this is what we are fighting for?

The rest of the seventh year passed with Harry subtly avoiding Snape. He knew that now the man had incredible leverage over him and could order him to do anything and he would do it. No one else could know his secrets; he had wanted to take them to the grave.

As he had predicted, after the graduation ceremony ended Ron publicly proposed to Hermione, who, with a feminine squeak, accepted, as Harry knew she would. His mask was firmly in place when he congratulated the two, his voice holding real happiness for them. They deserved what he could not have.

The summer that followed was spent in a flutter of activity and anticipation. The bespectacled teen was not the only one who wanted the wedding planning to end; the rest of the Weasley boys had been left looking completely bored, yet through the planning and the parties that were hosted in different honours, the Saviour still managed to keep his unscheduled appointments at the muggle clubs. He had recently added dancing to the short list of things he still enjoyed. It was not the formal crap he was forced to manoeuvre through at the Yule Ball, but club dancing, which mostly entailed grinding into a perfect stranger and feeling them up with a swing in your step.

For once, Harry was not averse to the hands that roamed his body. With enough alcohol in his system he was able to forget the past, mostly, enjoying the present. He knew the hands wanted nothing he was not willing to give. These many hands touching him where fuelled by physical lust, they did not want his power, only his body. They did not want him dead, only more alive then he had the right to feel. These people did not want his emotionally scared person, only the shell it was in.

He naturally had never told anyone the details of his defeat of Lord Voldemort, about how all the known Death Eaters, and some other rather shady characters, had simply vanished. The guilt had settled in his gut and stayed, not un-ignored. It was not that he was feeling bad, just guilty if that made any sense what so ever.

The surprise of the summer did not happen until the eve of the wedding. Harry had gone out, intending to get soundly smashed and laid, hoping it would give him the extra sanity he required to make it through the ceremony tomorrow. In the muggle club, he had never intended to do it with a wizard; it would have been like going to the press and giving a first hand account of his stupidest moment ever, but when Draco Malfoy, who had defected to the light side, and a bunch of his likewise Slytherin friends walked in, Harry could not resist the temptation. It was like Snape had said, “its perfect blackmail.”

Unfortunately it probably would have been better blackmail if he could deliberately tell Malfoy who he had fucked; as it was, he was too paralytic to, and he dared not risk letting his secret out.

At the moment he was just another face in the crowd, having hidden the famous scar and leaving all the others bare. It was without a doubt that Malfoy would never recognise him; no one would, as they had no idea who Harry Potter was.

He waved a waitress over. Oblivisci, the club he was in, was one of the few places that still retained the tradition of waiters and waitresses. At the other clubs one had to get up and personally go to the bar for a drink. It was one of the main reasons Harry liked this club so much, as he could drown himself and not need to get up every few minutes to refill. He also found that he connected well with the name of the place, and with that he ordered a drink of hard liquor, first for himself, then something good but not as alcoholic for Malfoy. That done, he sent the flirtatious waitress on her way, but before long she was back with his tipple, and he saw Malfoy receiving his own. Harry was pointed at by the waitress, and in response he raised his glass in salute, before drowning the contents in one, a smirk firmly in place. It grew as he saw the Slytherin tip his back as well. After the blond was finished he started to make his way across the floor.

It was almost too easy, Harry thought to himself, but if they were going to come to him willingly, who was he to complain?

Unfortunately for him though, the troupe of groupies had followed their pale leader over. Harry could not recognise them all, but he was pretty certain that each and every one of them were the usual ass-kissers that hung out with Captain Peroxide. He just did not see how the other wizard could possibly have hair naturally that colour.

The Saviour leaned back, his vinyl pants squeaking with the friction as he waited for them to come closer. He signalled another waiter for a new drink, figuring that he could use one more.

I can always use one more.

He turned to signal, and when he straightened himself found that his prey had arrived, but regrettably there was an unexpected guest amongst the number, one that Harry had not counted on. He hissed and stood up, his eyes never leaving the sallow countenance that belonged to Severus Snape.

What the fuck is HE doing in a muggle club with Malfoy?

