A/N: Something tells me you're going to enjoy this chapter… There's one more after it, so keep an eye out on Monday. Love you all!

Chapter Eight

32

Harry knocked on Snape's door at exactly seven. He was getting very good at exactly seven.

"Enter."

And very used to the never-changing enter.

"Happy Christmas Eve," Harry said, starting the evening by taking a huge chance.

Snape glanced up for a split second. "More Pepperup," he said. "One draught, and then Occlumency lessons. Did you read the chapters?"

"Yes," Harry replied, starting in. "Hermione and I talked about it some. Last time I tried to learn you told me to clear my mind; she suggested using something like a wall or a curtain to push everything behind."

"Considering your inability to keep your mouth shut and your thoughts to yourself, that is not the worst strategy you could use," Snape replied. "Focus on your potion. We will continue this conversation when you are done."

Harry decided he could stay silent for the forty-five minutes it took to make Pepperup. In fact, with all of his focus devoted to the potion and the practice he'd gotten last Friday, it took no more than a half hour. He cleaned the station and brought the flask over to Snape.

"Finished," he said, starting to get nervous. Despite his talk with Malfoy and help from Hermione, he was terrified. Snape was going to see something he wasn't supposed to, Harry was positive. He licked his lips reflexively and swallowed, realizing how dry his throat was. It was quite convenient. "Sir, I was wondering if—well, if I could have some water or tea before we start?"

Snape regarded him. "Fine. I will lecture. Come with me." Harry followed him over to his bookcase, and then through the shimmering passageway. He blinked as he took in Snape's quarters for the first time. He had expected them to be dark and Spartan and unpleasant. Instead he found himself in a small room more reminiscent of the Gryffindor common room than the Slytherin dorms. A large fireplace took up the left wall with a comfortable looking couch and two recliners grouped around it. Two of the other walls were filled with bookcases, and the third had another desk, far less impressive than the one in his office and not nearly as ordered. Parchment and books were scattered around, all covered with Snape's cramped scrawl. Above the desk was a small window, the last thing Harry expected.

"Stop gawping and sit," Snape said, indicating towards the couch.

Only barely believing this was actually happening, Harry sat. The couch was as plushy as it looked. Snape flicked his wand and a fire roared into life, warmth and light flooding the room. Above the fireplace was what looked like a clock, only there were thirteen runes around the edge and five hands, currently all pointed at a rune Harry didn't recognize. He committed it to memory so he could ask Hermione about it. The mantel had only a few mementos on it; a jar filled with the same sort of slimy, unidentifiable unpleasantness that populated Snape's office, a small vial of unfamiliar potion floating an inch or so above the stone, a Slytherin crest, Marvolo Gaunt's ring—even here Snape wouldn't allow himself the kindness of forgetting—and a lone rose, suspended upright. Harry was very curious about that.

A tea set floated onto the coffee table in front of Harry, complete with cream and a small bowl of sugar. He wouldn't have thought Snape would ever entertain the notion of having his tea anything other than black. Harry went to pour himself a cup when Snape cut in sharply.

"It just started steeping, Potter. Don't be an idiot."

This was Malfoy's idea of an improvement? That was laughable. "Sorry," Harry replied.

Snape settled himself in one of the recliners. "How much do you remember from your previous lessons?"

"Er, mostly humiliation," Harry said, looking into the fireplace. "Doing accidental magic. And, um, accidentally breaking into your memories."

"Rest assured that will not happen again," Snape replied tersely. "Do you remember none of the theory?"

"You weren't, um, big on theory," Harry said, trying not to dig himself into a ditch. "It was mostly just practice."

"I find there are types of magic that respond better to practice than extended consideration," Snape replied. "I merely wondered whether or not you retained any of what I taught you."

Harry was a bright, deep red. "Don't try to learn standing up," he said. "I had bruises on my knees for weeks. A shield charm worked, though you weren't particularly pleased with that. Um. That's about it."

"Did you learn anything from the book?"

Harry was relatively certain that was a test, given the content of the chapters he had been assigned. "Mostly just anecdotes. Why it's important and stuff. Other than that, just what you told me. Clear your mind. Try to fight back mentally rather than with a wand."

Snape nodded. "Good. Give me your wand."

Harry stared at him. "Sorry?"

"You are not supposed to use your wand, so I will remove the temptation," Snape said. "Give it to me."

Shaking, Harry handed it over. He knew wandless magic, a bit. It would be fine. By which he meant Snape would kill him.

"The tea is ready."

It took a minute for Harry to remember what was going on. Still shaking, he poured himself a cup, adding an obscene amount of sugar because somehow he decided that would help. Entirely irrational, of course. If anything it would be a distraction, but the sweetness did help, a little. The tea was strong and smoky, and without the sugar would have been overwhelming. As suspected, Snape took his black.

"This was a bad idea," Harry said suddenly. "I can't do this, I've never been able to. Why did you suggest it in the first place? Are you trying to embarrass me and drive me away? If you don't want me around you just have to say so, you don't need to do this."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "We have been through this over and over again. If I did not want you here, you would not be here. As for the lessons, I find I am less adverse to your company when you are doing something useful. My contractual potions are clearly not enough to hold your attention, so I thought I would give you something that would stop your jabbering."

