Chapter Three Review Responses:

Anarane Anwamane- thats what i was aiming for...*grins*

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Jaded Angel8- Tank-you! (yes i spelt it that way on purpose...)

Mikee- I rather enjoyed the rant myself to... heheheh always fun!

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Kira-Leigh – Since you asked so nicely…thanks!

Slytherinsela – Thanks!

Taking Away The Loneliness

Chapter 4

-Predator-

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It was official, Severus Snape decided as he dropped himself unceremoniously into his favourite chair that he was a masochist. After all, what else could have possibly possessed him to invite the very reason for his internal turmoil back to his dungeons for what would most definitely be an awkward hour or so?

With a sigh, the Potions Master pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes. He'd meant to berate the boy for disobeying him in the early hours of the morning; he'd planned on intimidating the little sod into never breathing a word about what he'd most definitely overheard…and yet, what had he actually done? He'd invited the brat back for another one-on-one confrontation, where they'd more than likely play another round of humiliating twenty questions.

It was utterly infuriating! The damn boy-

Severus' thoughts came crashing to a halt.

That was another issue, wasn't it? Harry Sodding Potter was only a boy. 17 years of age. 20 years his junior. And he was also his student!

Yet, despite all that, he could still feel himself becoming increasingly physically attracted to the brat.

Oh, Albus would have his head (and, more than likely, his genitalia) on a platter if he were to discover that juicy little detail. Not that he ever would, of course. After all, Snape himself had no plans to walk up to the elderly wizard and just amiably tell the old man, and it was doubtful that Potter felt any different on the topic of disclosing such information either.

In fact, if Severus were to be completely realistic, the Gryffindor brat would more than likely only be sickened by the notion that he, the greasy old git, found him aesthetically pleasing, and would hate for anyone to know.

With a glance at the grandfather clock in the corner, Snape scowled and rose to his feet. He had a class of third years to teach. Hufflepuffs no less. Oh, sometimes it was enough to make the man want to just give up. He shook his head clear of all his thoughts, and made his way back towards his classroom, almost forgetting completely about the realisation that Potter knew of his attraction.

It was only the dull ache in his chest that served as a reminder.

And it wasn't until he'd settled himself in front of his dopey class that he realised that the ache was a direct result of his assumption that Potter, was sickened by him. "Bollocks." He muttered angrily to himself.

After all, what did he care if Harry was repulsed by him?

"The Tumultus potion requires the use of diced Crup tails, and I expect each and every one of you to watch carefully as I demonstrate, as I will not be repeating myself." Snape began his lesson, glaring at the shaking adolescents. "If done properly, your potions will be a dark, viscous green liquid…." He trailed off, his previous thought hitting him with full force.

He stifled a gasp at his rather traitorous mind.

Had he just referred to Potter as Harry????

Sweet Merlin, he had.

"Professor?" A short, mouseyhaired girl squeaked, interrupting his internal ranting.

He spun to glower at her, more than aware that the very look he was giving the child had been known to make grown men wet themselves. "Miss Atkins?" His voice was biting. It complimented the glare perfectly.

She swallowed. "Y-you drifted off, Sir…..I…..I w-was….."

"Twenty points from Hufflepuff for your irritating babbling, Miss Atkins. As to my 'drifting off', if you were to have been paying any attention, you'd have realised that I was concentrating on my technique, as the preparation of the ingredients is vital for the development of the potion's efficiency." He narrowed his gaze in distaste. "Another ten points for your recklessness in disrupting my trail of thought."

He looked down at the mess he'd unconsciously made of his Crup's tail and cursed silently. "See?" He raised the mangled ingredients for the entire class to view, "These are utterly useless now, which proves that proper concentration is absolutely fundamental when brewing a first class potion…."

Thankfully, the rest of his lesson flew by without further incident, and Severus was left to slump into his chair in his private quarters once more.

He was frustrated. Whether it was with himself for not thinking properly, or for Potter and his constant meddling, he couldn't say. All he knew was that he was in need of a good, stiff drink.

Reaching for the firewhiskey, he groaned in realisation. He couldn't have a drink just yet, because he still had seventh year papers to mark, and then a detention with the very bane of his existence, to supervise. His frustration increased tenfold.

