Jarred by the abrupt removal of his warm support, Harry Potter watched Severus leave the table. Although Severus turned quickly away from him, he didn't move fast enough to conceal his features. Harry knew that few would have seen the pain in Severus' rigidly controlled face, or cared if they had. But Harry saw it and it sliced right through him. No matter how hard he tried, he didn't seem able to relieve his friend's burdens.

He knew Severus was capable of happiness. Those last two or three months together as children, Severus had laughed, joked, and played as much as he had. And, while Snape might be right that they were no longer seven-year-olds, that didn't mean that all the joy had to go out of their lives. That serious, frightfully intelligent boy he'd come to call friend was still buried somewhere inside the sombre potions master. Harry had frequently seen him peek out past Snape's guards during the last week. But every time he felt they were making gains, that black veil of misery would come crashing down over Severus and Harry would find himself dealing with the cantankerous man who'd been his nemesis throughout his school days. It was frustrating and downright maddening, but, mostly, it made him sad, because he missed that mischievous, sarcastic boy so much it hurt.

His gaze trailed the black-robed figure until Snape entered the men's room on the far side of the pub. Still worrying about Severus, he blinked owlishly around as the Three Broomsticks' normal torches came up to light the pub and tried to figure out what had just happened. He'd hoped that Severus would enjoy the evening out when he'd invited him to join them, and, for a while, it seemed he had, but then something had happened right before that last set that had disturbed him. And for the life of him, Harry couldn't figure out what had gone wrong.

"I don't care if they are using forbidden magic, the music is still wonderful," Hermione sighed.

"Yeah," Ron seconded in an equally dreamy tone. After a moment, his old friend asked, "What's up, Harry? You look a little troubled. You're not still worried about the music, are you?"

Harry gave a guilty start and stared at Ron. As with everything else in his life, things had been complicated between them since Harry's restoration to adulthood. Now, when he looked at Ronald Weasley, he didn't see only the friend he'd grown up with, but the man who'd acted as a father to him and guided him through the most confusing months of his life. While that enlightenment wasn't necessarily a bad thing, it did change their relationship in ways Harry couldn't begin to fathom. Before December, he could have just told Ron what was on his mind, that he was worried about Severus, but now . . . if he admitted to his own concerns, Ron's protective nature would surface and ensure that Severus would be assaulted by dozens of questions upon his return from the loo. Harry instinctively knew that that type of attention would only further hurt his reclusive friend. He didn't know what was wrong with Severus, but he knew that a public inquisition into his feelings wouldn't help. Which left him in the uncomfortable position of having to dissemble with Ron.

Jumping at the opening Ron had given him, Harry quickly extemporized, "I'm not worried about the music. I suppose I'm just a tad self-conscious about not recognizing those siren spells for what they were. I am the DADA teacher, after all. I should have known."

He wasn't proud of how easily his explanation was accepted. Ron's freckled face softened with understanding. "Well, it's not like there was any real threat to defend against, Harry. Only someone like Severus would have figured the music was charmed."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry tried to keep the accusation out of his tone. He didn't really believe that Ron would be putting Severus down in conversation after all that had passed between them during the last four months, but he was still oversensitive on Snape's behalf.

"There's nothing Severus distrusts more than his pleasures," Ron said in a soft tone that would travel no further than Harry. Once again, he was face to face with that part of Ron that was still new to him. He wasn't used to thinking of Ron as wise. For so many years, Hermione had been the voice of reason in their group. Ron had always been the rash one, prone to quick anger and grudges. Apparently, his stint as a stand-in dad had done wonders for him in the maturity department. Whatever was in his expression must have telegraphed his surprise, for Ron went on to explain, "You or me, or most people, for that matter, we just take our joy as it comes to us. But Severus . . . even when he was a seven-year-old he couldn't accept anything at face value. He had to poke at it until he was sure it wasn't going to hurt him."

"He had his reasons," Harry said softly. His recollections of his time as a seven-year-old were fuzzy. He'd been too young to fully understand so much of what had gone on, but one of his clearest memories was of that night when Severus had shared his family history with him and told him of the abuse he'd suffered at his grandparents' hands. Now that he knew, the effects of that long-term abuse were so clear. It explained so much of Severus' behaviour that Harry was surprised that he hadn't considered the possibility before, but, then, when had any of them ever thought about Snape as anything but an irritant?

To his surprise, Ron's expression darkened with anger as he gave a subdued, "Yeah."

"You know." It wasn't a question. He could see by the revulsion and fury in Ron's eyes that he knew all about Severus' tragic childhood.

Ron nodded.

"He didn't tell you," Harry said with equal confidence.

"No. I was passing your room on the way back from the loo the night he told you. If the bastards weren't already dead, I'd've buried them."

Harry was in no doubt of that. He knew how personally Ron took injuries to those he loved.

They both started as a burst of loud laughter from Neville and Melody reminded them that they weren't alone. This was definitely not the place for this conversation.

