CH 2

Ron's reverie was broken by Harry's sudden movement from the chair. He stood and walked over to a drawer. He pulled on its wooden handle and delved his hand in and pulled out a portfolio. He carried it over to where they sat and handed the brown heavy package to Ron.

"I want to show you something. Open it."

Ron shrugged and complied pulling sheets of parchment out and sitting them on his lap. At closer inspection he realized they were pictures, or more accurately, drawings. Ron looked up at Harry and then down again at the intricate detail of his friend's eyes that dominated the topic of the first charcoal drawing.

"Wow, Harry."

"I know. He did it. He's really great."

"I can see that." Ron turned over the next drawing to find a sleeping Harry covered in a blanket sitting in the chair he had been occupying earlier.

"That was the first drawing he did of me. It was a Hogsmeade weekend…"

"The one you skipped cause you were sick…" Ron gave him a disapproving look then broke into a smile.

"I was sick. I just came down to visit because I was bored and he let me in. I fell asleep and woke up to him drawing this."

He was warm, warm and comfortable. He could vaguely here a scratching sound. Like that of a quill. Last thing he remembered was talking to Professor Snape. His eyes snapped open.

"Don't move."

He didn't move a muscle watching Snape's eyes flicker from him to the piece of paper perched on a folder in his lap.

"Almost finished. Give me a minute or two."

Harry complied without hesitation. His curiosity piqued.

"There. You may move now," Snape told him, not looking at him but paying close attention to whatever he was doing.

Harry got up and stretched feeling quite rested and walked over to his Professor. His mouth dropped when he realized what Snape had been doing. He looked down at a drawing of himself, so well-done, so perfectly depicted even his scar was a thing of beauty on the parchment.

"I didn't know you could draw."

"Not many people do. It's not a talent I share with everyone."

"I let him draw me whenever he wanted to. He didn't often get the chance to. He's so…relaxed…when he draws. So carefree…"

Ron had gone through many drawings of Harry. He began to doubt the man ever drew anything else.

"Er…Harry…" Ron held up a specific drawing.

Harry smiled and took a deep breath.

"That was after our first time. I just…laid there…completely at ease…peaceful. He told me it was the single most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He asked me if he could draw me…and I said yes."

The drawing showed Harry lying naked at the foot of the bed, his legs tangled in the sheets.

"It's all becoming so real."

"You doubted it before now?"

"No…I mean…I saw you kiss him…that was a paradigm shift in of itself but…this shows his devotion to you. Such detail. It's like I can see the afterglow after…you two…"

"…had sex…"

"…yeah…It makes your relationship so much more real to me."

Harry reached down and dragged a picture close to the bottom and brought it to the top for Ron to see.

"Oh, Harry…"

It was a picture of Harry's mother reading a book under a tree next to a lake and she was pregnant.

"This isn't at Hogwarts…"

"No. It's at a park in muggle London. I used to go there with my aunt and uncle when they took Dudley…I used to play by that tree all the time."

"But how…?"

"He told me that he and my mum had been friends. My father obviously didn't approve so even after they were married she would meet with him, have tea, and exchange books and stuff like that."

Ron sifted through the rest of the drawings finding more of Harry's mother, some at Hogwarts others Harry would indicate at a café or library.

"Who is this?" Ron held up a picture of a baby girl.

"That was…um…it was…that was his daughter."

"Snape's daughter?"

"…yeah…"

"I didn't know he had a daughter…"

"He doesn't…Something happened along time ago, something bad. The baby didn't survive."

"Oh…What was her name?"

"Her name was Addrien."

Ron rearranged the drawings, slipped them into the portfolio handing it to Harry who replaced it back in the drawer, and came back to sit down on the chair.

"Why did you show me the drawings?"

"Because I wanted to share them with someone. I want you to understand…"

Ron piped up exclaiming, "I don't need to understand, Harry. I am not here to judge you. So, you were fucking Snape, okay. But you have to be pretty thick not to notice you two obviously had something special. I could tell the way he looked at you today that he loved you. I have never ever seen that look on his face before. He looked at you…like you were the only thing that mattered in the world to him, like going to prison wasn't so bad because he got to have you even if it was only for a short while."

