60. I don't believe you
No I don't believe you
When you say don't come around here no more
I won't remind you
You said we wouldn't be apart
No, I don't believe you
When you say you don't need me anymore
So don't pretend
Don't love me at all
Just don't stand there and watch me fall*
It is said that even when unconscious, one can feel external stimuli such as smell, touch, voice. Presence. Even if you don't remember them after waking up, their suggestion remains in the deepest recesses of your mind and heart, invisible and unconscious, but still influencing all your subsequent thoughts and actions. That's why it's so important to simply be there for someone who is in a coma. Show them affection. Closeness.
Sensitivity.
Harry slowly opened his eyes. The light blinded him, so he closed it again. His eyelids were as heavy as stone and felt like they were stuck together, making it so difficult to lift them. But he had to do it to find out where he was. And what happened.
With an effort, he opened one eye and when his pupil got used to the light, he opened the other one.
He saw a white ceiling above him. Squinting, he moved his head slightly and looked around the room.
Hospital wing. He was in the hospital wing. How did he end up here? The last thing he remembered was his History of Magic class. He remembered packing up and wanting to leave the classroom, but then he felt dizzy and...
Oh.
He let his eyelids fall shut. It was too much effort to keep them open.
He felt strange. As if he had woken up from some sort of coma. All his limbs were heavy, and he felt an unpleasant pressure in his chest. Suddenly everything seemed so- - He opened his eyes and looked around again. - -so clear. As if he had been looking at the world from behind some kind of curtain. Something changed in him. But what?
He moved his right hand, feeling a tingling sensation in his fingertips. He lifted it slowly and touched his heart. He could feel its beating. It was as if before... as if he had forgotten he had it.
He raised his hand again and looked at it. It didn't seem different, but still... it tingled so strangely and he had a vague feeling that... it was slightly warmer than the rest of his body. Warmed up.
He lowered the hand and propped himself on his elbows, looking out at the tall windows. It was dark outside. What time could it be? How long did he spend here?
He leaned against the headboard and reached for his glasses on the bedside table. He put them on his nose and looked at the quietly ticking clock hanging on the opposite wall. It was half past eight in the evening. That means he just missed dinner.
Just the thought of food made his stomach shrink and growl loudly. For the first time in a week he felt really hungry.
Maybe he should get up, get dressed and go to the Great Hall?
However, just as he began to consider this possibility, the hospital doors opened and Madam Pomfrey walked in, followed by Hermione and Ron.
"Harry!" Hermione was the first to reach his bed. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him so tightly that he lost his breath for a moment. "You're finally awake! I was so worried!"
"How are you feeling, darling?" Madam Pomfrey asked, looking at him with furrowed brows and a concerned expression on her face.
"Pretty good," Harry replied once Hermione had released him and he could breathe normally.
"You'll soon be given some strengthening potions, and the elves will bring you dinner. And don't even think about getting out of this bed until you've eaten every last crumb. It's been a long time since I've had such a weak student. Have you really decided to starve yourself?"
"No, I just-" Harry began.
"You can sit with him, but please don't bother him too much. I'm going to prepare the potions." The nurse turned and entered her office.
Harry looked at his friends. Hermione looked as if she had drank the Liquid Luck Potion, and Ron... well, Ron probably overdid the Embarrassment Potion, if there was one.
"We got a bit scared when you collapsed like that yesterday," Ron said after a moment, clearing his throat nervously.
Harry gave him a surprised look.
"Yesterday?" He glanced at the clock again. "It's only been a few hours."
Hermione and Ron exchanged the glances, then Hermione sat down in the chair next to him and leaned over him.
"Harry, it's Saturday. You slept for over twenty-eight hours. Madam Pomfrey gave you a sleeping potion to regain your strength."
What?
Harry couldn't believe what he heard. Did he sleep all day? He was supposed to study, he was supposed to practice spells, he was supposed to... damn it!
It was his fault. It's his fault for being so neglectful. He should eat and sleep normally. He was so focused on Voldemort that he forgot about himself, forgot that he had to have the strength to face him.
"You've missed a bit, mate," Ron said, smiling. He acted as if nothing had happened between them. It was as if he had completely forgotten that they had a quarrel and he was trying to make up for his earlier behavior with jokes. "You may regret not witnessing that historic moment when Hermione didn't brew a potion for the first time in her life. And the best thing is that Snape didn't notice it at all."
Harry's heart immediately jerked and jumped, and the tightness in his chest deepened.
He quickly lowered his head and stared at the duvet.
What was that?
He could clearly feel the rapid, nervous beating of his own heart.
Why did he react like that? After all... the silence surrounded him. And the cold. It should be around him... Where did it go?
Trying to direct his thoughts in a different direction, he turned his head and glanced at the table, where only now he noticed a small piece of paper with a dried flower sticking out of it, and next to it an apple with pins with different colored heads stuck in it, arranged - when he tilted his head at the right angle and he squinted - in the image of a snake coiling around the heart. He blinked, surprised.
"Luna and Ginny were here," Hermione explained, seeing his expression. "They visited you while... you were sleeping. And they left gifts. Harry nodded. While Ginny's gift didn't surprise him, only Luna could have come up with the idea to give him a spiked apple as a gift... not to mention this eye-popping suggestion... He sighed and looked back at his friends. Hermione smiled, but there was no joy in her smile as before. Now concern appeared in it.
A loud crash in the room announced Dobby's arrival with dinner.
"Dobby brought dinner to Harry Potter!" the elf said. "He chose the best dishes! Everything that Harry Potter likes the most."
"Thank you very much, Dobby," Hermione replied, standing up and taking the dinner tray from the excited elf. "I hope it wasn't too much trouble for you."
"Oh no! Dobby did it with pleasure!" The elf smiled broadly. "Harry Potter should call if he needs anything." With that, Dobby apparated away with another loud pop.
Hermione placed the tray on Harry's lap.
"We're not leaving here until you eat all this."
Harry picked up his fork and looked at the steaming dishes - the sausages, mashed potatoes, rice pudding and pumpkin juice. His stomach growled loudly. He had probably never been so hungry in his life as he was now, so without thinking, he started eating. Hermione watched his every move, every bite he put into his mouth, every sip of juice, with such attention that she was afraid that as soon as she looked away, the tray of food would end up outside the window.
Finally Harry couldn't take it anymore. He swallowed and muttered to her:
"Hermione, could you stop staring at me like that? I can't concentrate. I promise I won't drop a single crumb. I'll even lick the plate if it makes you feel better."
Hermione gave him an incredulous look, her mouth falling open in surprise.
What was she so surprised about? Had he said something so unusual?
