Hope y'all enjoy this new chapter! Any critique or comments are very welcome! This is, as you know, my first fic, and I'm really interested to see your responses to my writing. Any suggestions are so appreciated! Thanks for reading!

Chapter Three: Realizations

During seventh period, Harry wasn't taking notes, he wasn't listening to Professor Binns's droning lecture, he was composing his reply. His hands weren't shaking, his breathing wasn't heavy, but he was penning his most incriminating confession yet.

I've never had a serious relationship,

Because I know if I

Admit to my friends that I'm gay,

I'll alienate myself further.

And they're all I have left.

Despite the magnitude of his confession, Harry isn't terrified. He's scrawled these words thousands of times, in the margins of his paper, traced lightly on desks, in the palm of his hand, but always hastily blotted out. These are the words he has rehearsed since the moment of his self-discovery, like an actor before his first performance, yet he feels as if on paper, compared to the flesh of speaking, they pale in comparison. Shrugging, Harry folds his letter, and takes up his quill, pretending to pay attention. He can feel the pressure of Hermione's gaze between his shoulder blades. Her skills of perception, once so encouraged by him, now feel like an intrusion. He now knows why he wants his correspondence to be all his own. In his life full of veiled emotions, unspoken thoughts, and almost daily deceptions, he has found something pure, untainted by his fame, and all the misapprehensions that come with it.

…

Snape is halfway through his Fettuccine Alfredo when the owl soars into the Great Hall. Owls at dinner, though rare, are never a cause for much alarm. To Severus on the other hand, this had sirens roaring in his head. Damn Potter, too eager to wait till breakfast. Just like his father, always pushing things too far. His anticipation for the reply is squelched by his annoyance; his favorite meal is being disturbed.

The owl quickly drops the letter on his shoulder, then soars off to hunt mice elsewhere. Severus glances at Potter to make sure the exchange hadn't been witnessed. Potter, oblivious, is buried behind the deluxe edition of The Deluxe Guide to Quidditch Tactics. Snorting, Snape doesn't savor the anticipation that usually mounts in his stomach before a letter, rather, he simply uses his butter knife to slit open the clumsy wax seal. Impatiently, his eyes scan the lines, devouring their contents like a starving man, despite his annoyance.

When he reaches "that I'm gay," the pumpkin juice Snape has just swigged comes forcefully back out his mouth, and all over the table cloth in front of him. Minerva and Albus both immediately draw their wands, expecting Severus to inform them of some impending tragedy, alerted by his mark. Severus resists the first urge to chuckle he has had in twelve years. Coughing tersely, he growls.

"Pumpkin juice was positively rancid! Blasted house elves have grown unacceptably incompetent in the leniency recently shown to them."

Gathering his robes around him protectively, and shoving the letter into their innermost pocket, he storms out of the Great Hall, leaving a wake of awed and silent students in his wake.

…

"What's bugging him?" Ron says grinning from ear to ear.

Seamus, giggling, half shouts, "Maybe he's suddenly realized what a git he is!"

"Harry!" Ron's voice is edged in anticipation and slight guilt. "Did you want to get in a game of Wizard's Chess and our Potions homework before bed?"

Harry smiles. This is the old Ron. "Yeah, sure!" Harry replies with enthusiasm that reveals his gratitude for the invitation.

"It's been too long since we last did this, hasn't it?" Ron says softly, aware of the significance of the moment.

"Much too long." Harry smiles.

They leave the Hall, arms around each other's shoulders. Some unexplainable barrier has been bypassed, subconscious acceptance given. Their relationship is richer for it.

…

Severus has drunk the equivalent of one large bottle of various shots of liqueurs, from Vodka to absinthe. He mixes his drinks with the blatant disregard of those who drink with a purpose in mind. He has debated with himself all evening over his self inflicted dilemma. Severus has resolved to be completely genuine in his confessions, after all it is he who has the power in the relationship.

His identity is secured in the vague terms and non specifics of the letters. But Potter of all people! He almost chokes on his martini olive. Why Potter? No doubt his life is enriched in drama and intrigue since he started the correspondence. The break from the painful monogamy that drove him to confession in the first place, had left him refreshed, more alive, and more self-indulgent than he had dared to be in years.

Fumbling for the parchment and quill on his nearby desk, his head spinning, he hastily scrawls out across the page a hasty confession, realized during the height of drunken clarity.

I have never loved anyone

In my entire life.

Affection made me vulnerable once in my youth,

And in nearly losing my life, I lost my faith in humanity.

…

Yes… it always came back to Potter, one generation to the next. His sins are diluted silhouettes of his father's. James Potter. My first crush, my hardest learned lesson. Severus's thoughts darted drunkenly around each other, like two swords masters in the dark, tied at the waist by a thick chord, taking tentative swipes into the darkness that was the reality of the situation. With a quick snap of his fingers he summons a house elf to deliver his letter to the owlry. Two shots of absinthe later, he passes out a few feet from the bed, engulfed in the black cotton embrace of alcohol.