A/N: For now you win. I'm fighting my deep dark depression by writing smutty, slashy fanfiction. I'd really like to thank BlackPriestess for giving me a reason to keep writing; she told me that I wouldn't be able to feel good about giving this up, and she was right. Thanks as well to everyone who told me to do what's best for me, even if that means giving up on writing this.

Unfortunately, updates are going to be pretty sporadic for a while, while I get things back together. I'd thank you for your patience, but you really don't have a choice, do you? If you weren't patient, I'd stop writing. I'll thank you for your reviews and your support instead, and let's leave it at that.

Hope you enjoy. Next chapter's half written, so it shouldn't be too long.

Harry awoke the next morning with an ache in his back and a cold in his chest. He felt very far removed indeed from the ecstasy of the night before, looking in the mirror to see his red-rimmed eyes, blowing his streaming nose into a tissue. Ron, standing somewhere behind him, made a noise that was somewhere between sympathy and disgust, and opted to stay away.

Despite the relative misery he was in, there remained, somewhere inside him, a seed of warmth at the thought of Severus's arms encircling him, and even his aching head and back couldn't seem to take away from that feeling.

A warm shower, Harry decided, would be just the thing. Biting back a groan, he staggered, bleary eyed, to the shower room, thinking longingly of hot baths.

And, preoccupied, it took him several minutes under the shower to realize that he was being watched.

It was very strange. One second he was daydreaming quietly of the night before, of the feeling of being held, being cared for, and the next he was swiveling around, ready to rip Dean's head off. He wasn't entirely sure how he knew it was Dean, or how he even knew someone was standing there – he just did, all of the sudden.

"What the hell are you doing here?" It came out as a snarl, and he felt a rush of satisfaction at seeing the other boy flush.

"Harry, you've got to—"

"Oh stuff it." Just as suddenly as it had come, Harry's anger evaporated, and he wished that Dean would just go away and leave him to think about Severus.

Dean, however, seemed to have no intention of leaving. He pointed his wand briefly at the door, locking it, before turning to speak.

"Listen to me, Harry."

Harry turned to face him again, reluctantly. "What do you want?"

Dean looked taken aback, as if he'd been bracing himself to be hit. "I just want to talk to you."

"About what?"

Dean blushed. "Ginny."

And then it was clear to Harry. Dean hadn't come to explain himself, or justify what he'd done. He'd come to make sure Harry wasn't going to squeal to Ginny."

He rolled his eyes. "If you're wondering, I haven't mentioned anything to her. Don't think I'm planning on keeping quiet though; I think she has a right to know that her boyfriend was cheating on her."

"Harry, come on." Dean was smiling, and it wasn't the charming smile Harry was used to. "You know as well as I do that you're not going to tell her."

"If you're so sure about that," Harry said mildly, "why are you here?"

"Just to make sure you see it my way."

"Oh?"

"If you tell her that I was cheating on her, she's going to want to know two things. Who I was with, and how you know. Are you really ready to come out to the whole school?"

"Maybe I am."

"Oh whatever." Dean's face changed again. There was the smile Harry was so used to seeing, but with a trace of sadness behind it. "Look, Harry, none of this was to hurt you. I didn't want it to end like this." Then, very faintly, so that Harry was hardly sure he'd heard it, Dean added, "I just didn't know what to do."

"Cheating on someone is usually a pretty good way of hurting them, Dean. And not just me. You know damn well that you weren't being fair to Ginny either."

"But I care about you both!"

"You can't have both of us!"

"I know." It was almost a whisper. "I know I've been the stupidest git imaginable, but I didn't want to hurt you. And, come to a choice between you and Ginny, I'd chose you. Can I still?"

"No." Harry met his eyes, angry. "You missed your chance."

Dean grinned. "Come on, Harry."

"Stuff it up your arse, Dean."

Dean jutted out his chin. "Gladly, if it'd mean you'd take me back."

"I'm not taking you back."
"So you say now, but what about when you're not angry any more? You'll miss me, and I know that's the truth."

"Maybe I will. That doesn't mean—"

Dean kissed him.

It was so sudden that Harry didn't react right away. Their tongues slid together so smoothly, so perfectly, that it seemed only natural to let it go on a minute longer. And then, when the minute ended, and Dean was kneeling in front of him, undoing his trousers, it seemed just as natural.

