Truth

9.

Harry froze, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. He felt sort of stretched, frozen in time. He was standing less than a foot from Snape, his right hand flush against Snape\'s lips and cheek, pressed against the prominent, hooked nose. He could feel Snape\'s breath, alternately warm and cool on his palm.

The seconds ticked by, and Snape did not move. Harry was beginning to wonder if this wasn\'t a dream; maybe something had gone wrong with the truth serum, and he was still in Potions class, having a bizarre hallucination.

But that was impossible; the potion had been Hermione\'s, and Hermione didn\'t make mistakes.

Snape looked...strange, somehow. His face lacked its usual air of studied intensity. His lips were slightly parted, pursed against Harry\'s skin, frozen in a startled expression that Harry had never seen before. His eyelids fluttered minutely, like butterfly wings. He shook almost imperceptibly; the vein at his temple twitched rhythmically, and the skin around his eyes was pinched, as if he were in pain.

Harry\'s arm was beginning to ache, but he didn\'t dare move. The moment was so charged, so fragile; any second now it would shatter, and reality would reassert itself. And then Snape might actually kill him.

His only chance was to run for it, bolt back to Gryffindor tower before Snape realized what was happening and went off like a bomb. There was no way Snape could keep up with him physically, and if Snape tried to hit him with a spell--well, he\'d dodged curses from angry Death Eaters before, hadn\'t he? He ought to be able to deal with anything Snape could throw at him.

Still, Harry did not move. His legs felt peculiarly heavy. Something squeezed at his heart, making it difficult to breathe. He could not take his eyes off Snape\'s face.

His mind screamed for him to go on! Do it now! Run! Hurry!

Instead his hand, shaking slightly, stroked down the side of Snape\'s cheek, his fingertips lingering over the thin lips. Snape\'s face was sandpapered with uneven patches of stubble, but his lips were unbelievably soft, like velvet. He traced Snape\'s mouth slowly, lightly, and the vein at Snape\'s temple throbbed harder than ever. When Snape exhaled in a rush of hot breath, a shock of sensation traveled down Harry\'s arm and shuddered up his spine. Suddenly, Harry was breathing very hard. Suddenly, he didn\'t want to go anywhere.

He swayed dangerously close to Snape, slid his hand down the man\'s neck and clutched the thin shoulder to steady himself. The next thing he knew a vice-like grip had closed on his wrist. When he looked up, Snape\'s eyes had opened, blank, bright slabs of obsidian flickering with little sparks of cruelty. The heat in those eyes took Harry\'s breath away.

Snape moved with the speed of thought, lunging at Harry, swooping down on him like a great bird, capturing Harry\'s face in shaking hands and jerking him forward into a deep, startling kiss.

Harry had kissed and been kissed before. But never like this. Kissing Snape was nothing at all like kissing Cho, with her soft, timid lips and dainty, hastily retreating tongue; nothing like kissing Oliver Wood, who had planted a firm, wet kiss on Harry\'s mouth in the locker room after the Quidditch Cup Harry\'s third year (and then blushed, stammered an apology, and never mentioned the incident again).

Snape\'s kiss was bruising, clumsy. He gripped Harry\'s face hard with both hands, pulling him forward, clutching him with clawed, trembling fingers. The world contracted to a single point, a single thread of awareness of harsh, hot sucking. Snape seemed to want to dive into Harry\'s mouth, twining their tongues together, making soft, deep noises that vibrated in Harry\'s throat. His teeth bit into Harry\'s lips, and struck Harry\'s teeth jarringly.

Harry\'s tongue was melting into Snape\'s, their mouths a tangle of searing heat. Shudders flowed through his body like hot liquid, turning his muscles to jelly. His knees wobbled and he grabbed at Snape for support, clawing his way up the long back, and finally locking his arms around Snape\'s neck, the invisibility cloak still clutched in one hand.

He was kissing Snape. He. Was kissing. Snape. And he liked it. It was an odd feeling, to be thrilled and horrified at the same time.

