NOTE: Sorry if there are any mistakes in this, I was pressed for time! And thanks to the people who've been reading and reviewing, I really appreciate it :) Enjoy.

When my love swears that she is made of truth,

I do believe her, though I know she lies,

That she might think me some untutor'd youth,

Unskilful in the world's false forgeries.

Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,

Although I know my years be past the best,

I smiling credit her false-speaking tongue,

Outfacing faults in love with love's ill rest.

But wherefore says my love that she is young?

And wherefore say not I that I am old?

O, love's best habit is a soothing tongue,

And age, in love, loves not to have years told.

Therefore I'll lie with love, and love with me,

Since that our faults in love thus smother'd be.

William Shakespeare, Sonnet CXXXVIII

Slow. "Do not, for a moment, think that I am not fully aware of what you're doing."

Harry looked around the room. "Okay."

Snape stared at him curiously. "Right," he affirmed.

Harry looked around the room again. "What, exactly, are you talking about, may I ask?"

"No, you may not. Just know that you are not dealing with an idiot. I am not Professor Slughorn."

Harry was careful to keep his face blank, but inside he was seething. Slughorn was the professor they had sacked last year.

"You sound like such a crazy person sometimes. I've no idea what you're on about."

It's not as if they do it to you and to you only. These checks are quite routine.

Remembering what Snape said, Harry felt slightly sorry for Hermione, as she twitched in her chair.

"Hello, Harry," she said sweetly but firmly. Braver than she looked.

"Hi."

"Well, you're almost half way through the term," she started and Harry forced himself not to roll his eyes. "And I just wanted to ask you how your classes are going, and if you need anything from me."

"Are these checks really routine for everyone?"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up into her hair. She seemed please and surprised all at once. Harry didn't know whether to be happy or disgusted. Disgusted with her or with himself, he couldn't decide. Was it so easy to please her?

"Yes, I can assure you they are. Actually, you have quite a few classmates that are meeting with me today as well."

Oh. There was a long pause. "Like who?"

Hermione's brow furrowed. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that."

Harry nodded. He wouldn't want her to give his name to anyone else either. Still, he tried. "Like Neville Longbottom?"

Hermione smiled a little. "Sorry, can't say." Another pause, as if she was hesitating. "What makes you mention him?"

"I can tell." Foster homes had taught him something. Hermione nodded, seeming to understand.

"That's very observant of you."

Harry considered not saying anything and let her swim in awkwardness. Instead: "Not much else to do in this place." Smirk.

Hermione looked like someone who was very happy and trying really hard not to show it. Harry almost laughed. It was almost like she wanted to be him...friend. Harry cringed inwardly.

"Oh, that's too bad. I was under the impression that there are many extracurricular activities to take part in...like the football team. Do you like sports?"

"Not really. I like football, though," he admitted.

"Maybe that would be something to look into than, if you're bored." It was actually quite a good idea, would give him time away from the gang. He disliked them so. But he'd be damned if he told her that.

"Maybe," he answered and nodded.

When the meeting was over, he had the distinct feeling he'd been nice. Too nice. It tingled and prickled his skin and he felt strangely.

"She thinks I should join the football team," Harry announced as he entered Snape's classroom for their rescheduled detention that Sunday night.

"Pardon?" The voice was not deep or velvety or smooth.

"Where's Snape?" Harry said, staring at the man in Snape's place behind his desk.

"I'm to oversee your detentions from now on," Mr. Filch, the wizened old man said. "They're too lean on you these days, in my opinion."

Harry was seething. How dare Snape do this? This would be a major obstacle if he was going to really seduce the man. Detentions were the only real time they had alone. "Nobody asked your opinion," Harry sneered.

"Shut up and take your seat, boy," the man, pointing a trembling fingers to Harry's usual seat.

Harry huffed and took his seat, planning his revenge to the constant stream of Filch's annoyed murmuring.

In a childish fit, Harry stormed out of Snape's classroom the moment detention ended, barley giving Filch time to say two words to him, and searched the dungeons for any door that looked suspiciously like the opening to Snape's quarters.

After banging open many dusty cupboards and storage rooms, Harry finally knocked and failed to open the right door. "Snape!" He knocked again, harder. "Snape! I know you're in there!"

