"Severus! I missed you!"

"..."

"Well, excuuuse me! You don't have to look so disgusted, do you look at your mother with that face?"

"No, but I look at you with this face. What in the bloody name of Merlin are you doing back in my office?"

"Therapy, of course."

"I do recall the both of us coming to a rare agreement on the halt of that useless endeavor."

"Ah, well, Dumbles thought we should give it another go."

"If you keep smiling at me like that I swear to whoever is up there, you will find yourself spleenless."

"Oh but Severus!"

"...Don't call me that."

"Whyyyy?"

"Just. Don't."

"Meh, fine. I relent. Professor Snape."

"Don't say it like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like-like it's a-a...fuck you Potter."

"Well jeez, Professor. If I were still a student, I'd reprimand your use of language..."

"Go back to the fiery depths of whatever hell you came from, demon spawn."

"Could I note that down as a form of endearment...?"

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you seem fairly composed after what I confessed last session. I'm assuming this is your way of admitting your own pure hearted feelings for me?"

"You confessed something?"

"Yessir!"

"I recall no such confession, now sit down so we can get this bloody hour over with."

"Avoiding the subject are we? How cute."

"Sit down, Mr. Potter."

"Alright, alright! You don't have to get all affronted about it!"

"And stay seated. Now then, where did we leave off last?"

"I think it had to do with me...on a bed...tied up and drizzled in choclate maybe?"

"It's not a bloody riddle you half-brained imbecilic Gryffindor. Where. Were. We?"

"So I've got half a brain now? I think I'm getting smarter!"

"Stop bloody smiling! Would it kill you to actually do something correctly for once?"

"Alright, alright...I was gardening when I was...ummm...eight? Eleven?"

"You were nine, Mr. Potter."

"If you remembered it, why make me tell you?"

"It's called participation, Potter, you get graded on it."

"I'm being graded in a therapy session? That's just twisted...Oh! Is it roleplay?"

"Excuse me?"

"Like, 'I'm the naughty school boy and you need to punish me' type thing? Oooh, kinky one Professor. Nice."

"If you could keep your mind out of the gutter for just a minute, Potter! It was just an expression. Can we continue? Or do you need to get it out of your system before we continue?"

"...Do I get to choose how I get it out of my system?"

"Why are you leering at me like that, Potter? And no."

"Aaaw, no reason. What do I do now?"

"...If we can continue,-"

"By all means, Professor!"

"-you are going to take this rough rendition of you as a doll and whenever I ask you a question, you will attach a different facial expression that corresponds with what you feel."

"Eh...really? Cause that sounds kinda...stupid."

"Of course not, Potter, we are continuing what we started last week."

"Which was...?"

"Since it appears you are a so far hopeless case, I may as well repeat the instructions."

"Oh please do! Please!"

"Stop gushing, it's obviously fake. I will give you an age and you will describe, in detail, whatever happenstance occured then."

"Any specific time? Or do I choose?"

"Are you truly as stupid as you're sounding?"

"Evidently so..."

"Yes, Potter, you choose whatever date."

"So then...where does the therapy take place? I mean, it doesn't seem like spilling all my life's stories to you will change what's already happened...right?"

"Of course it won't change what's already come to pass, you dolt, but from my experience, it helps to talk with someone."

"Even if that person hates your guts?"

"They say that you should keep your friends close, but your enemies closer."

"Isn't that a muggle phrase?"

"Not relevant. Now then, age 7."

"Umm...I guess..."

"There is no guessing, Potter. Either it happened, or it didn't."

"Alright! Cool it! Isn't this my time to lament and wallow in self-pity?"

"I never said self-pity was allowed. Continue."

"Jeez, who shoved your wand up your arse this morning?"

"Continue, Mr. Potter. Age 7."

"Okay, okay. Let's see...age 7 was when Petunia decided that I should start cooking dinner along with breakfast, which I had already been doing."

"Any particular occasion that wounds your soul?"

"Well, if you put it that way, there was the time when she didn't like how the thanksgiving turkey was cooked and stuck me in the boiler room to eh...prove a point?"