Thrilled, horrified, and suddenly, hopelessly aroused. Snape must realize--he couldn\'t help but notice--their bodies were so close, almost touching--

Snape arched his long body against Harry\'s, and Harry felt something unmistakably hard rub against his stomach. He gasped, pulling the air out of Snape\'s lungs in a burst of suction. Snape jerked away, panting.

For a long moment the only sound was heavy, ragged breathing, oddly synchronized, echoing through the hall. Snape\'s greasy hair was in disarray, his nostrils flared, his eyes wild. He was staring at Harry with an expression of...was it loathing? No, Harry realized, it wasn\'t loathing. It was panic.

\"Get out of here,\" Snape\'s voice was high and brittle. He was breathing hard, bent, almost doubled over, arms wrapped tightly around his chest.

Harry shook his head. He wasn\'t sure what was happening, and he wasn\'t sure where it was leading. But something had shifted in his mind. The disconnected images of Snape in his head--the sadistic bastard, the hunted teenager, the man who had touched him so gently that afternoon--seemed to have merged, and the sum and total was standing in front of him, snarling and panting and looking absolutely terrified.

Harry stepperwarrward.

\"I\'d rather not,\" he said, his voice surprisingly quiet and calm, if a little out of breath.

Snape glared at Harry, his teeth bared, his eyes narrow and bright. Harry did his best to keep his face impassive, his heart hammering in his ears.

Finally, Snape dropped his eyes. When he spoke his voice was quiet and rough, his lips still curled back in a snarl, barely moving around the words.

\"If we are going to persist in--this, we ought to go back to my rooms.\"

For a moment, the air around them seemed to gel with tension.

\"All right,\" Harry replied. A shiver of sensation moved through him. His skin was on fire; his head was swimming.

Snape\'s hands were clenched into fists, his knuckles whitening against his robes. He was glaring at the floor, his face distorted with frustration and disgust, but something about him seemed almost broken, overwhelmed. Harry could feel his own heart thundering through his body. His cock throbbed and rushed with sensation, bending awkwardly against the front of his trousers. His lips felt swollen and raw.

Snape nodded once, curtly, and turned his back on Harry in a whirl of black fabric. Harry followed him down the stairs, into the dungeons. They made several abrupt turns, and stopped halfway down a corridor that Harry had never seen before. Snape moved in close to a door and whispered a few words.

The door swung open, and Harry followed Snape through a spacious, dimly lit room. A few torches burned on the walls, illuminating some shadowy pieces of furniture. Enormous oak bookshelves lined the walls, holding not only books, but jars and beakers of all shapes and sizes, elaborate mechanical contraptions, and a few creepy-looking artifacts that Harry would not have been surprised to see on sale in Knockturn Alley.

They entered a short hall, passed a dimly lit kitchen, and stopped in the doorway to what was obviously Snape\'s bedroom. Snape hesitated a moment, then whipped around to face Harry.

\"This is your last chance, Potter,\" he spat. \"The door is behind you. Leave now.\"

Harry did not move.

Snape pressed his lips together and nodded briefly. He turned and led Harry through the open door.

The bedroom was completely dark until Snape lit the fireplace (\"Incendo!\"). It was smaller than the first room, and sparsely furnished. There was a large, unmade four-poster bed to Harry\'s right, and a bureau pushed against the wall to Harry\'s left, next to a closed door. A set of wilted-looking black robes lay on the floor by the bed, and a gray nightshirt was flung carelessly over a haphazard pile of books on a nightstand. Snape\'s eyes flickered over the mess.

\"I wasn\'t expecting company,\" he said.

Harry drew in a shaky breath, wondering what he was supposed to do now. The tension was unbearable, but he didn\'t what to say, how to start. It was a peculiar kind of torture, standing there, more aroused than he had ever been in his life, his mind racing, feeling terribly young and terribly ignorant. His hands felt clumsy and useless at his sides. Snape watched him intently, the long body shaking as if in a strong wind.