Harry had a question. He wanted to know why, if Snape wanted him here, he was making him do this, and being so mean about it. For once, he kept it in. "There are things I'd rather you not see," he said instead.

"I assume as much," Snape replied. "Consider it extra incentive."

That's what Hermione had said, and it didn't sound any better coming from Snape. This whole business about the tea; he was more uncomfortable than ever, Snape wasn't being any nicer, and in a few minutes it wouldn't matter anyway.

And then Snape surprised him very much.

"I have shared far worse memories with you than any you could possibly have," he said. "Whatever I see will not come close to rivaling what you know."

In some respects that was true. But Snape's memories had been noble and heroic, while Harry's were pathetic and stupid. "Then, in the interest of fairness, keep to the war, yeah?" Harry asked. "Let my personal life alone?"

Snape's eyes flashed. "Like how I showed you everything about your mother, and my time at Hogwarts?"

Fair point. "Well, maybe," Harry said slowly, "maybe you could be nice?"

A barely concealed smile crossed Snape's face. "I am not known for being nice, Potter. If you are backing out, do so now. However, given your obsession with my approval, I feel I should warn you I will not be impressed."

Harry felt that was rather low. "I'm not backing out," he said defensively.

"Put your teacup down and clear your mind. Envision your wall if you must."

Harry nearly spilled tea all over everything as he set the cup down. He hadn't thought they'd start now. There was tea to be had and, according to Malfoy, lessened awkwardness. Clearly that was not the case. So he closed his eyes and searched around for some sort of wall or curtain that meant something to him. Anything, really, to keep Snape out.

Then he had an idea, and he thought it was rather brilliant. He firmed the image in his mind, cataloguing every last detail. "Okay, go."

"Legilimens."

Images flashed before his eyes. Dumbledore drinking the potion in the cave, and then falling from the Astronomy Tower. All of the long, cold, uncomfortable nights in the woods searching for Horcruxes. The fight with Ron and how he'd left.

No, Harry thought sharply. Stop. Think.

It took every ounce of concentration he had, but he forced the image to the front of his mind. Bellatrix's knife flying across the room and into Dobby's chest was burned away, engulfed in a blast of fire. The Norwegian Ridgeback from the Tri-Wizard Tournament took its place, thrashing her tail and out sending angry jets of flame.

Snape jerked away, a physical force leaving his mind. Harry opened his eyes, panting in exertion. His arms were on his legs and his head hanging down between them, beads of sweat sliding down his forehead. He hadn't expected it to actually work, not so immediately and completely. Maybe a flicker, but certainly nothing more. He glanced over at Snape, who looked visibly shaken. Harry vaguely wondered what it was like to suddenly have a dragon breathing fire in your face before remembering he knew exactly what that was like.

"That was intentional?" Snape asked. "Your wall was a dragon?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, still a little winded. "It worked."

"I was ill-prepared," Snape replied irritably, sounding and looking much more like himself. "Again. Legilimens."

Harry had no time to prepare, and Snape knew what to expect. Dobby was dying in his arms again, and while he tried to summon the dragon back, Snape pushed it away easily. Harry was at the Final Battle, dead bodies everywhere, looking frantically around for his friends while dodging curses and sending his own back. The burning of the Room of Requirement. Hiding in the Shrieking Shack as—

STOP, Harry yelled inside his head. DRAGON. DRAGON, DRAGON, DRAGON. DRAGON!

She appeared, once again wiping the scene away in flame. Snape was pushing back, trying to force the Shack into view again, but he didn't know how very, very little Harry wanted him to see that memory, and as Hermione had promised, it gave him strength. The Golden Egg appeared beneath her, and she shrieked in protection and rage. Another blast of flame and then—

The flame turned green. Harry watched as his mum crumpled beneath the killing curse. Her scream echoed through his mind, wiping away all traces of Harry's defenses. She was gone and another flash of green as Voldemort cursed him.

He was in the Shrieking Shack and Snape was dying. Harry was panicking, pressing his hands against the slashes in his neck. Snape was muttering to him, telling him to take his memories, and Harry couldn't think, could barely ask Hermione for a vial. Everything was gone, everyone he ever cared about killed, and Snape was—he meant—

DRAGON!

The memory burst into flames so hot Harry could feel them in his mind, burning everything away. Snape jolted back, and Harry collapsed against the couch in relief. He was still trembling, still sweating, and he swore he could still feel the heat from the dragon, but at least Snape hadn't seen.

"That was low," Harry choked out, barely able to breathe. "Using my mum's death against me."

"Dark wizards will exploit whatever weakness they can," Snape replied, and Harry was a little proud to hear he was short of breath, too. He'd had to fight his way in almost as hard as Harry had to push him out. "What about my death is so private to force such a powerful reaction?"

"Don't say it like that," Harry said sharply. "You didn't die. Really, do you think I'm going to answer that after all I did to keep you out?"