Before he could ask about it, the door to the office opened and Madam Pomfrey came out, carrying several bottles of colorful potions, which she set down with a bang on the table next to the bed.
Harry looked at the potions and groaned inwardly.
He suspected that it will take him a lot more effort to get out of here than he initially thought...
That same evening, Harry left the hospital. When he finally managed to escape from Ron and Hermione, he didn't waste any more time and immediately started studying. He felt full and well-rested, so he could spend the whole night reading the book he had recently found in the library and which he had not yet had the opportunity to study thoroughly.
He went to bed only in the morning, but he still couldn't fall asleep. Twenty-eight hours of sleep recharged his batteries very effectively. In the morning, he obediently went with Ron and Hermione for breakfast, and then headed to the library, where he had detention. However, he had no intention of carrying out his task in the way that was expected of him. He decided that this would be a perfect opportunity to take a closer look at the library's collections and maybe he would even discover a book or two that could be useful in his preparations for the fight against Voldemort.
He was not disappointed. Before lunch, he found a very interesting book about strong offensive spells based on the four basic elements. Although he didn't think that throwing water on Voldemort would be of much help during the fight, the spells of the other three elements looked extremely interesting, although he suspected that he wouldn't have enough time to learn any of them as they looked really difficult and complicated.
After lunch, Hermione visited him to ask how he was doing and offer help, but Harry quickly dismissed her. He couldn't let her find out what books he was interested in. Going to dinner, he was already feeling a bit tired from the all-night and all-day battle with books. Titles and information were flowing before his eyes, mixing together.
As he entered the Great Hall, his gaze involuntarily skimmed over the distant staff table. The dark figure was nowhere to be seen. He didn't see him at breakfast or lunch either.
That's good. He would rather never see him again in his life.
He sat down next to Ron and waved to Ginny, who was sitting a few seats away. Somehow, his fainting defused the tense situation between him and the Weasley siblings. Ron was actually acting decent now, although that might also have had something to do with how he had been feeling since waking up. Somehow... different. Although he couldn't say why or what had changed.
Slap.
Harry looked with surprise at his plate, where a heaping spoonful of tuna salad landed, followed by another.
"Take plenty of it, Harry. It's really good," Hermione said, smiling encouragingly at him.
"Hey, could you put some for me too?" Ron asked, looking hungrily at the salad. Hermione gave him a look as if he had asked her to get on the table and start dancing. "What?" Ron sank under her gaze. "You gave it to him."
"Because Harry has to eat. And you, on the contrary. If you collected everything you consume, you could feed a small village."
"Thank you very much," Ron grumbled in an offended tone, but at that moment Harry stopped paying attention to him because he caught a glimpse of a black cloak out of the corner of his eye. He quickly turned his head and... saw him.
Snape.
The man hurried into the Great Hall and sat down at his seat at the staff table.
And Harry... had a strange feeling... as if he was seeing him for the first time... Like, actually seeing him, because before he had only... looked at him. And why did it seem to him that the Great Hall had suddenly become smaller? And why did his heart... a heart that should have been frozen... why it began to react in such an incomprehensible way? Why?
He gritted his teeth and looked back at his plate... and at his shaking fists.
Something very bad was happening. With him. With everything. And he didn't like it.
As if... as if... something in him was appearing-
No!
He closed his eyes and took a very deep breath. When he opened them, he met Hermione's searching gaze.
"You hhad hight, Hehmione... iht's heally ghood..." Ron muttered through his mouth full of salad.
Harry swallowed and picked up his fork.
Voldemort. Only Voldemort. He's the only one that matters now. Only him.
He started eating, but his throat felt strangely tight the entire time. It seemed to him that the Great Hall was much stuffier than usual. Somewhere on the edge of his vision, there was a dark figure sitting at the teachers' table, which seemed to attract his attention.
He was angry with himself. And this anger intensified with every moment, reaching its apogee when he finished eating, put his fork on the table with a crash and, guided by some incomprehensible inner voice... raised his head and looked straight at him. Straight at Snape.
The Potions Master was sitting with his head slightly bowed and was just raising the glass to his mouth, but suddenly his hand stopped and the man - as if sensing someone's eyes on him - looked up. He started looking around the room filled with students and after a while... he found Harry's eyes.
Their eyes met.
And Harry felt as if the entire Great Hall had suddenly shrunk to the size of that tiny, tight cupboard where he and Snape had their first encounter... and as if he was that terrified boy again, not knowing where to run, how to save himself from that appraising, sensory look of the black eyes that seems to almost force its way into his soul and reach deeper and deeper...
He needs to get out of here as soon as possible! Immediately!
He jumped up from the bench, knocking over a cup of juice, which spilled all over the counter.
"I'm tired," he muttered. The sparks were dancing under his skin. His heart was pounding in his chest. And he felt that painful pressure again... "I'll go to bed earlier." Without waiting for any response from Ron or Hermione, he left the Great Hall and reached the dormitory on weak legs, where he threw himself on the bed, closed the curtains tightly and hid his face in his hands.
What's happening to him? What?
...hot...
...two uneven breaths...
...cold hands...
...clamped on the skin...
...two bodies...
...one rhythm...
...warm lips pressing into the exposed neck...
...slow, deep pushes...
...one more time...
...and more...
...desire stronger than will...
...a desperate whisper in the dark...
"Where have you been?"
...silence...
...hips hitting buttocks...
...a deep, vibrant voice, answering...
"I didn't go anywhere."
...cold fingers tightening around the penis...
Euphoria. Heat. Explosion.
"Severus..." A quiet whisper came from Harry's mouth and at the same moment...
...he woke up.
His hips were jerking, his thighs and stomach were covered in cum, his muscles were trembling, his breath was hasty.
It took several long seconds for his drifting consciousness to return to his body and for him to realize what had happened. And when it dawned on him-
Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god!
No, it was just a dream! Only dream! Just a fucking dream!
He pressed his hands to his face, wanting to claw his eyes out. And his ears. And all his senses.
Just to not to hear... not to see... not to remember...
It's just a memory... Yes! An echo of his former life. It doesn't mean anything. After all, he had heard that dreams reflected things that once, even a long time ago, evoked strong emotions. Even if he's already buried them. Because he buried them! It was completely unthinkable that he could have anything to do with this... man now. With a man for whom he felt only contempt. It was ridiculous...
He removed his hands from his face, breathing deeply and slowly calming down.
He looked at the clock. He had an hour of sleep left. He guessed he'll use this time to study. Yes, that's what he'll do.
