Truth

5.

Harry clutched the seat of his chair, letting the parchment fall to the floor. The room was spinning nauseatingly around him; it took all his concentration not to pitch forward or sideways onto the floor. His eyes were dry and burning, and his tongue felt thick and furry in his mouth.

Gradually the room stopped spinning. He pried his fingers slowly from the chair and flexed them a few times. He rubbed his eyes, but the sweat on his hands only increased the stinging.

Beyond the pain, beyond the burning humiliation, there was only one thought in Harry\'s mind: the need to see Severus Snape suffer. His entire being was focused into a single point of rage.

Harry pushed himself to his feet, hands braced on the back of the chair. The floor lurched sickeningly under him, and he sat down again with a thump. Gritting his teeth, he tried again, and this time he managed to balance on his own two feet. Breathe, he told himself. In and out. Steady. The floor shifted a little, then stilled. He cautiously made his way toward Snape\'s office, rapped on the door, and pushed it open without waiting for an answer.

\"Potter.\" Snape was standing behind his desk, sorting through a pile of parchment. He looked up with a nasty smile.

Harry charged forward, no longer caring that he might be overheard, or that Snape was a Hogwarts professor, or about anything at all except ripping that smug, self-righteous expression from Snape\'s ugly face as painfully as pole. le.

\"You utter BASTARD!\" he shouted, circling to Snape\'s side of the desk. To his surprise, Snape\'s smile faded. Harry was no longer thinking clearly, no longer thinking of anything but the rage pounding liquid fire through his veins. \"You filthy, slimy--how DARE you ask me those things?\"

\"How...dare...I?\" Snape\'s quiet voice was somehow more powerful than Harry\'s shouting. \"I? Little boys who cannot keep their sticky fingers out of other people\'s memories should not cast stones.\" He sneered ferociously. His voice was clipped, precise, supernaturally intense. \"Like father, like son, Potter. Both hypocrites--\"

But Harry wasn\'t listening. Six years of suppressed rage was bubbling up inside him, drowning out Snape\'s voice and spilling over.

\"YOU KILLED SIRIUS!\" Harry roared. Snape snorted.

\"Sirius Black died because of his own stupidity.\"

\"Don\'t you DARE talk about him! You aren\'t worth the mud on his BOOTS! You--\" Harry felt his face screwing up, his eyes burning, and he resisted it with all his might, focusing on Snape\'s face, anchoring himself in those bottomless black eyes, \"you--you GOADED him, you PROVOKED him into leaving, you KNEW what would happen, you WANTED him to die, you--\"

\"HE TRIED TO KILL ME!\" Snape bellowed, his face contorting, all semblance of control lost.

\"YOU\'RE GLAD HE\'S DEAD!\" Harry\'s vision blurred; his eyes were on fire, but he was past caring, \"You--IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU WHO DIED! IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU! I HATE YOU! I--\" Harry\'s voice broke into a wail, and he was swaying on his feet, sobbing like a child and beyond caring, struggling for breath, his whole life a battle between screaming and breathing. The world was dimming, fuzzing over at the edges, and he was clinging to something solid and dark, something that smelled of slightly sour, with hints musk and sandalwood...

The next thing he knew he was being held upright, Snape\'s hands clawed tightly around his upper arms, tightly enough to make his hands tingle for lack of blood. He had never seen Snape look quite so pale.

\"Get out,\" Snape said harshly, now holding Harry at arm\'s length. Harry struggled to find his footing. Snape let go so suddenly that he almost lost it again.

\"Now,\" Snape rasped, turning his back on Harry. There was a peculiar tension in the way he stood, as if he were almost overbalancing, straining to hold himself upright.

\"Now!\" Snape whipped around to face Harry.

Harry fled.

6.

Severus stood at the center of his office, breathing heavily. He passed a shaking hand over his face and closed his eyes, not quite sure what to do. He suddenly felt very old.

