1Title: The Boxer

Chapter 2

Author: Azure K Mello

Verse: The first of two stories in the 90 days 'verse.

Spoilers/Timeline: Set in Year Seven but ignores all of book six. So it could be called AU/Future fic/ Pre-canon , I don't mind what you call it.

Summery/Warnings: Blackmail, shame, hatred, disgust, degradation, and true love.

Pairings: H/D non-con, there's a relationship between two characters later but that will develop.

Date: February 1998

Beta by the awesome D. Gray. Any mistakes remaining are mine alone.

He knocked twice at the door and waited to hear, "Come in," before turning the handle. Snape was sitting at the desk in his private study. "Shut the door." He put aside the papers he was marking and stood. He had a slight limp. During the attack, which had lasted eight hours, he had been cursed with something nasty and had been limping for the last two days. "We're dueling while you keep me out of your mind and shove messages into mine."

"Are you up to dueling, sir?"

"Calling me old?"

"No, you're wounded. I could get Neville and duel with him while you and I keep eye contact."

"No," he said, "you'll be dueling me and I expect you to take advantage of my sore leg. Take position. Bow. And attack."

They fought hard, fast, and only kind of clean. Breaking form and a sweat, Harry panted as he felt Severus trying to enter his mind and pushed him out. This wasn't fun, it never was. In a soft voice Severus said, "You're keeping me out but you need to retaliate." Harry nodded and doubled the effort and broke in. He pushed his thoughts in and felt himself being shoved out but just concentrated harder and Severus started speaking to try and distract him. "Are you singing inside my head?"

"I figured you might go mad and I'd win by default, sir."

"Creative," said Severus with a smirk. It was odd how they could be almost polite while dueling. But then, Potter was being "almost polite" a lot of the time lately. "What is that song?"

"Muggle sports tune, I modified if for your enjoyment." He was panting hard as he sent a silent heat curse at Snape, who blocked it without a word.

"Bit repetitive isn't it?"

Harry started singing it aloud to make it a double whammy, "England have done it, in the last minute of extra time! What a save, good old England, England who couldn't play Quidditch, England have got it in the bag. I know that was then, but it could be again. It's coming home. It's coming. Quidditch's coming home. It's coming home. It's coming home. It's coming. Quidditch's coming home. England have done it! It's coming home. It's coming home. It's coming."

Inside Snape's head he'd been singing a different verse and Snape interrupted, "Who's Bobby?"

"Muggle football hero from the sixties. Dean worshipped him and Jeffy."

"You weren't born."

"And you were only six. But they were the best. That was the last time England won a World Cup, they played for West Ham when not playing for England. West Ham was Dean's team."

"For what?"

"Football."

"Never heard of it."

"Of course not." He shot Severus' bad leg out from under him.

The man fell with a scream, "Time!"

"Out or over?" asked Harry leaning down and putting his hands on his knees. Breathing slowly he said, "Are we done with that, sir? It has been over an hour."

"We're done with that." He still found it odd that Potter was calling him sir without being ordered to, it had been a recent development. "Potions next."

Harry nodded still panting, he handed Snape one of the clean hand towels the man always had around and reached for a second one for himself. Drying his face, neck, and arms Harry said, "Shall I get the ingredients?"

"Yes, you've made it before so I'm not telling you what to get."

Nodding again Harry asked, "What's the potion?"

Happy to upset the boy while his leg was pounding Snape said, "Veritaserum."

Harry flinched but said, "Right." And headed for the cupboard. Snape watched the way the boy's shoulders dropped and smirked.

Brewing without talking Harry prepared the potion quickly and proficiently. They sat at an island at the front of the classroom. Harry did the work while Severus acted as a silent lab partner. At one point Harry reached for a jar of crushed cloves and Snape's arm came in contact with the boy's skin. Hissing, he pulled back and said, "Potter, you're freezing."

Harry didn't look up just said, "It's been a tiring week. And the dungeon always makes me cold."

