whatever "it" was that apparently worsened when his uncle imbibed.

"Did your uncle… hit you, Potter?" Snape asked reluctantly.

"No." The boy's answer was immediate, and Snape could almost swear he had seen a tiny amount of tension leave his shoulders. There was a voice in the back of his head urging him to push harder, to ask different questions, but Potter had said his uncle didn't hit him and Snape wanted to believe that was the case. Stubbornly, he forced himself to focus back on the annoyance he had felt with the brat when he showed up at his door spinning tales. If he set the firewhiskey aside without drinking it, well, no one could prove it was for Potter's sake.

Snape crossed his arms and adjusted to a more comfortable position in his seat. Speaking of Potter's tales…

"Last year, Potter; how did you obtain gillyweed for the Second Task?" Snape asked, eyes glittering with excitement. After all this time, he was finally going to have the proof all the school rules that Dumbledore insisted he 'lacked evidence' that Potter had broken.

"Dobby the house elf brought it to me. I never thought to ask where he got it from; I suspect now it was taken from your private stores, as you accused me of stealing it afterwards. Neville had figured out that gillyweed would let me breath under water and help me swim, and when Dobby heard he found me some." Snape blinked. A house elf had stolen from him? And it had been Longbottom's idea to use a rare potions ingredient to complete the task? …and Harry had no idea that it had been taken from Snape…? Frowning slightly, Snape moved on to the year before.

"Third year, how did your floating head appear in front of Draco in Hogsmeade Village?"

"I had on my dad's invisibility cloak. I snuck out through a secret passage between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade to surprise Ron and Hermione. When I found them, Malfoy and his goons were taunting them, so I started throwing snowballs to get them to leave. My cloak got caught while they were running away and slipped off my head." Snape grinned; obviously Potter couldn't weasel his way out of every infraction.

"So you admit you broke school rules to sneak into the village when you had no right to do so?" Snape pressed.

"Not exactly. I admit I broke school rules as I did not have a guardian's permission, but I think I should have had the right to go. I am the only student in a century who has been denied Hogsmeade weekends for reasons other than punishment; Hermione looked it up. My mum and dad would have signed the slip, Sirius did sign the slip as soon as he was able, and every other orphan who has come through the school was allowed to request permission from their head of house, but I was not. Even Voldemort was able to have the head of Slytherin sign his permission form when he was in school." Snape glared at the use of the Dark Lord's name, but otherwise did not say anything for a few minutes. He refused to admit it out loud, but the brat had a point. Granted, Dumbledore had forbidden Minerva to give her permission out of concern for the boy's safety with Black on the loose, but it was a blatant breech of school policy nonetheless… one the headmaster did not actually have the power to authorize. Harry really should have been allowed to stroll into Hogsmeade without ever needing to sneak around in the first place.

Snape drummed his fingers against his arm. This was getting him nowhere. What's wrong with you? He thought angrily to himself. The boy is entirely at your mercy! You can ask him anything, humiliate him… James would never be hesitating like this if your places were reversed! But then a second voice spoke up. But the boy isn't James, is he?

It wasn't the first time in recent weeks that Snape had questioned the source of his resentment for Potter… and even contemplated whether or not it was entirely justifiable. Now, though, he was not in the mood. Needing to find some sort of familiar ground with the boy, he asked,

"How do you like being everyone's favorite little celebrity?"

"I've never wanted my fame. How could anyone want to be rewarded for causing their parents' deaths? To be reminded of the fact constantly? To have complete strangers know your most terrible memory before they've ever even met you? All's I've ever wanted is to be normal, and instead I am loved or hated for the image that the world has painted of me… I'm just Harry, but almost no one bothers to get to know who that really is…"

Snape suspected there was more that Harry could have said, but it must have been enough to appease the potion, because the boy lapsed into silence again. Severus felt like his world was tilting on a new axis, and he was not at all comfortable with this new insight to Harry Potter. Had he taken the time to analyze his emotions, Snape would have realized—much to his chagrin—that he was feeling vulnerable. Which, might have made him stop and think rather than asking the question he blurted out next.

"What's your greatest fear?" As soon as the words left his mouth, Snape felt ashamed. He was taking advantage, blatantly, and he knew it. None of this had anything to do with Harry's request for help with Occlumency. He scrambled for his wand, suddenly determined to cast a silencing charm around the boy, his reputation as an evil git be damned, but he didn't have time.