Harry was sitting in the Potions classroom, staring absently at the dark blackboard. He didn't know how he managed to survive today's classes after such a dream. Throughout the day he tried to be indifferent, to isolate himself, not to let in this... this something... that was growing very clearly inside him, pressing against the weakened structures of this cold barrier that he had created around himself and which until now had been extremely and effectively prevented any warmth, any feelings from entering his inner world... and now there were cracks and leaks everywhere, as if something had broken it open at some point. Something extremely powerful... He just didn't know at what point it could happen. After all, everything was fine before he fainted...
And now... he could feel these leaks very clearly, and although he tried to plug them, it was not easy at all. They came in the nervous clenching of his fingers and the quickening of his heartbeat as he was sitting here and waiting, feeling like he was about to take an exam, like he was meeting Snape for the first time after drinking the Desideria Intima potion, listening to the chaos in the classroom and trying to detect what was coming.
Finally he heard the sound of the door opening and then footsteps. Long, decisive footsteps that he knew way too well; that he had listened to so many times that he could recognize them in a crowd of other steps, which were mostly uncertain, hurried, stumbling, shuffling. Snape's footsteps were the same as their owner - they attracted attention, they stood out in the foreground and made everything else seem pale and featureless in comparison.
He clutched his Potions book convulsively as the pain he felt in his chest suddenly intensified. As if Snape... as if his very presence... as if he emanated something that intensified the pain. And it didn't let him catch his breath.
Snape walked between the desks. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw that dark figure moving across the edge of his vision and suddenly realized that all his muscles were tensing.
The Potions Master finally reached the middle of the classroom, stopped and turned around. The long black cloak billowed around him, making a gentle rustling sound...
Such a familiar sound...
The moment Harry felt those black, bottomless eyes stare at him, almost burning his skin... his heart began to pound and a wave of heat flowed through his body, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.
No, no, no, it's impossible! He can't react like that! He can't!
In a panic, he reached for the silence and the cold, trying to wrap them around himself like a cloak, pulling them on with superhuman effort, as if they had suddenly become too small, too... threadbare, to provide him with adequate protection.
Indifference. Composure. Contempt. This was his world now. Not the one where he thought Snape was someone completely different. This man was just a liar and a cheater! Cruel, merciless, inhuman.
He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, feeling his heart slowly calm down.
"In today's lesson, you will have a practice test covering the recently discussed potions," a low, deep voice said. "You will be divided into four groups to eliminate as effectively as possible-" Snape paused for a moment and looked significantly at Hermione "-the temptation to help each other, euphemistically speaking. Therefore, each group will have a different potion to brew. You can find a list of potions and the people assigned to them on the board." A short, decisive wave of the wand. "Get to work."
Harry had the impression that this vibrating voice was reverberating in every nook and cranny of his body, forcing its way into his ears, wandering across his skin, irritating his nerve endings and making it seem like the voice was everywhere... inside him. And it was moving there.
He gripped the book even tighter.
Fuck!
He heard the sound of a chair being pushed back as Snape sat down at his desk. There was a general commotion in the classroom, suggesting that students were nervously looking around the room for the people closest to them who had the same potion, and then getting up to go get the ingredients.
Harry didn't move, though. He looked at the board, but he couldn't focus on it because the letters were blurry in front of his eyes.
He tried to somehow explain to himself what was happening to him, but every theory seemed idiotic to him. And the more he thought about it, the angrier he became. Angry and scared.
Maybe it was Snape's fault? Maybe he was doing something to him? Maybe he put some kind of spell on him? Imperius? But why would he do that? First of all, he hates Harry, and second of all, it wouldn't do him any good. No, it was nothing like that. Harry could recognize the symptoms of a spell, he had dealt with them. It didn't come from outside. It was in him.
He heard Ron and Hermione also get up and go get the ingredients. As he was thinking about his theory, his gaze involuntarily wandered to the teacher sitting at the desk. But what was supposed to be just a quick glance turned into unintentional contemplation, as he stared at the dark figure hunched over the desk - black hair falling over the face - with a tightness building in his chest.
At the same moment, as if sensing a pair of green eyes boring into him, Snape lifted his head and looked straight at him.
Harry abruptly looked away, fixing his gaze on the closest object - the board.
His heart was almost beating in his throat.
It has to stop! He needs to control himself! Snape doesn't exist. He's nothing to him. After what he's done, he'll always be nothing.
Harry tried to focus on the board, but the longer he stared at it, the less he saw.
He risked another glance to see if Snape had noticed anything. He faced the hard look of those black, narrowed eyes.
Damn it! So Snape did notice.
How much more Harry would embarrass himself during this lesson?
If Hermione heard Harry's thoughts right now, she would be surprised at the amount of swear words he can use.
When his friends returned, Harry - feeling their surprised glances - quickly got up and headed to the storeroom, although he had no idea what ingredients he would need. He didn't even know what kind of potion he was supposed to brew.
He turned to read its name on the board and at the same moment he felt something cut his legs. He lost his balance and landed on the floor, hitting his elbow painfully. However, he managed to notice Zabini's quickly retreating foot. The Slytherin stopped above him, a malicious smile on his face.
"Potter, have you fainted again? Maybe we should call Pomfrey and cancel classes again because of you? You like it when others feel sorry for you, don't you? Poor little Golden Boy..."
Harry stood up slowly, completely ignoring the quiet laughter coming from the Slytherin tables. He straightened up and looked straight into Zabini's small, blue-gray eyes, almost enjoying steel anger that was building up in him again - cold, hard and sharp - perfect to stick it deep into the Slytherin standing opposite.
He took a step forward as if to avoid him, but stopped for a second and whispered into his ear in an icy voice that didn't seem to belong to him:
"If you don't want to meet Malfoy in his worst nightmares, then I advise you, never come near me again."
Zabini turned pale and looked at him with wide eyes. Harry didn't wait for further events. He moved on, hearing Snape's sharp voice cutting through the air behind him:
"Sit down and take care of your potion, Mr. Zabini. And I don't want to hear another word. If anyone else tries to speak out, they will be kicked out of class. Is it clear?"
Harry turned his head to look at the board once again, and in the process, his eyes brushed Zabini's face, contorted with fury.
Completely ignoring him, he finally read the name of the potion he should prepare - Sanitizing Potion. He randomly selected a few ingredients that he thought should be included in it. He was sure he would botch it anyway, since he was lying unconscious in the hospital during the lesson in which this potion was discussed. He knew that Snape had deliberately chosen this potion for him. He wanted Harry to fail. Anyway... he shouldn't worry about it. It wasn't important now. No potions, no classes. He was going to meet Voldemort in a few days. Nothing was important now... least of all Snape.
Convincing his mind to this last part, however, proved to be a task beyond Harry's abilities.