Finally, Snape spoke.

\"Are you certain that you want to--\"

\"Yes!\" Harry moved further into the room and set his cloak on the bureau. Snape did not object. Harry started unbuttoning his trousers, then stopped, stricken, and looked up anxiously. \"Do you want me to--\"

\"Yes!\" Snape bit his lip. \"I mean, if you wish.\"

\"I--I do.\" Harry stopped, suddenly bashful. \"Will you--\"

\"Of course.\"

But neither of them moved to take off their clothing.

\"Should we put the lights out,\" Harry suggested hesitantly, \"or--\"

\"If you would prefer--\"

\"Well, I don\'t care--\"

\"It\'s no bother--\"

\"No, this is fine, really.\"

Snape had a haggard, desperate look about him, and Harry was sure that he didn\'t look much better. He was lightheaded; all the blood in his body seemed to be rushing and pulsing in his groin. And Snape was so close.

Before Harry could lose his nerve, he closed the space between them in a few long strides, and reached up to capture Snape\'s face between his hands. In one swift, sweet motion, he pulled Snape down and kissed him hard.

Snape\'s tongue plunged into his mouth. And that was it, oh yes, that was it, the culmination of everything. The kiss was jerky and uncoordinated, unbearably sweet, exquisitely, explosively fine. Harry\'s mouth closed desperately around Snape\'s. Their lips bruised, and their teeth occasionally clattered together, but it didn\'t matter, nothing mattered except for the ragged, steady current of energy shooting through Harry\'s body, making his muscles tense and ripple, setting every nerve on fire. Snape clutched Harry\'s shoulders, and his hips jerked forward, an exquisite hardness jabbing Harry\'s stomach--Merlin--rubbing against his--oh Merlin--

Harry\'s knees wobbled. A spasm of sensation turned the world inside-out for an instant.

They tugged ineffectually at each other\'s clothing. Finally, Harry tore his mouth away from Snape\'s, disengaging for long enough to open the front of his trousers, releasing the pressure on his erection. Sweet Merlin, that felt fine.

Snape swept forward, catching Harry off-balance, his body connecting powerfully with Harry\'s. Harry stumbled backward to avoid falling. Snape\'s hands clutched ae bae back of Harry\'s head, pressed him into a deep kiss, raked hard over his neck and chest, then circled around to his back and clawed at the fabric of his shirt. The kiss was a tangle of hard and soft, wetness and heat, sliding, slippery mouths and faces. Cold air rushed into Harry\'s mouth as Snape\'s lips left his, slid over his chin and sucked hard along the edge of his jaw.

They were moving, Snape was steering them in what felt like circles and y way was stumbling backward, losing all sense of direction. Everything seemed to shift around them until Snape was the only solid thing in the world, and Harry clung to him. Finally Harry\'s legs connected with the high edge of the four-poster bed and he fell onto the mattress. Snape fell on top of him, breathing raggedly.

10.

Severus closed his eyes, trying to get a hold on himself, to achieve some measure of control. His mind was shattered and racing, his thoughts a cauldron of tenderness and loathing, panic, resentment, and anger. An alchemy of dark and light, boiling and blending and adding up to this wild, raging hunger. He wanted to grab the boy and shake him. To collapse against Potter and weep out all his sorrows and frustrations. He wanted to consume the boy, to feed on the light in those vivid eyes until it flickered and died out. To touch Potter\'s skin reverently, to worship him like a supplicant at an altar of light.

Potter blew his mind wide open, bathed it in cold, hard brightness, vast and dizzy, relentless and dazzling. There was no place to hide, not from himself, not from Potter. He was being undone, and Potter was the cause, and the remedy. To touch Potter was to be consumed by sweet waves of dark sensation, to drown out the horrible brightness with simple, overpowering desire.

Potter whimpered, and Severus opened his eyes. The boy was pinned under him, flat on his back, his trousers open and a pair of cotton boxers sitting low on his hips, his lips slightly parted, and his tongue glistened between them. His eyes flickered in and out of view as his glasses flashed in the firelight.