"That's exactly what he said to me, Ron…out on the lawn…before they…" He took a deep, quivering breath, "He said he wouldn't change a thing, not one thing if it meant he couldn't have me…" His eyes filled up with tears and dipped over the planes of his face. He wiped them away furiously again focusing on the fire.

"I don't think I can stand this. I don't think I can survive without him."

Ron had no words of wisdom or comforting phrases that would ease his friend's suffering. He couldn't stress his imagination to even conceive the pain Harry felt right at that moment. He wanted so bad to know. He wanted to know how his best friend and his revered Potions professor ended up together.

"What happened, Harry?"

It was a simple enough question yet Harry was at a loss for words at what to say to bring justice to the life he had been leading with Severus. Their relationship was so complex, the circumstances with which they met under overlapped into different facets of reality. It seemed so simple but also undeniably complicated. What he had shared with Severus went beyond anything he had ever experienced, past everything he had ever expected out of life.

He had not understood it at first. The swell of pride which would well up inside him every time he got his professor to quirk the sides of his lips up as if to smile, even if it was only for a second it was enough for Harry to skip up to dinner happy as the pope on a pogo stick. He would never forget the first time he got Severus to laugh out loud. The man's deep, rich baritone voice vibrated through his uncontrollable bouts of laughter over Harry's mild discomfort discussing homosexuality with Professor Snape, of all people.

It scared him to admit his feelings for Professor Snape had changed dramatically over the course of only a couple of months. He would stare at his professor grading papers or stirring a cauldron with such deft precision and silent concentration, he would lose himself in the languid movements with which Snape would use. It was singularly unique and intriguing. His heart would skip a beat when his eyes would meet those black orbs, caught ogling his professor when he was down in the dungeons supposed to be working on an essay for a class.

The first time a gaze from Severus stirred his groin, he was lost. He knew he wouldn't be able to fight it, wouldn't be able to hide the fact that he was in love with Snape and, he didn't want to. Everything had happened so gradually, the change so constant it was almost imperceptible.

Harry finally answered Ron, "We came to an understanding, of sorts, one night."

"The detention."

"Yeah…the detention…"

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It had been the detention from hell, sent packaged especially for Harry Potter from the very devil himself. He would have carved his name into his hand over and over again for Umbridge rather than spend another moment in Severus Snape's presence listening to him demean his dad and godfather's memory while scrubbing cauldrons with wire pads that would tear at the layers of skin on your hand.

He had purposely arrived exactly five minutes late for the detention counting on point deductions and five points were immediately taken after he entered the his potion's classroom by his vitriolic professor. Harry was going to give Snape a reason to hate him. Every point Harry would lose he would deserve it. Every snide comment Snape would direct towards Harry, the boy was going to have a come back of his own.

Snape pointed at the cauldrons across the room piled on the long counter that held three deep bellied sinks that only trickled out cold water. Harry could already sense Snape was in a bad mood. He stood with his back straight in front of his desk, his arms folded across his chest, and watched silently as Harry entered the room. Harry walked up to him keeping a considerable amount of distance between them.

"You're wand, Potter." Snape held out his hand in expectance. Harry didn't move. He glared at the potions professor.

"Don't look at me like that, boy. You're wand. You are to clean those cauldrons by hand."

Harry drew his wand out of his arm holster, stepped forward, and held it out for him. As Snape went to grab it, Harry pulled it just out of Snape's reach. It was something you did with friends, as a joke, for fun. Harry knew better than to try something like that with Snape which is exactly why he did it. Snape's eyes blazed in anger and grabbed Harry's upper arm roughly and took Harry's wand before shoving him away from him and into the wall.

"Don't fuck with me Potter! I am in no mood tonight! I want those cauldrons spotless even if it takes you all night!" Snape backtracked and left the room, slamming the door, and locking Harry in.

Harry stood against the wall bracing himself with his hands flat on the cold stone. Snape was a walking time bomb. It never took much to get under that man's skin. Harry proceeded to undertake his detention.