"I do not understand you, Potter," Snape replied, and Harry was miffed that he had already completely recovered from the exertion. "You were completely open about your hatred for me, and I would have thought you had been honest with me this year as well, considering your proclivity to ask over and over again my feelings towards you. Why is this one memory so different?"

"Because it is," Harry snapped. "Leave it alone."

"I will not," Snape replied. "But I have better means of procuring information than asking. Legilimens."

Snape was bleeding out and Harry was trying desperately to stop it and he couldn't, nothing could. Snape was going to die right in front of him and there was nothing he could do about it. He took Snape's memories, all focus on giving him what he wanted, what he needed in his last few moments. Look at me, he had said while gripping Harry's robes.

Harry could feel his fingers grasping his robes. His robes, that was backwards, since—

Dragon, Harry thought weakly. Nothing happened.

—since lately all he could think about were Snape's robes, and his cuff, and what it had felt like. Warm and soft, he never would have thought warm and soft. The scene shifted to the incident in the doorway of the Great Hall when Harry had waved his arms and brushed Snape's cuffs.

Dragon, I don't remember—dragon?

He didn't register as Snape walked away, he was too busy looking at his fingers. He'd touched Snape's cuff and it had been warm and soft. Linen and heavily textured and warm and soft. His fingers were tingling because warm and soft, who would have thought?

Stop, Harry thought. Stop, no, don't—

"You coming?"

Ron's voice echoed in his memory, jerking him out of his thoughts. Even while he talked to Ron and followed his friends up to the library, he could still feel the tingling and the warm and soft. Why warm and soft? How could anything about Snape be warm and soft?

"A vial and a broken fingernail, I'm sure," Ron said sarcastically. "There's no other reason why—"

NONONONONO

Harry's foot was aching. The coffee table was askew, tea was everywhere, and the cups had shattered. He must have kicked out. He was so flushed he thought his skin might burst into flame and he was dangerously close to tears and he was still shuddering and sweaty and his breathing was funny from exertion and other things he wouldn't admit now, not when Snape had been in his head and could be again at any moment.

Snape was muttering, and Harry forced himself to look over. Blood was splashed down his face, and his nose jerked into place. Harry had broken his nose? He didn't even have his wand. Had it been physical, was that why the coffee table was a mess? Had he jumped across the room in desperation?

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, mortified at how shaky his voice was.

"Yes," Snape replied irritably, voice clogged. "Was your hex intentional?"

"No," Harry said. "No, I don't even know what that was."

"Irrelevant," Snape replied. "You do not need to know such a spell. Warm and soft?"

"Shut up," Harry snapped. "Get the hell out of my head. I'm not doing this."

"Leave, if you wish," Snape said, gesturing to the door. It was obvious on this side, no bookcase hiding it. "Though I do not believe that is what you want."

Harry was going to explode. He was thrumming with magic and fury and terror. "Terego." Snape looked mildly surprised as the blood vanished. Harry turned to the tea mess. "Terego. Reparo." The spilled tea disappeared and the broken cups flew back together. Harry poured himself a cup of tea and took a sip without adding any sugar or cream. It was bitter, but it helped center him. "I've told you already," he said, considerably calmer. "I've got a bizarre obsession with your cuffs. Let my enjoyment of your clothes feed your ego and let it go."

"I would tell you to let it go yourself if I thought you capable," Snape replied. "What was Weasley saying?"

"It's none of your business," Harry said. "We're not talking about visions from Voldemort, it's just a stupid memory. It means nothing."

"Then why are you so loathe to tell me?" Snape asked. "If it is so inconsequential? Beyond that, why did you lie to Weasley about the vial?"

"I don't know," Harry replied irritably. "It wasn't—it was nothing."

"You are an atrocious liar," Snape said.

"You never tell me anything," Harry said. "Ever. There's no reason for me to open up to you. It's none of your business."

"It is indeed my business," Snape replied. "They are my cuffs."

"Then tell me how you feel about me," Harry shot back. "Are you really ambivalent? If that's it, why am I in your private quarters drinking tea? If cuffs makes it your business, I'm pretty sure my presence makes you mine."

"What do you want me to say?" Snape asked. "Tell me, Potter, because I am starting to form an idea, and I believe it would benefit us both if you explain yourself before any misunderstandings occur."

"No," Harry said automatically. Then his words got away from him. "Malfoy said things."

Snape's eyes flashed. "Oh?" he asked softly. "What things did Draco say?"

"Things that don't go along with what you're saying," Harry replied.

"He has a tendency to let his imagination run away with him," Snape said. "I would not believe anything he says."

"He says he wants you to be happy," Harry replied, deciding that the time for thinking wasn't now. "And that I—er, don't make you not happy." Okay, so maybe there was something to be said for thinking. "I mean. Spending time together would make you happy." He cleared his throat. "Maybe."

Harry wasn't sure he had ever seen Snape look so angry, and that was seriously saying something. "Maybe? What, exactly, did he say?"

Harry was panicking. Malfoy had said a lot. But, he remembered, technically, nothing. "He just suggested things," Harry replied. "Nothing specific. Just the thing about being happy. And he suggested I ask for tea. But," he continued quickly, "I really was thirsty. Nervous, you know, about Occlumency."