"They're all going to die because of me," Harry whispered, and it was testament to the true agony he must be feeling that despite the potion suppressing his outward emotions, a tear trickled down his cheek. "People keep looking to me to lead them, but I'm nothing; I'm not smart enough or talented enough to keep them safe. My family, my friends… I know I'm going to get them killed, and I don't know what to do." He still sat perfectly still, but Snape could hear a faint tremor in his voice, and that definitely shouldn't be possible. Casting a quick diagnostic charm, he was alarmed at how much stress the young man's vitals were under. He quickly grabbed one of Harry's wrists, feeling for a pulse, and tried to steer his mind towards happier memories.

"Tell me about your childhood, Harry," he said, not noticing that he voice had turned gentle and soothing and he had started using the boy's first name. "What was it like growing up with your aunt and uncle, with Lily's sister? What are your most vivid memories?" Snape summoned a cauldron and ingredients over to them, thinking he would prepare an antidote to the veritaserum while he ignored Harry prattling on in the background about birthday parties and family outings. When the boy began to answer, however, Snape felt his blood run cold.

Vernon's rage.
Petunia's scorn.
Don't ask questions.
Chores.
Dudley's bullying.
Dudley's cast-offs.
Freak.
Cupboard under the stairs.
Marge's dog.
Broken bones.
No meals.
No friends.
No love.

With trembling hands, Snape prepared the antidote as quickly as he could, half his concentration staying on the trembling boy in front of him. For nearly half an hour, Harry told story after story of his so-called 'family's' neglect and abuse. The more he learned of Harry's past, the more his experiences with the boy later began to make sense.

No wonder he never turns to adults when dangerous situations arise… he's only ever been able to rely on himself…

No wonder he dresses so casually at school and wears those hideous glasses… it's not for attention or because he thinks he's too good to dress respectively; I'll bet he has no other options…

No wonder he never appeared to be in as much pain as his supposed injuries would cause… not because he was faking them, but because he's been forced to build up such a tolerance to pain…

Harry seemed to run out of things to share, or at least the potion felt he had answered Snape's questions sufficiently enough to not force any more admissions out of him. The antidote was close to complete, but still had to simmer a while before the final ingredient was added. Snape looked into Harry's eyes, and asked the question that had been plaguing him since Harry had begun to reveal his past—since he began to see himself in Harry—neglected, bullied, isolated.

"What's your worst memory of me?" He thought back on all the biting remarks, all the unequal treatment, all the classroom humiliation, and despite how much he didn't think he wanted to hear the answer, he just had to know.

"My very first lesson with you," Harry answered, and Snape's eyes shot to his in surprise, the older wizard struggling to pull up the memory. His first lesson? What could I possibly have done way back then that could be worse than all the terrible things I've said since? Harry, though, unaware of the older man's inner turmoil and obligated by the potion, just kept explaining. "I was so excited to learn Potions. The only thing I knew about magic was what I saw during my day with Hagrid over the summer and the train ride with Ron. I figured I was bound to fail at things like Charms and Transfiguration, but Potions… my aunt and uncle had me doing most of the cooking since I was tall enough to reach the stove dials. I knew it wouldn't be the same, but I thought maybe… as long as I studied… But then I got to class and I was taking notes…" To Snape's utter shock, his own words were suddenly being repeated to him, the exact lecture he used on each and every new class of potions students.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making… As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper on death…"

As Harry finished quoting Snape, the man had to physically shake himself in order to drag his gaze away and back to the final step of his brewing. Meanwhile, Harry finished his explanation.

"I was so excited, so eager to learn… and then you turned to me. I had never even met you, and yet in front of the entire class you started to mock me. You asked questions that I couldn't possibly know the answer to… partly because I didn't grow up in the magical world, partly because Uncle Vernon had locked my text books away, and partly because other than Hermione, no one in class had read ahead enough to find those answers. But you knew that. You wanted to see me fail. That's when I figured out it didn't matter how much I tried or how much I wanted to learn, I was never going to learn from you, because you were just another bully who would never give me a chance to succeed… just like my uncle."

Snape stared down at the small vial of antidote in his palm, hand shaking. "Just another bully… just like my uncle." Before that day, Snape would never laughed at the idea that anything the Potter brat could say would ever truly hurt him. He would have been wrong, though; and he deserved the hurt. Silently, he held the vial to Harry's lips and tipped it back, murmuring gently for Harry to swallow. He knew it would take several minutes for the potion to wear off, and so quietly asked his final question.

"Why do you need me to teach you Occlumency early, Harry?"

"Because Dumbledore is brushing my mind to find my emotions and whether or not I'm lieing to him. Because people are pledging their loyalty to me and I can't try to keep them all safe if people can access my thoughts and feelings. And I have to keep them safe." A little hint of the Harry's true desperation came through in his inflection, and Snape stood to find a glass of water, suddenly too nervous to sit and watch the boy pull out of his emotionless haze… to sit and watch the anger and pain and betrayal play out on his expressive face… in his eyes.