Harry questioned himself furiously inside his own head, whilst the man in question was merely content to just stare back intently. The Potions Master opened his mouth to speak, and started to pronounce the all too familiar name.

“Pot-”

“Patrick,” Harry quickly amended with a glare; he flashed a quickly innocent and sexy look at Draco, “but you can call me Tricks,” he continued, feeding the group the alias that he had created for himself.

“I had no idea that you’d be here tonight Severus,” he shot at his sarcastic professor, deliberately using his given name, enjoying the way it rolled off his tongue. The owner shivered.

“Tricks,” Snape started, emphasizing the nickname, “my godson here is responsible; he wanted to take me out for my birthday.”

“Your birthday?” the Boy Wonder repeated. “Well I think that deserves a dance.” And without waiting for a reply, to which he was sure would have been negative, he winked at Malfoy and dragged the Potions Master onto the dance floor, where he slowly ground himself into the man. He moved them across the floor in the process, until they were out of sight of Draco and his line of vision. It was safe to talk, although as they had travelled across the room, neither had been keen on talking, but both were unwilling to say anything about it. Aroused, sweating and looking gorgeously dangerous, they sat at the table that Harry had quickly vacated with a glare. There was a moment more of silence, and then he spoke, quiet and commanding.

“You need to leave,” the Boy Who Lived stated calmly.

“Why should I be the one to leave? Why not you?” Snape asked sharply, utterly unperturbed by the younger wizard.

“Because this is my domain, my sanctuary and you have no right!” The other yelled backed at his teacher as he lost his composure. The sight of a familiar, magical face, of someone who would recognise him in a jiffy and in his muggle sanctum, had thrown him completely. He did not like surprises; they were usually followed by pain. They meant that he was getting sloppy, and Harry was disallowed from being such, or improper, or broken…

It seemed that Harry was ill fitted to the description that people addressed him with. Severus had heard Harry scream before, and had even had it directed at him; the yelling was not what was bothering him, though he felt like reprimanding the Potter boy for bursting out so, and at a teacher. However, he was presently more concerned with the tears that seemed to be welling behind the thick mask that the Saviour had fought so hard to create. Even amongst the muggles that knew nothing of his past, or even his present, that did not praise him and land at his feet, Harry was not himself. He wrapped an image that he was not around his body; he used it as a shield against the harsh coldness of humanity.

Snape knew what it felt like to hide, to wear masks upon masks, until one forgot where the masks ceased and the real skin begun. One came to disregard everything; who one was and who was another. With this thought in mind, he reached out and lightly touched the hand that Harry had resting on the tabletop. The younger wizard started and looked wildly around before his eyes came to rest on the Potions Master, as if he had just noticed that the latter was there. He gazed into the onyx pools, getting lost in the dark world at their depths.

“Are you alright Mr. Potter?” Snape queried loudly over the music. Harry pushed himself away from the table, withdrawing rapidly. The other jerked forwards and caught his hand, repeating his question as he did so.

The Boy Who Lived laughed bitterly.

“Dear professor,” Harry started,” is there anyway you’d take yes as an answer?”

“No,” was the reply.

“Very well then, I have no comment.”

“You have been to too many press conferences, Mr. Potter; they have started to addle your brain.”

“I assure you my good professor; my brain was addled long before the press conferences.”

The tears that had been filling the green eyes were gone, as if by magic. They disappeared into the emerald depths; Harry altered his expression in the same way he altered his mood. Snape eased his grip off of his arm, but he did so and sat back slowly. His shoulders eased.

The boy would not break-at lest not yet.

The silence between them lasted only seconds.

“So, you are leaving?” Harry asked conversationally.

“I had not planned on doing so, no.” Snape answered as he looked around the room with a critical eye.

Harry slammed his fist into the table, hissing, “You need to leave, the wedding’s tomorrow! I need this!”

He was almost begging; Snape did not see him on his knees though.

“The wedding?”

“Yes, Ron and Hermione’s. Mrs. Wesley wanted a traditional ceremony. Do you know how fucking long I am going to have to keep it together? People will be looking at me and not the bloody bride.”