"About what I would see," Snape clarified. "If I am reading you correctly, which I am quite confident I am, Draco has told you things that may encourage what you were concerned I would see."

This was not an easy conversation to follow, and was in fact quite terrifying. "Um. It's complicated."

"How complicated can it be?" Snape asked. "Would you lie to me and say you do not know what I am talking about, lie to both of us and pretend you never asked about my feelings towards you, whether hatred, apathy or ambivalence, or lie to yourself and deny your feelings towards me? I may not have explicitly saw you state anything in your memories, but the implication was clear enough, especially coupled with Draco's nonsense."

"Is that what it is?" Harry forced out. "Nonsense?"

"I think it is time you try Legilimency," Snape said suddenly, and Harry had no idea what was going on. Was he being blown off, or had the conversation just taken a less blatant direction? "Perhaps if you know what it is like to navigate a mind, it will be easier for you to close yours."

Was he inviting Harry to look for what he wanted, or were they actually going back to lessons? "I have no idea how to do that," Harry replied, everything twisty and tingly and strange.

Snape looked at him disdainfully. "That is why I am teaching you, Potter. I do not need to tell you what you already know."

That was loaded. Maybe. Maybe not, Snape made it so hard to tell. "Can I have my wand back, then?" Harry asked.

Snape tossed it to him.

Harry rolled it between his fingers, trying to figure this out. "You're way better at Occlumency than I'll ever be," he said. "I know you'll say no, but my first try could you try to be, er, a little less guarded than usual? You've said it's like reading a book, layered and complicated and maze-like, so maybe you could let me get used to how the mind works before I learn how to break through defenses?"

Snape raised an eyebrow, and he almost looked impressed. "Had you not asked I would not have dreamed of such a thing," he replied. "But, given that for once in your live you have managed to ask a question that is not entirely idiotic, I will humor you."

Harry hadn't been expecting that in the slightest. Then again, none of this had gone how it was supposed to. "Thanks," he said vaguely. "Should I look for something in particular, or just go for it?"

"See what you find."

Oh good Merlin this was way too hard. "Is there anything I should know?" Harry asked.

Snape gave him a strange sort of smile he didn't understand at all. "Stop stalling, Potter. You know the incantation."

Harry closed his eyes, gathering himself. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay." He opened his eyes and focused on Snape. He didn't know what he was supposed to be doing so he made it up; he locked eyes with Snape and let himself be absorbed as deeply as he could without magic. It wasn't very far, Snape was too guarded. He raised his wand and focused all his Snape-energy into the wood. "Legilimens."

A scene immediately appeared before his eyes. He was in this room, watching Snape and Malfoy, who were drinking what appeared to be tea spiked with some sort of alcohol. The fire was low, giving the impression they had been there for a while. At first glance Snape seemed to be affected by his drink, but his eyes were as sharp as ever. Malfoy, not so much.

"I don' wanna get married," Malfoy grumbled. "'Specially not to Astoria. She's all—blergh."

"Produce an heir and your parents will leave you alone," Snape replied. "You can easily be married and keep up an affair on the side. As long as the name Malfoy lives on, your father won't care, and your mother just wants you to be happy."

"So lemme be happy!" Draco exclaimed, swishing his drink. "I don' wanna deal with a vagina. They're gross."

Harry's jaw dropped, and he felt laughter bubbling up. He knew Malfoy slept with boys, but not that he was gay, and certainly not that he thought vaginas were gross. Not that Harry could argue, but still.

"I cannot disagree," Snape replied, and that shocked all the laughter out of Harry. "But, as a Malfoy, you have certain obligations."

"Fuck obligations," Malfoy said firmly. "I wanna good fuck, not a fuck to please my dad." He made a disgusted face. "Tha' even sounds wrong. My cock, my business."

Harry decided he was done with this memory. Hearing about Malfoy's cock was far too much.

On the other hand, he had no idea how to leave.

"I don' wan' kids, either," Malfoy continued. "Screamin' brats."

"Once again, I cannot disagree," Snape said with a small smile.

"You've got it so good," Malfoy muttered. "Y'can do whatever you wan' and no one will yell at you."

Snape stared at him. "Excuse me?"

Malfoy had the decency to look chagrined. "Never mind."

The memory faded on its own, and Harry was back in the present.

"I have a great deal of revenge to exact on Draco," Snape said by way of explanation.

"How do I move around memories?" Harry asked. "I don't, er, want to hear about Malfoy's—uh—thing."

Snape snorted in stifled laughter. "I had hoped that would spur you onto figuring it out for yourself. Start off easily. Chose a memory you already know, and try to find it."

"Again, then?" Harry asked.

Snape held out his arms. "Here I sit."

Harry focused on him again. His mind tripped over the fact that he was gay, but he forced the thought away. "Legilimens."

A scene immediately appeared before his eyes. He was in this room, watching Snape and Draco, who were drinking what appeared to be tea spiked with some sort of alcohol. The fire was low, giving the impression they had been there for a while. At first glance Snape seemed to be affected by his drink, but his eyes were as sharp as ever. Malfoy, not so much.