What had he expected to happen when he put the boy under the truth serum? That Potter would break and admit that his father had been an insufferable, smarmy bastard? And what if he had? What then? Severus had a vague image of himself, vindicated, standing over Potter. And even now the image galvanized something in his mind, and he felt himself tense, his mouth twitching in anticipation.

But then...there was the image of the boy\'s--of Potter, he forced himself to say the name, to attach it to the unlikely memories--Potter\'s upturned face as he drank the antidote, arching into Severus\' palm...Potter collapsing against him just moments ago, breathing in short, hot gasps...the flashes he had seen of the boy\'s own memories, of Potter bearing his relatives\' abuse with quiet stoicism.

He opened his eyes and looked down at his hand, still slimy with Potter\'s sweat. Shaking himself, mustering a feeling of disgust, he wiped the hand on his robes.

For the next hour and a half he lost himself in a pile of second year essays. One and a half feet on the uses of angelica root, and not a decent effort in the pile. He smiled grimly.

He emerged from the essays feeling a little less hollow, a little more secure. The anger had faded to its usual ambient level, and the dangerous memories had dimmed to the point where he could suppress them.

7.

Harry spent the next hour and a half in the shower. He stayed in the shower through Transfigionsions period and most of dinner, just standing under the scalding spray, turning up the temperature until his skin was bright pink and his head swam with sensation.

But he couldn\'t stay in the shower forever.

When he emerged, the mirror clucked at him sympathetically.

\"Been a long day, has it?\"

Harry shrugged, wiping the steamy lenses of his glasses on his bathrobe. He checked his reflection without interest. His skin was puffy from the heat. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen.

Shoulders slumped, he left the bathroom (\"chin up, dearie!\" the mirror called after him). His stomach grumbled gently, reminding him that dinner was almost over, and it was still empty. But he was exhausted, and the last thing he wanted to do right now was face dinner in the Great Hall. Maybe if he lay down for a few hours, he could sleep a little, and sneak out to the kitchens after everyone else was asleep. He crawled into bed, drew the curtain securely, and immediately fell into unconsciousness.

Harry woke in total darkness. He felt a million times better, except for his stomach, which cramped painfully. He hurried out of bed and into his invisibility cloak.

He was moving toward the door, tucking the Marauders Map into his pocket, when his foot caught on the hem of the cloak and he went sprawling into a pile of Ron\'s Quidditch Weekly back issues. The magazines scattered noisily and Harry pitched forward, landing on his stomach in the middle of the pile.

Someone snorted loudly. Ron shifted in his sleep and muttered something unintelligible.

After a moment everything was quiet, and Harry breathed again, absurdly grateful that Ron had not woken up. He felt guilty for avoiding his friends--Ron and Hermione must be worried about him, especially since he hadn\'t shown up for dinner--but he couldn\'t bring himself to face them, not yet, with everything so fresh in his mind.

The time he had spent under the truth serum felt somehow separated from real life. Everything had been different, in ways he couldn\'t explain. He had felt...invulnerable, as if nothing in his life could touch him. Supernaturally confident, because all the answers in the world were just hanging in the air before him, waiting to be picked up. For an hour he hadn\'t been afraid; everything had fit together perfectly and beautifully in his mind. He remembered a wonderful feeling of peace with his father and Sirius, and strangest of all, an odd feeling of tenderness for Snape.

Snape. His mind balked at the thought of his Potions professor. There was just...too much there; too much emotion, too much history. It was a mess of strange, powerful thoughts, and he wanted to stay well away from them.

Snape was a petty and cruel. He also was a victim. And a spy, and a Death Eater, and a member of the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore trusted Snape. Harry had seen Snape as a child, crying as his father terrorized his mother, as a teenager, awkward and vicious and bullied, and as an adult, ready to deliver two innocent men to the Dementors. Snape had humiliated Harry in front of the class with sadistic glee. Snape had carefully supported Harry\'s head while Harry drank the truth serum antidote. It was just...too much. He had to put it out of his mind.