A harsh, broken sob broke the silence and Snape spun around in alarm.

"Harry—"

"Stay away from me!" His young voice was filled with panic, his eyes wide with fright. Snape felt his guilt like a knife in the stomach. He made to step forward, to explain, to apologize—but a moment later was frozen in his tracks.

"IMMOBULUS!" Snape watched in shocked awe as Harry raised an empty hand in front of him defensively and shouted out the spell in obvious desperation. The wandless magic washed over Snape and kept him frozen in place, unable even to move his jaw to speak. Harry's eyes dilated with fear, and a moment later he turned and fled.

xXxXxXxXx

Harry finally let the tears start to fall as he drew closer to the reserve's wards. He had taken a new cloak from the clothing Remus had brought him—a long, dark cloak that would completely hide his face when the hood was raised. He had accio'd his broom, sure he would have some explaining to do to whoever was in Gryffindor tower when it zoomed out of the boy's dormitory and then out through an open common room window. He couldn't risk going up for it, though; couldn't risk someone stopping him so that he broke down before he could get to Charlie.

He had fastened on the invisibility cloak and sped through Myrtle's bathroom and Salazar's secret tunnel. Shooting up through the trees past the castle wards, he looked out over endless leaves, tilted his broom forward, and soared. It took nearly an hour of flying before the dense forest gave way to little patches of trees separating lush farmland. He could tell from the little glimpses he saw of the inhabitants that these were magical settlements, and he wondered just how exactly all this land fit onto the map of Scotland that he had studied in primary school.

Finally, spotting a cluster of little houses in the distance, Harry lowered his broom into a descent. He slid off in the shadows behind a small pub, wrapped the invisibility cloak around his broom, pulled up his hood, and walked around to the front of the building. The bartender had looked at him oddly, but at the overly generous bribe Harry had slid him in a small coin bag, the man had happily led him to the floo connection in the back. Harry followed the same series of floo points that he and Charlie had used earlier that summer, and then trudged from the small flowershop to the nearest edge of the wards. He would fly once he passed through the magical barrier, and even though he would be on the far side of the reserve from the handlers' cabins, he knew Norbert would find him soon after his arrival, and he would be safe.

Harry felt the tingle of powerful magic as he met the wards' edge, but frowned at the way the magic suddenly made the hair on the back of his neck raise. Looking around uneasily, Harry tried to shrug it off and reached out until his hand was flat on the air. He smiled, just a little, at the thought of finally seeing Charlie, of speaking to him, and pushed gently on the invisible barrier, prepared for the cool, rippling feeling as he sunk through…

…but it never came. His hand held solid, and Harry felt his smile slip away. Concentrating, he pushed a little harder, and then with all his strength, but he had no access to the preserve. Struggling not to panic, Harry quickly fastened his cloak around himself and his broom once more, planning to fly around to the other side of the wards and try again. Just before he kicked into the air, however, a twin set of cracks was heard Harry froze as Macnair and Nott Sr. suddenly appeared in front of him, wands drawn.

"There's no one here," Macnair whined, lowering his wand with a huff.

"Quiet!" Nott hissed, his own wand still clenched tightly in his fist as he spun from side to side, eyes narrowed as he looked for someone.

"Come off it, Nott; it was probably just another barmy rabbit. I don't see why we have ta go scrambling everytime the block on the wards gives a little twitch from the outside; no one's comin'!" Nott turned to his companion with a glare and shoved the tip of his wand threateningly against the other man's neck.

"You want to know why? Because Our Lord has ordered us! Do you wish me to tell Him you've grown bored with His demands, hmmm?" Macnair gulped and paled noticeably, but still scowled as he roughly shoved the wand out of his face.

"O' course not. I only meant that… that uh… The Dark Lord's magic is so strong, y'see, that if he says no one without the Dark Mark can get in or out of the wards, I don't see what there is to be nervous about." He grinned stupidly, clearly proud of himself for coming up with that excuse. Nott simply rolled his eyes and looked around one final time before shrugging.

"Whatever. Bloody tosser. C'mon, let's go back. We want to be ready when the others arrive. You know Our Lord's orders; we bind those who wish to pledge loyalty the Dark Lord, and the others we dispose of swiftly. No mess or mistakes on this one." With that, the two man disapparated again, and Harry waited only a moment before he kicked off into the air and flew like a man possessed back towards the floo in the flowershop.