The same memory as before. Harry didn't listen as Malfoy started talking, instead pulling up his own memory. His first day of potions, the first time Snape had berated him. He didn't know what the memory looked like from Snape's point of view, but he could picture it exactly. He just wasn't sure what to do with the picture.

The door to the potions classroom banged open and Snape swooped in. Harry kept the image in his mind. The door to the potions classroom banged open and Snape swooped in. The memory before him flickered for a moment. Harry forced his memory stronger and, without thinking, pushed. He didn't know exactly what happened, but it seemed to work. Everything jolted, and then he was in the potions classroom, watching Snape stride in, watching his eleven year old self watch Snape.

"There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class," Snape said silkily, stalking to the front of the classroom. "As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion making. However, for those select few…" His eyes met Malfoy's, who smirked. "…who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind, ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death." He turned to Harry's younger self, and Harry almost screamed at himself to look up. "Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident not to pay attention!" He moved over to Harry. "Mr. Potter. Our new celebrity."

The memory started to fade and, mostly to see if he could, Harry pulled back on it. The blurred edges became crisp again, and Snape slammed the door open again.

"There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class."

Again, mostly experimenting, Harry pushed again, this time into memory-Snape's mind.

…waste of my time. First year drivel.

"As such, I don't expect many of you—"

Any of you.

"To appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion marking."

Or even to understand that it is an art. I hate first years.

"However, for those select few—"

Draco Malfoy in my class. Finally an excuse not to coddle the spoiled snot.

"Who possess the predisposition—"

As if first years have disposition in anything.

"I can teach you to how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death."

Not that any of you—

I'd know those eyes anywhere. And the unruly mop of hair.

Fuck, I saw him at the Welcome Feast. How did it not occur to me he would be in my class?

"Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough not to pay attention!"

Not his mother's eyes, not like everyone says. Close to hers, but not the same. Yet the same idiotic arrogance his father possessed. Not. Another. Potter.

"Mr. Potter. Our newest celebrity."

Albus can fuck himself. I am not doing this.

Harry was back in the sitting room.

"Not unreasonable for your first day," Snape said, which was a glowing compliment coming from him.

"Put up a block," Harry demanded, then realized how obnoxious that sounded. "Please, if you don't mind. I want to try again."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "We will trade off. Legilimens."

Harry was in the Shrieking Shack and Snape was dying. He was panicking, pushing against the wound—

Pushing.

Harry pushed back. The memory flickered, then solidified.

Snape was begging him to take it, Hermione handed him a flask, and he gathered Snape's memories.

PUSH.

His mind went black, and the sitting room started to appear before him.

Everything turned green, and Harry heard a scream.

PUSH FUCKING MERLIN PUSH THE HELL BACK!

Harry pushed. The green started to fade, and then he felt Snape pushing back, pushing against him. Harry slammed his mind against Snape's. The green light flickered like a strobe light. Harry did the only thing he could think of—he gathered his strength, slammed against Snape, and forced the memory of the classroom against his mind.

The door slammed open. "There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class." The dungeon started to appear through a green filter, and someone was screaming in the background. "As such, I don't expect…" Snape's speech was slowly drowned out by the scream, which was growing louder and louder, like a train whistle approaching. Harry pushed, but he could feel himself weakening. "…that is potion making. However, for those…"

Everything dissolved into green. The scream turned into a shriek and then cut off. Voldemort stood before him, wand raised.

"Avada Kedavra."

Harry's eyes flew open. He was in Snape's sitting room. He was shaking again, heart beating wildly, sweating heavily and panting like he'd run a marathon.

"You are done for the night," Snape said firmly. He moved over to the couch, dropped several sugar cubes and an ample amount of cream into Harry's teacup and handed it to him. "Drink this."

Harry didn't think he'd be able to, he was shaking too hard. He forced his hands as steady as possible and took the cup. The tea was so sweet it was almost painful, but warmth rushed through him, lessening the effect of the memory. It had been so long since the green flash had been a part of his life.

"You did very well," Snape said softly. "Do not take your inability to overturn me as a failure; both Legilimency and Occlumency are incredibly difficult forms of magic, and what you have accomplished today is far beyond what I would have expected, especially given your poor performance in your fifth year."

Harry barely heard the words. "How can you watch that?" he asked. "My mum dying? I know you're using it as a weapon against me, but isn't it just as hard for you?"

Snape paused. "It's different," he said.

"You're gay," Harry said suddenly. "I thought you loved my mum, but you're gay."

"I did love her," Snape replied quietly. "Very much, but not in the way you assumed. She was my only friend for a long time, possibly the only true friend I have ever had. I will always love her and I will always miss her, but it is not the same as your relationship with her. I had twenty years with Lily, though we weren't always friends. You were robbed of any memories beyond her death."

Harry nodded slightly. That made sense, maybe. It was hard to get his thoughts in order. "I want to try again," he said. "I can—"

"No," Snape interrupted. "Enough."

