Harry swung his jeans-clad legs back and forth, his bare feet hitting the cabinets beneath him, while he watched Snape pace through the kitchen. Early morning sunlight trickled through the ratty old curtains that were just barely clinging on above the sink and splashed across the hardwood floor. The Prophet article posting his letter to Voldemort had gone out that morning and already they had received another paper with the population's opinions. Some had been mean and downright spiteful and now had completely disappeared from the opinion page; actually, there wasn't much of the opinion page left at all.
He couldn't help but think that people were overreacting. It wasn't like they were the ones calling Voldemort out. They weren't the ones who would eventually be risking their necks for the entire wizarding world. The only people who had the right to be angry with him at all were members of the Order and the one person pacing right in front of him. It kept him sane to know that at least one person would stick by him in the end, even though it left a slightly bitter taste in his mouth.
Snatches of jumbled phrases managed to reach Harry's ears from his place on the worktop next to the sink. It had been amusing at first to see how worked up Snape had become over some of the things being said about him, but this pacing was getting old. A half hour of pacing was far too much to endure at one time.
"You're going to get a nosebleed if you don't relax," Harry pointed out calmly. He had to bite his lower lip to keep from laughing when Snape froze mid-step and turned to look at him with an incredulous expression. Sometimes that man was just too much.
"What?" Harry asked innocently, earning a scowl for his efforts.
"Why on earth would I get a nosebleed?" Snape asked, baffled by the comment, which seemed completely out of the blue.
Harry let out a short bark of laughter, drumming his fingers on the ceramic counter top. "Some people, when under great stress, get nosebleeds."
"Good grief, Potter, this," he said, holding up the paper, "is extreme irritation, not great stress. And this Bethislda Whitbark is just plain idiotic." He slammed the paper down. "As if you were risking your life to set the stage to become the next Dark Lord! The woman is a daft bint, and I can't believe they would actually print her rubbishy opinion!"
"Because it seems to be the only opinion today," Harry said evenly, picking up the paper and scanning the letter. He snorted and folded it up before chucking it in the paper bin next to the fridge.
Snape stared at Harry in disbelief. Had he even read the article? He was sitting there so calmly as if it were just an ordinary day, not a day where he had called out the Dark Lord himself!
"Did you even read the things they're saying about you?" Snape growled angrily.
"Yes. It's nothing they haven't said about me since I was twelve. It gets old. Fast."
Snape scowled, but said nothing, choosing to continue his pacing. A moment later, Snape felt the tingling in his arm at the same time as Harry gasped and grabbed his forehead.
"I guess he's read it," Harry said through clenched teeth.
Snape clenched his forearm as the pain began to build. This was going to be bad for both of them. He grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him from the worktop.
"Hurry," he growled, pulling Harry after him towards the lab.
Harry stumbled after him, pressing his forehead into Snape's back, trying to ease the pain that was leaving him breathless. He should have known this would happen, he should have bloody well known better. A soft whimper crawled out of his throat and reverberated against Snape's shoulder blades. His hands were locked in fists tight against his sides.
Snape threw open the first cupboard in the lab and pulled down the potion he had prepared for a day like this. Harry was pressing his head into his back so hard that at any other time it would have been painful, but considering the burning pain in his arm, it was nothing.
Snape turned and forced Harry's head up, putting the potion vial to his lips. "Drink," he ordered, knowing that he was going to become useless himself soon.
He growled at the glazed-over expression in Harry's eyes and tipped the entire vial into the boy's mouth. He barely had time to make sure Potter had swallowed before the boy swayed forward and collided into him.
Gritting his teeth, Snape cast a levitation spell on Harry, and grabbed a different vial of potion from the cupboard. He moved Harry down the hall to the bedroom, unable to focus enough to keep Harry from bumping into the walls along the way.
Once he reached the bedroom, he allowed Harry to drop onto the bed before collapsing onto the other side. He set the vial of potion on the bedside table, and then curled into a ball, closing his eyes against the pain. The second potion would wake Harry up if he had to do so in a hurry, but otherwise, he'd let the boy sleep through the worst of it.
Unfortunately, one of them had to be at least conscious, and it was better that it was him rather than Harry. The potion should have put Harry deep enough that even the Dark Lord couldn't get into his mind. Snape moaned as another wave of pain coursed through his arm, setting fire to his nerves.