He had to save Charlie.

xXxXxXxXx

Snape was annoyed (and reluctantly impressed) that the Immobulus charm held for a solid hour before he was able to struggle out of it. In that time, he had had nothing to distract him from his thoughts, and had his guilt and self-loathing had reached unbearable levels.

Dumbledore had told him countless times over the years that he was misjudging Harry, even that he would regret his actions when realized it himself someday. The man had never been more right. Hell, even the mutt, when they weren't unashamedly insulting each other, had been known to throw his arms up in the air and exclaim exasperatedly how Snape was holding grudges against Harry for things that weren't even real. Hmmmm… the boy's dogfather…

Snape wasn't entirely delusional; he had known all along, of course, that he treated Harry abysmally. He had simply justified his attitude by insisting that Harry 1) deserved it for his reckless, careless, bullying behavior, and 2) needed to be taken down a peg or two anyway after living the life of a pampered prince. Granted, for all that Snape had actually seen and known about the young man, reckless and careless were justifiable impressions. The idea of Harry as a bully, though… perhaps Snape had blamed Harry for so many of the fights Draco was responsible for that he actually started believing his own lies. As for the pampered childhood… that, perhaps more than anything else, Snape felt guilty for. He knew the signs of neglect. Hell, he had lived that life himself once, though not, perhaps, quite to the extent that Potter had (and didn't that make his stomach churn with sympathy and horror). The boy's size, his clothing, his desperation to stay at school during the holidays, his lack of mail from back home, his natural instinct to face every challenge and hardship on his own, even the blind loyalty and unwavering commitment to a few, very close friends.

Snape's heart clenched when he thought of Lily. If it had been Lily in that bathroom with the troll, or Lily whose sister had been taken into the Chamber of Secrets, or Lily being dragged away by a grim, or Lily held hostage at the bottom of the Black Lake… My recklessness would have made Potter's look downright responsible, Snape admitted bitterly to himself. Merlin, how have I been so blind?

When at last he broke free from the charm, Snape was nearly hyperventilating from an overwhelming need to atone for his actions. In a twisted way, he felt that if someone hurt him—like he had hurt Harry that evening—that the iron fist squeezing his chest and making breathing difficult might loosen, and he could think straight once more… could figure out what to do next; how to make it up to Harry.

He scowled down at his still-untouched whiskey, then turned and strode purposefully for the fireplace.

xXxXxXxXx

Sirius Black lounged at the kitchen table in Grimmauld Place, books strewn haphazardly around him, hand dipping absently into a little bowl of chocolate candies at his side while he neatly copied over another useful charm and then began filling in his own personal tips and notes afterwards. Since Harry had returned to school, he split his time pretty evenly between lashing out at other Order members and scouring the Black family library for useful information for Harry and his friends to learn. Sometimes entire books looked promising, and a steadily growing collection was building in a spare trunk in Sirius's room. More often than not, however, an odd spell or mention of an obscure law would be the only promising piece of information plucked from an otherwise useless book, and these Sirius was painstakingly collecting in a book for his son, just as he had pieced together the research for the High Counsel meeting.

It wasn't his usual style, and as a result he had been very on edge the past week. He was sarcastic and intentionally aggravating to other Order members, he and Molly had fought to the point that she was threatening to move back to the Burrow and take Arthur with her, and he had even picked a stupid fight with Remus. The werewolf had made a teasing comment about what Sirius would have thought if his Hogwarts-aged self could see him now, voluntarily pouring over books. Sirius had gone off at him, shouting about how a true Gryffindor only turned to books and research when there was no other choice; that if he and James neglected their studies at times, it was only because they saw the importance of protecting other students from the bullies and dark wizards in Slytherin. He regretted the words almost as soon as they left his mouth, but when he turned to Lupin to apologize, the other wizard didn't give him a chance. With a hard look, he asked a single question, tone soft but unrelenting.

"Oh, is that what you were doing?" His voice was sarcastic, and his eyes accusatory. He turned and left the room without looking back. That had been the morning before, and while Sirius had spent most of the day fuming in righteous indignation, the werewolf's words had come back to taunt him as he lay awake, tossing and turning most of the night.

Sure, the Maurauders had been pranksters at heart, and Sirius wouldn't deny that some of their sillier shenanigans had been done purely for the fun of it. But at the heart of things, when he and James had gone after specific people, it had always been for good reason, hadn't it? Someone who had hexed a first-year in the hallway and gotten away from it… a prefect who had stood by and said nothing while a third-year was being taunted in the library… Snivellus, for… well, he was bigoted, fascinated by the dark arts; a scrawny, greasy, lonely—and that was about the point where Black's righteous anger had begun to dissipate.