The incident with Zabini relieved some of the anger he had accumulated and helped him cool down all these disturbing flashes of emotion. He never looked at the dark figure again. With extraordinary concentration, he chopped the ingredients and added them one by one to the bubbling broth, even though he didn't even know if they were the right ones. He expected an explosion at any moment, so he carefully observed the bubbles appearing on the surface so that, in case of danger, he would have at least enough time to hide under the desk.
Finally, about halfway through the lesson, the silence in the classroom was broken by the sound of a chair being pushed back. The Potions Master rose from his seat at the desk and went on his usual rounds.
Harry tensed involuntarily. He couldn't control it. It was like a defensive reaction. As if his whole body was preparing for some imaginary battle.
Snape started with the Slytherins. Harry could hear his quiet, vibrating voice drifting through the classroom like smoke as the man gave directions to his students. And when he was whispering like that, it sounded just like when- when-
Merlin! Calm down immediately!
He tightened his grip on the wooden ladle with which he was stirring in the cauldron. His hands were sweaty.
He heard Snape moving on. He could hear his unhurried step, which reminded him of a ticking time bomb, afraid of what might happen if he stopped right next to his desk...
Snape was already at the Gryffindors' tables. He quickly checked the back tables, but at some point he paused. Harry took a deep breath and stretched his stiff fingers.
He preferred to get it over with. He didn't like the waiting. But Snape seemed to have decided not to rush anywhere.
Harry licked his lips and turned his head, looking back.
Snape was standing behind Neville, smiling mockingly and watching with obvious pleasure as Neville - despite the teacher hanging over him and almost breathing into his neck - was trying with trembling hands to pour the chopped viperweed into his potion.
However, at the same moment Snape's eyes left the potion and his piercing gaze shot up to meet Harry's eyes, and Harry felt the pressure in his chest suddenly become unbearable, something was building inside him, something distant, something that'd been pushed away... and it tried to get out, to break free, not caring how much damage it could do or how painful it could be...
Snape frowned and straightened.
Harry turned abruptly and stared at his cauldron.
No, he can't... he must... stop this!
He looked at his trembling hand.
He felt like something was falling apart inside him.
Too late he heard the slow footsteps, that stopped right behind him. He didn't have time to prepare for the impact of that... that... smell - the herbs, and something sweet. Just like Snape's tongue penetrating his mouth...
Enough!
He felt dizzy.
He felt Snape leaning over him and he heard... he heard this voice right next to his ear:
"I see you're going to have another spectacular failure, Potter. Even a lower rating will not be enough punishment for you..."
And how would you like to be punished, Mr. Potter?
"As you wish, Professor..." Harry replied vaguely, no longer knowing what he was really hearing and what was just an echo of memories in his head. "I mean..." he corrected himself quickly when he realized what he had just said. "If you say so..."
Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!
Harry felt an overwhelming urge to start banging his head on the bench.
"Gryffindor no longer has a chance in the House Cup. The last place... How unfortunate," the Potions Master continued, and the tone of his voice made goosebumps appear on Harry's body. It was quiet and hissing, almost- No, he wouldn't think about it!
Snape straightened up and walked past him with a derisive snort. Harry felt the brush of the black cloak, which in some amazing way took away his already weakened motor skills. Trying to keep his sweaty hands occupied, he reached for a bowl with Spiky Bush rootstocks and at the same moment he elbowed a bottle of Parma vinegar, which spilled onto the counter. Harry reached out quickly, trying to grab the bottle and put it back down, but he knocked the entire bowl of Spiky Bush berries onto the floor. The berries scattered across the stone floor and rolled under Snape's black shoes, who had just stopped in front of Hermione's desk.
Damn it!
Harry didn't want to see Snape's look. He quickly dove under the desk, picking up the berries with his fingers.
Was this some cruel joke? Was fate mocking him? After all, he buried all the memories and feelings associated with this... man. Why did they have to re-wake in him now? Four days before the meeting with Voldemort! Why had he felt this strange pain in his chest since he got out of the hospital? Why did he have this dream at night? Why did he whisper his name in it? A name... that he should forget!
This wasn't the same man he knew. It was a stranger. Someone who treated him like a worm. Someone who could watch him die without a trace of emotion. Someone who has no scruples. How could he have any feelings for someone like that?
After all, he had felt safe for the last week. He was surrounded by silence, coolness and peace. Why can't it be like before? Why did his heart betray him and ignore the voice of its owner telling him to be calm? How could he focus on what was to come?
His gaze involuntarily moved to the black shoes located just a meter away from him. Not so long ago he was kissing those feet... He slowly moved his gaze up the trouser legs and further, over the black tunic. He remembered how he was kissing every inch of that usually cold body, which was so incredibly hot back then... Unconsciously, he clenched his hand tightly, crushing all the gathered berries into a pulp. He felt waves of heat hitting him, his heart was racing, and the pain in his chest took his breath away. He closed his eyes, gasping for air and fighting to keep the thing that wanted to escape from him closed deep down.
He can't! He can't! He won't let that happen!
That's when he heard a sharp, though slightly muffled growl:
"Potter, are you going to sit under your desk until the end of class and clean the floor? As always, you're shirking the work you've been given. Get back to your place immediately!"
He flexed his clenched fingers, looking at the drops from the crushed berries dripping down them, and took a deep breath.
It worked. He managed to control it.
He slowly got out from under the desk and met Hermione's searching gaze... and Snape's extremely intense gaze. He sat down as if nothing had happened and stared at his cauldron when he felt Hermione nudge him with her elbow. He turned his head and saw that his friend had placed a tissue on the counter.
"Thanks," he muttered, wiping his hand and trying to ignore the black eyes watching them.
Fortunately, Snape finally took his eyes off them and moved on, completely ignoring Ron's potion and several other Gryffindors.
Harry never looked at him again. He tried to focus only on the potion, even though he knew he wouldn't brew it correctly.
Ten minutes before the end of class, Snape stood up from his desk, announcing that the time for preparing potions was over. He went on his rounds, collecting samples of potions for evaluation, or cleaning the cauldrons of people who had completely failed the task. He finally stopped in front of Harry's desk.
Harry lifted his head slightly and saw right in front of him... a long row of tiny buttons stretching down the front of a black robe. An unbidden memory appeared in his mind... Snape's long fingers, undoing those buttons, one by one... slowly...
He pursed his lips and quickly looked down, fixing his eyes on a particularly interesting pattern on the wooden top of the desk.
"What is it, Potter?" he heard a stern voice above him.
"An elixir," Harry replied quietly.
"What kind?"
"A Sanitizing Elixir."