"No!" Harry yelled, feeling familiar indignant stubbornness filling him. "I can do it. Give me another chance."

"Another night," Snape replied. "Lower your voice, and do not talk back."

Anger surged up. Why did Snape never believe him, never trust him? Hadn't he proven time and time again that he was capable? Harry slammed his teacup down onto the table, grabbed his wand up from the floor where he'd dropped it, and pointed it at Snape in one fluid motion, all happening too quickly for Snape to respond.

"Legilimens!"

He was in the dungeon. Snape slammed the door open and began his speech. Harry wasn't interested. He didn't know what he was looking for, just something to use against Snape the way Snape shoved his mum's death in his face. He pushed and he dived. Memories flashed before him and it was hard to tell exactly what he was looking at, but he'd know when he found it.

Harry slammed down into Snape's sitting room. For a minute he thought Snape had successfully kicked him out but then he saw Malfoy, sprawled on the couch.

"Admit it," Malfoy demanded. "What's the point in not? It's not like he'll ever find out if you don't want him to. If anyone can hide something, it's you."

The memory started to fade away and Harry grabbed.

"I see no reason to," Snape replied coolly. "Not only is it none of your concern, but you are not known for keeping gossip to yourself."

"So you admit there's gossip!" Malfoy accused. "I already know, I just want to hear you say it."

Harry was hit by a battering ram. A green battering ram that screamed in his mother's voice. Harry shoved it away and returned to the memory.

"I do not despise him," Snape conceded. "That is all I will say."

"Get over yourself," Malfoy replied. "You think you're so high and mighty, that you can never—"

Another green flash and another shove, harder than anything Harry had ever felt, even worse than being under the Imperius Curse. But Harry could fight that, and he could fight this. He pushed back as hard as he could.

"—or be happy," Malfoy continued. "If you'd just give it a go…"

"You have moved on from demanding a confession to insisting I tell him," Snape replied conversationally. "I wonder what your father would say about your current relationship."

Malfoy's eyes hardened. "I wonder what my father would say if he found out you were in love with—"

Everything cut out. The memory was gone, Harry was left in a space of nothingness, surrounded by black and silence and nothing. Then a green flash and his mum screaming. Harry tried to push it away but there was nothing left. He watched through the rest of the memory before being ejected into the present.

"Do. Not. Test me," Snape said slowly, voice filled with venom. "Get out of my quarters, out of my office, and out of my classroom. I do not want to see you here again, do you understand me?"

"For doing to you exactly what you did to me?" Harry demanded. "That's fair, punish me for learning from you."

"I told you to stop and you did not," Snape said through gritted teeth. "My ability to tolerate you is contingent upon a certain level of trust. You have proven to me, once again, that you are never to be trusted. You want to know what I think of you? I despise you. I let you into my office only because I am weary of fighting with you. While you left me alone I was willing to abide your presence, but—"

"I never left you alone," Harry interrupted. He felt like he was floating, everything twisty and tingly in the best way, like his first time on a Firebolt or like he'd downed a whole vat of Felix Felicis. "And you don't hate me. You and Malfoy, you were talking about me, weren't you? He's been pushing you as much as me. More, even. He's right, you're right, what you said earlier. I do have feelings towards you, and you do, too. For me. Isn't that why you told me to look into your mind, to find it? You had me backed into a corner; another few questions and I would've had to tell you. Instead you suddenly told me to go digging around in your memories."

Snape was looking at him and Harry hadn't the slightest idea what he was thinking. Despite his bravado and quasi-impressive speech, he was completely drained, both physically and emotionally. He had no idea that Legilimency and Occlumency would be so physically demanding, and he could hardly hold himself up. He fell back against the couch, trying to make it look like frustration rather than exhaustion. Everything was still in overdrive; heartbeat, breathing, sweaty palms, everything. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and still, he could barely function.

"It's you who insists on blatant clarity, right?" Harry asked. "Fine, I give up. All I wanted was a relationship with you that wasn't founded on hatred. Friendship was all I could possibly hope for, and even that was pushing it. But really? What I really want? You. I want you." The twisting was gone, replaced by emptiness. His stomach had vacated the scene entirely. "You don't have to say anything. I saw your memory, and I'm pretty sure you were talking about me. Whether you were or not doesn't matter because you'll never say anything. You're going to tell me to get out again, and—"

Suddenly lips were on his. Forcefully, demanding a response. Harry let out an undignified squeak. He had nearly recovered from the shock enough to respond when Snape traced his lips with his tongue and Harry's mouth fell open. He had no choice but to let himself be ravished. Snape was really good at kissing, unbearably so, almost so good it was painful.

Snape's hands found his face and that broke the spell. Harry buried his hands in Snape's hair; not greasy at all, just soft. One of Snape's hands ran down his neck, the side of his body and settled on his hip, pulling him closer. Harry decided this was all a dream, so he decided to do whatever he wanted, since it clearly didn't matter. He'd wake up and his sheets would be gross and hopefully Ron wouldn't have heard him, and that would be that.