"Go directly to bed once we've finished," Snape ordered.

The potion turned clear and Harry donned his dragon hide gloves so that he could safely lift the hot cauldron off the flames. "It's done, sir. May I go to bed?"

Snape shook his head saying, "You know you have to test it first."

"You watched me do it, you know it's perfect."

"You know that you need to test all your potions. Moreover, you need to learn how to fight it, Veritaserum, is very powerful and won't allow you to lie. However, one can circumvent its strengths."

He sneered at Snape even as he swallowed a measured dose of the clear liquid. Once it kicked in he said, "Two questions, that's it." He was already looking at the little vial of antidote.

This was Snape's favourite part of the night, embarrassing Harry Potter. It was strange: months ago the boy wouldn't have swallowed the Veritaserum. He would have viciously fought. But things were different now. While cleaning the classroom one day after he'd dismissed the students he'd heard voices in the hallway. He had cast an amplifying spell on the sound and heard Potter say disbelievingly, "I'm being blackmailed."

Confused, he had waited to hear who would reply and wasn't shocked when he heard young Malfoy say, "Welcome to the real world."

He had smiled when he heard the words, pleased that someone was going to show Potter something other than sweetness and light. He'd severed the spell not desiring to know the specifics of his pupils' social lives. The incident's results had shown up in the boy. Potter was more tractable and compliant now and he called him "sir" without being ordered. It seemed that the blackmail had taken him down a peg or two. While he usually frowned upon blackmail, he thought that Potter's trampled spirit had put the boy in good stead; without the cockiness he seemed more focused, less rambunctious. He trusted Draco to not actually damage the boy; the blackmail couldn't have been too serious. Besides, James Potter's arrogant offspring deserved a good kick. After some deliberation he asked, "What do you dream of?"

Thinking before replying Harry said, "Good running shoes, I'm on a road and I run for miles and miles before my feet feel tired."

Repetition was key while using Veritaserum so Snape asked again, "What do you dream of?"

"Drowning in socks, I blame that one on the headmaster. And someone says, 'Everyone wins when everyone wins'."

"What do you dream of?"

Harry realized that this was not a third question and he had bound himself to answering it. He had agreed to answer two questions, this was still the first. Hoping to get Snape of track he said, "Since I was little I had this nightmare about my mother screaming. But having seen more death that's largely stopped."

"Yes, but what do you dream of?"

The inflection made it impossible to avoid the crux of the question. While trying to find a way out Harry clamped his jaw shut. He thought and thought and watched as Snape's smirk emerged. The expression disappeared after a full three minutes when blood started to seeped out of the corner of his mouth. Handing the boy the antidote Snape started to clean up the work surface. Harry rolled his neck after he'd downed the antidote and said, "Thank you for letting me off." The cold politeness still shocked Snape.

He looked at the blood that was running down the boy's chin now and said, "You bit your tongue? Unorthodox. It'll work but you might bite it off."

"Well, then I'll really be able to remain silent," Harry said with a bitter tone. "May I go now, sir?"

"I'd like to give you a healing draught."

"No more potions, please. May I go?"

"You're always free to go. You asked for these lessons, you aren't bound to be here at all. I just thought a healing draught would stop your tongue from swelling and stop people from asking questions tomorrow. I don't know how you'll explain it otherwise. You have performed acceptably tonight; I do not wish to send you to bed wounded."

Harry nodded and said, "Okay, may I please have the potion, sir?" He wiped at the blood on his face as Snape went to get a bottle of the blue healing liquid. He handed it over without a word and Harry said, "Thank you. Goodnight."

And, as he watched Potter leave, Snape thought that, perhaps, he should send Malfoy a thank you note.

Harry walked through the hallways uncaring for noise and visibility. As head boy no one could tell him off for breaking curfew, it was part of his duties to patrol the halls. He only met Nearly Headless Nick who nodded and said, "Evening, young Potter." Harry nodded, not trusting his healing tongue to speak. "You look tired, I won't keep you," said the ghost as he floated away. Hurrying away Harry was soon at the Fat Lady's portrait and said softly, "Pneumatic Nymphs," and the picture swung off the wall.

