Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all terms related to Harry Potter are the property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers. Lyrics from The Offspring and other references to their songs must be acredited to Dexter Holland and the rest of the band.Technicolour, so far as I know, belongs to technicolour!

Summary: In which the author does her favourite thing – forces two inarticulate people to have a conversation about their feelings! (Oh, also bad stuff happens).

Can't Get My Head Around You

"No hangover cures this morning, I suppose?"

Hermione scowled at her friend. "No. My supplier doesn't seem to be very impressed with you at the moment. He thinks you deserve to suffer for a while."

"And I don't suppose he did anything as useful as explain why I deserve to suffer? I can't personally remember that much."

"He said you got very drunk and did something indiscreet, which I've taken to mean you tried to snog him."

"Ah yes." Harry grimaced over his toast. "You must be delighted, that's item twelve you can scrub off your to-do list."

"Hardly." She pushed a mug of coffee into Harry's hands. "You know, for a gay man you really have very little sensitivity for the feelings of others."

"I resent that stereotype. I don't see why I should be any more sensitive than Ron or any other man just because I take it up the arse."

"If not because you're gay then because you're no longer a teenager. Harry, are you even mildly interested in Snape or just bored?"

Harry thought this was a little rich from the woman who, until this morning, had been using every excuse to push himself and Severus together, but considered her question none the less. He had to admit that it had been nice to be held last night – but did it make any significant difference to him that it had been Snape holding him? He had certainly been horny and in search of a shag, but with his former Professor? I mean, who would want Snape, with his arrogant smirk and piercing black eyes and really quite athletic physique. Who would want that dark velvet voice whispering sweet nothings in their ear? Or those long, strong fingers tangling in their hair as cruel lips melted into a soft kiss?

Harry decided quite firmly that, in point of fact, he did.

After all, last night had been far from painful. No previous lover had ever danced with him or talked to him about any topic other than Voldemort and war. Snape's now-blatant sex appeal aside, it made quite a material difference to be talked to like a normal human being.

"There is a certain amount of mild interest, yes," Harry eventually replied, trying not to blush at his understatement.

"I had rather thought so." His friend sighed and looked at him fondly. "Whatever my biases might be, I know a right answer when I see it."

Harry bit his tongue against the 'know-it-all' comment that threatened to erupt from his mouth. "So what do I do?" he asked instead, finding himself surprised that he actually wanted to do anything. Aside from 'the boy who lived' stuff, when it came to relationships he was more 'the man who hid until the most likelihood of a shag'.

"I think a conversation is called for." Harry cringed. "A sober conversation, and there's no need to look at me like that because what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger."

"How do you know it won't kill me? Snape has been known to throw large breakable objects at my head, you know."

"Oh, grow up, Harry."

He nodded and turned his attention back to the safer topic of breakfast. This was not something to be attempted on an empty stomach.

---

"How's your head?" Severus asked without looking up from his term papers.

Harry grimaced. "I've had worse."

Silence reined, and Severus still wasn't looking at Harry. Desperate measures were called for. "Look, I know I was completely ploughed last night and I probably didn't act in a … prudent manner."

Snape was not smiling or looking forgiving. In fact Harry recognised that as the scowl he used to receive after accidental hexes during Occlumency lessons. "Allow me to save you the trouble, Potter. It never happened and you would prefer I not mention this to anyone. How close am I?"

"No, that's not it at all. If you'd just let me finish."

"I don't think I want to hear it," he said quietly. He raised his head but would still not meet Harry's eyes. "Fun as it would have been to end up as Harry Potter's conquest of the evening, I'm sure there are many other ways I could crawl into the gossip columns if I really try."

"Why are you so insufferable?" Harry knew that as an apology this was not going so well. "I came here to say sorry for being a lecherous drunk and to thank you for a really nice evening, and all you can do is rant on about how, in a hypothetical situation, I'd treat you really badly."

"When I should, of course, grovel for your attention and you good opinion. Is that really what you expected, Potter?" Now Snape had no problem scowling at him directly, which Harry didn't consider a positive development.

"That's not what I've ever expected, of anyone, least of all you, because God forbid you actually make this easier for me."

"It's not always about you, Potter," he spat. "I think this little discussion is over. Unless you have anything further to add, I request you leave. Now."

Harry scowled, ignoring him. "I just don't get you, you're not making any sense. The way you were acting last night – and I know you weren't drunk. I thought you might actually be interested, and now you don't give a shit because I made the dire mistake of trying to come on to you? Well, you're faking something, and I can see it. You're not hiding from me Severus. I can see you in glorious technicolour!"

He turned to go but paused in the doorway. "A couple of days ago you told me not to forget that I'm important. I think maybe you need to remember that about yourself."

With that, Harry was through the door and Severus was once again alone.

---

Professor Hermione Granger was not having a good day. Her hair was being frizzy, the chimney in her room was emitting disturbing amounts of soot and she was still finding feathers in parts of her anatomy that feathers should never touch. Add to that an event that had last night seemed so certain, now looked to be well and truly down the plug hole, and it was possible this wasn't going to be such a very merry Christmas.

"How did your chat with Severus go?" she had asked Harry at lunch.

She had received the 'f' word in response: "Fine."

After that he had remained sullen and silent on the subject, so Hermione made her way to the dungeons in hopes of more sense.

"Merlin, I am popular today," came her sarcastic welcome.

Hermione found her colleague in his chambers, nursing a large glass of brandy with a thick book open on his lap. "Good evening. I'll cut to the chase. Did Harry apologise?"

"Ah, so you put him up to that. I thought he must be too dense to have come up with it himself."