Harry stood up silently, picked his way through the scattered magazines. He hurried down the stairs and through the common room. The Fat Lady\'s portrait swung closed behind him (she was snoring softly in her frame, and didn\'t seem to notice him passing), and he plunged his hand into his pocket for the Marauders Map.

The pocket was empty.

He checked his other pockets. Nothing. He must have lost it when he fell.

Right. Just brilliant.

Well, he certainly wasn\'t going to risk going back for it; in the dark, in this state, he would probably bring the entire dormitory down. Besides, with the invisibility cloak, he shouldn\'t need it. He would be careful. He squared his shoulders and continued toward the kitchens.

Walking through Hogwarts at night filled him with a feeling of quiet excitement. The school hummed with dormant magic. He felt a peculiar intimacy with the building itself, as if in the dim and quiet he could feel its rhythms. He crept past the sleeping portraits, down the stairs to the entrance hall, and down the corridor toward the kitchens. He glanced quickly about, and then tickled the pear in the painting, and swung it open.

Harry froze.

Severus Snape was sitting at a long wooden table, holding a steaming cup of tea with both hands. As the painting swung open, his head snapped up.

\"Potter!\" Snaose,ose, his eyes narrowing.

Harry\'s knees threatened to buckle, and a peculiar sensation of numbness spread through his body. He was not ready to face Snape, not now.

Snape moved slowly around the table, staring at the spot where Harry stood. He stopped in front of the painting and crossed his arms, long white fingers standing out against his black robes.

\"Potter, I know you\'re there,\" Snape whispered, advancing slowly, \"I can hear you breathing.\"

Harry closed his mouth quickly and concentrated on breathing deeply and evenly through his nose. Snape\'s eyes darted around impatiently, as if he thought he could strip the cloak from Harry by sheer force of will. Harry took a silent step back. And another. He told himself that he was safely hidden, that Snape could not possibly see him, but he was sure of nothing where Snape was concerned.

Suddenly Snape lunged forward, waving his arms wildly in the space where the painting opened.

Harry would have been fine, if he had kept his head and stayed where he was. Instead he scrambled backwards, tripped over his invisibility cloak again, and fell hard on his back.

A moment of disorientation. Harry\'s hand went instinctively to straighten his glasses, and Snape came into focus, standing over him like a great black bat. The hood of Harry\'s cloak must have been dislodged in the fall, because Snape was looking right at him, eyes glittering with recognition and triumph.

8.

Inexplicably, Severus felt his anger fade. Perhaps it was the look of poorly concealed terror on Potter\'s face. Perhaps it was because Potter looked so young. Perhaps it was because, in that moment, Potter was completely at his mercy. He sighed.

\"Get up, Potter.\"

Potter blinked, eying him warily. Severus stepped back impatiently.

\"I said get up. And take off that ridiculous thing.\"

Potter\'s disembodied head rose jerkily. A moment later his body came into view as he rolled the Cloak off his shoulders. He clutched it to him protectively, watching Severus with nervous, animal eyes.

\"Go on,\" Severus said irritably, gesturing through the painting, toward the kitchen. Potter backed away.

\"No thanks, I\'ll just--\"

Severus raised an eyebrow.

\"You will not go without dinner simply because you had the misfortune of running into me.\"

\"How did you know I wasn\'t at dinner?\" Potter\'s eyes narrowed. Severus was starting to lose his patience.

\"Dark magic,\" he snapped.

Potter fixed him in an odd, penetrating stare. To his horror, Severus felt his eyes shift away uncomfortably.

\"You--\" Potter suddenly smiled. \"That was a joke, wasn\'t it?\"

Mortified, Severus drew himself up to his full height, staring down his nose at Potter with all the derision he could muster. Potter met Severus\' eyes, and his smile died. He looked at the ground, and then looked back at Severus. Finally, he proceeded through the painting. Severus followed him.

An army of twittering house elves immediately assaulted the boy, giving Severus a few moments to collect his thoughts.