It was all Potter's fault; causing trouble for him even in absence.

"Damned brat…." he hissed, pulling himself to his feet once more, stalking to his private desk, and taking a seat behind it. He removed his favourite marking quill, and a pot of deep dark red ink and singled out Harry's essay.

A sadistic smirk crept onto his face as he leant down and began to attack the parchment with a flourish.

Sometimes, being a teacher did have its therapeutic elements.

~*~

"Detention?" Ron asked Harry, his fork full of potato held in mid air, sounding absolutely dismayed. The raven-haired teen nodded with a frown. His best friend moaned. "Again?! Bloody Hell, mate. How many more house points are you going to lose us to that git?"

The Boy Who Lived eyes flashed dangerously. "It's not like I do it on purpose," he snapped, "'Sides, he didn't take points this time, just gave me the detention."

"Gods, Harry," Hermione leant into the discussion, ignoring her dinner for the time being, "What on earth for?"

Harry blinked at his friends, knowing that telling them the truth would only make the situation worse.

'Oh, you know, I snuck out in the middle of the night, decided to risk my safety by wandering around the school grounds alone, stumbled upon Snape and listened to the old bat's ranting. Which, by the way, was about how 'gorgeous' he finds me, and he caught me in the act.' Yeah, that would go down really well.

Dumbledore's Golden Boy merely shrugged at his friends' mutual questioning gazes. "My potion wasn't good enough for him." Ron accepted this excuse immediately, however Hermione's arched eyebrow suggested that she didn't believe him in the least. After all, she'd noticed that Harry's potion had been exceptional for once, and she'd been proud of his efforts. The boy in question, however, mirrored her calculating expression, praying for her to just let the topic go.

With a sigh, Hermione nodded, making a mental note to interrogate Harry later, in a more private setting. "Well then, eat up," she eventually spoke, gesturing at his half-eaten meal. "I'm sure it won't help your cause if you're late."

Thankful that she had gotten the message, Harry complied and dove into the rest of his meal, his traitorous mind wandering to the revelation which he had discovered in the early hours of the morning. Snape found him attractive. No, not just attractive. 'Gorgeous'.

Was it wrong that he wasn't even the slightest bit repulsed by the notion that the Potions Master felt that way?

It had to be.

Perhaps he was still in shock. After all, shock was known to delay a person's proper reaction to a revelation or event. When the idea finally sank in, he'd surely be disgusted and reject the entire thought….. right?

Merlin, he hoped so.

He flicked his gaze to the high table, and silently observed the Potions Master. The man was so….so….greasy and sadistic and cold-hearted, and strangely intriguing, and–

Harry's thoughts stopped.

Intriguing? Where the fuck had that come from?

Surely Snape was anything but intriguing. He practically screamed solidarity and social ineptitude. And yet, there was something about the way he carried himself, an air of composed dignity, those inky black eyes that just saw straight into your soul-

Again, Harry froze; repulsed with his head and the track his thoughts were taking.

Snape -he told himself- the Greasy Git Extraordinaire, was not enigmatic. He was not attractive. His eyes were not two onyx pools that you could lose yourself in, and –the Gryffindor licked his lips; his mouth felt terribly dry all of a sudden- Snape's arse was not something that Harry yearned to press up against a dungeon wall and grope into oblivion, whilst rubbing other parts of his anatomy against the taller man's.

Suddenly images were filling his head and the Boy Who Lived dropped his fork with a clatter onto his plate, before guzzling down a glass of pumpkin juice.

Why the hell was he thinking these things? Why was he suddenly having such trouble convincing himself of Snape's repulsiveness? And, sweet Merlin, why had the last thought taken him to the point where his trousers were growing uncomfortably snug?

It was the shock and the lack of sleep, he tried to reason, it had to be. That and the fact that he was after all a teenage boy, and a sexually frustrated teenage boy at that. It was only natural that the thought of a forbidden romp with another firm body would create that sort of reaction within him, no matter who that firm body belonged to.

Of course that explained it. He'd be coming out of the shock any moment now, and would then return to his former Snape despising self.

Feeling somewhat more reassured and taking a steadying breath, Harry noticed that his friends were eyeing him worriedly. "What?" He asked them, hoping he didn't sound as breathless as he felt.