Harry untangled one of his hands and put it on Snape's, the one that was on his hip. He ran his fingers over his hand, learning the feel of his knuckles, the tendons standing out from tightened muscles. His hand was big, as if that was a surprise or something Harry hadn't noticed before. He let his fingers brush along Snape's cuff, and suddenly Snape pulled away, though he left his right hand on Harry's hip.

"What?" Harry gasped, breath completely gone. It already had been, and the kiss had done nothing to help. His eyes were wide with panic. Had this been a joke? Was Snape going to kick him out? Was he furious?

It didn't look like it. He was smiling slightly, but the smile reached his eyes, and Harry didn't think he'd ever seen that before. The hand on his hip turned and wrapped around Harry's wrist. He held their joined hands up.

"What?" Harry asked again, anxiety mixed up with that smile.

"My cuff," Snape said softly. "You're touching my cuff."

Harry looked at their hands. He was, in fact, touching his cuff. "Sorry?" he tried.

"To be clear," Snape said, "this goes beyond an obsession with my clothes, yes? I do not fool around, especially not with you."

Harry laughed, relief and love and exhilaration and elation. "You think you're so clever, and you think that?" he asked. "Snape, the whole reason your cuff was so important is because it was yours. Everything I said was true, but it only mattered because it was yours." He leaned up and captured Snape's lips again. He had more focus now that he was expecting it, and he memorized the feeling of their kiss. His lips were soft but chapped, and a strange combination of hesitant and insistent. "Do you want to know what else I've been thinking about?" Harry asked, eventually breaking away. "Look in my mind. I want you to."

Snape frowned slightly. "Are you certain?"

Harry moved his hand around so his fingers were laced with Snape's. His hand was exactly how he remembered it; soft palm, calloused fingers, very strong. "Yes. Please. But don't take too long, I need to kiss you again."

A brief smile cross his face, and then Harry felt his mind in his, sifting through his memories. The past two weeks, which were most immediate. Then farther back, tracing the evolution of Harry's feelings back to the on-off switch moment in the Shrieking Shack. He started forward again, moving through each moment Harry had thought about him. There were a lot of them, and by the time he was done Harry was very impatient.

"I had no idea," Snape said, sounding almost awed. "I spent twenty years being a spy, and I never saw what was right in front of me."

"Well you're seeing me now," Harry replied. He pressed a brief kiss to Snape's cheek. "You could be seeing a lot more of me," he breathed, flicking a tongue out to trace the shell of his ear.

Snape shivered. "I don't—shouldn't, rather, I shouldn't." Harry nuzzled his neck, breathing in his scent. Musky, slightly acrid from so many years working with potions, and strong, black tea.

"You saw I want you," Harry said quietly, the twisty feeling back. Snape could still push him away, he could always push him away. "Please."

"You are my student," Snape replied, though he rolled his head to the side, allowing Harry better access. "I would be taking advantage."

"Like how Malfoy told me to ask for tea so I could get into your quarters?" Harry asked, lips against his neck. "Or how I've been pushing and pushing?"

"I could be your father," Snape sighed.

Harry smiled. "No, you're gay."

Snape hummed quietly in laughter. "Age was my point, Potter."

"Don't care," Harry replied, kissing a trail down to where his neck and shoulder meet. "I—if you want me, I'm yours." Despite the kiss and the words and how Snape was letting him continue on, a part of him was still waiting to be kicked out, or possibly to wake up.

"If I did not want you, you would not be here," Snape repeated. "The rational decision is to wait until you have graduated, and then, if you're still interested, we can—"

"I will be," Harry said firmly, nipping at his neck. "I'm of age already. As long as we're reasonably discreet, there won't be a problem."

Snape turned Harry's face so they were making eye contact, though his other hand was still entwined with Harry's. "You are not known for discretion," he said. "Nor are your friends."

"It's not against the rules," Harry replied. "I checked a while ago, I think you saw that. It doesn't need to be a secret, I just don't think we should shove it in everyone's face."

Snape stroked his cheek gently, still keeping a firm hold on him. "And what is it?" he asked. "What are you proposing?"

Harry thought it very unfair he was being forced into a conversation. Snape's hand was on his face. They had kissed. Snape said he wanted him, almost. They were holding hands. How was he expected to stay coherent through this? "I told you," he said, and he heard a slight shake in his voice. "I'm yours, if you'll have me. Which you still haven't said. Whether you want me or not, I mean, not rationality versus now. That's different and I don't want to talk about it now. I want you to—" Harry couldn't stop a small chuckle from escaping. A very nervous chuckle, probably more of a high-pitched hysterical giggle. "I want you to tell me how you feel about me."

Harry's mind was filled with a memory, the same one he had been watching before that Snape had kicked him out of.

Malfoy's eyes hardened. "I wonder what my father would say if he found out you were in love with the great Harry Potter."

"Your father has no hold over me," Snape replied sharply. "Nobody is going to find out. I can make your life a living hell, Malfoy, at Hogwarts and beyond. Do not tempt me."

"I just want you to be happy," Malfoy said pleadingly. "Really, Sev, you've—"

"Don't call me that," Snape interrupted.