As he readied a sink full of water and soap, his mind began to wander back to that previous summer when they had vanquished the Lord Voldemort, A feet which had taken a lot out of everyone. He and Snape had worked together in relative peace throughout the whole summer. Everything they did, everything that was planned depended on their trust of each other. He was supposed to infiltrate Voldemort's lair when Snape was called, riding side-along apparition under the magic of an invisibility potion Snape had perfected to last for hours on end. He had watched them conduct their meeting, Voldemort spouting about social reform for the good of the wizarding world and how close they were to achieving their ultimate goals. One, murdering him; two, overtaking the ministry; and three, mass genocide of muggles.

It was simple enough of a task. They couldn't see him. He had been well trained in non-verbal spell casting and was quite proficient at it and was prepared to murder a monster.

He had his doubts that the killing curse would even hurt the dark lord but was told not to worry about it, that they had it all figured it out. He knew they were keeping something from him but couldn't persuade anyone to tell him what was really going on.

Fear enveloped him once Snape ordered him to hang on tight. They had landed in the same graveyard where Tom Riddle Sr.'s bones rested, where Harry had dueled Voldemort for the first time, wand to wand, in his fourth year. Harry didn't let go of Snape. He had been told to stay close to him. He kept his grasp tight on Snape's outer robe but his heart dropped when Snape was ordered forward and he had to move. Harry reluctantly relinquished his hold on him. When Snape finally was allowed up from the ground and return to his spot in the circle, he nodded his head at Harry.

That was the signal; he raised his wand and waited until he knew Snape was right behind him and as he started to speak the incantation in his mind, as a green light was beginning to emit from his wand, he felt a body press against his back as a hand enclosed over his and a completely knew surge of power that wasn't his own fused with his and shot a blinding white light from his wand, and wrapped itself around the Dark Lord. The moment the man was covered, a pain so severe shot through his head. He could feel the warm fluid that flowed from his open scar run down his face. He remembered the spasm that shook the man behind him as they were parted. Harry didn't remember much after that. He had fallen to the ground the moment the warmth and support from behind him had been taken away. He remained in a coma for a week after that; Snape for three.

He had seriously thought things would be different between them after that. He suspected begrudging respect to be returned as he himself couldn't help feeling grateful for what Snape had done, what he had endured. The spell he had dually cast with him had completely depleted his magic.

He learned after the fact that the spell was a different variation of the Avada Kedavra. Where the killing curse only stopped a person's life force, the older version had been invented to warp the victim's soul, to twist and mold it into something different, into nothing. The person's soul itself is morphed and then ripped from the body before the more basic element of the curse impedes the heart. They had kept that information from him. He had not been told Snape was going to have anything to do with killing Voldemort directly.

He was brought back to reality when a sharp pain shot through his hand. He was only on the third cauldron as the skin of his right palm was sliced open by the wire brush. He held up his hand looking at the cut oozing blood. He switched his hands and continued on using his left hand wiping his right on his robe whenever he felt blood run off his palm.

When school began and he saw Snape sitting at the head table he had smiled openly at his Potions Master who only shot him a look of disdain before averting his attention back to the headmaster giving his welcoming feast speech. Snape proceeded to belittle him every chance he got. He was even more patronizing than he ever was before. Harry was having enough trouble coming to terms with what he had done, with all the losses he had suffered that Snape's attitude was grating on his nerves. Just being in Snape's presence was enough to make him want to cry but he didn't. He wasn't going to give Snape the satisfaction of knowing he was truly hurt by his hatefulness every time Snape visibly relished in Sirius's death or taunted him with demonstrations on how his father had been arrogant and self-righteous.

Harry had spoke up against him that day in class. He had finally opened his mouth, his voice strained from the inner turmoil that wouldn't abate to defend the two men he loved most dearly. Snape didn't hesitate to assign him a detention for his cheek once again. He paused on the sixth cauldron when he heard the catch on the lock give and Snape swept in.

"Only sixth in five hours. My, my, Potter, you will be here all night at this rate."

"Yeah, and I bet you just love that don't you?" Harry said not looking up but focused on finishing the cauldron. "It being only Wednesday and all, I am sure to be late for your class in the morning. You'll take more points, most likely give me another detention just to spite me. It's fitting, for Hogwart's star seeker to miss his first game of the season, don't you think?"

"Leave the pity party for your fans, Potter. You'll not get any sympathy from me."

"Oh, heaven forbid the great Severus Snape hold any sympathy for another human being in that cold heart of his besides himself." Harry whispered to himself.

