A/N: You get a chapter from a new perspective today; or at least, part of a chapter. And it's my birthday today! Since it's hard for you to send me presents, with the whole not-knowing-who-I-am thing, I'll settle for lots and lots of good reviews, ok:)

Albus Dumbledore was an old man. He had been an old man for a long time, as his long silver beard was a testament to. Few people appreciated exactly how long it took to grow such a magnificent beard, but Albus could forgive them. He had learned much about forgiveness in his long years.

But Albus had not thought of himself as old until these past hours.

He stared into the tall mirror that stood above his sofa. "I don't know you." Indeed, he did not recognize the tired, old face he saw before him. Was there not meant to be a twinkle in those eyes? All he saw was guilt.

And with good reason.

"He doesn't deserve what you force on him."

The face in the mirror didn't deny it.

"But he's got to go back. He knows it as well as I; he's the only one who can do what he does."

And it was true. Looking back over their conversation, Albus knew that Severus had not once allowed himself to voice what was behind his eyes. The young man had never said don't make me go back, Albus. Don't ask that of me.

Because if he had, Albus would have complied. Albus would have said, no. Don't go back. Not to him. Rest, my boy.

And they both knew it.

And so Severus had not asked.

"You've no right to ask these things of him. You've no right to destroy him this way."

With a sigh of frustration, he turned away from the mirror. He had no answers for himself.

And when the war was over, he could decide whether or not he had been right to do these things, ask these things of Severus. But now he had no choice, because Voldemort was growing stronger, and they needed what help they could have.

It didn't ease the pain, though, knowing that he had no choice. And, when he finally retired to his bed, it did not help him sleep, or erase the memory of Severus's face from his mind.

He had two thoughts before he drifted into sleep that night. The first was depressing.

You are a foolish old man, to play with fate this way.

And the second was hardly better.

And there is no one else to follow after you. If you die, old man, or set down your burdens, you betray those who rely on you. There is no one else to do what you do.

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Harry knew, inexplicably, two things. He knew that Severus was alive, and at Hogwarts. And he knew that something was not right.

He couldn't have explained how he knew these things, but they'd somehow become unshakable truths in his mind. He'd felt it, when Severus came back, with a crushing happiness, accompanied by a vague sense that he needed to be sick.

Harry had managed to reach the washrooms before losing the contents of his stomach, and the sick feeling was just one more thing he couldn't explain.

And despite his promises, he was contemplating doing the one thing he'd been ordered not to do. He was an inch from snatching up his invisibility cloak and going down to the dungeons, to at least be with Severus, even if he could do nothing.

But that promise.

"Harry, I want you to promise me something."

"Anything. Just come back alive."

"Don't wait up for me. No matter how much you feel I am in danger, you are under no circumstances to come to my chambers and wait for me."

"Why?"

"And I mean to hold you to this."

"Why, though?"

"Because that is what I require of you."

"I promise."

And now, scarcely two and a half hours later, he had every intention of doing just that. He knew what Hermione would say. Harry, Professor Snape knows what he's doing. He must have had some reason to ask you that.

But Severus was Hermione's teacher, not her lover.

Ron's reaction would be essentially the same, of course. Look, mate, he'll be fine.

But Ron did not like Severus.

Hovering in indecision, Harry toyed with the invisibility cloak on his lap. The room was dark around him.

All the reasons he had not to go find Severus played in his head, but louder, more insistent, was the thought that Severus needed him.

Harry pulled the cloak over his shoulders.

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Severus poured another glass of Firewhiskey, his hands shaking. He was incredibly grateful that he had made the boy promise to stay away tonight. There was nothing stopping him now from drinking himself into a stupor, from becoming so utterly wasted that he would forget his reasons for turning to alcohol. Until he forgot the taste of those lips, the touch of those hands.

What would you say, Harry, if you could see me now?

He drained the glass and poured another, maintaining the dignity of at least restraining himself from drinking straight from the bottle.

And what would you think if you could see inside my head? It's a very good thing you're a bad legilimense, Potter. You'd run screaming if you saw what I've seen. If you saw what I am.