"Is that a question or a statement?"

"Well...I didn't really get how stuffing me in a boiler room did anything besides make me lose ten pounds in sweat...maybe she was having me be the turkey and the boiler room the oven?"

"Can you describe what you felt during this ordeal?"

"Sure, I guess...It was hot. Really hot. Like...almost touching the sun hot."

"I don't think you'd be alive had it been that hot, Potter."

"Look, that's how it felt. Can I keep going? Or are you going to keep interjecting? Just because you mean something to me, doesn't mean I'll always let you get away with belittling my abusive childhood."

"You may continue, I'll...attempt to curb my impulses."

"Thank you, now then. Where was I...? Oh yes, hot like the sun boiler room. Well, I remember being completely confused. Like: 'Why is this happening to me?' kind of thing. I was at the age where I understood that I was being punished, for something, but I didn't understand why. It was then, I think, that started me thinking that I was just a mistake all around. Before that, I had been a bit angry and befuddled as to why I wasn't given any food or locked in my cupboard for a few days straight. But then...it occured to me that...I was what was wrong. That my entire existence was causing all this strife and anger, so I stopped asking why, I just...accepted it."

"Hmmm...I see. Do you still believe that?"

"Huh?"

"Do you still believe that you were a mistake? And that you deserve everything bad that happens to you?"

"...I really don't know, Professor. I don't know. Sometimes I feel like that's true, that's it's divine retribution for a past life crime. But then..."

"Then?"

"Then I think of you."

"...I must be getting old, can you repeat that? I'm afraid I misheard you."

"It's you, Sir, that reminds me that I'm not the cause for everything. That it's not all my fault."

"And...how is that?"

"Because you torture scared little first years."

"Excuse me?"

"When I first came to Hogwarts, I was already exhausted with everyone treating me like some huge fucking deal. It felt like another punishment. Then, in my very first potion's class, you terrified the shit out of me. At first, I thought it was another case of retribution, but then I saw you treat everyone else the same way, excepting the Slytherins of course. But I realized then, perhaps not conciously, that not everything was my fault. There existed merciless and dastardly Potions Masters who hated everyone quite equally, me a bit more than the others but that hardly mattered, and...it wasn't my fault."

"...So then...I'm the reason you're not constantly bashing your head against a wall like a bloody house elf?"

"That's right!"

"Well then...this session is concluded. You may leave."

"Oh, Sir?"

"Yes, Potter? Do you need something?"

"Well, about what I said last week..."

"Yes?"

"You don't need to sigh over it, I get enough of that from people who adore me anyways."

"Your point, Potter? Or I'm leaving and you won't hear from me until out next, regretful, session."

"I meant it, you know. It wasn't just something I blurted out to get the last word in. I really do love you."

"Indeed, should I be jumping for joy?"

"...Well...I suppose I was expecting a bit more of a reaction...like denial? Why are you smirking?"

"Because, Potter, not all words need to be spoken."

"E-excuse m-"


And that was how Harry Potter finally got the Potions Master. For those of you who need explanation, the reason why Harry was cut off was because his mouth was being *ahem* invaded. *cackle*

I wasn't sure if I was going to post a second part to Therapy with Snape, then I realized that...it needed a resolution. So a resolution was typed, under the influence of cold pills and a glass of sickly sweetened iced coffee in one sitting. Was not betaed, that's sadly obvious, but I did my best not to have too many mistakes. Tell me if you liked it! Or I'll sneak into your room at night and kneel by your head to whisper nonsensical phrases, including, but not limited to: random Shakespearean insults, Dr. Suess rhymes, church doctrine, and quotes from the Princess Bride/Doctor Who. And don't think I can't find where you live! I have all three books of Steig Larson's epic computer hacking genius, Lisbeth Salander! I'll figure something out...*mutter mutter*

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you could sue me for, probably including my existence...though my dearest mother has claim to that one, so you'll have to go through her! (But don't expect a fight, she's got a boy and a girl who look like me of the same age, so she won't miss one...or so she delights in telling me...I love you too mommy.)