Severus swept the boy into his arms, one hand wrapped firmly behind Potter\'s neck, holding the exact spot where he had held Potter this afternoon to administer the truth serum antidote. Potter stared up at him, his green eyes wide and wild beneath the glass, his lips parted and slightly soft.

Severus lowered his body slowly over Potter\'s, drew Potter\'s lower lip into his mouth and sucked gently, then kissed him full-on, caressing the small tongue with his own. Potter made a surprised sound, an unbelievably arousing sound. His hands slid up Severus\' body, leaving hot tingling trails through the rough wool of Severus\' robes, wrapping around Severus\' shoulders, moving down his back and finally squeezing his arse. A wave of blinding sensation rushed through him and he moaned deep into Potter\'s throat. He was crushing the boy\'s lips, kissing him wildly, unable to prevent his own hips from grinding exquisitely into the heat of Potter\'s erection. So hot, so hard, even through their clothes. Severus was not going to last long.

He shifted his weight and let himself fall to Potter\'s side, allowing his hands access to Potter\'s whole body. His hips, which seemed to have a mind of their own, moved against Potter\'s thigh, and he made a high, involuntary sound, almost a whine. He ran his hand down Potter\'s slender side, hooked his thumb over a hip bone, (which felt very warm, even through the fabric of Potter\'s trousers) and finally moved his hand toward the hot space where Potter\'s trousers opened in a V. Potter\'s erection tented his boxer shorts, twitching in a steady, needy rhythm.

Severus propped himself up on one arm and circled his palm over the thin cotton. The fabric stuck damply to Potter\'s skin; he could feel the feel the softness of the skin and crisp roughness of pubic hair. Smoothness and heat. Potter whined, thrusting into Severus\' hand. There was something unbelievably pure about the boy\'s desperate abandon, his face shiny with sweat, his hands grasping and twisting at the sheets, his glasses slightly foggy and askew.

Potter\'s cock was burning beneath his hand. Severus\' blood was roaring in his ears, his heart pounding through his body. Potter\'s eyes were wide open, shining with hot and cold lights, and Severus was suddenly certain that if he didn\'t look away he would sink into those eyes and never find his way back. He wondered what he looked like to Potter, from behind those eyes.

11.

Harry arched upward into Snape\'s smooth, long-fingered hand, losing track of the sensitive, subtle movements, losing track of where and how he was being touched, aware only that a great wave of sensation was building in him, rising and cresting and threatening to crash. Snape leaned forward and his face swam into focus, the dark eyes flickering with gold in the firelight.

Harry\'s eyes slid closed as the wave of sensation overtook him. Snape\'s erection was moving desperately against his thigh, Snape\'s hand was--oh yes--sliding into the opening at the front of his boxer shorts, pulling his erection free. God--it was so good he could taste it, little wisps of pleasure, slightly metallic, curling at the back of his throat. The sliding, shifting pressure of Snape\'s hand--the sounds Snape was making, grunting hotly in Harry\'s ear--the hardness grinding against Harry\'s hip--and now something else was fluttering against Harry\'s hip in a burst of motion, and Harry realized that it was Snape\'s other hand, that Snape was stroking and grabbing at himself under his robes--it was just too much, and Harry exploded. His muscles spasmed to his fingertips and he heard himself cry out, heat pulsing through his body, explosions like firecrackers going off in his head; he was spinning, shuddering, drowning, whirling on the axis of Snape\'s furiously pumping hand.

* * *

Harry slowly came back to himself. At first he was only aware of his own gasping breath, and the last, illusive sparks of pleasure crackling through his body. Then he felt the cold dungeon air chilling his groin and stomach. His boxers clung to his skin in goopy patches, and there was a large damp spot on the side of his pants, low on his hip. But he couldn\'t have--which meant Snape must have--oh.

He opened his eyes and sat up, straightening his glasses. Snape was no longer beside him. In fact, Snape was nowhere to be seen. But a sliver of light shone from under the door by the bureau, and Harry could hear a muffled sound of running water.