Snape may have done his best to retaliate when the Maurauders tormented him, but when had he started anything? When had he ever been known to go after any other Gryffindor—any other student—besides James and his friends?

Then Sirius had finally gone too far: blinded by rage at the way Snape had hurt Lily when he called her a mudblood, Black had lured Snape into the Shrieking Shack on a full moon, almost destroying two lives and all his strongest friendships. And even then, hadn't Snape only spoken in anger and humiliation after being ganged up on, four-to-one, and mortified in front of half the school? Unable to remember any reason to justify the Maurauders' behavior that day, Black had finally given up on sleep in the early hours of the morning, and he had been working quietly in the kitchen ever since.

The rest of Sirius's brief argument with Remus had begun to torment him as well. Had he really touted himself as the epitome of a 'true Gryffindor?' What did that make Lily and Remus then, two of the bravest most persevering Gryffindors he knew, and two of the most level-headed and studious? What did that make Ron Weasley, whose brilliant research had probably single-handedly saved his son and son-in-law that summer, and who Sirius knew without a shadow of a doubt would follow Harry into any danger without hesitation—already had, in fact, on more than one occasion?

Then he had gone on about the 'dark, evil Slytherins,' exactly like he had promised Harry not to do. For a man who justified his actions as going after bigoted bullies… Sirius was starting to wonder just who the bigoted bullies really were.

The animagus was pulled from his thoughts by the sudden green flare of the fireplace, and a paler-than-usual Severus Snape stalking out of it, sneer in place. Sirius didn't know if it was the wild, pained look in the man's eyes or a result of his guilty conscious and the memories that had been on his mind all morning, but rather than starting in on the insults, he merely set down his quill and frowned at the other man.

"Well if it isn't the mutt, lazing around headquarters. Why it's almost as if you never leave this place Black… oh wait." Sirius stamped down the anger that rose automatically, and forced himself to replay Snape's words in his mind. He was sprawled out at the table, chowing through a bowl of sweets. Hell, he hadn't even changed out of the worn pajamas he had worn to bed. Really, if he ignored the goading tone and accompanying sneer, Snape had done nothing more than state the obvious, and Sirius took a deep breath before answering calmly.

"I'm busy, Snape. You'll have to entertain yourself today." He picked up a book at random, pretending to become engrossed in its contents and hoping that the other man would simply go away. When his book slammed shut in front of him a moment later, he groaned and shot Snape his best glare. Clearly, this wasn't going to be so easy.

"What's the matter Black, have a bad day? Feeling guilty for not being able to be more useful? You Gryffindors are so predictable. I mean, Harry was in tears tonight over how guilty he felt, how he was going to get his friends and family killed…" Sirius kept control of his anger until his son was brought up, and then he shot to his feet and sent a stinging hex blindly towards the other man without thought. It missed him by mere inches, and Black was about to send another one when his brain caught up with his rage and he realized that Snape hadn't moved to lift his wand in defense.

"What are you playing at?" He growled, arms shaking with suppressed fury, but refusing to raise his wand again when his opponent stood unarmed.

"Playing? Who's playing? Are you just going to stand there, Black? Not interested in protecting Harry anymore? That's a shame, the boy obviously needs it; I mean, beaten and starved by his muggle relatives all these years? And that tournament last year, my my how many times he might have died then…" Snape had been trailing steadily closer as he spoke and Black, at this point, was nearly growling. Still, his wand stayed resolutely at his side. He didn't know how Snape had found out about his son's past, but that wasn't what had struck him most about the man's rant. Not a single insult had been thrown. Hell, Snape had called him Harry. Twice. And still, he pushed all the buttons that were sure to set the animagus's anger off. It was almost as if he was trying to get cursed.

"You'd know all about near-death experiences in school, wouldn't you Snape?" Sirius asked back quietly, tight grip on his wand should he need it, though somehow guessing that even that dig wouldn't goad the distraught potions professor into attack.

Snape's face paled at the memory, then blotched red with anger, then went utterly blank as though accepting what had happened, before a look of utter despair filled his eyes and he seemed to snap.

"Just—fucking HEX ME!" Snape snarled, stepping even closer to Sirius, his breath making the shaggy hair on Black's forehead sway as he shouted.