The famous teenager vented his frustration to a degree that left a small dent where his fist had hit the table. Snape looked intently at him, assessing the state of his mind as Harry felt bare beneath the gaze. It was only after some time that the Potions Master nodded slowly and rose from his seat.

“I shall leave you to your muggle entertainment,” The older man said ‘muggle’ like it was a dirty word, “on the one condition that you come to the Yule Ball at Hogwarts.”

Harry gave a muffled laugh, but it only came out bitter again. He could tell that the other disliked the sound.

“I truly doubt anyone would let me miss it-”

“Then I shall meet you in the Room of Requirement, just as usual.” At the savours curious glance he added, “Alone.”

And with that, he disappeared into the writing crowd, in the direction they Malfoy had last been in. Harry swore colourfully, as now he had to show up at the accursedly damned party. He released another string of vulgar words. He had lost his chance to bed Malfoy, as well as the opportunity to brag about it too. He would need to find someone else for the night. Travelling down, Harry made his way into the middle of the dance floor. When he reached what was approximately the very centre he began to dance. Within moments the floor was packed more tightly then before; bodies of both women and men were pressed against him.

It looked like would be getting some tonight after all.

The wedding went off without a hitch; Molly bawled her eyes out openly as Albus Dumbledore performed the sacramental duties. Within a matter of hours, Ron and Hermione were wed. The time for speeches came and went, with Harry saying the appropriate best man things. As a surprise gift, he bought the two newlyweds, who also happened to be his best friends, a country manor. He had plenty of money, and saw little else to do with his great hordes of gold.

He managed to slip away not long after that; a heavenly flask of firewhiskey made its holy way to his lips. To him getting soundly drunk and falling into unconsciousness sounded like a really good idea; it always had its appeal anyway. Visions of the wedding flashed before his eyes. So many people, all staring and smiling.

The lucky bastards.

They always had the opportunity to move on with their lives, or at the very least pretended very well that things were good. He did not get that luxury, and nor could he forget the past. He was constantly reminded that he was a hero and the “Saviour of the Wizarding World”. It was often said that one cannot run from the past; Harry wondered many times if he could manage it instead of staying here.

The flask was empty by this point in his ruminations, as the memories in his head drove him to gulp the contents down. He wished to forget the images

The world sucks, Harry thought, as he left without a goodbye and Apparated to Grimmauld Place.

The evening of the Yule Ball found Harry at Hogwarts, just as he had promised he would be. However, that did not stop him from wishing that he was elsewhere or able leave at any moment. He had to wait for that special moment to present itself, so he wait with a fag in his mouth. As he was the Boy Who Lived, he was allowed to smoke inside the castle, whereas other, more mundane and normal wizards were not.

Harry saw Snape several times before he finally vacated the Great Hall. The Potions Master mostly stood in the corner by himself or talking to someone individually. It seemed that he was as fond of crowds as much as Harry was.

The Room of Requirement was as its usual self when he reached it; only now the chair that usually appeared for Snape was already present. The bespectacled teenager sat, fag half finished in his hand, and grabbed for the bottle he was sure would be waiting for him so he could settle. It was not long at all before Snape arrived. The older man walked in without flinching at what the younger really looked like, and the latter just kept gazing into the fire anyway, his eyes slowly drying as the former took the empty chair and plucked another bottle from nowhere. His sour fellow said nothing, so he slowly turned his head towards him.

“Did you enjoy yourself at Oblivisci?” He asked the question in the hope of starting a conversation, for what he really wanted would have to happen later, when the boy was intoxicated.

“I indulged myself,” Harry replied cryptically.

The Potions Master said nothing.

“Is there a reason I am here?”

“I find myself enjoying your presence,” the greasy wizard answered.

“No date tonight?”

“A very special one, Mr. Potter.”

Harry hummed his understanding as silence descended. It was pleasant though, but both wanted to break it., and Snape was the one who managed to do so.

“Many people were staring at you, Potter. Everyone is awed by your very presence. Are you basking in it?”