Harry tucked himself back inside his boxers and stood shakily, holding up his sticky pants with one hand. He made his way across the room knocked at the door. The sound of running water abruptly ceased. Silence.

\"Er,\" Harry said. What was he supposed to call Snape? Severus? His mind balked. Alright, not Severus. But it didn\'t seem right to call him Professor after what had just happened. \"Er,\" he said again.

The sound of running water resumed, and he waited uncomfortably for another half a minute. At which point the door swung open and Snape stalked past him without so much as a glance. Harry turned and looked after him, mouth hanging open.

\"Hey--\" he called. Snape swept out of the bedroom.

Harry looked into the bathroom, brightly lit and inviting, and then looked after Snape. Finally he chose the bathroom, reasoning that when he faced Snape, he might as well be comfortable. He retrieved his invisibility cloak from the bureau, entered the bathroom, and shut the door.

He sat on the edge of the tub and tried a few cleaning spells, which helped some, but he couldn\'t seem to get the damp spots out of his clothes. Finally he gave up and zipped his trousers over his clammy boxers. He splashed his face with cold water, and finished with a perfunctory glance in the mirror.

He looked awful, his eyes still bloodshot, his hair standing on end, his clothing rumpled and untidy. But there was nothing he could do about it, so he shrugged and left the bathroom.

Light poured out of the kitchen and into the hallway. Harry squinted and approached uncertainly. Inside, he could see a small round table and an assortment of cabinets and cupboards.

\"Oh, do come in.\" Snape appeared at the far end of the kitchen holding a steaming teapot. His hair was standing up even more than Harry\'s, and it had an unsavory, greasy look, clumping together in tangled strands. His eyes moved over the wet spots on Harry\'s trousers, and he sneered. \"Have a seat. Make yourself at home.\"

Harry sat at the table, watching Snape warily. Snape dropped the teapot onto the table, stalked toward a cupboard, retrieved two mugs, and slammed one of them down in front of Harry. He dragged his chair all the way around the table, as far away from Harry assiblsible, poured himself a cup of tea, and sat. When he didn\'t offer Harry anything, Harry helped himself to some tea. There was no milk or sugar in sight. He took a small sip, and almost choked; it was nearly as strong as Hagrid\'s.

He took a deep breath, his stomach fluttering nervously.

\"Er, I\'m not sure what to call you now,\" he said. Snape stared coldly at Harry.

\"You will call me \'professor\' or \'sir,\'\" he said, his face stiffly blank. The fluttering in Harry\'s stomach froze and hardened, and something tightened in his throat. \"What happened tonight was\" Snape paused, his lip twitching, \"regrettable. I hope you are not operating under the misapprehension that it changes anything.\"

A short silence. Somewhere, a clock ticked.

\"So you still hate me,\" Harry blurted, before he could stop himself. Snape looked uncomfortable. \"Well?\"

\"There\'s no need to be melodramatic, Potter,\" he snapped. Harry leaned forward withlarelare that was worthy of Snape. To his surprise, Snape\'ss fls flickered away. \"I don\'t hate you,\" he said irritably, not meeting Harry\'s eyes. Words bubbled out of Harry\'s mouth before he could stop them.

\"You\'ve hated me from the moment I met you! \'Mr. Potter, our new celebrity,\'\" Harry mimicked. \"I hadn\'t done anything!\" Rather than responding with angSnapSnape seemed to retreat. Harry was expecting anger. He didn\'t know how to handle this...evasiveness.

\"Oh, hadn\'t you?\" Snape said darkly, staring fixedly at his tea. \"You were exactly like James, you know, the same--\"

\"No,\" Harry cut him off, \"I wasn\'t.\"

There was a short silence.

\"No,\" Snape said softly, \"you\'re not.\"

The moment stretched. Harry was now thoroughly confused. He could hear the vague, comforting rumble of the castle shifting. Snape stared moodily at his tea, his long fingers clutched around his mug. The silence between them seemed immense.