If the thought weren't enough, the sight of the tall, black-garbed potions master making his way back through the crowd cinched it.

"Harry?"

At the sound of his name, he looked behind him. Blaise was there holding a fresh pitcher of ale. The lean Transfiguration teacher looked very attractive in the Slytherin green robes he was wearing. Blaise reached around him to place the pitcher he'd brought from the bar onto the table beside Harry. He then bent down so that their faces were on a level and that they had a modicum of privacy.

"Are you all right?" Harry asked, concerned by the normally unflappable Zabini's troubled gaze.

"Yes, I just . . . damn, this is going to sound horrible," Blaise muttered more to himself than to Harry.

"What?" Harry questioned, genuinely worried now.

"Would it cause any bad feelings between us if I were to ask Eric out?" Blaise said in a rush. "We were talking at the bar and . . . ."

Harry nearly laughed aloud as the relief rushed through him. That was what was worrying Blaise? "Of course, it wouldn't cause any bad feelings, you berk. I stopped pining over you years ago."

To his delight, Zabini's round cheeks turned red. "It wasn't me I thought you'd be upset about. I know you and Eric – "

"Are acquaintances," Harry firmly finished. "I'd be happy if the two of you had some fun together."

"Really?" Blaise asked as if that were the most incomprehensible concept on the planet.

"Really. Now run along and have a good time. Just be sure you keep your calendar straight if he agrees," Harry counselled.

"Thanks, mate. You're the best," Blaise grinned, giving Harry's shoulder a quick squeeze before he hurried off to rejoin Kendil at the bar.

It seemed that no sooner had Blaise's hand left his shoulder than Severus was sliding into his seat beside him. Harry couldn't help but take a deep breath of the scents that Severus carried with him. The smoke from the bar overwhelmed nearly everything, even that sharp, chemical fragrance that came from Snape's frequent contact with the malodorous ingredients in his potions. No matter how much Severus bathed, those chemical smells always lingered on his skin and clothes, but beneath those, Harry could smell something else, something sweet and spicy that the younger Severus hadn't smelled of.

Realizing that it was rather rude and more than a little peculiar to be sitting here sniffing his friend, Harry raised his gaze to Snape's face. Severus was pale and drawn, his dark eyes filled with pain. He looked weary to the bone.

Yet, Severus seemed to rally as their gazes touched. He asked in a droll, quiet tone that was only slightly forced, "Pining over Zabini?"

Harry sighed. Some things never changed. Eavesdropping was still a favoured form of information gathering for Severus. He knew he should be angry, but the sheer gall of the man impressed him as always. Only Severus Snape would openly question him about something that he shouldn't have been privy to in the first place. So he gave a self-conscious grimace and whispered back as matter-of-factly as possible, "Blaise and I had a brief fling in seventh year."

"You were a victim of the infamous Zabini Romantic Roulette?" Severus hissed directly into his ear, sounding angry as a striking rattlesnake.

Harry stared into that familiar face, that was furious on his behalf at the moment. As ever, he was startled by how protective Severus could be. Snape might joke in front of the others about knocking him off and assuming his DADA position, but the instant an outside threat was perceived Severus became as protective as Ron. Even though it was really none of Severus' business, he quickly assured, "No, nothing like that. We were too young and the house pressures were just too much for either of us to handle."

"You're not too young anymore," Severus seemed to force himself to point out.

"Maybe, but . . . ." Harry shrugged, not knowing how to explain. "Muggles talk about something called a window of opportunity. Ours closed years ago."

"Windows can be reopened," Severus pointed out.

"Once it closes, you can't get it back."

"Do you want it back?" Snape asked.

That was another thing he normally admired about the man, how Severus wasn't afraid to ask those hard questions. He gave a slow shake of his head. "No. His friendship's too important to risk these days. I just wish – "

"If you two don't stop whispering like that, people are going to start to talk," Fred Weasley's laughter-filled observation made Harry jump. "Ouch, Ron! What was that in aid of?"

Having nearly forgotten that they weren't alone, Harry looked over to where an angry Ron was glowering at his older brother Fred, who was rubbing at his ribs as though they hurt.

"I told you that you both were to be on your best behaviour tonight or else!" Ron growled.

"Or else what?" Fred challenged with his typical disregard of common sense.

"Or you'd answer to me is what," Ron quickly shot back.

"You and whose army?" Fred laughed at his younger brother, which was always a mistake.

Before things could progress any further, Hermione's sharp voice cracked across the table, "I, for one. That's enough, Fred."

"Bloody hell! Can't a feller have some fun?" Fred complained. "I was just – "

"Running your mouth," George said from his other side. "Let it go, little brother."

"I'm not the little brother!" Fred protested. "You're the one who was born . . . ."

As the long, familiar argument started up between the twins again, everyone else at the table relaxed.

Harry glanced back at Severus, who was white as a ghost beside him.

"What is it?" Harry questioned.