"ENOUGH!" Sirius roared, chucking his wand across the kitchen and throwing his hands in the air, tipping his chin back stubbornly and exposing his neck as though he needed to prove—as dramatically as possible—that he was not too scared to leave himself utterly vulnerable in front of the other man. "I am not going to fight you! I don't know what the bloody hell happened to you Snape, but you're not going to use me to punish you for it! I'm not going to be a tool in some twisted penance you think you need to make. Just calm the hell down and tell me what happe—"

Desperate to make the other man shut up, Snape made one final, last-ditch attempt to goad the animagus into punching him, if nothing else: he leaned forward, body pressing into Black's, and kissed him.

xXxXxXxXx

Snape felt the body pressed tightly against his own freeze, just before strong hands grabbed his upper arms in a vice-like grip. He prepared himself to be roughly shoved away, told himself it was what he wanted, stoutly ignoring the lonely piece inside of him that yearned for any sort of human contact after so many years without it…

But Black didn't push him away. With a show of strength that would have excited Severus had it come from anyone other than his childhood enemy, Black spun them around and pressed Snape flat against the wall, their bodies still touching from shoulders to knees as he deepened the kiss; a harsh, unforgiving, desperate battle of lips and tongues.

Snape, in a frantic attempt to hide his own trembling as his emotions from the confrontation with Potter finally began to unravel, forced a leg between the other wizard's own and pressed up, rolling his hips at the same time in a way that he knew would give all the right friction to leave Black weak in the knees. As soon as Sirius shuddered and gasped against him, Snape shoved away from the wall, spinning them around and latching onto Black's neck to leave a bruising mark, glad that it prevented any embarrassing noises from escaping his busy mouth as hands began to run roughly down his body. There was nothing gentle in the touches, nothing affectionate, just lust and frustration and desperation to drown the guilt each man was feeling.

Snape nearly drew blood with the mark he left on Balck's neck.

Black drew a hoarse cry from Snape when he took a fistful of long hair and yanked his head back harshly to leave his own marks in retaliation.

Snape tore the buttons on Black's pajamas trying to rip them off his shoulders.

Black tore Snape's robe itself undressing the man in turn.

Snape slid his hands up Black's bare, heaving chest and pinched the man's nipples harder than necessary, smirking against the animagus's lips at the high-pitched squeal it provoked.

Black, not to be outdone, dragged his nails from Snape's shoulder-blades down to his lower back, eyes glazing over slightly at the stuttering moan it produced.

All the while, the two men fought for dominance as they struggled and stumbled out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into the library. Pushing Black backwards so that he stumbled and fell onto one of the couches, Snape—the only one of them still holding a wand—doused every lamp in the room before performing a complicated charm that left them both fully undressed. He pointed the wand at Black, flipped him roughly onto his stomach, then immediately crawled on top, sinking his teeth deep into the man's shoulder muscle and causing him to yell out in more pain than pleasure.

Sirius was tense, his hands fisted as anger continued to course through his veins, but he didn't buck Snape off or attempt to free himself from the other's hold. Both men were panting harshly and painfully aroused, and neither had spoken a word since the initial kiss. Neither was sure anymore if they were trying to hurt the other or goad him into hurting them back. At some point, perhaps, they had stopped thinking altogether.

Snape eased back and licked over the deep indents his teeth had made in Black's shoulder, feeling the man shudder beneath him. Reaching down blindly, he found the crease in the man's arse, then the puckered entrance, and with no warning shoved a finger roughly inside. Black tensed, and Snape didn't know if he was hoping he would finally throw him off or not. Sirius only groaned quietly then bucked his hips back insistently, prompting Severus to push his finger quickly in and out before shoving a second one inside.

This time when Black tensed, his whole body when taught and—though Snape felt sure he had tried to hide it—a small whimper of pain broke the silence in the room. Snape could feel how tightly the muscles had clamped down around his fingers, had felt when the skin there had caught and very nearly torn. In a move gentler than he would ever admit, he slowly, carefully eased his fingers back and murmured a quiet spell with his wandtip pressed lightly where his fingers had just been.

Sirius startled at the cool, slick feeling at his entrance, starting to wriggle around to figure out what had happened. A hand pressed hard against his lower back, holding him in place, and if he found comfort in the way that Severus's thumb began to brush in soothing arches along his skin absently, no one had to know.

This time, a single finger entered him slowly, exploring gently and stretching him gradually until a second and third could be added; gradually, patiently. Despite the darkness, both men had their eyes shut tightly, and still neither spoke, not ready to face the reality of what they were doing and who they were doing it with.

Snape slid his hand away, bracing himself above Black on the sofa and lining himself up, but he stopped there, unable to bring himself to take that last step. His breath stuttered, his mind running dull and slow from the way his blood was pooling much lower in his body. They needed to speak, he needed to ask Black if he was okay with this… whatever 'this' was. And yet, he couldn't force the words past his lips.

