Liaison

Harry groaned a he shifted himself in the – what he now recognised through the fog in his head – armchair he fell asleep in. 'Merlin's-Great-Big-Hairy-Balls my brain is trying to bash it's way out my fucking head.' Harry thought – quite the feat I'm sure, 'I can feel it pounding my eardrums. Anybody get the name of the Hippogriff that ran me over?' Groaning again he burrowed down further into the warmth of the plush armchair – which seemed to thankfully welcome him into his arms.

'Wait – what? Arms?'

Harry turned his head to the right and got a great whiff of sage and musk – an underlying scent of wet grass and rain. It smelt earthy; divine; safe. Blinking, he took in the blurry strands of hair that caressed his face.

Black strands of hair. Not his own – too long for that. Reaching behind him, he almost fell off the edge – if the arms holding him didn't tighten their grip. 'Ok, so I did fall asleep on an armchair.' Harry thought trying to remember who had long black hair in Gryffindor. He felt whoever was holding him burrow softly into his scruffy hair and sigh – the body once more relaxing into untroubled sleep.

Sighing, Harry took in what he could see of his sleeping partner without moving – which wasn't much as all he could see where blurry shapes of colour. He frowned slightly at the rumpled white dress shirt his partner was wearing.

Ok, he wasn't in Gryffindor Tower – no one besides Neville wore dress shirts; which was rarely, and Neville didn't have long black hair. Harry took notice of the flat chest and strong lean muscles in the arms that held him. Ok, nobody had muscles that well developed in Gryffindor Tower either. So it was best to assume he wasn't in Gryffindor Tower. Which given the state his head was in and the position he found himself; it wasn't such a good thing.

'Male, long black hair, white dress shirt, not Gryffindor, well developed, lean – who the fuck is holding me? Better yet; where in Merlin's Beard am I?'

Not getting any answers with his current thinking, he tried to remember what happened yesterday in sequence to this point.

Woke up to Ron and Hermione arguing on how to wake him up, breakfast in the Great Hall – toast with strawberry jam and coffee with enough sugar to be illegal, run in with Malfoy – still a prat and acting like a 7 year old even though we're in our final year at Hogwarts. Ok, then came classes – it was a Friday so he had Transfiguration – finally working on our Animagus forms, followed by double potions – how I managed to get in, I have no idea, before lunch. Ron and Hermione was also arguing again; though they seemed to make up just fine if he remembered right. Ginny was acting a little distracted-

Ginny.

Now he remembered, and he wished he hadn't. Fuck, Malfoy? With Ginny? He felt nauseous and his eyes burned. Groaning he rolled over and dry-heaved over the side of the couch. He felt his partner wake.


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Severus was having a most wonderful dream-that-was-not-a-dream. Hell it wasn't even a dream so much as it was just a colourless blankness with a soft, warm feeling of contentment. It was rather nice, if he said so himself; in which he wouldn't – it just wouldn't sit right with his hard earned Bat-Of-The-Dungeons image he had carefully constructed over the years. Oh yes, it was worth all those years of practice, when he could now have first through to third years wet their pants with just a look. The older ones took a bit more preparation, but it was amusing all the same.

He borrowed down into the warm softness in his arms. It smelt nice; like a warm day just into Autumn when the leaves are just starting to fall. It was a very subtle smell, but in being a Potions Master he picked up the acute sense of smell needed for the job. Sighing contently he was just about falling back into a deeper sleep when whatever he was holding harshly turned around and start dry heaving.

Frowning – his eyes still closed – he slowly worked his way into consciousness. The first thing that came to mind – 'Fuck, I thought I promised myself to never go drinking with Minnie and Poppy ever again. I thought I learnt that lesson when they dressed me in drag after passing out on Minnie's bathroom floor.'

~Close Severus, so close.~

Frowning at the sarcastic remark his head, he took in the situation and finally registered the dry heaving and warm body in his arms. Eyes snapping open, he took in the pathetic state of his most hated student laying in his arms, head over the side of the couch, dry heaving over his rather expensive Persian rug.

'Why the thirteen levels of hell did he have Potter in his arms... in his personal rooms.'

~Well done. Now if you would just think back...~

Fire whiskey; amusement; the need to burn something out of my mind; suggested obliviates; Har-Potter; vague sense of pity; night patrol; Room of Requirements....

'Merlin's-Great-Polished-Wand. My godson and that-that Weasley chit.'

~Now we are getting somewhere.~

He winced sympathetically at another bout of dry heaving. 'Poor guy, he obviously remembered what I just did, I would be where he is now if I didn't have the slight advantage of tolerance to alcohol.' Feeling in a rare comforting mood – he would blame it on the dream-that-was-not-a-dream, the pathetic sight the boy looked, still being slightly drunk, and just living through that, he pulled the boy closer to his chest and rubbed soothing circles on the boy's lower back, whispering that it would be alright.

Potter finally stopped dry heaving, only to turn back around in his arms, burying his face into his chest and started sobbing. Wincing, Severus merely held the boy and stayed silent. If Potter was going to turn out in an emotional mess, he would just have to keep an eye on how much he drank next time.

The sarcastic voice in the back of his head snickered.

'Wait. Next time?'

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TBC

It's not much but all I have for now. I will try and update again in a bit. I'm currently in a writing rut. Any ideas or wants to go into the story, send some suggestions my way and it may help to get me out of my rut.