To his surprise, Ron seemed to have a better handle on what was going on with Severus than he did, for Ron counselled from Severus' other side, "Just ignore Fred. He's an idiot." He watched as Ron gave Severus' back a quick pat before continuing with, "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm ready for bed."

"Yes, it is getting late," Hermione said from Snape's far side, with a mischievous light in her eyes and the hint of a blush in her cheeks.

"Do you two want to stay?" Ron asked them, as though they were still seven and unable to make it back to Hogwarts on their own.

Before Harry could answer, Severus replied, "I'm ready to leave . . . unless you'd like to remain?"

He wasn't really surprised by Severus' offer to stay with him. He didn't need to be as intelligent as his companion to see that Severus didn't want to linger here once Ron and Hermione's buffering presence was removed, but he was willing to suffer it for his sake. Severus had been loyal like that when they'd been in the Hogsmeade school together, too, Harry remembered, thinking of his protective, dark shadow. Although he'd never initiate the socializing, Severus had always been willing to join him when he interacted with the other children, but as soon as Harry removed himself from the activity, Severus inevitably followed him. But Severus never left him first, no matter how uncomfortable the other boys had made staying.

"Nah, it's late. Let's go. Goodnight, you lot," Harry said to those still at the table. Considering how close Melody and Neville were sitting, Harry didn't think they'd be hanging around much longer.

As they gathered their cloaks under a barrage of goodbyes, Harry heard Fred protesting, "It's no fun since you all went and got yourselves paired off. George and me end up staring at each other with nothing to say all night after you leave."

"So go over and stare at Adriana and her sisters instead," Harry answered.

"Harry!" Hermione protested.

"You think?" Fred cheered up immediately.

"Yeah. Tell her I sent you," Harry said with what he hoped was an innocent smile.

"Ta, mate. Come on, George. Let's go," Fred said.

"You really think we should, Harry?" George questioned.

"Why not? She's tried to join us often enough. Turn about's fair play, right?" Harry answered, securing his cloak.

"Right you are," George said. In a blur of red hair, grey and black motion, and rushed goodbyes, the twins deserted the table.

"That was cruel, Harry," Hermione said once her brothers-in-law had cleared out.

"To whom?" Severus asked in that deep, droll voice that cracked him up every time.

For a moment, Hermione appeared lost for words, but then she smiled, giggled, and said, "Perhaps you're right. She does have it coming. But really, Harry! Both Fred and George at once! Adriana will never forgive you."

"That's what I'm counting on," he laughed and then elbowed Ron in the ribs. "Stop gaping at them and hurry up before she tosses them back our way."

"Er, right," Ron said. "'Night, Neville, Melody."

"Send him back to us in one piece on Monday, Mellie. There isn't anyone who can cover Herbology," Harry said to Neville's blushing companion.

"Harry!" Hermione was reprimanding again.

"Where'd Blaise disappear to?" Ron asked.

"He's over there at the bar with Eric," Harry said, giving a wave to Zabini, who was glancing his way at the moment.

Zabini grinned and waved back.

His old friend looked good next to the tall blond. With any luck, tonight's events might put an end to two awkward situations. Hermione was right in that Adriana would never forgive him for siccing the Weasley twins on her, while it was clear that Blaise and Eric were getting along famously.

With a final flurry of farewells, the four of them left the pub.

The night was cold, but surprisingly clear and dry for April. Harry pulled his cloak closer to him and watched Severus do the same. "Is it too cold for you?"

Severus gave a negative shake of his head, his dark eyes slipping past Harry to something off to their right.

Harry followed his gaze to where the Hogsmeade school sat in moonlit silence at the far end of the road. Its deserted playground and quidditch pitch looked terribly lonely. Harry knew that while it had hurt him to leave behind that world they'd inhabited for such a short time, it had damn near killed Severus to lose it.

Not knowing what to say, Harry bit his lower lip and gave his friend's arm a squeeze. Snape's eyes turned to him, his wounded soul visible for a moment before Severus got control over himself. Harry didn't know how the other man lived with the level of pain he stuffed away on a daily basis.

"You two all right?" Ron asked from their other side.

Severus started and jerked almost guiltily away from him. He did that every time someone interrupted them, Harry realized, confused by the knee-jerk reaction.

"Yes," Harry said, forcing his attention to the other Gryffindors.

Hermione had her hood up against the cold and was already nestled under Ron's arm. Harry knew from past experience precisely how long they'd be aware of the outside world. They'd been married for nearly ten years now and still behaved like newlyweds half the time. It made him feel good to know that love was real, and could last; even if it wasn't something he was destined to experience himself.

Ron was still seeing him at the moment and gave both him and Severus a bright grin. "Guess we're off, then."

"Yeah," Harry said and fell into step beside his old friends, with Severus on his left.

When they'd passed most of the closed shops, Harry glanced over at Hermione and softly said, "It feels strange to be walking this road without holding your hand."

Hermione giggled and replied from the haven of Ron's embrace, "I know. It was all I could do to let you two drink tonight. Did you enjoy yourself, Severus?"