“No.” The reply was blunt. “But as long as they don’t crowd around, I’ll be fine and they can continue to do as they wish.” Harry watched as the empty bottle refilled itself, the murky water slowly shifting the ratio of liquid to air in its favour.

“Is there something interesting in that bottle? Surely, Potter, after attending a school of magic for seven years you have seen it before. Refilling a glass is a sixth year charm, and one that even your incompetent fellow Gryffindor Longbottom has been able to accomplish.”

“Neville’s a very competent wizard,” Harry retorted, filling his stomach with the cloudy substance.

“You have not answered my question, Potter. I do not like to be ignored. I want to know what you find so riveting about an empty bottle.”

For some reason Snape felt the need to pursue this particular topic.

“The alcohol it contains is what fascinates me. The substance allows me to separate my mind from my body for a stint. The liquid gives me peace and relief, almost hope. The drink that burns soothes as it goes down; the addiction holds and keeps my attention. The addiction that always works.”

“I do not believe that what you are describing is an addiction.”

Harry laughed shakily.

“I am addicted to the smell, the taste, the pain as it travels down my throat. I constantly long for the unconscious state it gives me. I yearn for the feel of intoxication. I assure you, professor, that I am addicted to alcohol, as well as smoking. It would be impossible for me to stop with either-“

“It is improbable; not impossible, and I truly doubt that the situation is not as dramatic as you present it to be.”

Harry signed heavily; Snape appeared not to understand.

“Sir, I have what some might call an addictive personality.”

“It would be best if you give that angle up, Potter; not everyone worships you.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. It’s a muggle condition, a muggle term,” corrected the boy-who-lived.

“Then there is no wonder why it makes no sense.”

“It means,” Harry continued as if he had never heard his teacher, “that I cannot help getting addicted to something. I just have to be addicted. It doesn’t really matter what.”

Snape regarded his student warily.

“Potter, you are making no sense; this is all in your mind, you are imagining it-”

“I am not! It’s real! It’s a true illness in the muggle world!” Harry felt frustrated at the older man not believing him.

“Yes, and so is cancer.” The Potions Master muttered to himself. The conversation effectively ended there and then.

An hour past before Snape decided that Harry was drunk enough for what he wanted. He figured that, had the boy been sober, even half way, that the opportune moment might not have occurred, yet under the influence of alcohol, he stood a chance. He stood and moved to hover before Harry, who was slumped in his chair. A fag bobbed in his mouth as he drowsily watched his bottle refill itself for the second time. The older wizard loomed over the younger and tore the smouldering fag from his lips, before tossing the thing into the blazing grate.

“These things will kill you.” He hissed, leaning closer.

“Better them then someone, or something else.” Harry whispered.

There was a moment of silence, and then the Boy Who Lived breathed, “You’re awfully close, professor Snape.”

‘Awfully close’ was a slight understatement, as the teacher nearly had his mouth against those of his student, to whom he replied quietly, “I am, am I not? Does it bother you?”

Harry had no time to say no, as their lips met and sparks flew. The boy dropped the bottle of firewhiskey he was holding and instead cropped it through the surprisingly silky hair that Snape had. Said Potions Master slipped onto the armchair so that he straddled the boy. Their mouths remained locked and their hands travelled as the chair morphed in to a bed. The younger found himself pushed backwards by his teacher, who had not expected the sudden piece of transfiguration. All the same, they never lost contact with each other, and although Harry could have happily gone without air, so never ending the kiss and eventually suffocating in the process, his partner had much more in mind for the night… much more then just a particularly passionate kiss.

Snape broke off the kiss and reached down with his hands to undo the buttons on the expensive dress robes that Harry was wearing. The boy reciprocated the action with the black ones that his teacher was wearing; almost too quickly, the pair of them were only partially undressed, with only their boxers left on. Not one to be deterred, Harry started to lick, nibble and kiss every part of the sallow body that was now exposed to his ravishing caresses. The owner merely moaned to show his gratitude and compliance, but the former found that he was unable to reach that much skin from his present position. Therefore, he made an attempt to reverse things, but Snape being on top apparently had other ideas. He caught the pale lips with his own; a battle of dominance ensued, one that Harry soon lost.