"A sanitizing, is that so?" The mockery seemed to pour out of the man's voice. "You would rather poison everyone with it than sanitize anyone. I suspect the only thing this mixture is good for is blocking pipes. Troll." A wave of the wand and all the liquid evaporated from the cauldron. "I should lower your grade even more, but that's not possible, so for the next lesson you will write a four-foot-long essay on this potion, focusing primarily on the ingredients and a detailed description of how it's prepared."
Harry's heart trembled as he suddenly realized something...
For the next lesson? For the next... lesson? After all... there won't be another one. Never again. This was his last Potions lesson. The last one.
He lowered his face even further to hide what could possibly appear on it.
He nodded, but didn't answer. The voice could give him away.
Snape moved on to grade Hermione's potion, but at that same moment the bell rang and all the students who had already been graded began to pack up and leave the classroom. Harry did the same. He didn't want to be in the same room as this man for even a minute longer. He packed his bag and - without waiting for his friends - hurriedly got up and headed for the door, although all the time he felt as if someone had tied a very heavy stone around his neck.
Once he was outside, he turned and looked at the door. They led to a classroom that held so many memories...
This was the last time he saw them. He will never cross their threshold again. Never. Just the thought of it... seemed unreal. But... that's what he chose.
He looked ahead at the corridor stretching before him. He must move on. There was no point in stopping and wondering, because then- then-
Never mind.
He sighed heavily and started walking, even though he felt as if he had left something very precious behind that door.
In the dark, the glow that came from the glass ball Harry held seemed much brighter. He didn't know how long he stared at it. He took it out as soon as he heard Ron and Neville snoring. He didn't wonder why he did it. He was just looking… looking into those pitch black eyes… that stern visage that brightened or darkened depending on what image of Snape's face it conjured.
Oh, and now he was... hungry, greedy... just like when- when-
He frowned, staring at the fire dancing in the man's pupils.
How could he... how could he do it? How could he look at Harry like that if he had been pretending all along? How can someone who only has ice in him be so... hot? How can someone who hates look like he's burning with the desire from the inside?
How can someone who feels only disgust whisper with such urgency?
Show me how you masturbated when you were thinking about me.
The echo of that voice in Harry's head... coupled with that look...
Involuntarily he opened his zipper, never taking his eyes off the face staring at him from the glass ball.
Now take it out slowly.
He did it. It was hot. Swollen. And it missed being touched.
You can start now.
He ran his hand over it tentatively. He felt a tug in his loins. Oh, how he missed it... He moved once again, stretching the foreskin over the sensitive, reddened head.
Oh yes...
He sped up, moving his hand up and down. His penis was trembling under his fingers. It was throbbing.
Yes Yes Yes. Merlin, he almost forgot how good it felt...
Slower.
He obeyed the order, although it was extremely difficult for him. The desire was too strong...
And even if he pressed his lips together as tight as he could, he still couldn't stop the soft moans that escaped his lips.
Just like that. Moan. Moan for me.
Oh gooooood...
It was too- too-
His eyelids closed on their own.
The warm, tight tunnel trapped his cock, sliding over it faster and faster and-
Look at me, Potter.
He opened his eyes abruptly and saw that fierce, burning gaze fixed on himself, burning as if in fever, devouring him...
The orgasm grabbed him in its claws hard and brutal, jerking his body and crushing every muscle, sucking out almost every drop of white liquid that flooded his hand and stomach, and turning the spasms into a pleasure so intense that he felt like he was going to pass out. All he could see before his eyes were stars, and two endless tunnels.
Eventually the tension turned to trembling, and the waves of heat that had flooded him slowly began to recede. He stretched his convulsively clenched fingers and looked into the pair of pupils that now glowed with only one thing - satisfaction.
Excellent.
Before the echo of the orgasm stopped for good and the heat disappeared, his hand suddenly tightened on the ball, with such force as if he wanted to crush it. Under his trembling fingers, Snape's image began to fade and finally disappeared completely.
The cold came.
What did he do? What, for Merlin's sake?!
He was supposed to forget about him, not- not-
He jumped out of bed and buried his face in his hands. Fury at himself inflamed his veins even more effectively than his previous excitement.
Everything he did... was pathetic. He has to stop, he has to find some way to- He has to get out of here! He needs to free himself from this. Take a breath. Forget.
What was the best way to forget? He knew the answer to that question.
And he knew how to get it.
He threw the ball under the pillow and at the same time pulled out his wand from under it. He quickly cleaned himself up, reached for the Marauder's Map and quickly found a black dot with the word Severus Snape in the dungeon. He looked around the corridors. Filch was on the third floor and Mrs. Norris was on the fifth. He grabbed the Invisibility Cloak, jumped out of bed, dressed warmly, and tiptoed out of the dormitory. There were a few other students in the Common Room, but thanks to his cloak, he slipped between them unnoticed. Checking his map to make sure he didn't encounter any teachers patrolling the corridors, he left the castle and waded through the snow to the Whomping Willow. He immobilized it with the Immobilus spell and went through the underground corridor to the Shrieking Shack. He would have preferred to use the passage behind the One-Eyed Witch statue, but he was sure he would have great difficulty getting out of Honeydukes in the middle of the night when the store was closed.
He opened the crooked door, barely hanging on its hinges, and got outside. The wind was even more piercing here than on the meadows. He heard it howling and whistling in the cracks between the crumbling boards. He rubbed his frozen shoulders and moved towards the village lights looming in the darkness.
For a moment he thought that maybe it would be a good idea to try to cover the tracks he was leaving in the snow, but he quickly abandoned that idea. It wasn't important. Besides, who would look for him here?
Hogsmeade seemed almost deserted at night. The only sign of life were the lit windows here and there, casting squares of warm light onto the snow. Harry carefully avoided them, heading straight for his goal - the inn located some distance from the main road. He knew it would be open. And that no one will pay attention to another hidden newcomer.
He stopped in front of the door. The loud conversations, the hoarse laughter and the drunken gibberish could be heard from the inside. He took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy door of the Hog's Head.
As expected, no one paid attention to the door opening itself or the wet traces appearing on the dirty wooden floor. He looked around. He spotted a group of tipsy wizards with long, tangled hair and worn, patched cloaks who looked as if the inn was their place of residence. There were several hooded figures sitting against the wall, and at one of the tables there were two young women who didn't seem to belong there at all. But the moment one of them turned her head for a moment, he noticed her eyes - they were poisonous yellow and had oblong pupils. So they weren't human. Just like the man with rough skin resembling tree bark sitting by the window.
It was such a place that brought together the outcasts, the misfits. Here they could be themselves and no one paid any attention to them. Harry still couldn't believe that Tonks had chosen this place for their Christmas party. Now, without all the decorations, the inn looked like the worst dive bar, with a floor covered with straw and a bar so run down that it seemed as if the bartender who was scrubbing it was just smearing dirt on it. But Harry didn't mind. The only thing that mattered was what he came here for.
