Secrets

He’d never felt safer in his life. It seemed that this morning, everything would somehow be ok. Harry stretched, feeling the warmth and safety that surrounded him. Then he noticed the other body near him.

Abruptly, Harry sat up, forcing his eyes open. Looking around, he noticed a very relaxed Snape lying in bed beside him. He panicked. The room was too small, too dark. He felt trapped, felt like the blankets were holding him down, hoping to keep him restrained for eternity. His eyes fell to Snape, and he felt his heart race. Why was he in a bed with another man? This was the sort of thing that only happened when…

He bolted out of the room, not caring what he knocked over. Finding himself in the living room, he knew he had to do something, anything. It had happened again, he just knew it. There was no other explanation. Frantically, he searched the room for something, anything, to take his mind off of the thoughts running through his heads. Drawers were opened, revealing books that at other times, he would have found fascinating. He encountered blankets, chess sets, others wizarding games, and dishes. Finally, he opened a cupboard to find something that would help. The cupboard contained liquor. Vodka, he knew, not that it mattered. He opened the large bottle and began to pour the foul liquid down his throat. It tasted the way that his aunt’s nail polish remover had smelled. Still, the taste didn’t stop him. He continued to pour the alcohol down his throat until his mind stopped playing the pictures in his head. Then, he passed out.
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Snape awoke from a restful sleep and rolled over, only to find his companion missing. This seemed odd to him. Opening his obsidian eyes, he looked around the room, half expecting to see Harry curled up in a chair. The green chair by the fireplace was empty, though. He felt his feet hit the soft carpet as he began his search for the boy. He walked into the bathroom, wondering if Harry had decided to take a shower. Everything in the bathroom was as he had expected, excepting one thing. It lacked the boy. Cream tile covered the floor, unmarred by anything. He exited, entering the kitchen. Everything there was in its place. He looked over into the living room.

It was a disaster. Chairs were overturned, books strewn about, blankets thrown over lamps and chairs. Every drawer was opened, its contents emptied onto the floor. He walked over, and saw the cause of the mess. Harry was lying on the floor next to the liquor cabinet. In his hand was a bottle of vodka, most of which was gone. His entire body was curled into a ball, as if he was trying to protect himself from something. Snape was horrified. He had no idea how much alcohol the boy had consumed. It had been ages since he had used any of his items in his liquor cabinet. He reached down to check on the boy, and when he was satisfied that he hadn’t drowned himself in drink, he took the bottle out of his hand, scooped the boy up, and carried him into the bedroom. Gently, Snape placed him on the bed and covered him with a blanket. Then, he went into the living room to clean up.

Hours later, Snape was sitting in front of a blazing fire, sipping a mug of warm cider. He was worried. Something had happened to cause the boy to find an escape. Luckily, Harry had been unable to find anything more dangerous than alcohol. After today, though, he would be hard pressed to find that. Snape had made a point of ridding his quarters of all possible intoxicants. He wanted the boy to talk through his troubles, not run from them. Running from his troubles was simply no longer an option. The boy would have to face his past, have to realize that he was a worthy person. Aimlessly, Snape began to think of Harry as being his. His to protect, his to care for.

Snape ran a hand through his dark hair and stared into space. It had been ages since he’d felt even the inkling of emotion towards another human being in this manner. Sure, he cared for his colleagues, in a way. He always made certain to send Albus a birthday card, and he never forgot that Minerva liked jolly ranchers. This was different, though. Every inch of his being wanted to help Harry recover. No part of him felt that he had a choice in the matter. It was not possible. He had to care for Harry. Closing his eyes, he began to daydream. He could see the two of them laughing over dinner, playing wizard’s chess late into the night. The two of them going on long walks for no particular reason, sitting under trees for hours. He could see Harry’s green eyes as he leaned in to kiss him…

Snape jumped. Such thoughts were not appropriate. Harry was his student. Even if he had feelings for the boy, it was wrong to take advantage of the boy. Wanting to forget the happy dream, he got up and began to find tasks for himself around the house.
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A train had crashed into his head. That was the only possible explanation for this feeling. His mouth was dry and felt like it was stuffed with cotton, not unlike a new bottle of asprin. Every part of his body felt as if it were being bombarded with pain. Blasted air molecules, thinking that they could just move around willy nilly, and cause him pain. Vainly, he tried to fall back into unconsciousness, hoping that then the pain would diminish. When this didn’t happen, he forced open his eyes. Though the room was dark, the perceived light nearly blinded him. His head swam as he tried to sit up. It was then that he felt his stomach churn. Instinctively, he ran to the bathroom, crashing into the walls.

The potions master could hear someone stumbling around in the house, using the facilities. Putting down the flask he was about to empty into the cauldron, he left his lab and wandered into his living room. He watched as a very disheveled Harry Potter stumbled out of the bathroom. The boy was completely disoriented and seemed to lack all motor skills. Part of Snape found this quite amusing, but he tried to squelch the urge to laugh. The boy’s black hair stuck up in every direction. He had circles under his eyes, and it was obvious that he’d forgotten how to dress himself, because his shirt was on backward and inside out. He crashed into the couch.

“Finally awake, are we Harry,” spoke an amused Snape. Harry grumbled a response, something involving butterflies or possibly giant squid.
“You should probably eat something,” Snape said. “You had quite a night.” He went to the kitchen and began to make the boy some toast, thinking that anything more complicated might cause him to be sick again. It was then that Harry began acting strangely, even for Harry. He stumbled over to Snape, fell to the floor, and began to sob.
“Please, sir,” he begged, “I need it so bad.” Harry’s tear filled eyes looked up at Snape. “I’ll do anything you want,” he continued, “anything.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Snape said.
“Just a little fix,” he continued. “That’s all I need. It doesn’t need to be big. Just enough.”
“Unluckily for you, Harry,” Snape spoke, “I am quite familiar with the symptoms of withdrawal that occur when someone is denied their intoxicant of choice. It is not my prerogative to provide you with any drugs.” Harry sobbed again, and began tugging at Snape’s clothes. His hands moved upwards, toying with his waistband. Before Snape could think, the boy had undone his pants and was pulling them down around his ankles. Abruptly, Snape pushed Harry away and pulled his trousers up.
“You obviously do not understand, Harry. I won’t give you anything. Nothing you do will persuade me to give you any drugs. You can talk to me. I can listen to your thoughts. I’ll even try to help you reason through your problems.” He stepped away from the boy before his pants wound up around his ankles again.

Harry scrambled to be next to Snape, hoping that he would be able to convince him to give him drugs. He knew that the man could get him some. He was a potions master, for crying out loud. He probably synthesized drugs.
“Anything, sir,” he said, “I’ll do anything you want me to.” He tried to undo Snape’s pants again, convinced that if he could just get the professor off, that maybe he could get some relief. He was again pushed away, but this time, instead of scolding him, Snape picked him up and carried him to the couch. Snape was startled, though, when Harry began to remove his clothes.
“Stop it, Harry,” he scolded. “That’s not going to get you anywhere. Put your shirt back where it belongs.” He wanted to scream, really. The potions master had no idea who had convinced the boy that he could trade his body for drugs, but he wanted to find them and throttle them. Another part of him, though, wanted to take advantage of the boy’s willingness to let him have his way with him. It would be so easy, he though, to just take the boy right here. Silently, he scolded himself, and realized that the boy was now curled up on the rug in front of the fireplace, shivering and crying. Again, Snape pulled Harry up onto the couch and held him in his arms, ignoring the boy’s pleas for drugs, attempting to soothe him by stroking his back.

They sat like that for three days, moving only when Snape forced the boy to eat and drink.