He could only hope the Dark Lord tired of this sooner rather than later.
He pressed his forearm desperately into his stomach as he rode out the pain. There was nothing he could do to stop it. He rolled onto his side, grabbing the nearest thing to him and pulling it as close as possible. He had to stay awake; he couldn't succumb to the darkness that lurked just at the corner of his mind. If something happened he'd never be able to forgive himself for it.
It felt like an eternity before the pain finally began to ease. Snape lay panting on the bed, his eyes closed, his mind trying to focus once again now that the blinding pain was gone. Once he was sure it was over, he'd wake up Potter. He pulled the pillow to him and waited for his breathing to slow. Just a few more minutes and he'd wake Potter.
He was asleep a few moments later.
Harry shifted uncomfortably; his lower lip trembled as he squirmed. "Let me go," he whined with a slur. He couldn't make his eyes open and there was something holding him down, keeping him still.
"Sod off," Snape growled, not quite aware of his surroundings. All he knew was that someone was talking and he was too warm and too tired to listen.
The words settled into Harry's fuzzy mind with a forced slowness. He tipped his head back and opened his eyes.
Oh. He stayed like that for a moment before dropping his head forward. Snape was holding him, snuggling with him was more appropriate. Like he was a big teddy bear. It was...warm.
Harry's fingers gripped the gray blanket beneath them trying to sort out his thoughts. His head ached something fierce, but it was better than earlier and that was all Harry cared about at the moment. It still didn't explain how he'd got onto Snape's bed, nor did it explain why Snape was cuddling with him. Something wasn't adding up, but his body was screaming at him not to fight it and just relax. But how could he? Snape of all the people on Earth was cuddling with him. It wasn't normal.
His body betrayed his own thoughts as he found himself sinking into Snape's grasp. This was wrong in so many different fucked-up ways that he couldn't even wrap his mind around them all. Cuddling indicated feelings and feelings were bad… very bad… very, very monstrously bad. They were so bad he was beginning to feel sick. He couldn't be thinking this was nice, he couldn't allow himself to. There were just too many factors against him developing anything towards Snape other than respect. They were going into battle soon, for fuck's sake!
There was very little chance he was going to fall back asleep.
The fact that his bed was...squirming, finally had Snape paying attention to his surroundings. He cracked open an eye to find two green eyes looking back at him. He couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why they were so damned close to his own.
"What are you doing?" he rasped.
"Fucked if I know," Harry croaked in return, before pressing himself forward, his lips lightly connecting with Snape's.
"I can't think when you do that," Snape said, frowning as his mind tried to put all the pieces together.
"Then don't think," Harry muttered, reattaching his lips forcefully.
"Okay," Snape murmured against Harry's mouth, still not entirely sure if he was awake, and at the moment not caring either way as long as Harry kept pressing against him that way.
Too many clothes stood in the way. Harry mindlessly swept his tongue across Snape's lower lip while his fingers frantically tugged at the buttons on the man's waistcoat.
Warning bells were beginning to sound in Snape's mind, but he ignored them. Despite what he had told Potter the day before, they probably wouldn't survive this war. Would it be so awful if they allowed themselves a brief respite of pleasure?
Yes! his mind screamed. But his hands were sliding under Harry's shirt and up his back, caressing the heated flesh.
Harry arched forward at the touch, seeking the warmth that Snape was providing, his fingers stilling on the last button as he keened in the back of his throat.
What was he doing? Did it matter? Would he hate himself later? He would hate himself later. Did it matter? Was it worth it? Would he be able to stand alone if necessary? Was it worth the risk? How much longer now? Too many questions buzzed in his head, each picking at the front of his mind, each a distinct reason for stopping his hands, for stilling his grinding hips; each was a way to tear through his arousal, and yet none of them stopped him.
The sound Harry made finally cut through the fog in Snape's brain, and he moved his hands to cover Harry's, squeezing them gently and pushing Harry back.
"Have to stop, Harry," he said, turning his head away from Harry's mouth before his kisses drove away his resolve.
Harry whimpered softly, eyes open and pleading and he had to bite back the urge to ask why. It took considerable effort to stop his hips' desperate seeking motion and even more to get himself to stop shaking.
"We're stuffed," he muttered, rolling over and curling into a tight ball.
Snape lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling for a moment, getting control of himself before turning to face Harry.