The fire had burned low and no one was in the common room. Harry went quickly to the dorm where he found Neville asleep in his bed. He smiled slightly as he stripped down to his briefs, putting his glasses on the bedside table, and slid under the covers. A leg wrapped around his waist and Neville asked, "How'd it go?"

"An eight."

The slightly shocked voice said, "That's great."

"One being good, ten being miserable."

"Oh," there was disappointment then, "did you learn anything?"

"Some stuff, it was definitely worth while, it just wasn't fun." He sighed, "It's been a hard week."

He felt Neville's hand on his back as the other boy said, "I don't understand why you couldn't tell Hermione about the blackmail; she would have sorted it out."

"Hermione would have charged like a bull in a china shop, she would have made it worse." Harry breathed slowly, "She would have found out exactly why I was being blackmailed before 'sorting it out'. I couldn't risk that."

"Is this secret so bad?" asked Neville. "Why can't you tell me? You know I wouldn't tell anyone."

"I've sucked Malfoy off ninety times just to make sure you never find out what the secret is. If it gets out, I'll never be able to meet anyone's eye ever again especially not yours. I don't want to lose your friendship."

"Can you at least tell me what this is about?" asked Neville plaintively.

"It's stupid."

"It was serious enough for you to submit to Malfoy. It's not stupid to you," Neville said reassuringly.

"It's my damned love life." Snorting bitterly he said, "Can you imagine? Harry Potter worrying about his love life while there's a war. It's a pantomime."

"You know I'll always respect you." Neville was still stroking his back gently and Harry wished that it was true.

Exhausted he asked, "Please, Neville, can we just go to sleep? We don't have class tomorrow, Saturday. We can sleep late and just forget. And on Monday I'll get up early, go to another training with Snape and after that you can berate me if you like."

Neville did as he asked and they spent the weekend goofing about, teasing Hermione, and grudgingly studying. Hermione did her usual, "Studying is a good thing" speech but joined them for swims in the Chamber of Secrets several times and a covert trip down to Hogsmeade under Harry's invisibility cloak. Harry spent time down in the Chamber alone doing the mind emptying exercises that Snape had taught him and practicing dueling against invisible partners to study all the things Snape had been training him in.

Sunday came too quickly for his taste. He knew that trying to cram exorbitant amounts of fun into two days was impractical and naïve but it kept him focused on lots of stuff, none of which was bad. Most weekends were packed full of activity. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Hermione, and Neville had warned him against tiring himself out. But he didn't feel tired, just empty which was better than being filled with bad things.

Sunday afternoon was spent by the fire in the common room. Some of the fifth and sixth years were discussing recent dates. One boy was laughing that his girlfriend was going to make him broke but then added, "If she marries me first I won't mind." It always shocked Harry that wizards married so young, it seemed that many married directly after school. He knew that his parents had been nineteen when he was born and married about a year before that. And it seemed so odd to him.

But then maybe it wasn't wizards, maybe it was people during a war. His parents had been murdered at twenty. If you wanted a family, kids, a life, you had to do it fast because stability isn't something that can be relied upon during a war. And he thought that maybe in the days before Voldemort people had married later. Sitting in front of the fire he thought it was sort of sick that two generations had had to worry about the same problem. But at least his parent's generation hadn't grown up in the war, it had been sprung upon them. Harry's peers had never known anything but war. When they'd been younger it had been more subdued, it hadn't been full out war, but even then there had been a whisper in the back of their parent's minds that You-Know-Who could come back so they watched their children. They'd taught them, if only by example, to fear the name of a man who wasn't even corporeal for fourteen years. They taught them to watch themselves, to be wary. They had taught them terror and how not to be children.