It was a panting, aroused Harry who finally pushed the other boy away, his face red.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Dean tried to pull Harry's hips forwards again, but Harry was stepping back already, doing up his trousers, furious with himself.

"Making it up to you."

"You can't!"

"I can try."

Harry laughed loudly, bitterly. "Dean, it's over. So maybe I'll miss you, but you're not the person I thought you were. Go away, and leave me alone."

Dean, rising off his knees, looked at Harry measuringly, and laughed softly. "I understand now. It's Snape, isn't it? You've been having an awful lot of detentions with him lately."
Harry opened his mouth, at a total loss as to what to say, but Dean cut him off. "Don't bother. I won't snitch on you. He was what you always wanted anyway, wasn't he? Well I'm happy for you, I guess." He grinned. "Not so pleased for myself, though."

He leaned forwards, before Harry could stop him, and placed a light, chaste kiss on the other boy's lips. "I'll miss you."

And he turned, without a backward glance, and walked away, leaving Harry feeling slightly guilty and very, very relieved.

The relieved feeling lasted all day, and the guilt only seemed to get worse. He'd been neglecting Ron and Hermione. They'd noticed that something was wrong, but not what. Just because he was hopelessly in love with his teacher did not mean he could abandon his friends. They'd stood with him through worse than this.

The worst part of the day was looking at the high table, seeing Severus's long black hair gathered at the nape of his neck, and knowing that he couldn't simply walk up there and run his fingers through it.

There are rules!

He sternly reminded himself, and melted as Severus's calm eyes met his own. He looked away quickly, nudging Ron to get his attention away from the Daily Prophet.

"What's up?" Ron put the paper down, meeting his eyes matter of factly. Hermione, putting down her pumpkin juice, did the same. Harry frowned and cocked an eyebrow.

"Do you two know something I don't?"

They exchanged meaningful glances, which did nothing to relieve Harry's mind.

Hermione pursed her lips and spoke slowly. "Harry, there's something you're not telling us. We didn't want to pry, but you haven't been exactly…" she paused, searching for the right word, "subtle."

Harry looked to Ron for confirmation, and was slightly shocked when the redhead nodded.

"But you two—how—?"

Hermione smiled lightly. "Harry, we know you."

"So stop being a git and tell us!" Ron interjected. He ran a hand through his hair and grinned nervously at Harry.

Harry found himself a bit at a loss.

"I…erm."

They both looked disappointed.

"Of course, maybe we were wrong." Hermione gave Ron a pointed look. "I guess it's easy to imagine this sort of thing."

Ron looked confused for a second, opening his mouth as if to question her sanity, but fell silent rather quickly. "Ya, right. Course we might have it wrong." He said instead.

Harry had the distinct feeling that Hermione had just trod on Ron's foot.

They were giving him an out. They were telling him quite simply that if he wasn't ready to talk about it, they weren't going to force him. They weren't going to make things uncomfortable by prying.

"Ya." He looked down at his plate. "Ya, I think you must have."

Hermione wasn't finished yet though. She reached past Ron a little to grab the platter of toast and loaded a few pieces onto her plate, looking at Harry quite frankly.

"But Harry knows, obviously, that if something was wrong, he could always talk to us about it."

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off. "Because we'd always try and help, no matter what it was." She buttered her toast, speaking quite coolly. "And, if it was something you couldn't talk to us about, I'm sure Professor Dumbledore would be a good confidante." She took a bite of the toast, chewed carefully, and swallowed before continuing. "But this is all hypothetical, isn't it, since Harry's said he's got nothing he needs to talk about."

Harry, not trusting himself to speak, nodded, and continued eating. Although Hermione seemed quite composed, he and Ron were bright red, and it was a while before any conversation took place.

Regardless of his discomfort and growing guilt, however, Harry couldn't ever remember feeling fonder of his friends.

A/N: Not as long as I'd like, but there you have it. Sorry there's virtually no Severus/Harry in this chapter; there were some things I needed to get done that didn't involve the two of them together. I know you all hate the Dean/Harry scenes, and so do I, so don't worry; I'm not going to be writing many more of them if I can help it. Dean the way I've written him is a complete sleazebag, and in my opinion, the less we see of him the better. New update coming soon, I hope. I just need to get my head unmixed about other stuff before I really have time for fanfiction. Thanks for being as understanding as you have been.