But how could he get it without drawing attention to himself?
He stood against the wall and waited. After a short while, the bartender poured two mugs of a very suspicious drink and took them to a table by the wall. Harry took this chance without a second thought. He slipped behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of something that had a high enough percentage on the label to send his mind into blissful oblivion quickly enough. He left a few Galleons on the counter, hid the bottle under his cloak, grabbed the first glass he could find and hid in the darkest corner of the inn.
The first sip was like drinking molten lava - it burned his esophagus so much that he basically couldn't feel anything more. He was just drinking, staring at the knots on the wooden table and trying not to think about anything. Neither about Voldemort, nor about the fight that awaited him, nor about the fact that he would probably die in a few days... nor about the fact that there was no chance against him, that he knew nothing, had learned nothing useful, and he just wasted the time...
Nor about that... that tall figure that in some inexplicable way began to catch his eye again, nor about that voice that made him shiver, nor about the cold hands whose touch he still remembered so clearly... nor about those pair of deep, dark eyes...
Nor about the Pensieve where it turned out that everything he believed in was just a lie...
A lie.
He stopped at that word and turned it over in his mind like something extremely intriguing. He took another sip and tried to focus on the knot, but he couldn't. The image blurred before his eyes, everything around him was spinning more and more.
A lie.
One big shitty lie.
You're not nothing to me.
A lie.
I want you so badly.
A lie.
I can't change it.
A lie...
Harry frowned.
Wait, Snape... thought Harry was asleep then. Why would he tell him that? Why would he hug him if he thought Harry had fallen asleep? And he let him stay all night. And even before that-
Do you think that only you have to sacrifice something that is dearest to you?
Dearest...
Dearest...
Snape's words echoed in his mind.
It didn't make any sense.
He shook his head to clear the annoying echo that kept coming back to him.
He frowned even more in mental effort. He should drink some more... He took a few sips. Oh yes, he felt much better now...
If you let personal feelings get in the way of your priorities, you've already lost.
Oh yes. That's what he said. But what could that mean?
And... and he wanted Harry to spend Christmas with him. Why would he want it if he hated him? And he prepared him a butterbeer with cinnamon. Harry remembered that. And he let him put the Christmas tree. And... and he kept Tonks and Luna's secret because Harry asked him to.
And yet...
Harry took another sip. He felt so dizzy that he could barely recognize shapes.
After all... someone who is such a monster couldn't... couldn't bandage his leg with such tenderness. He wouldn't bring him dinner from the Great Hall, claiming it was done by an elf. He wouldn't help him with his studies and wouldn't pack his bag with the books with underlined sentences that they would discuss in class. He wouldn't give Ron the ointment only at Harry's silent request. He wouldn't learn about Quidditch for him...
But he saw in the Pensieve- Was that life just a dream? The most wonderful dream he had and now he woke up from it?
Impossible. It was his Severus... He was looking at him as if Harry was the most important person in the world. He touched him with such greed, as if it wasn't enough for him and he couldn't get enough of him. He was completely lost in him, as if nothing else mattered except Harry's closeness. These were... reactions. You can't control them.
All these... all these things... The heartbeats. The rapid breathing. The trembling of the hands. Of the voice. The smile. So real. That... that something in his eyes. The warmth. The shining.
You can't fake it! You simply cannot!
Harry tightened his grip on the cup.
He remembered it... he remembered how Severus had learned tenderness from him, how he had repeated all his gestures step by step... He hadn't imagined this! He remembered everything. The kisses, the gestures, the looks. The heat. The heat he saw in Severus' eyes every time he looked at Harry. The all-consuming, unrestrained fire. Even when they argued, when Snape turned into a jealous beast... Harry clearly remembered the emotions raging on his face... as if he wanted to tear him to shreds. But the only thing he was tearing were Harry's clothes as he took him hard and greedily, as if he couldn't control his hunger.
Someone who has only darkness within him should not be able to ignite himself with such a bright flame...
And in the end... he didn't let him drink the potion. He stopped him. Why? Because it was supposedly too early? Because Harry didn't trust him enough? Good joke. After all, Severus knew that Harry would do anything for him. Absolutely anything.
He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He saw that moment in his mind. He saw Severus' face. Merlin, he would never forget the suffering he saw on his face back then. It was so... so... different. Intense. It didn't match anything that happened between them that night. And why was Severus so gloomy later, on the next day? And... how did he say it?
Sometimes everything gets out of our control and we have no influence on it. It's stronger than us.
Harry put his head on his arms resting on the counter.
That's how he felt right now. It was stronger than him. And it was spinning. He definitely had no influence on it. On this spinning. And on his mind. And on the way he felt.
All the good memories flashed through his head, brutally smashing into the memories of the Pensieve.
They laughed at him. The Death Eaters. And Voldemort. All of them.
Snape used him. He was playing with him. He lied to him. He wanted to sacrifice him. He manipulated him from the very beginning. Harry was just a tool to him - a tool that you use until it breaks and then throw it into the trash. So cruel... so ruthless...
If only he could-
One sec.
Without lifting his head, he put his hand in his pocket and search for a small, round shape.
He didn't know why he didn't throw it away. He didn't know why he always carried it with him.
He closed his hand on the stone.
You can come get me. Call your Death Eater buddies. I can't even lift my wand right now, so your job will be easier. Go on! Come for me!
He released the stone.
Yeah... that was a great challenge. Let him just come, he- he- What did he actually want to do?
Oh, he was so dizzy... His eyes darted around as he looked at the bottle in front of him. A few bottles, actually. However, he had great difficulty counting how many there were because they kept changing their position.
Maybe if he caught one, the others would stop moving and-
Ow! Something started burning in his pocket. He reached in and pulled out a glowing stone. There were letters inside. Yes, those were definitely letters. He was sure of that.
He tried to focus on them and with an effort put them into words:
Where are you, Potter?
He blinked, taking a closer look at the shiny letters.
Snape answered him. He couldn't believe it... So he didn't throw away the stone either?
He clenched it in his hand.
You know... I was thinking about our last night. And... I don't understand why you gave it to me? After all- His train of shaky thoughts was interrupted by a loud burst of laughter from the next table. Damn it, let them shut up!
Still holding the stone, he pressed his hands to his ears, but almost immediately he tore them off again, feeling the warmth against his face.
He frowned, trying to focus on the words flying before his eyes.
Damn it, Potter! You must tell me where you are immediately!
Oh yes... Snape and his Death Eaters won't be able to kidnap him if he doesn't tell him where he is. It's actually logical.