He didn't want Neville and Hermione's kids to be taught those things. They were getting married in five month's time. Then they were going off to college together, Neville was studying Herbal Healing and Hermione was doing Law and Advocacy. He was excited for them because very few wizards went to college, it was only really for special interests. Harry was planning on becoming an Auror and the Ministry would train him for that. Hermione and Neville were planning on having kids while in college. When Harry had asked if they could manage that Neville had smirked and Hermione had gone off saying, "If I could get you and Ron through finals for years, make sure that Ron bathed, that you ate and remembered not to die, and still get straight A's? I can have kids who know they're loved, are taken care of, well fed, bathed, and morally upright, while still getting the grades."

Neville had squeezed her waist and said, "Yes you can. And I'll do my best to keep up."

Harry had drank in the sight of their happiness and said, "You'll both be brilliant."

He was pulled back into the present as someone asked if he was seeing anyone. Looking up he tried to smile and said, "No." And he thought about the blackmail. And thought, "I see someone, but he doesn't see me." Then he told himself to stop being maudlin. He told himself that it was a small price to pay for all the time he got to spend with the person he liked. Time spent without looks of disgust and revulsion.

Looking up he saw Neville watching him uneasily and Harry just smiled. Neville smiled back and Harry promised himself again that Neville would never find out about his feelings. He didn't want Neville to ever hate him.

As he climbed into bed on Sunday night he thought about the morning and flinched. He hated going to bed most nights, the next day always loomed so close and frightening. But Neville crawled in and said, "Are you alright? You looked a bit grey earlier."

"I'm fine," Harry said, "Just thinking 'bout stuff. Kids."

"Oh, Merlin, Harry. That's not the secret is it? A girl's pregnant? Oh, Harry," Neville sounded scared for him. Harry nearly laughed and just watched his friend incredulously. "Well you kind of like girls," Neville justified, "you dated Ginny."

He had, September of sixth year. But he'd broken up with her because even though she smelled like her brother and laughed like him, she wasn't Ron. And the only person he really wanted to date was his best friend. Once, when they were fifteen he'd tried to kiss Ron, and the young man had stopped him. Citing that Harry was his best mate and too important, he said that he couldn't do it. And Harry had pointed out that Ron would kiss Hermione. And Ron had said it was different. Harry asked if it was because Hermione was a girl and Ron had said, no, that it was because Hermione wasn't his best mate. If it got mucked up with her he would lose a mate and his good grades whereas if it got mucked up with Harry he'd lose a brother. And he had hugged Harry and said, "It's not that I don't like you; I like you too much to be with you." Afterwards he had added, "Besides, I'm not who you really, really like," because he had known Harry's secret for as long as it had existed.

For two weeks he'd dated Ginny, but it wasn't fair or right and he couldn't even bring himself to kiss her, and he just nodded as Neville brought it up. He hadn't even really spoken to her since Ron's death. And he didn't blame her for avoiding him. In fact, before the swimming in the Chamber of Secrets the last time he'd spoken to her had been the day after the dance. Her mother had asked her to pack Ron's stuff saying that it was surely cluttering the room, as though her dead son was somehow putting his roommates out. Harry had been rifling through the redhead's trunk. He hadn't noticed the audience and was muttering, "It's got to be here." It was close to the bottom, equally despised and loved by its owner: a well worn maroon sweater. It was the one Mrs. Weasley had made him the month before he'd come to Hogwarts for the first time. It had always been too big for Ron but he'd worn it on cold nights when there weren't many people around. Pulling it to his face, Harry could smell the other boy on it. Ginny had moved to leave but he'd heard her then and turned. And he looked at her and then away, unable to meet her eye, saying, "Is it okay if I take this?"

She had nodded and said, "Sure, that's fine."

"Thanks," he'd said and then quickly added, "I'm so sorry," and fled. He'd rushed from the tower, holding his best friend's ugly sweater. He ran all the way to the Chamber of Secrets where he'd looked up a preservation spell to make sure that, no matter how many times he wore it or washed it, it would always smell of Ron.

He looked at Neville and said, "There's no pregnant girl."