"It was . . . enlightening," Severus quietly answered.

"Is that a yes or no?" Ron asked.

"If pressed, I'd say it was bearable," Severus finally allowed.

His two closest male friends were really polar opposites, Harry realized as Ron soldiered on with, "Does that mean you'll come again next week?"

"Perhaps," Severus said.

"It was good having you there," Hermione said.

"Yeah, thanks for coming," Ron added. "I can't remember the last time anyone put the twins in their place."

"Then you're forgetting last Christmas," Hermione quickly reminded.

As the couple fell to good-natured squabbling, Severus and he drifted back a little. It felt very much like their walks over the last few months when Severus and he would either follow or precede Hermione and Ron. Of course, most of those times they were either playing tag or plotting mischief in subdued giggles, so tonight was a little different. But somehow, it still felt the same. Walking here with Severus beside him in the dark as they followed Ron and Hermione home made him feel strangely at peace. That empty ache he'd had inside for so many years that it had become a part of him wasn't there when he was with Severus.

The shops and houses that were crowded together in town slowly gave way to open fields, farmsteads, and the stretches of wild wood that lay between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts.

"Why do you walk back?" Severus said after a while, even his deep voice hushed in the darkness. By the full moon's light, he was all silver and shadow, his eyes black as ink, his skin corpse white.

Harry chuckled and gestured with his chin to where Ron was stealing a quick kiss. "Look ahead of us."

"Ah, I see." A few minutes later, Severus questioned, "May I ask something of a personal nature?"

He'd been expecting this question since Adriana had come to their table tonight. Even so, Harry's stomach clenched up as though a fist were closing around it. But he kept his voice steady as he answered, "Sure."

Severus seemed to be as nervous asking the question as Harry was waiting for it. "I was somewhat . . . perplexed by certain incidents tonight. That business with that Veela woman and Fred Weasley's comment . . . ."

"What did they tell you when you asked about it?" Harry questioned. At Severus' irritated scowl, he continued, "You don't really expect me to believe that you sat there silent after that scene? What did they say?"

"That someone hurt you and you don't date anymore," Severus succinctly answered.

Well, it was true, if not the full story.

"Was that all Hermione said?" Harry probed.

"How did you know it was Hermione who told me?"

"If Ron had told you, you wouldn't have any questions," Harry said. "He doesn't know the meaning of discretion."

A rueful lift of Severus' left eyebrow told him Severus agreed with his assessment far clearer than any words could have.

"It doesn't seem in character for you to give up after a bad experience," Severus ventured at last, still sounding uneasy with his topic.

Harry was surprised by how much emotion he could hear in Severus' carefully modulated voice when he listened for it.

"It wasn't a bad experience," he answered, trying not to sound as petulant as a child. "It was a lifetime worth of them."

"You are only twenty-eight years old," Severus replied in a condescending tone that was guaranteed to get his dander up. "That is hardly a decade of dating experience, let alone a lifetime's worth of it."

"Yeah, well you try being me for a while and see how you feel about it," he shot back, following it up almost immediately with a short, "Sorry."

After a few more steps, Severus quietly asked, "Is it something you could tell me about or is it too private?"

Harry glanced over at his companion. Severus was nothing but a thick shadow beneath the fragrant pine trees through which the road was currently passing. Everything about Snape was so dark – his clothes, his visage, his past . . . even his outlook. For the past week, Harry had been trying to firmly exorcise all thoughts of their prior adversarial relationship from his consciousness and concentrate on forging a friendship with this man, but all the times that Snape had ridiculed and persecuted him in his class were suddenly there between them like a wall of stone as he considered Severus' request.

How could he expose something like this to that ruthless cynicism? Severus' sarcasm had finished better men than he. Yet, how could he refuse? This was the first time Severus had ever asked for his trust on any level. How many times over the last five months had he asked Severus to trust him? Each and every time, Severus had, albeit, grudgingly. There was no way he could refuse in good conscience, not without letting Severus know in the bluntest way possible that he didn't trust him.

Taking a deep breath, Harry decided to risk it. Either Severus was really his friend or he wasn't. This was one way of proving it. "It's private – or as private as anything gets with me – but . . . I'll tell you. Basically, it's a perception problem."

"A perception problem?" Severus echoed.

"Did you ever think what it's like to be the Boy Who Lived – the much lauded hero of the press who was supposed to free the Wizarding World of Voldemort's shadow forever, even though I didn't have a clue as to how I was supposed to go about it?"

Severus gave a tight, "You did it."

And that answer told Harry how far they truly had come. Six months ago, Snape would have been off on a tirade about his incredible egotism.

Taking heart from that small show of faith, Harry firmly corrected, "No, we did it. You, Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Lupin, Tonks, the Weasleys, and a lot of others. I couldn't have done anything without you all, but no one ever saw that."

"I don't understand what the one subject has to do with the other," Severus said in a controlled tone. "We were discussing your private life."