He closed the stone in his hand.
I... I'm having a drink. In the Hog's Head.
Before he could even open his eyes, the answer came:
Don't move even one step from there!
He didn't mean to at all. He probably wouldn't be able to anyway...
He looked around the inn confusedly.
He was tired. Right now, he'd probably like to go to sleep. He dropped the stone into his pocket, folded his arms on the counter, and rested his heavy head on them.
He tried to ignore the fact that the moment he closed his eyes, he felt like he was on a carousel that the Dursleys had once taken him on just because they had nothing to do with him. All his senses were telling him that he was spinning, very fast. But that was impossible. He was sitting at the table. He tentatively opened his eyes, and then the spinning stopped a little. But when he closed them again... it was a carousel again.
And muggles have to pay dearly for such attractions. He wonder if they know this way too?
BANG!
A sudden, loud sound made Harry jump up and hit the bottle next to him with his elbow, causing it to fall over and spill its contents all over the counter.
Snape was standing in the doorway of the inn.
Harry felt a strange feeling of deja vu. As if something like this had happened before. Snape also suddenly appeared in the doorway back then... and stared at him like that... but he didn't remember that he had moved toward him with such fury on his face and that he had pulled him out from behind the table with as much force as now, grabbing him by the jacket around his neck through the cloak and dragging him to the door, not even caring that Harry was stumbling and having trouble staying on his feet.
No, he would definitely remember something like that.
Snape dragged him outside and stopped only in a shady alley next to the inn, where he ruthlessly removed his cloak and glared wildly at him. He looked like a furious beast, with his hair falling over his eyes, his pupils shining in the dark, his eyebrows so furrowed they almost met at the bridge of his nose, and his teeth bared. Before Harry could recover, the man grabbed his chin and roughly lifted his face, examining it with growing fury.
"You're completely drunk!" he hissed, his voice trembling with anger. "You irresponsible brat! Have you completely lost your mind? What tempted you to sneak out of the castle to some dive and drink yourself senseless? Do you know what would happen if someone discovered your absence and raised the alarm? How long you've been here? Did you take off your cloak? Has anyone seen you?"
Harry jerked his head, freeing his face from the cold fingers and leaning against the wall of the inn.
"Don't touch me!" he growled, glaring wanderingly at the man standing in front of him. Everything was spinning before his eyes, but he saw him clearly. As if he was the only steady element in the world moving around him. A black, tall figure in a long cloak. Snape. Snape, who had... "No one daw... saw me. They won't surrend... suspect you. You can kidnap me." He looked around the snow-covered area with blurry eyes. "Well, where are your friends, the Thread... Death Eaters? Did you forget to grind... bring them with you?" he asked, trying to sound defiant, but his tongue was failing him a bit.
"I'm not going to listen to your drunken gibberish," Snape drawled. "If you're done, let's go back to the castle immediately before anyone discovers you're gone."
"I won't go anywhere with you!" Harry swung his fist, trying to hit the man in the face, but Snape moved away. He tried with his other hand, but he also missed, and what's worse, he lost his balance and fell forward. However, he was stopped from falling by Snape's hands, who grabbed him tightly by the shoulders and pushed him against the wall with the crushing force, holding him down.
"Leave me, you-" but before he could finish, the man covered his mouth with his hand and pressed his whole body against him, as if he wanted to hide them in the shadow of a wall made of thick logs.
The sound of the inn door slamming and drunken laughter reached Harry's ears, and after a moment a group of tipsy wizards appeared in his field of vision. They stopped on an illuminated patch of snow, only three meters away, and if they would only turn their heads...
"Not a word." Harry heard Snape's strained whisper right next to his ear and felt the man move his hand and draw his wand, keeping his eyes on the three intruders.
Harry looked from the swaying figures to Snape's face, which was only a few inches away from his own face.
He felt him... so close. He was pressing against him. Tightly. His cool hand on his mouth. The breath on his face.
Dear god...
He could hear the sound of his own blood in his ears, flowing through his veins at an increasing speed and igniting every corner of his body. How was it possible that even though it was so cold outside, he was increasingly sure that he was going to melt? His heart had long since stopped beating and now it was only fluttering... in quick, painful spasms, as if it had been locked in a cage and was trying to break free at all costs.
The drunk men turned and began to walk away, staggering slightly. But Snape didn't let him go right away. He did this only when they were completely out of sight.
The hand left his mouth and the body supporting him suddenly disappeared and Harry almost slid against the wall. Now he felt even more dizzy. Why didn't alcohol help him forget? It didn't help at all. On the contrary. It made everything... sharper. It became more intense. Did he drink not enough? Then he should go back there and drink more. So much until he finally forgets. About him. About everything. Even if he needed to lose consciousness.
"I'm going back inside," he muttered vaguely, turning to the wall and grabbing the wooden logs. "You won't top... stop me." Slowly, holding on to the wall, he took a few steps, but then... everything happened in a split second.
He felt strong hands grabbing his shoulders, then a jerk, and suddenly he realized that his face was pressed against the black robe. The entire area spun, and he felt as if something was pulling him in all directions, trying to tear him to pieces. As if he suddenly found himself in two places at once. He lost his footing and regained it only after a terrifying moment. Although the feeling was more like a collision than a soft landing.
He lifted his eyelids and suddenly discovered that he was on the grounds near the Hogwarts gates. The hands holding him down disappeared and Harry swayed, but somehow he didn't lose his balance. His head was still spinning, but he could clearly see the dark figure in front of him, and he had the feeling... that terrible pressure he had felt in his chest since waking up was getting stronger. It was as if like something... was seeping through its walls. It was leaking... more and more, and he couldn't stop it anymore, because the hole was already too big, too damaged, too cracked.
He raised his head and looked straight into those black eyes.
It was Severus. His Severus. The same one who kissed him, hugged him... the same one who whispered to him that Harry belonged only to him... the same one who smiled at him and couldn't hide it... the same one whose hands trembled with impatience when he touched him... the same one who acted like he couldn't exist without him...
What was between them... was something beautiful. He felt it in his heart. It couldn't deceive him. And if their last night wasn't real, he might as well vanish into thin air right now. After all, he had won his mouth that night. He won his heart...
But there was a Pensieve... He saw in it- He saw-
Was it possible that he had lost his mind?
He slowly raised his hand, wanting to touch that stern face he knew so well, whom he caressed so many times with his fingers and covered with kisses...
But then Snape roughly slapped his hand away and pulled away, glaring at him icily.
And in that moment, Harry understood... and the pain in his chest exploded, releasing all his tied-up grief. The dam collapsed and the pressure of everything holding it down almost blew him apart from the inside.