He placed his hand gently on Harry's back. "Yesterday, you were convinced we were going to live," he said softly.
"Yesterday the world made sense, didn't it?" Harry refuted, shivering at Snape's touch. "Doesn't make much sense now, does it?"
Snape flopped back down onto his back, swallowing thickly. "What doesn't make sense?" he asked, afraid he already knew the answer.
Harry grunted. "Us, everything." So what if he was being a little melodramatic, it got the point across, didn't it?
"It's all just a matter of circumstance, Potter. When this nightmare finally ends, you'll go back to Miss Weasley and this will all be just a bad memory," Snape replied, rolling off the bed and getting to his feet. He had no reason and no right to feel irritated, but he did.
"Who said it's bad? I never said bad; complicated, oh most definitely, but bad? I'd rather think not," Harry huffed, sitting up. "And I could have gone back already. Did I ever tell you what day it was that I went to the Weasleys'?"
Oh, it's bad, Snape thought ruefully. He tried to remember back to the day Harry went to the Weasleys' and do the sums in his head. When realization dawned, his eyes widened and he turned quickly to face him.
"The first day of term," he said, surprised it hadn't registered with him before. It had been ingrained in his head for so many years now that it was shocking that he had forgotten.
"I could have gone back already. I was given the option to leave and return to Hogwarts with my friends. But I didn't, did I?"
"Do you honestly believe you had a choice left?" Snape asked. "You're too noble to just walk away from this mess. If you'd any sense, you would have walked away and not looked back."
"I'm not going to win this argument, am I?" Harry asked tiredly. He eyed Snape and let out a self-defeating sigh. How do you convince someone your intentions are purely selfish when you've been spending the past week trying to convince yourself that they aren't? It wasn't done. And Snape being a stubborn git didn't help much either.
Why'd he have to suddenly be fascinated with Snape? Why couldn't he have stuck with Ginny? Ginny was nice, pretty. She smelled good, like strawberries; yet here he was sitting on Snape's bed in Snape's house in the middle of Ireland, trying to convince that same man that he was here for selfish purposes, not selfless. It made his head spin; why couldn't things have stayed normal?
"I'll be in my lab. You should eat," Snape replied. When he reached the doorway, he stopped. Without turning around he said, "I apologize for...that," a hand waving toward the bed. Before Harry could reply, he left the room and headed for his lab, needing space to think.
I apologize for...that. What did that mean? Harry's mouth hung open stupidly long after Snape had disappeared from sight. What had he meant? He snapped his jaw shut and scowled. It didn't matter, he told himself resolutely.
"What time is it anyway?" He muttered, pulling his wand out of his pocket. "Tempus," he intoned carefully. He stared at the numbers floating in front of him in confusion. 1:30? In the PM or the AM he wondered, standing up. He crossed the room silently, pulled back the curtains and blinked. It was pitch black.
Harry padded out of the bedroom into the chilled air in the hall. He crept along the hallway and into the kitchen. He ached all over and in places he shouldn't have. The space in between his toes hurt; he couldn't even imagine what Snape had to be feeling. Therefore, he was going to make tea. It was something to do. Mrs. Weasley had made it seem like a cure-all and perhaps it was.
He picked the metal kettle off the stovetop and walked over to the sink to fill it with water. Harry didn't want to imagine how Snape was faring in his lab. The man was insane. He placed the now-full kettle back on the stove and turned on the burner. What could he possibly be doing in the cellar at 1:30 in the morning that couldn't wait until morning?
Snape busied himself with making another cauldron of the potion he had given Harry. He was still aching and exhausted, but there was nothing for it. If he went to bed, he'd just stew and castigate himself and not sleep anyway, so he might as well be productive.
Snape made the potion by rote, hardly having to think about it at all. Instead, he thought of the days to come, wondering how long it would be until Voldemort made his decision. Now that Harry had discovered this ability to shield Unforgivables, he wished they hadn't sent off the letter yet. Would there be enough time to perfect it?
Snape bottled the potion, stacking the vials neatly on the shelf before stretching tiredly. Merlin, he ached! He left the lab and made his way upstairs. He could hear Harry puttering around in the kitchen as he quietly walked past.