The Potions Master managed to do some exploring of his own as his stained fingers traces numerous scars delicately and sensually. There were some particularly sensitive ones that he made a mental note of, and there was only one part of his pliant victim that he stayed away from; the left hip. This was because he had no intention of making the other uncomfortable, as that would probably follow on later.

Harry chose that moment to bite Snape, an act that dislodged the man from his thoughts as the taste of blood trickled into their tangled mouths. The teenager merely grinned and made his teacher growl deep in his throat; he all but attacked the boy and the swelling lips, spilling Potter’s blood in seconds. The two mingled, power rose and magic crackled in the charged air; if it was possible, their lust and passion grew to incalculable heights.

They were naked in a flash; there was no more time for foreplay as urgent need took over. Snape turned Harry, who was already begging for it, around. There was no time for preparation; the Potions Master pushed in hard and fast, turning the groan into a moan from the younger wizard. He pulled out a little more carefully, as he was more conscious of his partner, but with the same speed as his first thrust, he went back in. The Boy Who Lived bucked his hips and gasped for him to move faster. Snape complied, after he pulled almost all the way out, he slammed back and sent Harry into more spasms of pleasure. Encouraged, he dug in deeper, moving harder and faster.

Until finally the magic cracked and they both came; Snape still buried deep inside Harry, although he shortly but gently pulled his limp member out and collapsed beside teenager. When he looked at the latter and saw that he seemed to be coming down from a high or something. His breathing was irregular and his usually vibrant emerald eyes were dull and glazed over. It was some minutes more before Harry was able to form a coherent sound into a word.

“Fuck.” he gasped sharply.

He suddenly found himself in the missionary position with Severus doing a sort of push-up stance above him. The hook-nosed man leant down close to the Saviour.

“Doch ein Hure Schoin,” he breathed in his ear, “I am quite fluent in German, Mr. Potter.” He ended on a hiss; the youth in question went ridged at his words, and the Potions Master lifted his hand, trailing it down the said stiffened body. He came to the Dark Mark that stood out bolding on the bony left hip; he caressed it slowly, tracing the macabre design.

“Did you enjoy being fucked by the Dark Lord?” he questioned, a dark brow raised in silent query; his gaze and stance were unwavering. Green eyes widened until they were the size of saucers almost, and the voice that spoke came out strangled and small.

“What...how do you know about that?” Harry asked, putting more emphasis and more importance on the last word than one normally would for such a sentence. Snape took his hand from the cruel tattoo and instead stroked the cross shaped scar that the boy had on his face. The Saviour was unable to control his reaction; he flinched, and his teacher only smirked.

“Scared Potter?”

Harry said nothing.

“I know all about the events in the caves; the three weeks of imprisonment. I was fucking Luscius at the time for information. Tell me, is it true-he told me that you moaned most after being abused, that you had masochistic tendencies. I would never have thought... but I will let you in on a small secret of mine,” he eyes glinted, “…I am a bit of a sadist myself.”

There was no reply to that either; the emerald eyes though seemed lost and unseeing but for the unseeable. Old images of pain, of suffering, of pleasure, passed through his mind at an incredible speed; they still left an impression though. The one secret that Harry Potter hoped no one would ever uncover had been discovered. He needed-wanted-to leave immediately, but Snape was reluctant to finish with him just yet.

“I think we should test that theory. Shall we see if the rumours were true, for once?’”

Harry had been abused before; he expected to be smacked or scarified, or even stabbed. He had not however, expected to be bitten, and on the jugular at that.

“Shit!” he shouted, but this time with more feeling. He struggled away from his teacher.

“You’re a bloody Vampire. Those damn rumours were true!”

A/N: Sorry this took so damn long. I am lazy and was stupid enough to write up thirteen pages, only to realise I had to type it up later. Well that took a while, but as you can all see, I did manage it. There should only be one more chapter in this story. I hope you’ve liked it, and will read some of my other stories. Please REVIEW so I know you actually like it. Thanks once again to my beta.