\"This...changes things,\" Harry said. Snape recoiled, his face twisting with a familiar sneer.

\"You really are simple-minded--\" He stopped short, and closed his eyes. When he opened them his voice was quieter. \"Think about it, Potter. Do you really feel differently about me than you did yesterday? Of course not. Certain things are...clearer now. But nothing has changed.\"

\"So you still hate me,\" Harry confirmed. He watched in disbelief as Snape actually smiled, a small, twisted, tight-lipped smile.

\"And I suppose you like me?\" Snape asked, amusement--amusement! lacing his voice. \"I put you under truth serum and left you to the tender mercies of Draco Malfoy. I did my best to turn your godfather and the werewolf over to the Dementors. Do I need to remind you of these things?\" Snape\'s voice grew colder as he spoke. \"Do you think I\'m sorry, Potter? Do you think I\'ve reformed?\"

\"But--\" Harry struggled for words, and his brain refused to cooperate. \"You--\" He tried again. \"We--\" Another false start. Snape seemed to be enjoying his discomfort. \"There was--\" And finally, he found his tongue. \"You can\'t just ignore what--what happened. Things have changed--\"

Snape\'s smile widened.

\"I haven\'t changed,\" he said, \"Have you?\"

\"But you--\"

\"Obviously not,\" Snape cut in, \"you\'re as thick as ever, Potter.\"

\"Oh,\" Harry said.

There was a moment of silence. Snape leaned back and steepled his fingers.

\"Do you remember your first year at Hogwarts? You and your friends were convinced that I was trying to steal the Philosopher\'s Stone.\" Harry nodded. Snape smiled nastily, his eyes gleaming. \"And you learned a lesson, didn\'t you? You learned that being,\" he paused briefly, \"an \'utter bastard\' does not necessarily make one evil. Right, Potter? Well, this is another lesson: an ill-advised wank in the middle of the night does not make up for six years of enmity.\"

Harry struggled to suppress a wave of fury and resentment. Snape was shrinking in Harry\'s mind, losing his humanity, once again becoming the spiteful, unfair bastard who Harry had resented since he was eleven years old. Harry was shrinking too, being pulled back into the familiar role of frustrated, righteously angry student.

No. He didn\'t want things to go back to the way they had been between himself and Snape. He remembered Snape in the hallway, eyes filling with terror, pressing against Harry\'s palm like a small child hiding its face, and later, the surprising gentleness with which Snape had held him. He did his best to ignore the contempt and malicious enjoyment in Snape\'s eyes.

\"I\'m sorry I called you a bastard,\" he said. Snape shot him a derisive look.

\"You shouldn\'t be. I\'m not sorry I called you stupid.\"

Harry\'s hands clenched around his mug. He did not trust himself to speak.

\"You cannot walk into class tomorrow expecting anything to have changed,\" Snape continued.

\"Don\'t worry,\" Harry said curtly, \"I won\'t.\"

Snape regarded Harry for a long moment. Harry glared at him.

\"So I\'m supposed to just forget about...this?\" he asked.

\"I certainly hope so.\" Snape said. He continued before Harry could speak. \"You need to get back to your dormitory, Potter. Breakfast is in three hours.\"

\"Yes, I\'ll have to walk back to my dormitory. Can I keep my cloak, then?\"

\"Yes, you may keep your cloak,\" Snape replied without interest, and Harry felt a vague stirring of disappointment. He gathered his cloak and stood up.

He hesitated a moment, and then marched over to Snape\'s side of the table, threaded his fingers through Snape\'s greasy hair (which was so snarled that he didn\'t get far), and pressed his lips against Snape\'s mouth. It was not a kiss, exactly. He was proving a point: things had changed. He could not have done this to Snape yesterday. Things were different now.

Snape did not move. His lips yielded softly.

Harry pulled back a few inches and stared at his Potions professor. Snape\'s eyes were closed, his face pinched. The only sound was the hiss of his soft, nasal breathing. Snape looked...exhausted. Defeated.