He went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Removing his clothes, he stepped inside and slid down the cool tiles until he was sitting on the floor. He pulled up his knees, folded his arms across the top of them, and rested his head on his arms. Snape closed his eyes and let the hot water fall on his back, the steam surrounding him.
Snape finally raised his head, only to lean back against the tiles, letting the water cascade down his chest. He lifted his arm and watched the play of water against the Dark Mark. The rivulets of water seemed to make it move and dance across his arm.
Gods, how he hated the thing!
A permanent reminder of his own gullibility. His own foolishness. His arm dropped and he stared blankly at the tiles, his mind going over memories he wished he could forget.
Harry heard the shower turn on and frowned in concern and envy. The teakettle whistled and he pulled it off the burner and left it on the stove to cool a little. He pulled the same two teacups he always used off the shelf, running his finger over the chipped rim of one.
He poured the hot water over the tea leaves and added a little milk and sugar to his and just milk to Snape's. He cast a sustaining spell on Snape's, unsure of how long the man intended on showering. The hot liquid burned his tongue but felt delightful running down the back of his throat. He hummed with satisfaction, swirling it contemplatively, his mind blissfully blank.
Once the water began to cool, Snape forced himself to his feet. He ran the soap quickly over his body; though by the time he was done the water had become chilly. He was fairly certain that he'd spent more time in the shower in the last month than he had since he'd been a teenager and wanted somewhere to wank in peace.
Right now, he just wanted peace and solitude, and the shower seemed to be the only place he could get it. Turning off the water, he quickly dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. With a quick look out the door to make sure Potter wasn't about, he covered the few steps to his bedroom and closed the door behind him.
Harry heard the bathroom door open, knowing exactly what Snape was going to do next. He didn't even have to leave the table he was leaning against to imagine Snape skulking through the hall to his bedroom and sure enough, he heard the telltale sound of the door shutting at the end of the hall.
He yawned widely, picked up the still-warm cup of tea and carefully made his way down the hallway. This seemed to be becoming something of a habit between them, it was almost domesticated. He knocked on the door to Snape's bedroom and stepped back slightly to wait.
"Just a minute," Snape called, pulling a shirt over his head before opening the bedroom door. Once again, he found Potter waiting for him with a cup of tea. "What is it with you and tea?" he asked, scowling at the cup.
"What is it with you and showers?" Harry shot back cheerfully, handing over the cup and pecking Snape on the cheek. "Good night."
Snape found himself blinking stupidly at Harry's back as the boy went to his room.
Did the brat actually just kiss him on the cheek?
Shaking his head and rolling his eyes, Snape took his tea and closed his bedroom door, planning on sleeping soundly until morning, which wasn't very far off now.
Morning came faster than either Snape or Harry wanted, but they couldn't just stay in bed forever. Or, at least, Harry didn't think so, and if Harry didn't think so then, he was fairly certain, neither did Snape.
He got out of his bed and headed towards the bathroom, intent on getting into the shower before Snape could get to it and use all the hot water again.
Snape was sitting at the table eating toast and going over the morning paper when he heard Harry get up. The Prophet's headline was, "Harry Potter, Courageous Hero or Nutter?" It was mostly a rehash of the day before, though there were a few comments from people who actually mattered to Harry, one of whom was Arthur Weasley, who implored Harry to: "come home and not do anything rash."
Did the man even know Potter? 'Rash' might as well be his middle name!
Harry leaned against the shower wall and closed his eyes tiredly. Another day, he thought idly as the water beat down against his side in a steady stream. He opened his eyes and stared at the shower curtain, trying to imagine if the day was going to be any different than the last couple of days. He doubted it though.
Stepping back fully under the water, he lathered his hair with Snape's shampoo, scrubbing away the previous day. He let the water run over him for another few minutes before turning it off and blindly groping for the towel on the washbasin. He toweled his hair and his face before wrapping the white piece of fabric around his waist and securing it tightly. Water clung to his hair and dripped down his back as he wandered towards the kitchen.
Snape was sitting at the table with a deeply amused look on his face. That wasn't normal.
"Anything good in the news?"
"You're either a hero or a nutter," Snape said, tossing the paper onto the table with an amused smirk. "I don't know why you can't be both," he added, taking a bite of toast.
"I take great offense at that, just so you know," Harry stated with false annoyance as he picked up the paper off the table. He scanned the headlines with amusement, but his smile faded as he got to the quote from Mr. Weasley. His gaze flickered over to Snape who was merrily, if Snape ever did anything merrily, munching his toast, completely unconcerned.