Hermione stood before the fireplace with her hands on her hips in full teacher mode. "No, I did not 'put him up to it'. He asked for advice and I pointed out it might be a decent gesture on his part. Whatever lunacy he spouted as a result is nothing to do with me." She gave a wry smile. "You haven't forgiven him yet, I take it?"

"'Yet'? You have a very odd idea of your friend's powers of persuasion. No, Professor Granger, I will not be falling into his open thighs any time before the Dark Lord dances the fandango."

"Might I ask why?"

"No. Now sit down, you're blocking the heat."

Hermione complied, sitting opposite him with her arms crossed. "You're as bad as each other, you know. I can't get a word of sense out of either of you."

"Then perhaps you should leave your match-making to more suitable couples, you're clearly wasting your time here."

"Of course," Hermione said, in a voice of contempt she had wholly learned from the man before her. "Because you were both so uncomfortable holding hands and snuggling up together on the dance floor last night."

"Drunken idiocy on his part."

"And on yours?"

His jaw clenched. "Sober idiocy. Now if you don't mind, I'm rather busy at the moment."

"No you're not, Severus," she replied quickly. "You're reading a book and drowning your sulks." Sometimes Hermione surprised herself with the familiarity with which she spoke to the teacher that had once reduced her to tears. There was a lot to be said for sharing life-or-death experiences with another person.

"On the contrary, I'm trying to discover why Potter has reverted to old habits."

Hermione frowned, turning her head to get a better idea of the book he was reading. "I assume you're not talking about wanking in the boys' toilets?"

"Not to the best of my knowledge." He indulged himself in a slight smile. "I found him asleep in the library the night before last. He was talking in his sleep to his mother. He had fallen asleep on top of 'When the Dead Come to Visit', and flicking through it now I can see why. It's enough to make the most hardy scholar fall asleep."

"I wouldn't say there's anything very surprising about him dreaming about his Mum. A lot of bereaved people do it."

"You miss the point, Hermione. He shouldn't be dreaming at all, not since he mastered Occlumency. Also it's very unusual for people to accurately dream about people they have never met, family or not."

Hermione had to concede. "Do you want me to see what I can find out?"

"If you would. Take care, though – he got very defensive when I questioned him about it."

She nodded. "I'll leave you in peace, then. Just one more question." He raised an eyebrow, which Hermione took as permission to continue. "Are you sure it's just idiocy, this thing between you and Harry? I could always give him another nudge…"

"In the first place, I think we should make sure he's not being possessed by his dead mother before anything else, and in the second place, go away."

---

Upstairs in the Gryffindor Tower, Harry was slowly falling asleep. It was only nine o'clock, but he had been feeling tired and irritable all day. After all the arguments it was all he wanted to fall into the abyss of darkness.

Except of course, it wasn't dark. There were the flames everywhere that had haunted his dreams since his mother had started talking to him. Flames that licked and singed his parents' corpses in Godric's Hollow, that consumed Glastonberry and Diagon Alley. Flames that hissed at him in the dark: "You're not strong enough to stop this, and you never will be." His mother showed him these images because she wanted him safe, away from the castle. She had shown him every death she had been forced to witness or clear up, ending with her own. She didn't think Harry could stop this destruction – he would only be swept away by it. She showed him his corpse next to theirs, the flames slowly engulfing him. Everyone at Hogwarts, dead and burning. All the people he had ever cared about – Hermione, Albus, even Snape – all gone in one swift blow.

Harry began to think of the many simple things he could not do. He could not hold together a working relationship, he could not start a new one, he could not work with another gay man without thinking of him in terms of sex. He was not a successful adult. He was twenty years old and still at the same school, still with his old friends.

Except for Ron. Ron who no longer wrote or visited, who he had not seen since the start of term. Ron, whose father he could not save. How many others had died because Harry had not been strong enough? Because he had failed or got in the way? Parents, children, friends, siblings. He was responsible for them all.

In that dark tower room, Harry agreed. Even as he dreamt, he remembered the article about Ireland. His mother grasped at it and thrust it at him, pushing at him and pushing at him.

"Alright," he finally agreed.

---

In another dark, upstairs room at the Dovecote Inn, a hunched, sickly, lixard-like man and his masked friend grinned at each other in the candlelight. "It is done," she whispers, as though afraid to break the silence for fear that her work would be undone.

"Thank you, Bella. Your efforts have been duly noted. Kindly send Lucius in."

Bellatrix Lestrange grinned and left the round table, passing the blond haired man on her way through the door. He raised a questioning eyebrow and her grin widened. She had done it. She had succeeded where he had failed.

Bellatrix closed the door behind her, and the old man smiled at his faithful servent. "It is time to rally the troops, Lucius. Let us move tonight towards Hogsmead."

Lucius bit on the inside of his cheek, unsure how far his master would take this campaign. "And after that?"

"After that, we will wait until things are finally settled with the Potter brat, and then we will lay siege to the castle until the mad old fool gives it up."

"May I be permitted a moment of ignorance, my lord?" Lucius knew he was treading on thin ice, but there was something that had confused him since the latest plot against Potter had begun.

"I am feeling bennevolent tonight. You may."

"Why, when there is no Potter, no children and next to no mudbloods, do we need to bother with Hogwarts?"

"My dear Lucius, the reason you do not understand is because you have never felt the power of that one castle. Hogwarts is not simply a school. There is more power in one of its stones than even your Slytherin mind can begin to dream of. The King of that castle is the effectively the King of ancient wizarding civilisation. The reason Salazar Slytherin was evicted from its walls was his wish to utilise its full potential to the correct end. Now, Lucius, the castle's power will be returned to its rightful owner, by blood and power."

---

AN: Next installment – more bad stuff. Please review.