"What did you say!" Snape hissed. He grabbed Harry and turned him around to face him. Harry's hand that held the brush slipped and ran across his palm, the wire imbedding into his skin. He grimaced.

"What! Did? You? Say!" Snape's grip tightened his hold on Harry's collar. He dropped the brush attempting to wrestle away from the older man. His hands came up to wrap around Snape's wrist. The wool of Snape's frock coat burned against his open wounds.

"Just like you're father, you are, Potter. Just because you vanquished the Dark Lord doesn't mean us lesser mortals have to bend to your every whim. I am not Dumbledore, and I will not play a part in your hero worship…"

"You…I didn't…"

"Don't interrupt me!"

"Let go of me!" Harry's eyes stung. He fought to keep his tears at bay. He wasn't going to cry in front of Snape.

"Aw," the professor patronized. "Is the savior of the wizarding world, Hogwart's boy wonder going to cry?"

He turned his head away not wanting Snape to see his face.

"Oh…I think he may…come on, Potter…" Snape drew Harry closer to him and whispered in his ear. "Cry for me."

"No!" Harry screamed and pushed against Snape's chest, finally able to wrench from his grasp.

"What is your problem?" Harry stared at Snape, his tears finally falling from his eyes. "Does it give you some perverse pleasure to see me like this! I can't take this anymore! I can't take YOU ANYMORE?" Harry grabbed the nearest object within reach and hurled the cauldron across the room.

"I hate you! I didn't even want to kill him! Are you so jealous of me that you have to continue torturing me?" Harry slammed his fists onto a desk. He felt his heart constrict painfully inside his chest. He couldn't catch his breath, unable to stop the tremors traveling through his body. Snape made no movement staying silent. It unnerved Harry. He just stood stoic and proud staring down at the-boy-who-lived.

"Why! Why do you have to be like this? Why do you have to treat me like shit? I've done nothing to you." He choked out. He started pacing the floor, walking across to the other side of the room and back again trying in vain to control his emotions.

"I am not James bloody Potter!" He swept his hands across the shelf that held the pickled specimens pushing the glasses to the floor and felt a small sense of satisfaction hearing the shattered glass skid across the stone floor.

"You are such a bastard! Is this what you want!" Snape side-stepped an oncoming projectile while calmly watching Harry ransack his office. Glass once again kissed the dungeon floor as Harry hurled jar after jar towards Snape and missing every time.

"I didn't ask for this…I…I ever…You…" Harry bent over then, it all becoming to much for him to handle. All the feelings he had been holding inside welled up and was prepared to erupt. 'Not here,' he thought. 'Not now.' He squeezed his eyes shut willing his emotions down back into their cavern.

"Is this fun for you seeing me completely lose it! Do you enjoy this, you sick fuck!"

The hand that touched his back set him off. He took a swing at Snape and was amazed he actually made contact. With tears pouring from his eyes he continued to physically assault Snape. As he swung again to punch Snape in the face, his hand was caught and he was spun around to find his back held flush against Snape's front, his arms trapped at his sides by the man's arms that held him.

"Let it go, Harry…Do not stop it. Let it come…Let go…"

Harry's resolve broke then. He couldn't hold the pain at bay any longer and collapsed against Snape.

"Breathe, Harry…You need to breathe…" Snape's left arm came around to continue to hold Harry's arms down and placed his right on Harry's bent head.

Harry stood against Snape sobbing uncontrollably. His cries reverberating off the stone walls filling the silent room in a song full of torment and grief.

His legs gave out and Snape lowered them to the floor still keeping his hold on the boy. All Harry could do was cry. He cried for a war and the people it stole from him; for all the people whose lives had been ruined by death and destruction; for everything he had been unable to stop or control. He cried for himself and above all, for the man he had murdered. He let go of seventeen years worth of pain. He never before grieved for the parents he never knew like he did that night in Snape's arms, for the life he would never have.

A sudden movement beside him startled him and he grabbed at the familiar warmth that was pulling away. His hand met flesh and he seized the hand in a vice-like grip. He felt the warmth return emanating from the hand that began to rub his shaking form. They sat that way: Harry kneeling on his weak knees, clutching the hand to his chest with Snape beside, him soothing his broken shell.

If that wasn't too terrible to endure please review…:D