His gaze dropped to the table guiltily as he read the rest of the article. Once done, he abruptly pushed the paper away from him as if it burned.
Snape sighed as Harry forcibly shoved the paper away. "Come on, Potter, you had to expect that?" Snape said dismissively. He had expected some reaction from the boy, but he hadn't expected him to look like he'd just killed his friend's pet cat.
"I did, I just… did he have to word it like that?" he asked.
"Like what? Like you were an errant child unable to make a decision about your own life? Or death, as the case may be," Snape said, smirking.
"Like I had betrayed my family," he grated out, glaring at Snape.
Snape placed both hands on the table and got to his feet, moving his face within an inch of Harry's. "Your family, Potter, is dead. Voldemort killed them. You are avenging their deaths and making the world a much better place, and there is no shame in that," he said, though it came out more like growl.
Harry's eyes widened and he shrank into his chair. He couldn't respond to that, because what Snape was saying was true.
"But-"
"Merlin, Potter! You're old enough to make your own decisions, even stupid ones, which no doubt the majority of your decisions are," Snape said, returning to his seat and sipping his tea, never taking his eyes from Harry.
"Hey!" Harry yelped indignantly, momentarily shoving aside the rest of Snape's words. "I'll have you know some of my ideas are spectacular!"
"Name five," Snape said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest.
Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times, before settling on a surly expression. He couldn't think of a good plan that Hermione hadn't orchestrated.
"So spectacular you can't remember them? They must have been truly amazing," Snape said, his dark eyes glinting with humor.
"Stuff it, you great git," Harry muttered, his lips twitching slightly. "I have a brainy know-it-all friend who does all the planning for me. A strategist. It's just safer to do as she says. You don't want her angry with you."
"Ah, the cleverly intolerable Miss Granger," Snape said, his lip quirking upward in a look a distaste. "Her plans weren't always that brilliant either."
"I'm aware of that," Harry answered. "But a lot of them were in theory, just not in practice. Especially when I get a notion in my head that something should be done differently."
"You're saying you're stubborn, Potter? I'm stunned, truly," Snape said, affecting shock.
"And you're a stuck-up prick, try to refute that," Harry shot back, finally smiling again.
"Why would I deny it when it's all a part of my charm?" Snape asked innocently.
Harry's hands itched at his side. He wanted to do something, something stupid that he would probably regret later. He supposed it was a good thing he didn't know what. He was restless.
"You have charm?" he asked off-handedly, trying to resist the impulse to do...whatever it was he was itching to do. He really rather wished that feeling would stop.
"Charm, boyish good looks, and a winning personality," Snape replied, his lip curling in amusement. "I'm quite certain I was a favorite of all my students. Oh wait, that was Lockhart, the bloody ponce," he finished, rolling his eyes at the absurdity of it all.
Harry snorted. "I never understood that, not at all."
"His utterly vapid nature was ignored because of his good looks," Snape said derisively. "The man was a fraud and an idiot and one of Dumbledore's bigger mistakes."
"See, that is what I didn't understand," Harry said gesturing with his hands in a confused manner. "Why did Dumbledore hire him, and if you say because of his looks I may have to go scrub my brain out with a Brillo pad."
Snape sighed. "I believe his reasoning was that Lockhart was harmless and considering Quirrell, we could have done with a little harmlessness. It's not like anyone lasted longer than a year."
Harry hummed thoughtfully. It was true. None of his professors had managed to stay in that position for more than a year. "Not even you."
"Dumbledore knew this all was coming to a head and he wanted me deeply entrenched with the Dark Lord," Snape replied, staring into his tea. "I was of more use to you there, better able to protect you."
Harry stared at him for a long moment. "Fat lot of good that did."
Snape met his eyes, cocking his head to the side to study him. "I daresay you're better prepared now than you would have been had the original plan worked out. So we'll work with what we have," he said, getting to his feet. "Finish your breakfast and meet me in the training room. We have work to do," he said, and swept from the room.
Harry sighed. He hadn't even started breakfast yet! He stretched out in his chair, flexing his toes. What did Snape really think they were going to accomplish? Unless there was a safe way to possess a person, he was never going to understand that when Harry said nothing felt different, he meant nothing felt different.