The door snatched open suddenly and Harry had to keep himself from jumping back. "Ha!" he exclaimed, for no good reason.

"It's Professor Snape," the man drawled. "Mind your manners." He stood wearing black as usual, but with his suit jacket off, a state that Harry had never seen him in. His shoulders looked wonderful. But mostly what caught Harry off-guard was how relieved he was to see Snape in front of him, real and dense, as if he'd been afraid that he'd disappeared.

"Yes?" Snape blinked down on him, seeming impatient, and blocking Harry sight of the inside of his rooms with his body.

"Filch? Really?" Harry said, breaking his attention away from Snape's shoulders to his face.

"You obviously are incapable of acting appropriately when we are in detention together, so I thought if you were inflicted upon Mr. Filch, well...his job isn't as valuable."

Harry contorted his face in disgust. "Ugh! You think I would-" he sputtered, "with Filch! That's disgusting!"

"For all I know, you throw yourself at any older man that comes your way." Snape's eyes gleamed with something significant.

Harry's thoughts became frantic. Does he know, does he know, does he know? How does he know? "You. Bastard."

"Yes, I know quite a bit more about you than you might like," Snape continued and Harry was growing more horrified by the minute. "I know what you used to get up to before you came to Hogwarts. I know about Mr. Bloom-"

"Shut up," Harry said, his eyes closed tight.

"And Mr. Crouch." They were names Harry hadn't heard in a long time, his foster parents, one from when he was thirteen and the other from when he was fifteen. He'd fucked them both. And he loved it.

Or at least he thought he had. With the way Snape said it though, the way it came out of his mouth, it made him feel ashamed. And Harry hated feeling ashamed; hated it. He'd spent most of his life ashamed. He worked hard, worked everyday trying not to regret anything.

Harry raised a trembling hand to touch his cheek. It was wet.

"I-" his voice was croaky. He tried again. "I- I haven't cried-" he gasped and he was crying more and fuck he forgot how much he hated this, "since I was eleven."

Snape looked speechless, his eyebrows lifted slightly, his stance relaxed. "I apolog-"

Harry lunged at Snape, pushing him through the door and shutting it closed behind him. He went for Snape's neck, scratching at it viciously, his nails becoming his claws. He managed to give the man a few good scrapes, but Snape was quick and pinned his arms down, embraced him, trying to control Harry's wild fit.

His anger rolled and twisted in his stomach, the cold against his wet face and the feel of Snape's body pressed against him churning over into something much more agreeable. Lust.

Complete need.

Harry growled and tried to climb Snape's body until they toppled over onto the settee and he could feel the heat of the fire at his back, the man's own at his front. He latched his mouth onto Snape's, desperate, still clawing at his face, pressing and stretching the skin, running his nails through stubble.

He straddled Snape's lap properly and began to dig his erection into him, searching for an answering one, which took a few minutes of feverish kissing and humping to get. And when he had it, Harry moaned into Snape's mouth and pulled away to get a better angle. Snape held his hands as he leaned back, still rutting and breathing wildly. The professor's dark gaze lit something in Harry's throat and landed in his cock.

"You fucking-oh!" Harry was almost sweating, and he started to feel the burn of his position in his stomach but he couldn't care less. "Bastard, you bastard, you can't say things like that to me," Harry panted, the second half breathy and barley audible as Snape silently pulled him back to him, kissed hi, pressed his hands into Harry's ass and pushing them harder together.

"Fuck!" Harry exclaimed, and slapped Snape half-heartedly in the face. Snape only stared heatedly at him, pushed them closer, pressed them tighter. And when Snape pulled away again to pull Harry's shirt off of him and latch his mouth to Harry's nipple, Harry was overwhelmed, his orgasm hitting home suddenly and uninvited. He let himself bask in the filth of moving in the hot wet in his pants, and the idea of what they'd just done.

But Snape was still hard. Harry immediately reached a hand to the man's belt but before he could even started, Snape's hand came around his wrist. "No," he said.

Harry panted in Snape's ear. "Please? I want to touch it."