Obviously, Potter did not have permission to leave his dormitory at night to break into the Kitchens. Under normal circumstances, Severus would take great pleasure in confiscating the invisibility cloak and taking as many house points as he could. Although he was sure that Albus would have had the cloak back to the boy within a week. He scowled.

Tonight--well--it might be prudent to spend some time with the boy, he decided, to make sure that Potter wasn\'t suffering from any unforeseen side-effects. Besides, he didn\'t want to have to answer the inevitable, bothersome questions if the boy fainted from hunger before breakfast. Certain things could be overlooked, under the circumstances.

The house elves produced several sandwiches and some pumpkin juice at Potter\'s request. When Potter had convinced them that he didn\'t need anything else, he loaded the food onto a tray and sat down across from Severus. Severus sat stiffly, wrapping his hands tightly around his teacup.

For a few minutes, the only sound was Potter stuffing himself with food.

\"For Merlin\'s sake, chew with your mouth closed!\" Severus snapped.

\"Sorry,\" Potter said, looking anything but apologetic. He was tucking in a remarkable amount of food for someone so slender.

Severus cleared his throat. Potter looked up at him with trepidation. For some reason, this didn\'t please Severus as much as it should have. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

\"Are you...recovering well?\" he asked formally.

Potter put down his sandwich and wiped his hands on a napkin.

\"I guess so.\" He didn\'t take his eyes off Severus. They were puffy, rimmed in red, and in the yellow light of the kitchens, against his pale face, they burned vividly green. It was quite disconcerting. Severus fixed him in a glare, and the unsettling eyes shifted to Potter\'s shoes.

\"The eye irritation will be gone in a day or two. You can rinse your eyes with cool water to treat any discomfort.\"

\"Yes, sir.\"

\"The eye irritation an indirect effect of Semiveritaserum,\" Severus explained, not sure why he was still speaking. \"Truth serums tend to suppress the involuntary reflexes. That includes blinking. The eyes dry out fairly quickly.\"

\"Oh.\"

A short silence. Severus took a swallow of his tea, which had gone cold.

\"Why did you do it?\" Potter asked suddenly. Severus\' head jerked up from his tea. \"Sir,\" Potter added quickly.

\"Do what?\" Severus asked. But he knew. He suddenly wanted very badly to get away.

\"Why did you make me drink that potion, in front of everybody? Why did you let Malfoy ask me those questions?\"

Severus felt his upper lip curl. He was retreating, moving back into his mind, letting his mental reflexes handle the situation.

\"It was a class demonstration,\" he said nastily. \"I suppose you think you are so special that you should be exempt from class participation?\"

Potter\'s face went red.

\"You could have asked the questions yourself. You could have had--anyone but Malfoy--\" He leaned forward, his eyes burning, a new hardness in his voice. \"And I guess you had to keep me after class, too? It was part of the demonstration to keep me after class and say horrible things about my father when I couldn\'t answer back?\"

Blood rushed to Severus\' face. He suddenly felt nauseous.

\"I\'m warning you, Potter,\" he said softly, \"I will not be spoken to like that.\" Harry\'s mouth dropped open.

\"You will not--\" he shut it again with a snap. \"How about if I give you a draught of truth serum first? Then can I--\"

\"You are out of bed after curfew!\" Severus fought to keep his voice at a reasonable volume. \"Do not push your luck.\"

\"Are you threatening me?\" Potter looked like he was about to laugh. Severus saw red.

\"Keep your voice down!\" Now Severus was half out of his chair, leaning over the table toward Potter. The nausea intensified, and he felt briefly dizzy.

\"Keep my--KEEP MY VOICE DOWN, SHOULD I? YOU GIT!\"

Severus was on his feet, his hands stiff and flat on the table, his face barely a foot from Potter\'s face.

\"I WILL NOT BE SPOKEN TO LIKE THAT!\"

\"You\'re a coward,\" Potter spat through an expression of unmitigated disgust.

