Harry's trust was shattered. Everyone noticed, and the pain on their faces when he pulled away from the friendliest touch hurt him in a way dying hadn't. But he couldn't help it. He had trusted Pince blindly, and it had ended with him dead and Snape tortured. The final death toll had been six, himself not included. Two Death Eaters and four Order members and Aurors had perished in the battle. Oddly, it was almost entirely the fault of location. One misfired spell, or perhaps more than one, had brought the upper floors crashing down on the heads of some of the combatants. Those not dead from the collapse were injured, though mostly non-fatal.

The upshot, if there was one aside from the death of the Dark Lord, was that there was an opening of employment waiting for Harry when he graduated. A substitute of sorts had been hired to finish out the year, but Dumbledore had promised Harry could take over as soon as the next term. He'd called it 'the least he could do' for Harry's sacrifice, and more than people touching him, Harry cringed violently when anyone brought up what had happened.

He didn't feel like a hero.

He'd remained at Snape's side for three days, against protests from Pomfrey, his friends, and the Headmaster. He'd wanted to be there when Snape finally woke up, and he had been. He'd been terrified he had come back too late, and the man's mind was broken. His eternal, damnable luck was with them, however, when Snape quickly recovered his faculties. For the remainder of the holiday, Harry spent as much time as possible in the dungeons, helping the Potions Master make and take potions and do thought exercises. By the time school resumed in January, it was as if nothing had ever happened. Harry wished his own life could go that well.

He didn't want to be remembered for bringing down Voldemort. Everyone, especially the papers, lauded him a hero of the Wizarding World, as if he'd done any of it for them, but he hadn't. He didn't want to be their hero, couldn't let himself believe he was, because he had done the unthinkable and cast a forbidden spell, not in defense of a world, but in defense of one man. Snape, thank the heavens, seemed to understand Harry's hesitancy, and Harry was never more grateful for their fake relationship.

Because of the sudden influx of hero worship, Snape had offered to continue the lie. Harry was glad. In the school alone, there were dozens of people, boy and girl, throwing themselves at him. The glares and snarls and vindictive punishments from his pretend lover kept the majority at bay.

Harry found himself in the dungeons more and more often. Snape's rooms had become a refuge of sorts. In large part because he was the only person who didn't seem to mind the flinching. On the last day before Harry was due to leave on the Hogwarts Express for the last time, Harry fled to the dungeons from the party in Gryffindor. The crowd of people had seemed suffocating, everyone merry and jolly and rubbing shoulders. It was more than he could handle, and Snape welcomed him.

"Are you alright, Potter?"

Harry shook his head, standing in the man's living room as Snape moved past him. "No, I'm not." He admitted. "I hate this. I hate being hounded, and I hate being fawned over, and I hate that anytime someone gets near me I flinch away like a goddamn coward."

Snape looked back from moving to his chair and changed course, drawing close to Harry but falling just short of reaching out to him. "Potter…"

"Please stop calling me that," Harry said, looking away from that damned onyx gaze. "I hate when you call me that. We've been pretending to date for almost a full year, and we've been friends for perhaps as long, and every time you call me that I'm reminded that you used to hate me just because of who my father was."

"You know that that is no longer true," Snape pointed out. "Especially after the message you delivered from the dearly departed."

"I know, I know," Harry groaned. "It's just…" He hunted for a reason that excused the pain in his chest. He found it in their mutual lie. "People are asking questions. Everyone is starting to suspect that the relationship is a lie. Most of them still believe it's just propriety, because you're a professor and thus have to maintain a respectable distance, but the times people have caught us together, the times when we've let them catch us to sell the lie, make them think something is up. People in love are supposed to slip up now and again."

Snape reached out suddenly and drew Harry against him with an arm around his lower back. His other hand tilted Harry's head back with a gentle finger and thumb, and the Potions Master smirked. "Not, I assure you, if they have excellent self-control… Harry."

Harry pretended his heart wasn't racing and his breath wasn't coming up short as he swallowed. "Y-you called me Harry."

"You didn't flinch."

"I…" Harry didn't know what he was doing. He swallowed thickly and put tentative hands on the taller wizard's shoulders. "Y-you're right. And… there's something I've been meaning to ask, now that it's come to it. Now that I'm leaving as your student."

"There's something I've been intending to ask you as well," Snape told him softly.

"You go first," Harry uttered shakily. He wanted to put off his question for as long as possible, unsure about how it would be received.

"I have a home," Snape said, frowning down at him as his thumb swept across the edge of Harry's bottom lip. "It isn't much. It has needed a lot of work since I bought it, and I have rarely bothered to do more than maintain it. Even so, it is a good home, and I am quite proud of it. I would ask… that you come to stay there with me, on the summers."

"You're offering me your guest room?"

Snape smirked. "As it happens, I do not have one."

Harry furrowed his brow. "Oh. Then where-?"

"I thought perhaps," Snape said, clearly hesitating. "With me."

Harry drew back so suddenly he almost fell. "You're not serious."

"I am."

"B-but why?" Harry wheezed. "When? This… this was all pretend, wasn't it?"

Snape frowned, looking away. "I take it that is your answer."

"Well, what the hell did you expect?!" Harry demanded. "We're friends, not lovers."

Snape didn't answer, his gaze still turned away.

"I- I should go."

Harry turned and fled from the dungeons as fast as his feet could carry him. By the time he reached his dorm, to the loud protests of the people he'd pushed past in the crowded common room, he felt like his heart was going to jackhammer out of its' prison. It felt like a small, panicked bird had taken up residence in his chest.

He couldn't quite fathom what had just happened, nor how awfully he had reacted. He hadn't known how to react, and his half-stalled brain had panicked in the moment. If he'd been less of a brash Gryffindor, he'd have stayed and talked out the myriad of questions buzzing through his mind. But even now, he didn't know what Snape had expected. He didn't know when Snape's feelings for him had changed so drastically.

It almost didn't really matter, though. What mattered was the caveat. How long had Snape been using their false relationship to encourage his very real affections? What if it had been from the start? What if all this time he'd just been using a lie to get what he wanted? What if he'd used that lie to manipulate Harry into kissing him? He hadn't minded when Harry had started to push for more, he'd barely hesitated. What if he'd used Harry's affection for their friendship to manipulate him, to get what he wanted from him?

And if that was the caveat… why had he come clean? Why ask him to move in with him, to share his home and his life? It wasn't that Harry didn't want to. If it had been a question about a guest room, he'd have taken the offer in a heartbeat. He didn't know if he was attracted to Snape, he didn't know how he felt. It wasn't like with Cho, or Ginny. He'd been a lovesick fool for both of them. But with Snape… it had just seemed natural, to want to spend the rest of their lives together. The relationship, false as it was, had seemed natural, after the first awkward week. He loved spending time with the Potions Master, loved being around him and coaxing his gentle side out.

But Snape had loved his mum. He'd even admitted he still carried a torch for her. It wasn't a hard leap to make that he was just projecting this love onto her son. And the thought of that hurt Harry in a place that had never felt pain before. It didn't matter, whatever he felt for the man. It didn't matter what he wanted, even if he wasn't sure he knew what he wanted. Because he would always be second best. How could he hope to be happy with the Potions Master, if Snape only saw him as Lily's son?

Harry threw himself on his side on the bed and curled up. He'd been such an idiot. He wished he'd gone first, wished he'd had the courage to ask for another kiss. It had been stupid, he'd just wanted the flinching to stop, and a kiss had worked last time, so he'd thought perhaps it might this time. Now he wished he'd asked first for different reasons. Now he wished he'd asked as a final act of kindness before their relationship, their friendship, ended.