To the people who wrote nice reviews, thank you. And to anyone who was planning on holding back criticism until the tentative March 1 deadline I gave, you may as well hit me with it now. Things at home have worked out better than I prayed J Ok, enough pontificating, here's the next chapter.
Three months later and Harry is no longer poisoning himself with wormwood. It is apparent that Gustave did indeed miss something, a less toxic derivative of the Draught of Living Death, one which relies on asphodel, potassium, and several numbing agents. But it seems that Severus Snape is not done studying Harry Potter. In fact, he's staring at him right now, as Harry resignedly stares back and cuts into his arm, deeper than usual for the anger of becoming a spectacle. Or rather, a bigger one.
"Do you enjoy this, Severus?" Harry asks, inflicting just as much unwanted intimacy on the Professor in return.
"Not particularly, no," the older man answers with an arrogant, ironic smile. "Do you, Harry?"
"I don't like you watching," Harry responds, turning his blade. Sometimes he carves words into his flesh, without realizing it. Now, he realizes that he is writing with the knife. In seconds, it will read, "Hello."
"Do you enjoy it when it's private?" Snape persists.
"Yes," Harry answers, quickly.
"For the pain?"
"It doesn't hurt."
"For the sensation?"
"You'll have to be more specific, Severus," Harry teased. "And you aren't asking the right questions, at least according to that mountain of knowledge concerning neurosis which is located in your study. You say, 'Harry, do you wish to die? Harry, do you enjoy the thrill of being caught? Harry, do you see yourself as a failure? Harry, do you feel alone? Feel sad? Feel guilty?' Or you can go deeper, if you'd prefer. 'Harry, do you have abandonment issues, being an orphan and all? Harry, do you still feel traumatized by the war? Harry, do you sleep at night, with all the nightmares of death and torture that you must have? Harry, were you mistreated as a child? Emotionally? Sexually? Harry, were you raped when you were a baby?' Any of these questions could prove relevant, Severus. And I know you're a thorough man, Severus, but I really should be going. As should you. Dinner is in five minutes, and you really should consider putting on a few pounds, Severus. You look all skin and bone." Harry waves his bleeding "Hello" at Severus before heading to the door.
"Harry, were you raped when you were a child?" Severus asks, supplying his own answers to all of the other possible questions, save this one, this one which he is afraid of asking, afraid of hearing the answer. Harry can see the fear, buried under black eyes. No, they're darker than that, like dried blood really. Harry hears the question and can't help but laugh.
"Severus, I'm surprised. All of the monsters you must have met in your day, and you don't know the answer to that one? I was never raped. I was the rapist."
The looks Professor Snape is giving Harry throughout dinner in the Great Hall are making him uncomfortable. Actually, they are making him half-hard, but that is uncomfortable as well, especially while he talks to Professor Flitwick about Cheering Charms, which just happen to be on the dear professor's mind of late. It seems that Snape has been a busy boy. And that he is getting desperate, if he's taken to consulting any field other than potions and amateur psychology to fix Harry. As Harry patiently plays audience to Flitwick's lecture, he quietly taps S.O.S with his fingers against the table. A barely audible snort assures him that Snape has taken notice. Harry takes notice that Snape is wearing aftershave today. It smells good. Snape must have run down to his rooms after their discussion, and put the scent on before the meal began. Harry understands what he's doing. He's trying to turn the course of inquiry towards sex by initiating a relationship focused on lust. He's going to try to draw Harry out of what he deems as a delusion about being a rapist by establishing a healthy, adult sexual relationship between two consenting parties. Either that or he has a hot date after dinner. Harry smiles at this notion. Severus Snape, lovesick by candlelight.
Inevitably, Snape shows up at Harry's door shortly after dinner.
"Severus, what an unpleasant surprise," Harry laughs, ushering the man inside.
"So who did you rape, Potter? A Death Eater, those two nights when you were held captive? The Dark Lord himself? Oh, let me guess, Ronald Weasley? And the poor boy was so desperate to get away from you that he got himself killed," Snape sneers, taunts.
"You just shut up about him," Harry warns, letting Snape know he'd gone too far with a single flash of the eye. No matter how hard Snape tries to belittle Harry's power, there is no denying that the young man is the most powerful wizard alive these days. "You don't have to make me angry, to hurt me, if you want the truth," Harry continues, seeing the small dip of the head as submission.
"What must I give you?" Snape asks.
"Your promise to stop watching me when I cut," Harry answers. "I need this, Severus. I might not always, but I do need it now. It's become a habit, an old friend. My oldest friend."
"Tell me."
So Harry does. He talks for hours, pausing to drink deeply of his glass of wine and to offer Snape some. He talks and Snape listens without interruption. Snape makes a few noises here and there, mostly confined to penetrating, deep breaths, too subtle to be sighs. These come most frequently during the childhood years, as Harry had expected, but the Potions Master also seems concerned, or interested or whatever it is that drives those almost sighs, when Harry explains his genuine sexual awakening during adolescence. The few times that Harry's needy offers to give head to any anonymous boys were accepted. The pain it caused him when rumors of his ineptness spread. The very real pain it caused him when, in a fit of self-hatred, he tried to deep-throat his razor, over and over again, stretching the limits of what he could take. The next few propositions, the begging, the rejection. And then the one time when someone offered to return the favor, a free lesson in technique. Harry had ended up in the hospital wing, unable to stop vomiting. And then there was war and an end to Harry's attempts to please an idea, a myth of an uncle who could forgive him. Snape listens to this until Harry stops talking.
And now it is his turn to speak, but he has no words. He can only see that warm red mouth, and imagine it swallowing and swallowing. The pain he feels for Harry is very real and present, almost concrete, but the picture Harry paints is simply too intriguing for him, so he says goodnight and leaves. Harry understands this. He also knows that he was moments away from offering himself to Snape, but whether this would be out of guilt or gratitude, he does not know. And he does not know if he is sad when Snape leaves him, but he is sorry for something. Sighing in the frustration of uncertainty, Harry takes his new potion and goes to sleep.