For one awful, dizzy moment, Severus was sure he was going to lunge at the boy. No. No, this was not James Potter, he told himself desperately. Severus was not a student anymore. Potter was a student, a 16r olr old student, and Severus was a Hogwarts professor, and there were protocols to consider. He had certain responsibilities. He could not simply whip out his wand and curse the boy into the next world. Stay calm. Cold. Impersonal. Take points. Give out detentions.

He drew himself up to his full height and glared down his nose at the boy.

\"Fifty points from Gryffindor,\" he said with as much derision as he could muster. Authoritative and bored, utterly disdainful. Perfect. \"And an additional forty points and a week\'s detention for being out after hours. Do not challenge me, Potter,\" he added preemptively when Potter opened his mouth to speak. \"You will come out the worse.\"

Potter closed his mouth. He stood still for almost a full count of five, glaring at the table top. Severus watched the struggle on the boy\'s face with fascination. Finally, Potter looked up. He suddenly looked like he was about to cry. Or start shouting. Or both.

\"Right then,\" Potter said shortly. A pointed pause. \"Sir.\" He snatched up the invisibility cloak from where it lay on the bench, marched across the room and stepped out through the painting.

\"Oh, and Potter,\" Severus called after him, \"I am going to have to confiscate that cloak of yours.\"

Potter whirled around to face Severus. He shook his head slowly and backed away, moving deeper into the shadow of the hall, hugging the cloak against his body. Severus stepped through the painting and followed. It swung closed behind him.

\"Potter,\" Severus grit his teeth. \"Hand it over. Now.\"

Potter\'s eyes were hard as flint in the flickering candlelight. His voice was pure steel.

\"No.\"

The situation was rapidly spiraling out of control. Potter\'s eyes cut into Severus, hit him in a deep, raw place, lancing old, unhealed wounds. Severus dropped his principles with a rush of joyobandbandon.

\"No?\" he spoke softly, advancing on Potter, feeling almost deranged. A spark of fear lit in Potter\'s eyes, and Severus felt a shiver of satisfaction.

But Potter did not retreat. Severus stopped, inches from the boy, who was, disconcertingly, only half a foot shorter than he was.

\"No,\" Potter hissed with sudden venom.

Their faces were so close. Potter tilted his head back to meet Severus\' eyes. His glare did not waver. Warm moisture from his breath clung to Severus\' mouth and chin.

\"You don\'t frighten me,\" Potter spoke in a low, intense whisper.

\"Oh, don\'t I?\" Severus said, his lips barely an inch from Potter\'s. He moved his head in a small, sudden arc as he spoke, tracing the line of Pot's j's jaw with his breath. Potter shuddered almost imperceptibly. A strange, relentless mass of energy was building in Severus\' body, a feeling that wasn\'t quite numbness, a tingling like blood rushing back into a sleeping limb, except this was feeling was centered around his--

Merlin. Oh, Merlin.

He was aroused.

Potter\'s face was changing, his jaw softening and his eyes widening. Severus realized that his thoughts must be plainly written on his face. He made an odd, strangled sound in the back of his throat. But he could not bring himself to look away.

Violent, uncontrollable feelings, old and new, whipped around his mind with gale force, decimating his common sense. His mind was a vortex, a howling storm of chaos and hunger, and the eye of the storm, the source, the singularity, was Harry Potter. Harry Potter, who was not quite James Potter. Harry Potter, who sometimes looked at Severus with something like understanding. Where did James Potter end? Where did Harry Potter begin?

\"What do you want from me?\" Potter said hoarsely. Severus could not speak. He closed his eyes, pressed his lips together, excruciatingly aware of Potter\'s closeness, of the heat radiating off Potter\'s body, and his own body, falling into a kind of helplessness, wracked with wave after wave of shudders. He needed to step back, to pull away before he did something dreadful.

\"Sir?\"

A light touch on his cheek. And, against his will, he felt his head turning; he was pressing his cheek into the touch, feeling as helpless as a child, and unable to open his eyes. He was melting, he was dying, his cock twitching convulsively in his trousers. He made a high, animal sound, almost a whimper.

He hid his face in Potter\'s hand, pressing his lips against the soft palm.