"No," Snape whispered, but his grip around Harry's wrist was still like steel. Harry gave up and sagged against him. His breathing calmed and matched the man's under him after a few moments. Then, as his mouth stretched to yawn, he felt it. That cracked, caked feeling of your face when tears have been there, unwashed.

And that was all it took to break him again, and before he knew what was happening, his chest was bubbling, and his mouth, his heart, his eyes, were overflowing with the grim of whatever it was that resided inside him. Snape clasped him tightly, stroking, rocking, shushing.

When Harry awoke in the morning, his eyes and his throat were still sore. Snape was sitting at the edge of the bed, facing away from him. Harry crawled over to him.

"Morning," he said, laying a hand on the man's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Snape said quietly.

Harry sighed. "Why?" he asked tiredly, but he suspected he already knew why.

"I took advantage of you. I'm no better than your foster parents."

Harry opened and closed his eyes slowly, still confused from sleep. "What-what are you talking about? You're so different from them that," he swallowed, "I can't even believe you and them exist in the same universe."

Snape stared at him. "You need to go back to sleep."

"No, seriously, listen to me," Harry said, taking Snape's hands. "I liked what happened last night. It's what I needed."

Snape shook his head slowly, his hands tense fists in Harry's. "Of course you would say that. This is your pattern. Seduce older men, bed them..."

"No, no," Harry shook his head, wishing he was more awake. "I know it seems like that, but..." How could he explain to Snape that he was nothing like any man he'd ever met? "You're like...you're like nothing I've ever known before."

Snape's face was blank, revealing nothing. Harry groaned in frustration. "Listen, I'm not stupid, alright? I know what kind of guy to use for sex, and you're just not like that." Harry was so caught up in his words, he couldn't tell what was reality and what wasn't, what he was saying because he wanted to catch Snape in his trap, and what he actually meant.

He told himself that he meant nothing.

"You know what my past was like, you know I haven't had the easiest time. I've had to grow up and learn how to survive really quickly." Harry shifted closer. "I know what I want. I'm not an experimenting teenager." Harry felt like he might cry again. Shit. "I've experimented enough."

Snape unclenched his fists in Harry's hands, but didn't move them. "I don't know," he said quietly.

Harry kissed his cheek impulsively. "Well did you like last night?" he asked, shifting still closer. Inexplicably, he still wanted to cry. He held back.

"That is not the issue."

"But did you like it?"

"That's not the point-"

"But did you like it?"

Snape pursed his lips before answering. "Yes," he mumbled.

Harry grinned. "And I liked it, and I'm not exactly a virgin either. I've been around...a few times, actually."

Snape rolled his eyes. "You should leave. Breakfast will start soon," he said, his eyes darting toward the clock.

"Oh, shit, it's Monday!" Harry remembered and scrambled out of bed to get dressed. He ran to the door, then doubled back to ram Snape into the bed with a dizzying kiss.

Even after the echo of Harry's departure from his rooms had disappeared, Severus still lay staring on his bed, breakfast and his Monday classes very far from his mind.

What have I done?

Nothing Harry said could convince him of his own innocence. He could not ignore how perfectly he fit into the boy's patterns. He wanted to, fuck, he wanted to. He wanted looks like the ones had been aimed at him last night, he wanted kisses like the one he'd just received, without question and without pause.

It was as if leaving Snape's rooms had broken some sort of spell.

He was shifty and breathing hard on the way to breakfast and throughout the day, wondering what on Earth was wrong with him. Gone was the comfortable numb that had washed over him so many years ago, only to be replaced with something unexpected, something that changed and reshaped itself unpredictably in him, something dangerous.

"Where were you last night?" Theo asked after their first class. He was smiling and trying to act casual, easily becoming Harry's first victim.

"Theo," he started slowly, "I really suggest you stop following my every move like a lovesick puppy before people start to notice." The hurt look that Theo gave him seemed to sooth and burn Harry at the same time.

Theo gaped at him. "You-you know?"

Harry rolled his eyes, exasperated. "I'd have to be an idiot not to!" He stormed off, wanting to put as much space between himself and the boy's hurt expression as possible.

Snape was poisonous. If Harry needed anymore motivation to get him sacked, he had it.