"I never had a private life, not from the moment my name was drawn in that damn Triwizards' Tournament. Every detail about the Boy Who Lived was plastered over every damn newspaper and periodical in the Wizarding World. And when they couldn't get any true details, they'd make them up."

"I can see where that would be irritating, but – "

"Everybody thought they knew me, but it wasn't the real me. It was some media creation that people like Rita Skeeter cooked up to sell newspapers. People either liked or hated me on sight, but it was never for anything the real me had done; it was for whatever line the media was taking that week. It's like . . . everybody wants a piece of me. When I walk into a pub, every eligible witch in the place usually wants to marry me and every man with those types of leanings wants to bugger me, but it's not me that they really want, it's some superhero the papers have made up, someone who doesn't exist. And when I fall short of that fantasy image they've got . . . it's like I've betrayed them on a personal level."

"I can see where that might be true for many, but not everyone can be blinded by the media," Severus softly said.

"Can't they?" Harry challenged.

"There is an entire world out there that doesn't know of your existence, Harry. A world with which you are very familiar."

"That's true. I could find a Muggle lover, and spend the rest of my life keeping secrets or drag him into the freak show that's my life," he said.

"Do you really see your life that way?" Severus sounded startled, which was funny, really, when coming from a man who viewed his own life as an endurance test.

Harry shrugged. "Not when I'm here at Hogwarts or with my friends, but anytime I'm dealing with strangers or possible lovers, then, yes, it does feel that way. I mean, think about it. I don't know anything about whomever I meet, but they automatically know my entire history the second they see my scar. Then I'm not just a bloke they've met in the pub, I become this fantasy person who can never live up to their expectations. It's like being an actor in a play without ever really knowing what role you're playing."

"It sounds rather like people's response to my Dark Mark," Severus said at last in a pensive tone. "They don't know a single fact about me, but they judge me by what they think they know."

Shocked, Harry realized that Severus was right. "See, I told you we had a lot in common."

The lightness he'd forced into his tone went straight over Severus' head. When his friend replied, it was in that same troubled voice. "Has there never been anyone who didn't . . . cast you into roles?"

"I thought there was, once. The last time I really tried to make something work. I thought I'd found someone who could see past all that media hullabaloo."

"And he couldn't?"

Harry tried to figure out a way of telling this without sounding the idiot he'd been. In the end, he had nothing but the truth. So, he took a deep breath and said it. "Oh, he could see past the media hype all right. He just couldn't see past my Gringotts' account. It took me nearly two years to see that he had more interest in my money than me, and even then . . ." He closed his eyes, remembering that horrible night. Finally, he reopened them and stared firmly down at the road beneath his boots as he finished, "Well, it wasn't until I caught him bragging to his latest paramour about what a fool I was when I apparated home early from a cancelled foreign quidditch match that I finally bought a clue."

"Ah," Severus said and asked in his normal sarcastic tone, "And who was this bastion of virtue?"

Hearing the barely concealed anger in the question, Harry debated saying anything else. It had taken all he and Hermione could do to keep Ron from cursing the bastard. He knew Severus never thought straight when his anger came into play. It was actually the only time this highly intellectual man allowed his emotions to rule, usually to Severus' own detriment.

"It's all ancient history now," Harry said, trying to underplay it.

"Which is why you don't date – because it's such ancient history."

"Sarcasm, thy name is Snape," Harry tried to joke.

"Be that as it may, this wound clearly isn't history – ancient or otherwise."

In his own mixed up way, Severus really was attempting to be helpful, Harry realized, but this pain was still too raw for him to have any perspective on it. "What difference does it make? It's done and over now."

"It is neither done nor over if the event hurt you so badly that you can't even date years after the fact," Severus pointed out with a surprising show of calm.

It was he himself who was lacking that attribute as he shot back, "What does it matter if I date? Why is this such a big deal to everyone? Why should you even care?"

Harry nearly groaned as he realized how loudly he'd spoken. Ron and Hermione hadn't slowed down in front of them, but their heads were no longer pressed intimately together. He knew they were listening.

There was a long silence and then Severus said, "Your friends would like to see you happy, and beyond that . . . there is a certain injustice to this that rankles."

"Injustice? What do you mean?" Harry asked in a far calmer voice.

"From the time you first came to Hogwarts, Albus made allowances for you that were not in your best interests, against my loud protests, I might add."

Harry bit his tongue to keep in check the bitterness the memories of their school day encounters always raised, settling on a tight, "Yeah, I remember how concerned you were about those allowances."

"Contrary to what you might think or may have believed at the time, it wasn't merely mean-spiritedness on my part; although I will admit I took a great deal of glee in catching you at the time."

"Then what was it about? I know you hated me because I looked like my dad – "

"It wasn't about your father," Severus quickly said. "It was about an eleven year old child who was expected to somehow save us all from the most malevolent dark wizard to have risen in a thousand years. That was a terrible burden to place upon so thin a pair of shoulders."