He was thinking very uncharitable thoughts of Harry just now. Severus was sickened with the world and everyone in it.

I don't deserve you.

The walls were starting to blur, sliding in and out of focus, moving, even though he stayed still.

And yet I have no intention of being honorable and turning you away...as if you'd allow me to. It's only that I need you so desperately.

Of course, came the thought, spies aren't known for their sense of honor, are they, Severus?

The dregs of alcohol at the bottom of the bottle burned on their way down, but Severus relished in the feeling. Perhaps they would burn away all trace of his master, and leave him as clean and pure as Potter.

Careful, Severus. He cautioned himself wryly, that sounded remarkably hateful, for all that you can't live without the boy.

And then, through the alcohol induced fog, came another thought, what manner of monster must I be for the Dark Lord to desire me? What kind of twisted creature am I, to endure his touch the way I did?

There was a sound behind him, but he didn't turn. Undoubtedly it was one of the paintings on the wall, scoffing at his drunkenness.

He tapped the bottle once, and then had to try again, before it refilled with the Firewhiskey. Severus stared morosely at it. He tried to think whether this was the first or second time he'd refilled the bottle, and then wondered why it mattered.

Which argues that it has been many more times than two.

There was another sound behind him, as he sacrificed his dignity and tipped the bottle up in the general direction of his mouth, taking several gulps before setting it back down.

I don't know how much more pathetic I could get.

Or how much more I could hate myself.

And then there was another sound. This time it was a word. And those three syllables showed Severus exactly how much more he could hate himself.

"Severus?"

He spun around, and fell from his chair. "You promised." Severus noted with horror that the words were disgustingly slurred. He shut his eyes, hoping that everything would just vanish, and leave him to his misery.

It didn't.

Out of the darkness he heard Harry's voice again.

"I lied."

Cool hands pried the bottle from his hand and stroked his forehead. It felt impossibly good.

"You need to get to bed."

He should be humiliated, should rail at the boy and strike out at him for daring to witness this.

But Severus could do nothing but cling to the sound of that voice. When strong hands grasped under his arms and hoisted him up, he swayed dangerously, and fell backwards into Harry's arms again.

"Damn." The boy staggered. Severus was beginning to feel that embarrassment. Harry had never seen him falling down drunk before. Sloshed, yes. But not like this.

"You didn't have to come." He was grateful to find that both his balance and powers of speech seemed to have come back to him. "In fact, I distinctly remember ordering you not to."

He swung around to face Harry, lurching a bit, and caught the incredulous expression on the young man's face.

"You ordered me? Last time I checked, I was your lover, Severus, not your bloody House-Elf."

"Just because I take you into my bed on occasion does not mean you are my lover." It felt good to make someone else hurt. "I hardly think the word applies to children."

"What does that make you, Sev? A pedophile?"

"I – " Severus blinked. The Firewhiskey seemed to leave him a perpetual step behind in the argument, and he had the disconcerting feeling that he was losing.

"Oh this is ridiculous." Harry pulled out his wand, and Severus fumbled for his own, feeling alarmed. He couldn't find it though. "You're too drunk for me to be taking you seriously."

Severus might have managed a retort if Harry hadn't jabbed sharply at him with his wand, muttering the sobering charm, "inebrius finite."

Severus blinked, staggered once, and blinked again.

And then stared at Harry.

There was a long silence, in which Harry tried very obviously not to look angry, and failed, and Severus simply looked stunned and horrified.

Then, finally, in a mortified voice Severus vaguely remembered using back in grade school, he whispered, "what are you doing here, Harry?"

A/N: So…what do you think? I enjoyed writing this, because smut is fun to write, it entails a certain degree of pressure. Whereas this sort of thing is all fun and games for me. Course, maybe I just enjoyed seeing Severus lose the verbal sparing for once. However, it did take me about fifteen minutes to write this, so I'll forgive you if it's not to your taste. There will be some Sev/Harry soon, I think, so be patient.