"Where've you been?" Ron queried, "We've been talking to you for at least three minutes."

Hermione, meanwhile, pressed a gentle hand to his forehead. "Are you feeling alright? You're looking a bit flushed…."

'That could be because I was having some sort of sick and twisted sexual fantasy about Snape.' Harry's mind hissed sarcastically. He smothered a smirk, pulling away from his friend's hand and shaking his head. "Nah, I'm fine. Really. Food just went down the wrong way, is all, couldn't breathe properly."

Again, Hermione looked at him sceptically, but said nothing. "Right…well, it's almost 8 o'clock. Perhaps you should get going."

"Yeah, mate, wouldn't want Snape to ride you any harder than he usually does," Ron agreed sympathetically, not noticing the flush returning to his best friend's cheeks.

Sometimes Harry's mind, in true teenage male fashion, managed to make anything sound like it was fused with innuendo.

Casually adjusting his robes so to hide the bulge in his trousers, and nodding to his friends, the celebrity Gryffindor excused himself, and made his way to the dungeons.

~*~

Severus scowled as he swept down the corridors, his robes billowing out behind him.

The fact that the brat had been watching him during dinner had not slipped past his attention. In truth, something in Potter's gaze had been more than remotely disturbing. The glint in his emerald green orbs was reminiscent to that of a starved dragon eyeing off its chosen prey. And when the boy had licked his lips, whether it had been a subconscious act or not, Snape had practically fled the room.

And now he was heading towards the dungeons where he had to spend time alone with the brat.

He was far from impressed.

And the worst part of his current predicament was that it was entirely his own foolishness that had roped him into this gods-forsaken situation. However, that didn't mean he couldn't take his frustrations out on the Prince of Gryffindor. Considering the boy's attitude for the last few weeks, and his obvious violation of the rules (rules that were instilled for the stupid child's own safety, might he add), Snape felt completely justified in his plan to inflict his own acidity on the boy. Hopefully it would bring the little git back down a few notches.

Oh bloody hell, the Potions Master internally cursed, spying a mop of unruly black hair heading his way, obviously having raced directly from the Great Hall. He was reminded of an old Muggle adage. Oh, how did it go? 'Speak of the Devil and he shall appear'?

"Professor Snape." Harry said by way of greeting, as he approached the door to the potions classroom.

His customary sneer in place, Severus nodded his own greeting. "Mister Potter; early for once, I see." He directed his gaze upwards in a mocking fashion. "Will wonders never cease?"

The Gryffindor merely smiled brightly in response, knowing that it would irritate the older wizard far more than any other form of retaliation.

True to form, Snape glowered and snapped at him. "Wipe that ridiculous look from your face, Potter. I will remind you that you are here for detention and not any form of social call."

"Yes, Sir." The younger man replied, schooling the smile from his lips. "Sorry, Sir."

'Merlin's balls you are.' Internally, Severus seethed at the child's cheek. Externally, however, the man was utterly impassive. Without another word he opened the door to the classroom and waited not-quite-patiently for the Gryffindor to enter.

Taking his cue, Harry strode through the threshold and observed the state that the workbenches were in this time. Thankfully he didn't have much to clean tonight. Sure, there were the odd remains of ingredients strewn across the desks, but nothing too sickening.

Perhaps Snape was going to let him off lightly this evening after all, and there would be no mention of the previous night's –or rather, early morning's- occurrences.

Behind him, the door slammed shut, and the Head of Slytherin placed numerous –rather complex- silencing and locking charms around the room, before spinning gracefully to grin predatorily at his student. "Now, Mister Potter," Severus' voice rumbled menacingly from the back of his throat, and escaped through his bared teeth. After all, he'd be damned before he allowed the brat to believe that he had even an ounce of leverage over his professor. "I believe there are….matters, which we must discuss."

Harry sighed to himself; his prior hopes were dashed.

He'd have no such luck tonight, apparently.

~*~

"For the last time, Professor," Harry hissed, slamming his fists down on the desk in front of him for emphasis, "I. Was. Not. Spying. On. You."