Thinking that he heard truth in those words, Harry softly asked, "So you're saying you were mean to me for my own good?"

Severus actually gave a sharp, mirthless bark of laughter. "I was mean to you because I am mean. Period. But the injustice of what they were doing to you rankled terribly, and you were such a hopeless, Gryffindor martyr that you always played right into their hands. It drove me nearly insane at times."

Harry refrained from agreeing with the 'insane' remark. He remained silent as Severus continued with, "There I'd be, doing back flips to keep you alive long enough to grow into your power, and you'd be sneaking out the door with your little invisibility cloak and map to risk life and limb at every turn."

"I only did what I had to do," he protested.

"You shouldn't have had to do any of it!" Severus hissed. "We were the adults. You were only a child. This was our battle, not yours."

"Voldemort killed my parents. That made it my fight," Harry firmly reminded.

"Maybe it would have been your fight when you'd grown into manhood. But when this burden was laid on your shoulders, you were not even in puberty. From the moment you stepped into Hogwarts, they all looked to you as their saviour, and you were just a child, no different than the other boys your age. I tried to make them understand that you weren't some superhero, that you were only a child, just as innocent, naughty, and fallible as your peers, but they'd have none of it. You were the Boy Who Lived and you could do no wrong." Severus' anger with that philosophy rang clear in his voice. "What Albus refused to see, and what I couldn't get through your thick head at the time, was that all actions have consequences. Absolving you of those consequences wasn't teaching you anything."

"I don't understand what any of this has to do with my not dating," Harry said, trying to make sense of this Gordian knot Severus had made of what should have been a simple conversation. But things were always like that with Severus. They rarely stayed on one level.

"They have used you from the time you were a boy, and given precious little thought to the long term effects on you. From the time you stepped off that boat as a first year, the Headmaster treated you differently than the other students. The others all followed his example. You have never had the opportunity to live a normal life."

"It's not Professor Dumbledore's fault I never had a normal life, and no one used me!" Harry hotly denied. "Voldemort made this my fight when he killed my mum and dad. And none of this explains what it has to do with our former topic."

"Harry, you've spent the last ten minutes explaining to me how your reputation has destroyed your chances for a normal romantic life. It has everything to do with our former topic."

Harry tried to rally an argument to that, but debating logic with Severus was akin to arguing over potions ingredients. There was just no winning that type of debate with this ruthless intellect. Instead, he attempted to focus on something he could dispute. "So what is your point, then, if you're agreeing with me that I'm a screwed up wreck?"

"Don't let them win. You are more than simply the Boy Who Lived. Show them that," Severus all but pleaded.

The words cut him like a knife to the heart. He'd never spoken of this, not even to Ron and Hermione. How could Severus possibly know? How could Severus understand what it was like when the war was won and there was nothing left but his hollow reputation to trade on for the rest of his life, when all the challenges were gone, and he was suddenly just the Boy Who Lived to everyone he met?

Keeping his panic firmly in check, Harry voiced a tight, "How?"

"By allowing yourself some happiness. If anyone deserves it in this world, it is you. Don't let a few bad experiences sideline you. You have more courage than any ten wizards. Your entire life is ahead of you. Don't let it pass you by. Don't end up like me."

"Like you?" he managed to choke out. He touched the soft cashmere of the winter robe that covered Severus' elbow.

"Alone and used up," Severus answered in a weary tone.

Before he could respond, the thing he'd feared for the last six days happened. With a sudden pop of sound, Severus apparated from his side.

"What happened, Harry?" Hermione hurried back to him on the dark road. Ron was standing there up ahead, gazing over to the distant castle with a thoughtful expression on his face.

Harry met her gaze. "Sound travels out here, Hermione."

She had the grace to look self-conscious for a moment before she gave his arm a silent squeeze.

"He's in so much pain. All the time," Harry said.

"I know," she whispered back, adding, "But I think we make a difference, especially you. Should you go after him?"

Harry was wondering the same thing himself, when Ron gave a soft, "No, at least not right away. Give him some time."

It was strange, really, but in the last month or so before Severus and he had been restored to adulthood, ever since Ron had told Severus that he and Hermione had adopted both of them, Ron had developed an uncanny understanding of Severus' moods.

"Maybe you're right," Harry agreed.

"Yes, by the time we've walked back, I'm sure it will have all blown over. Come on, Harry." Hermione hooked her arm through his. Ron fell into step at his other side. After a minute or two, Ron's long arm settled across both his and Hermione's shoulders. It felt good to be nestled there between them like he'd been a week or so ago, but for all its pleasantness, it wasn't nearly as comforting as having Severus there in the dark beside him. As they walked silently back to the school through the lonely forest road, Harry couldn't help but feel that a piece of himself was missing.

They were entering Hogwarts gates when Ron remarked, "He was right, you know. About everything."

"Except that 'used up' bit," Hermione added.

"It's time you came out of your shell a bit, Harry. Julius wasn't worth this," Ron said.

It was almost funny that a simple name should have such power to wound, even after five years.