Before Snape could brood any longer, Sirius twisted an arm back just enough to take Severus in hand and line him up before he raised his hips off the couch, hissing out a long breath as the other man finally began to sink inside him. Severus gasped, hands grabbing Sirius's hips and forcing his own body to press tight against the man's back. He allowed himself to press all the way inside, sweat dripping down his face and body as he held the position, waiting for the muscles that clamped down tightly around him to loosen and adjust. As soon as Sirius shifted experimentally against him, Severus pulled back before thrusting roughly back inside him. They built a rhythm quickly, Severus shifting Sirius up onto his knees so he could reach down and touch himself when the other man had begun to moan needily.

It was rough and dirty, meant purely to pull the most physical pleasure from each other that they possibly could. When Sirius suddenly stiffened beneath him, muscles tightening almost painfully as he had his release, Severus tightened his grip on the other man's hips to the point of leaving bruises and pounded against him even faster. A dozen thrusts, two dozen, and then his pace stuttered and he bit down hard on his own lips, refusing to cry out as he reached his own peak.

Almost as soon as he had finished, Severus eased out of the panting animagus below him, and Sirius shoved him aside to climb shakily to his own feet. Snape summoned his clothing to him, dressing quickly and silently after a few quick cleaning spells, then turned and swept to the still-partially-open door. He lit the lamps behind him quietly before slipping out of the library, door shut tight behind him.

His thoughts were reeling, the reality of what he had just done finally hitting him, and he leaned back heavily against the door. His world—everything he had taken for granted as fact for so long—was crumbling apart.

Footsteps were approaching the door he still leaned against, and Snape forced himself to step away and school his expression into a blank mask. Black stepped out quietly into the hall, blinking in surprise when he saw the other man still waiting there, but he, too, seemed reluctant to give away what he was thinking or feeling. They may have stood that way for some time, had it not been for the woosh of the floo in the next room, followed almost immediately by Harry's frantic voice calling out for Sirius. While Black took off at a sprint, Snape frowned and crept closer to the kitchen to hear what was going on.

"Slow down, Pup, deep breath. You went to see Charlie but you couldn't get past the wards at the reserve?"

"Yes! I pushed against them, then put my cloak back on thinking I'd just try a different spot. Before I could leave, Macnair and Nott showed up from inside the wards because some sort of alert had gone off when I tried to enter. They were going on about the other Death Eaters coming to attack and how they were going to kill everyone who wouldn't join Voldemort and only people with the Dark Mark can get in and—Sirius, we need to find a way to warn Charlie! Hedwig hasn't been able to deliver my letters, there's no floo network there… I could try a Patronus, but that's gonna tip off the Death Eaters already there that someone knows what's going on…" His voice was frantic, nothing like Snape remembered from other times Harry had faced a crisis. Guiltily, he wondered how much of that was due to what he had put the young man through that day. He quickly ran over the boy's words again in his mind, and with a jolt he realized he had a solution. Not allowing himself time to hesitate, Severus quietly stepped into the kitchen.

"How did you leave Hogwarts without tripping the wards?" Snape asked as soon as the others turned to look at him. Almost instantly Harry had leveled his wand at the Potions Master, and Snape simply raised an eyebrow, making no move to defend himself.

"Snape! What are you…? Never mind, I don't care. I don't care what you think or what you want or what you say. I snuck out; I found a way, and it's none of your damn business. I guess you're right: I am nothing but a selfish, reckless, rule-breaking celebrity. And you can give me all the detentions you want to and refuse to teach me Occlumency and go to Dumbledore and tell him all about how the 'insufferable Potter brat' admitted all kinds of rules he's broken to you today and then attacked a professor and then ran away. I do not care. The only thing that matters right now is saving Charlie and if you get in my way I swear to Merlin I will make you regret so if you're not going to help then get out!" His wild magic was radiating off of him in erratic pulses, and sparks jumped haphazardly from the tip of his wand.

Snape looked from Harry to the fireplace and back again before making a decision that would change his role in the rest of the war. He sat down at the table, rolled up his left sleeve to reveal his Dark Mark and tucked his wand deliberately into his robes.

"I want to help. Will you let me?" He asked calmly. Harry was staring down at the mark, but when Snape examined the expression, rather than the disgust or condemnation the mark usually sparked he saw wide-eyed hope, and knew that Harry had realized the same thing he had.

"You… you have the mark. You can get through the wards."

"I can," Snape agreed simply. "I will. I want to help you, but to that in the best way possible I need you to talk to me." He didn't ask for permission, didn't try to convince Harry of anything, simply stated the simple facts and then sat quietly once more, waiting for the younger wizard's decision. Harry looked at him, a battle of emotions waging behind his eyes.