Harry felt his anger fade. He was suddenly very tired; his limbs were heavy, and his eyes watered. His shoulders sagged. The only thing he wanted in the world was to curl up in bed and forget that any of this had happened.

He picked up his things and moved toward the door. When he paused to look back, Snape was staring at him, his eyes burning with something that was not quite pain, not quite resentment. Harry turned away quickly. Swallowing hard, he pulled on his invisibility cloak and headed back toward Gryffindor Tower.

12.

Well, that had been sordid. And awkward. And clumsy. And wrong on more levels than Severus liked to imagine. The greasy old schoolmaster jumps his fresh-faced young student for a round of midnight wanking. If the universe were just, Potter would be in Dumbledore\'s office in a few hours, demanding that Severus be sacked. But Potter would never humble himself enough to tell the headmaster what had happened. For once, Potter\'s arrogance would work in Severus\' favor.

Except that Severus would almost rather be sacked than face Potter tomorrow in class, knowing that Potter knew that Severus hadn\'t a shred of dignity left. Once again, he had lost, and Potter had won. It was humiliating. Potter was half Severus\' age, and he was not even particularly bright, yet he managed to outmaneuver Severus time and again. Could Severus be blamed for despising the boy, for taking petty victories where he could?

Potter decimated Severus effortlessly. People looked up to Potter and his ilk. They followed him blindly. They handed him whatever he asked on a silver platter. He was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors charmed the world into overlooking their sanctimonious cruelty and careless mistakes. Gryffindors made messes, and Slytherins dealt with the consequences. Was it any wonder so many Slytherins had been so easily deceived when the Dark Lord arrived, promising them a well-ordered future and a place in history?

Severus\' eyes slid closed. What he had done...it boggled the mind. Potter was his student, of course, and half his age, but the pathology of what had happened tonight ran deeper than that. Potter needled at him like a splinter in his mind, a scab that Severus couldn\'t help but pick. He couldn\'t look into those oblivious, impetuous eyes without itching to drive a sliver of hurt and uncertainty into them.

The world seemed to be in on a conspiracy to convince Potter that he was some sort of superman, and Potter swallowed the notion with relish. Potter had been so impossibly lucky that Severus was beginning to feel it could not be luck at all, that reality actually bent around Potter, conforming obligingly to his whims. Severus was no better than anyone else; he had been charmed by the boy, hadn\'t he? Tonight was proof of that.

This was entirely Albus\' fault. Things had been...manageable before the Occlumency lessons; he had loathed Potter, certainly, but the loathing had been simple and straightforward. Now his feelings toward the boy were anything but simple, and fluctuated so erratically that Severus was becoming violent and unpredictable. His behavior had been monstrously inappropriate at best, bordering on criminal at worst. What had possessed him to give Potter truth serum? He had--Merlin!--he had built a sixth year curriculum around this mad obsession with the boy.

He simply could not control himself aroPottPotter, no matter how many talks he had with Albus, no matter how many times he told him tha that Harry was not James. Perhaps the fact that Harry Potter was not quite James Potter was the biggest slap in the face of all. He threw Severus completely off balance, alternately fulfilling and upsetting Severus\' expectations.

Severus could not leave the boy alone. He could not get Potter out of his mind. The world was in an uproar; there was a war on; Severus was balanced on a razor\'s edge between the two sides, and he couldn\'t stop thinking about a wretched sixteen year old boy. The salt on Potter\'s skin. Potter\'s single-minded, penetrating gaze; the way his thoughts moved shamelessly, recklessly over his features. Such a sensitive face, achingly expressive, vibrating like a finely tuned instrument.

Severus dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his temples. He was exhausted, and his mind was running in circles. Tomorrow, in class, things would be clearer. He would put Potter back in his place, sneer at the boy, make him seethe with a few well-placed barbs. And slowly, things would get back to normal, go back to how they were. They had to.

* end *