Harry sat in the Room of Requirement staring at the near empty bottle of firewhiskey. Had he really drank it all? Judging by the way the floor was moving, he must have. He couldn't quite remember how long he'd been there since, after the third gulp from the bottle, everything was a blur.
He knew he'd have to leave the room eventually and face the others outside, but he wasn't ready yet. Though, once he thought about it, he knew he'd never be ready. Unfortunately, his outburst hadn't been a dream; it had been a disastrous reality. How could he have said those things in front of everyone? No doubt the whole school knew by now. What would everyone say? What would Dumbledore do to a professor who was having relations with a student? More importantly, what would Severus do now that Harry'd bought their relationship to the attention of the entire school?
Fighting back his tears, he drank the last of the firewhiskey, then sat the bottle down. He forced himself up, taking a few too many tries, then staggered out of the room. Harry leaned heavily against the wall just outside the Room of Requirement, trying his best to remember which way led to the Tower. The hallway around him spun, and he had to close his eyes or he'd vomit.
After pushing himself up, he started walking. He wasn't sure which way since he couldn't seem to keep his eyes open long enough to look around. All that mattered was that he got back to the Tower. Hopefully everyone would be asleep and he would have a few more hours before he had to face his house.
An hour of stops, falls, and finally asking a painting for directions, Harry stood before the portrait of the Fat Lady. In his state of mind, he was surprised he could regurgitate the password...even if it was slurred almost beyond recognition. But the Fat Lady had understood and swung open to allow him entrance.
Stumbling in, he fell on his face just in front of the fireplace in the Common Room. Once his head had hit the ground, his eyes closed and he slipped into a stupor, not hearing someone approach.
"Harry?" a familiar voice asked, "You alright, Harry?"
He could feel someone shaking his shoulder, then rolling him over. Harry tried to answer, but only a mumble came out.
"Harry, what happened to you?"
Another jumbled response. He could feel hands under his arms, hoisting him up, and the sudden movement made him dizzy. Harry had to lean on his companion or he surely would have fallen back down.
At first, he'd thought that his companion, whoever it was, would have taken him back up to his dormitory. However, that was proven false when he was deposited on the couch a few feet away. Eyes still closed, Harry could feel his helper touch him all over, no doubt checking for some kind of injury. But, in his mind, Harry imagined it was Snape's hands touching him for a whole other reason, and he got hard at the image.
His companion must have noticed because the hands suddenly stopped.
"Harry?"
Harry was sure he knew the voice, he just couldn't think of whom it belonged to. Did it really matter? Deciding that he didn't care who it was, he managed, after several tries, to ask, "Am I...sexy?"
Nothing could have hidden that audible gulp from whomever it was hovering no more than a foot away. "...Harry...I..."
"Please."
Breathing loud, the other person answered, "Yes. You're very sexy."
"Would you fuck me?"
Another pointed pause. "Yes."
Through the haze in his brain, Harry knew this was wrong. But that part was overridden by alcohol, frustration, and a hunger that Severus had been unwilling to satisfy. "Do it."
It felt like hours before those hands were on him again, this time the touching was far more heated and deliberate. Harry knew that he should tell whomever it was to stop; that he was in love with Snape, but he couldn't seem to. Instead, he opened his eyes to see Seamus, then quickly closed them again and arched into his touch.