"You're a bastard," Harry finally said, though his tone was almost mild. Snape blinked, surprised, but simple shrugged a shoulder, not bothering to deny it. "You took advantage of me tonight," Harry accused, in that same, oddly neutral voice. This time Snape's gut twisted, but he forced himself to actually respond.

"Yes. Though you were foolish to suggest it in the first place."

"True. I don't always think things through before I act." Snape couldn't stop the look that followed, one that expressed how obvious he felt that statement to be, and Harry's eyes narrowed. "Although I do more often than you'd think."

"I… would not be overly surprised if that were the case," Snape conceded easily enough, and hid a smirk at the godsmacked look he got in return. The boy really did have to work on not advertising every thought and emotion in his expressions.

"You hate me, you think I'm totally worthless," he said incredulously, and now Snape's eyes sharpened with focus and he sat forward in his chair, staring down the young man until he was sure that he had his full attention before speaking.

"You are not worthless. I cannot hate you, because I do not know you; that was made painfully clear this evening. I do not apologize for being a bastard as a general rule, but my behavior towards you since you started school has been unacceptable. I made assumptions; I saw only what I wanted to see. You have no reason to trust me, but at the moment I can help you and you have little time with no other options." He paused, waiting to see how the young man would respond. Harry's eyes flicked briefly towards Sirius, but then he lowered his wand hesitantly and nodded, letting Snape know he was willing to listen.

"I asked how you got past Hogwarts' wards because I need to know if you will be able to get back in without the headmaster's knowledge. If it is possible, you need to get back to school and be seen—preferably by Slytherin students—going about your day as though nothing is out of the ordinary." He held up his hand when Harry opened his mouth, clearly about to protest. "I understand that you want to go to your bondmate yourself, but you do no one any good trapped outside the wards. I will do whatever I can to get Charlie to safety. You must keep up appearances, or you will lose whatever advantage over the headmaster that you have gained up until this point." Harry's brow furrowed disbelievingly and his next question sounded a little suspicious, but not overly accusatory.

"Why would you want to go against Dumbledore like that?" Snape sighed; it was a smart question to ask, but he simply did not have the time or energy to deal with the implications of his answer.

"Albus… Professor Dumbledore is a great man, and even great men make mistakes. The headmaster's mistakes, however, are quickly outweighing his positive actions. When you came to me today asking me to help you Occlude against him, you must have realized that I could not possibly agree to do so and remain loyal to him at the same time."

"What are you saying?" Sirius had finally entered the conversation, and although Snape's gaze flickered to the animagus, he was not ready for the confusing swirl of emotions and thoughts when their eyes met, and he quickly turned back to look at Harry.

"I will teach you. I will keep your absence from the school today between us, if I am able. Beyond that… I need time to re-evaluate where I stand in this war and to adjust to what I learned about you today." He waited to make sure Harry had processed this. The young man did not seem overly comfortable with the idea, but his eyes were bright and alert, and he nodded solemnly.

Snape stood and transformed his robes (the tear Sirius had left earlier already repaired) into the long, black robes and skull-like mask of the Death Eaters. He turned to Harry, surprised to find that he felt relieved not to see any sort of judgment in the boy's eyes.

"There isn't time to discuss this anymore. I need you to tell me how to find the reserve, and then you need to return to school. I will find a way to contact you as soon as it is safe to do so." Harry hesitated only a moment then sighed, signaling his acceptance, and carefully explained the series of floo jumps and the short trek to the edge of the reserve's wards. Snape nodded sharply, then strode to the fireplace, taking up a scoop of floo powder. A slim hand on his arm stopped him before he could toss it in the flames, and he turned to find Harry at his side.

"You should take my Firebolt, it will get you there faster and give you an advantage moving through the reserve," he said, holding out his prized broom, though how it had suddenly appeared in the kitchen of headquarters Snape couldn't say.

He took it wordlessly, grateful that the mask was in place to cover his surprise. A moment later, his gratitude doubled and the broom's appearance clicked into place as his jaw dropped with Harry's next gesture.

"I want you to take this to," Harry said, voice concerned but unyielding. "If you get caught trying to help Char, if you even get caught in the reserve at all when you should have no idea this is happening, you'll be in danger. I want Charlie safe, but I don't want you sacrificing yourself to make it happen." In his hands, held out to Snape like an offering, was James Potter's invisibility cloak.

Harry's words from earlier came back to him. "…People are pledging their loyalty to me… and I have to keep them safe…" Snape fastened the cloak around him, then stepped into the fireplace and disappeared a rush of green flames.

He hadn't pledged loyalty to Harry… but he was starting to think that someday, he would.