"How could you do this to me?!" he shouted, lunging forward and punching blindly, but before he could even reach him, he felt his legs give way beneath him. "How could you? How?" He sank to his knees, clutching the tails of the black robe in his hands. He was shaking so much as if he was in a fever and uncontrollable sobbing was flowing from his chest. He slid lower and lower until his forehead touched the black shoes. "I wanted only you. Only you..." A whole week of emptiness, of pretending, of not existing... everything he had tried to push as deep as possible was now flowing out of him, it was flowing our incessantly, and he couldn't stop it. "Only you... you."
"Get up. Immediately." He heard a quiet, muffled voice above him.
"What happened? I don't understand... You looked at me like that..." Harry continued whispering, floating on the waves of pain and clutching the black robe in his hands, which seemed to him the only salvation from drowning. "And I remember... how you couldn't keep your hands off me... I remember your warmth... What did you do? What did you do?"
"I didn't do anything," the man above him hissed. "For me it was just a game that it's already over. I don't need you anymore."
"I don't believe you." The sobs intensified. "I don't believe you..."
"You meant nothing to me. Nothing."
"I don't believe you..."
"And I advice you well," the man continued brutally, ignoring Harry's desperate denials, "stay away from me. Don't come close to me. Do not look at me. Do not think about me. Forget about my existence."
Forget? How was he suppose to do that? How? He tried... he tried!
"Why are you saying this? I don't understand... That night-" he stopped suddenly when Snape pulled away abruptly and Harry was forced to let go of his robe. Now, deprived of its touch, he realized that there was no salvation...
"Look at you. You're pathetic," Snape said quietly. His voice seemed to come from a distance.
But it was enough to break through and hit. Very deep.
Harry fell silent. There was nothing left in him... only a small trickle remained that seeped through the crumbled walls... and the feeling that he had fallen so deep down that he couldn't go any lower...
It was true. He was pathetic. He was clinging to a pipe dream. He wanted to prove to himself at all costs that this was his old Severus... and it turned out that he was still the same monster from the Pensieve. That Severus was gone somewhere far away. And he will never come back.
He swallowed the bitterness in his mouth and rose slowly, supporting himself on trembling hands and knees.
He felt cold again. Now, when he got rid of everything he had kept inside, when all the pain, regret, bitterness, when it all flowed out of him... only the emptiness remained again. But one that could no longer be fulfilled. Besides... there wasn't even time for that. He will probably die in a few days. And he will forget about him. At last. Exactly how he wanted it...
He shakily got up from his knees and - without raising his head at all - turned his back to the man.
"Don't worry," he said in a broken whisper. "I will forget about you." He didn't hear an answer. Besides, he wasn't expecting one at all. "I'm going back to the castle. And you... don't you dare follow me." After these words, he moved forward with uncertain, unsteady steps.
The excess of emotions deprived him of the last of his strength, which had already been weakened by alcohol. He tried to walk, but only staggered. It felt like ages passed between taking his foot off the ground and putting it back on it, with the entire area making several solid turns in that time.
Finally, gravity won and Harry, without even knowing when or how, fell into the snow.
At first he didn't even know what happened. An icy cold surrounded him. He remembered it... remembered how wonderful it filled him, freezing the dull pain and pushing it deep, very deep...
But this time someone stopped it. The strong hands that pulled him out of the snow and lifted him up, snatching him from the cold and plunging him into their own warm embrace. One hand slipped under his knees and the other one under his back, and Harry, half-consciously, buried his face into the man's hot neck, wrapping his arms around him.
The herbs. He could smell the herbs. And something sweet. And bitter. Everything smelled like... Severus.
He felt like he was being carried somewhere, but he couldn't, or maybe didn't want to, open his eyes. His head was throbbing painfully. He heard the snow crunching under the shoes. And then, although he didn't even know at what point, the creaking turned into the clatter of footsteps on the floor. It got warmer. But his whole being turned only into a sense of smell. Severus' scent enveloped him, lulled him. It penetrated him, warming him up much more effectively than any fire.
The steps have changed. Now they seemed to be climbing the stairs. He snuggled into him even tighter. He heard him breathing. He could feel the pulsation of blood flowing just under the skin. It was so warm and smooth here. He remembered how he had kissed it, how he had pressed his lips to that spot on the neck... but why did it feel like it had all happened a thousand years ago?
They stopped. He heard a quiet whisper and the sound of a portrait moving. It got even warmer. Hotter.
The hands left him and placed him on something soft.
No! Don't go...
He clutched it desperately, but his arms were torn off. He fell back limply, giving in to the exhaustion.
The smell disappeared. All that remained was the slightly dusty smell of the old sofas and tapestries.
For some time he struggled with the constant spinning in his head and the increasingly unpleasant feeling in his stomach. When he finally managed to open his eyes, he looked around with dull eyes. He was alone in the Gryffindor Common Room, and he was lying on the couch in front of the fireplace.
How did he end up here? Where... where did Snape go? Was it... so it wasn't a dream? He had the impression that Snape's scent, his touch... that he had only dreamed it...
He reached for the Marauder's Map hidden in his pocket. He unfolded it with some difficulty and then looked at the Potions Master's chambers.
He spotted him. He was in his office. Harry looked closer on the map because he thought he couldn't see well and he saw the dot marking Severus Snape moving strangely. He closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again.
The dot was still spinning in strange zigzags before his eyes.
It must have been the alcohol's fault.
He looked around the map. Only in the Slytherin Common Room did he see a few students who were still awake, but he was surprised to realize that he could clearly see everyone else - that is, as clearly as his current condition could allow him.
He looked back at Snape's office. The dot marking him was still swirling before his eyes.
He put the map aside and his head fell limply.
He's probably just tired and drank too much. No wonder he's hallucinating.
He needs to get some sleep. Yes. Maybe tomorrow everything will look better... Maybe then he will understand anything...
Anything.
I don't mind it
I don't mind at all
It's like you're the swing set and I'm the kid that falls
It's like the way we fight, the times I've cried, we come to blows
And every night the passion's there so it's gotta be right, right?
No I don't believe you
When you say don't come around here no more
I won't remind you
You said we wouldn't be apart
No, I don't believe you
When you say you don't need me anymore
So don't pretend
Don't love me at all
I don't mind it
I still don't mind at all
It's like one of those bad dreams when you can't wake up
But I want more no I won't stop
'cause I just know you'll come around... right?
Just don't stand there and watch me fall
'cause I, 'cause I still don't mind at all
It's like the way we fight, the times I cry, we come to blows
And every night the passion's there so it's gotta be right, right?
I don't believe you*
* "I don't believe you" by Pink