Severus arched an elegant eyebrow, folded his arms over his chest, and leant back against his own desk. "Oh no?" He asked, his tone defensive. "Then what, pray tell, were you doing?"

"As I've told you countless times, Sir, I was out for a walk because I couldn't sleep, and then returned to the castle after you dismissed me."

"Don't lie to me, child." The older wizard practically growled, narrowing his dark eyes in a most menacing manner. "I will not hesitate to force Veritasserum down your throat."

Emerald eyes flashing in anger, the Gryffindor stood up and moved closer towards his Potions professor in an attempt to prove that he was not intimidated in the least. "Don't you mean my 'gorgeous throat', Snape?"

In hindsight, Harry decided, that had been a stupid, stupid move.

He watched as Severus unfurled his arms and rose to his full height before taking a dangerous step forward in his direction. Despite his initial resolve to prove that he was not in the least bit disturbed, Harry swallowed audibly. Snape took another silent step forward, and, acting purely on instinct, the Gryffindor took his own step backward. For what felt like hours they continued this deadly tango, until Harry found himself trapped, his back pressed up against a wall.

Having backed the brat into a corner, Severus grinned maliciously. "And if that is indeed what I meant, Potter?" He asked, finally answering the boy's antagonistic question. "What would you say? How would you react if I ever lost control of myself and-" he leant in closer so that his lips were brushing against Harry's earlobe, "-took advantage of that gorgeous and enticing little body of yours, hmm?" He finished in a whisper, and pulled away, ready to find fear and perhaps a little repulsion etched on the younger man's face.

Of course, somewhere in his double-crossing head, he felt saddened and disappointed that Harry would more than likely feel that way.

And -Sweet Fucking Merlin- he'd done it again.

The brat's name –to him, at any rate- was Potter. Not 'Harry'. He would never be 'Harry'.

And there had to be something seriously psychologically wrong with him to be upset that the little sod most likely despised him.

Perhaps he'd suffered under one-too-many a Cruciatus curse and had finally lost the plot.

That had to be it.

Shutting his eyes in disgust of his own actions and thoughts, Severus pulled away from the warm body that he'd pressed up against the wall, and subsequently completely missed the look of utter lust and confusion etched on Harry's face. In fact, had he remained in position, he probably would have felt the effect that he'd had on the younger wizard.

Cursing his body's natural reaction to Snape's proximity, Harry was torn between his emotions when the older man pulled back. It was definitely a good thing that the man hadn't discovered his now aching erection, but –for reasons that Harry couldn't explain- he was disappointed when the Potions Master's warm body disappeared from within his reach. He'd only just managed to stop himself from moaning and pleading at the man for more bodily contact. Gods, there was definitely something wrong with him.

Meanwhile, a few meters away, Severus Snape, his back turned to his student, was seething with anger and other emotions that he could not place –or, rather, refused to acknowledge. Still refusing to look at the boy, the professor pointed his wand at the door and removed all his carefully placed charms. "Leave," he ground out from between his tightly gritted teeth. When he felt Potter hesitate behind him, he snapped. "NOW!"

True to the brave, bold Gryffindor stereotype, Harry stood his ground. "Sir, I-"

Positively fuming at the brat's insolence, Snape spun around. "I will not repeat myself again, Potter." He murmured, the low, menacing tone of his voice sending chills down Harry's spine. "Get. Out. Of. My. Sight."

Despite his longing to stay and discuss things further with the infuriated Slytherin, The Boy Who Lived realised that it would be safer for both of them if he left now. He made his way towards the classroom door, and paused at the threshold. "I'm sorry, Sir." He spoke almost silently, wondering if Snape had even heard him. However, he didn't stay any longer to find out.

Practically racing back up the corridors, Harry made the unconscious decision to return to the Potions Master's chambers in a couple of evening's time. After all, there were still a lot of issues that he needed to work out within himself, before confronting the other man.

For example, why in Merlin's name was he feeling even more drawn to the man than ever before? And then why, every time he tried to shake the thoughts and emotions, did they only appear to strengthen?

There was obviously something wrong with him, but what the fuck was it, and how could he make it go away?

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- Chapter by:

~*~ChaCha Chica~*~ (Who is waiting on the edge of her seat for your opinions….)