"I thought you were the one who told me to take it slow and give it time," Harry irritably reminded. But he didn't slip free of Ron's embrace.

"I said give it time, not cut it off," Ron returned, followed quickly by Hermione's sharp, reproving, "Ron!"

The main door opened as they approached it. Harry allowed himself to be guided to the foot of the stairs that led up to Gryffindor Tower before he stopped. "This is as far as I go with you. Have a good night."

"Harry?" Hermione looked and sounded very much the worried mother at the moment.

Loving her very much as he remembered all those months she'd cared for them, he quickly assured, "I'll tread carefully. I won't undo all the gains we've made this week, but . . . I can't leave him alone after a line like that, even if he'd rather lick his wounds in solitude."

He'd been braced for an argument, so her bright, approving smile threw him totally. "All right then. Have a good night."

"Yeah, mate, sleep well," Ron said and then helpfully offered, "Do you want us to go down with you?"

"No, I think Harry should go alone," Hermione said. "That way Severus won't feel as though he's being ganged up upon."

"Hermy . . . ." Ron looked from his wife to Harry, his gaze unaccountably troubled.

"It will be all right, Ron," Hermione assured. "Won't it, Harry?"

"I hope so," he answered, nowhere near as certain as Hermione. He had no illusions about who would win if it came to an outright battle of wills to get behind Severus' guards.

"And, Harry," Hermione said as he made to turn for the stairwell that led down to the Slytherin dungeons.

"Yes?"

"Severus really isn't used up. I know he's more than twenty years older than us, but that really isn't a lot in the Wizarding World."

"Hermione!" Ron protested, his worried expression way out of proportion to her harmless statement.

Confused by an undercurrent he was obviously missing, Harry nodded and said, "Thanks, Hermione."

He watched them start up the stairs before he turned to beard the lion in its den, or, in this case, the serpent in its nest.

His nerves were a wreck by the time he reached Severus' chambers. He was nearly in as bad a state as when he'd visited here for the first time last Saturday, when he'd come on his fool's mission to convince Severus to give their friendship a chance. But against all odds, that had worked out. And this would, too. It had to.

He half-expected the guarding wards to have been changed, but the same password he'd muttered earlier this evening gave him entrance to Snape's sanctum sanctorum.

It was something of an anticlimax to walk freely into Snape's sitting room – which he found dark and long empty. For all he knew, Severus might not have returned here at all. They'd been adult friends for less than a week. He really had no clue as to where Severus would run when upset, if not here.

He stared around the shadowed chamber. The enchanted wall torches were dimmed, the fire in the hearth nothing but glowing orange and gold embers.

Harry was about to stick his head into the open bedroom door, which was equally shadowed, when the wizarding instincts that had kept him alive in his fight with Voldemort let him know that he wasn't alone in the room. He knew that Severus didn't own an Invisibility Cloak, but Professor Dumbledore had claimed that there were ways to remain invisible to the eye that didn't require props. If anyone would know such an art, it would be Severus.

Harry's probing gaze focused on Severus' favourite armchair, where the sense of power was the strongest.

"I don't like talking to empty air. Are you going to show yourself or shall I make it snow in here so that I can see your outline?" he suggested, glaring at where Severus' face would be, were he in the chair.

A heartbeat later, Severus was there in the flesh, glowering back at him, which he supposed was an improvement. Severus was the only person he knew who could snarl without even baring his teeth. Snape's face was a pinched, irritated collection of deep lines and angles as his inky stare gave old Salazar's pet monster a run for its money.

"Thank you," Harry stiffly acknowledged the courtesy. He regarded his friend, trying to judge Snape's mood. Severus had removed his transfigured robes and jacket. He was in his typical high-collared white shirt and trousers. His skin seemed nearly as colourless as the material of his shirt as he sat in the dark room that was lit only by the dying embers, and his face was as tight as a mask.

"I suppose I owe you and the Weasleys another apology," Severus said in that same lifeless tone with which he'd voiced his parting words on the road.

"I didn't come here for an apology," Harry grated out, hating that dead tone. Severus' voice might be the only thing about the man that was incontestably beautiful, but when he used that tone it raised the small hairs on the back of Harry's neck.

"Then why are you here?"

"To tell you something. You're not used up and you're certainly not alone, not anymore," Harry said without preamble, wanting to get the sentiment out before Severus came to his senses and threw him out.

Severus' entire body flinched as if he'd just been hit with an intensely painful curse, but he shoved the reaction down and ignored Harry's statement as though the words had never been spoken.

"Would you like a drink?" Severus continued, rising to his feet and crossing to the side table. "I'm out of cognac, but there's brandy and – "

"Severus! Stop it, please," he was beside his friend in a moment. The arm that he grabbed hold of was stiff as a day old corpse. Now that he was close, he could sense a similar tension tightening Snape's entire long form. He breathed in that sweet, spicy scent that was particular to Severus as he stared into those tortured eyes.