"Severus, then, you've been through so much and you deserve to be happy. I've been watching Potter all year, and there's something there, I swear. I don't know if he wants a relationship with you or not, but he definitely wants something."

"No doubt to get even for everything I've done," Snape replied bitterly.

"That's such bull," Malfoy said. "I'm not going through that again with you. Just spend some time with him, okay? Talk to him. Find out what he wants."

"He'll never want what I want," Snape said. "I do not wish to be mocked and ridiculed. It is far healthier to ignore him until he graduates and then never see him again."

"Which would kill you," Malfoy replied. "If you don't tell him, I will."

Snape's eyes flashed dangerously. "You will not."

Malfoy smirked. "Oh, but I will. So what if Father finds out I'm with Blaise? There's nothing he can do about it. He'll find out soon enough anyway, whether from you, him, the papers or me. You're incapable of taking what you want, so I'll get it for you. A gift for my loving godfather."

"Stay out of my business," Snape said sharply. "It is immaterial whether or not I want Potter, or that I have developed—feelings—for him. Leave it alone."

Malfoy shrugged. "I will for now, on one condition."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Tell me," he implored. "Tell me how you feel about him. It'll be so much better once it's off your chest. You won't have to keep it bottled up inside, hidden away all for yourself. At the very least I can commiserate."

"Like you remember what it's like to be single," Snape sneered. "You have never known what unrequited—what it feels like."

"Then tell me!" Malfoy exclaimed. "I swear, Severus, if you don't I'm marching up to Gryffindor Tower right now and yelling it through the whole house."

Snape might have looked calm, but an inkwell on the desk suddenly shattered. Harry had never seen that, either—a burst of uncontrolled magic from Snape. It was so out of character it was disorienting.

"Fine," he hissed. "Have it your way. I've fallen in love with Harry Potter. Now get out of my quarters. I need a drink, and not the sort that is shared."

Malfoy smirked. "You'll thank me for this one day," he said. "Trust me."

The memory faded away. Harry was looking into Snape's eyes, the real, present Snape, and they were holding hands and Snape was cupping his face and everything was so—so—

"Your cuffs are soft," he muttered quietly. "I never expected you to love me, and I never expected your cuffs would be soft."

"I hope you are not assigning the same degree of importance to both facts," Snape said, serious except for a glint in his eye.

Harry smiled slightly and shook his head. "The same improbability, maybe. Pushing for more improbability—because that's what I do, I push, I can't help it—say you'll be with me. Not maybe in six months when school ends depending, but now. Please. I love you."

Snape leaned down and kissed him almost chastely. "You do push, and it is not an endearing trait," he said quietly, leaning his forehead against Harry's. "But your persistence pays off more often than not for reasons I cannot fathom. If you are prepared for the consequences, both with the students and staff, as well as my past, yes."

Harry squeezed his hand and buried his face in the crook of Snape's neck. He had very little idea of how he'd gotten here, but he wasn't about to let it go. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't mean it."

Snape's hand slid around to the back of his head, gently stroking his hair. "Then it is."

Harry leaned up for a long, slow kiss. A sudden chiming rang out through the room, and Harry jerked away. "What—?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Christmas," he said dryly. "Don't read anything into it."

Harry laughed again. "People keep telling me that, but they're always wrong. Merry Christmas, Sev."

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

"Too late, you already showed me the memory," Harry said with a smile. "And no more Potter, all right? It's Harry."

"I assumed as much," Snape replied, giving Harry the look he reserved for particularly daft students.

"So it's way after curfew," Harry said, smile turning coy. "I'll get in trouble if I'm caught in the corridors so late."

Snape rolled his eyes again. "Yes, Harry, you can stay the night. But next time just ask, would you? Your excuses are pathetic and transparent."

Another kiss, and this one wasn't interrupted by the clock. When they broke apart it was for air and nothing less important.

"I'll ask," Harry said breathlessly. "I'm asking to touch the rest of your clothes so I can see if I was wrong about them, too. I'm asking for more than a kiss. I'm asking for you to take complete and utter advantage of the memories I showed you, especially the ones late at night. I'm asking for you to never say the word 'rational' again. And I'm asking, just once, for you to tell me how you feel. Not through a memory or implications, but for you to say it, out loud, to me."

"Will you never be satisfied?" Snape asked, though he was smiling slightly. "I let you touch my cuffs, I agree to a relationship that could ruin my career, and I show you memories never meant for your eyes. Can't that be enough?"

"No," Harry replied with a decidedly Malfoy-esque smirk. "Tell me."

Snape kissed him once more, lingering on his lips before kissing his way to his ear. "I love you," he said, so quietly Harry could barely hear him. "Merlin help you if you ask me to say it again."

Harry was relatively certain that was the moment his stomach exploded, leaving nothing but confetti in its wake. His heart certainly stopped beating, and it took a minute to remember how to breathe. "I won't," he managed. "Show me instead."

Snape wrapped his arms around Harry's waist and lifted him, walking them towards the bedroom. "I will," he said, voice husky. "Over and over again until you beg for me to stop."

Harry grinned. "Never."