He could see how hard Severus was struggling to maintain his shield of indifference, but the bleak misery that was so much a part of his soul was bleeding out of his open gaze. As always, Harry was appalled and almost crippled under its weight. Maybe it was the Dark Mark's legacy, or the results of his miserable, abused childhood, or even the inevitable outcome of the isolation Severus kept himself in. Harry didn't understand its source, but he could almost feel its depth. He didn't know how this man got out of bed every day with that kind of agony eating away at his heart. It took a type of courage he didn't think he'd ever have to deal with that kind of burden on a daily basis.

Severus was struggling with all his might to mask his pain and hide it like he always did, Harry could see that from his tense expression, but before Snape could stamp it all down and bury it away as usual, Harry softly said, "You're not alone anymore. You never will be again. I promise." Then he wrapped his arms around Severus in the efficient Weasley hug that Ron had taught him years ago.

He fully expected to crash against the stone wall as he'd done on Wednesday during their demonstration with the seventh year DADA class. Severus Snape was not a man with whom you lightly took liberties, especially not physical ones. The potions master guarded nothing so fiercely as his personal dignity. But, for whatever reason, Severus suffered the embrace.

Harry found that his friend was shaking like a victim of a jelly legs charm. Severus made a belated, desperate move to step back, but Harry only tightened his hold, and Snape didn't force the issue.

The next thing Harry knew, arms nearly as long as Ron's were holding him tight, and Severus was leaning into him, clinging to him as he buried his face in Harry's shoulder as though Harry were his last hold on life or sanity.

Perhaps he was, Harry reflected, as Severus buried his face in the crook of his neck and held onto him in that death grip. He couldn't tell if Severus were crying, for his friend had always been unnaturally silent in his grief, but he could feel the tremors that were coursing through that lean form shake them both.

They stood that way for the longest time, locked together in silence as that emotional storm ripped its way through Severus' controls. Harry was too afraid of breaking the fragile trust that the adult Severus had granted him to dare words, so he confined his comfort to rubbing his palm over Severus' thin back, the way Hermione or Ron would have done for them last week when they were upset like this.

When a long time passed without Severus releasing him, Harry backed them over to the couch. He was surprised by how docilely Severus followed him. He manoeuvred them down onto the cushions without breaking the embrace, side by side, facing each other, with their arms wrapped around each other's chests.

Once they were settled, Severus pulled far enough back to look up into his face.

There were no tears, Harry noted with relief. But it was short lived. Confused, he shivered at the utter vulnerability of the expression in those dark eyes. Every instinct he owned was telling him that Severus would have allowed him to do anything he wanted to with him at that moment.

Not wanting the self-consciousness that he knew would soon follow that revelation to ruin the moment, Harry guided his companion's head back down to his shoulder, while his other hand continued to rub across that warm, linen-covered back. He didn't need to be told that no one had ever done this for the adult Snape. Now that he thought about it, Harry couldn't recall anyone ever even touching Severus in casual contact in all the years he'd known the man. Even Professor Dumbledore had respected Severus' no trespassing signs. His heart ached as he contemplated how many years this man had gone without so much as even the touch of a friend's hand. He must be half-starved for contact, Harry thought as his palm stroked over the wiry muscles of Severus' shoulders.

His knuckle collided with the cold silver of the hair tie Hermione had given Severus all those months ago. On impulse, Harry popped it open and let all that thick, glossy black hair fall loose. It was warm as kitten fur as it covered his hand. Severus gave a surprised gulp at the action. Harry waited, but when no other protest was forthcoming, he allowed his hand to stroke through the dark, sweaty length, carding it through his fingers.

Severus sighed, and tensed immediately thereafter, as though he expected to be physically punished for revealing his enjoyment.

Harry pretended not to notice. His right hand continued to play with that silky, long black hair, while his left kept on circling the thin back. They sat that way for what felt like hours.

As the embers in the fireplace slowly faded from gold to black, a contented lassitude crept over Harry. The room was dark and getting colder by the minute, but it was warm here with Severus pressed so close to him on the couch. And, it was the first night in a week that that familiar breathing was there in the dark where it belonged. That steady rhythm, which he'd missed so horribly this last week, lulled him as much as his stroking hand seemed to be soothing Severus.

Harry was only half conscious of his eyes sinking shut, and he didn't notice at all when his right hand stopped moving with those dark strands clutched between his fingers.

His next real awareness was of being jostled about as he was laid straight on the couch. Thinking that he must have fallen asleep in front of the hearth again and that Ron was probably carrying him back to their room, he gave a sleepy, "Mmmm?"

The deep voice that answered wasn't Ron's, but it had the same kind of gentleness to it. "Go back to sleep, Harry."

He felt his glasses being removed from his face and a heavy wool blanket being tucked around his neck. Still more asleep than awake, he grabbed the hand and mumbled, "Don't leave me alone. Stay, please."

The hand he held stayed frozen in place for so long that he fell almost back to sleep. In that drifty place of confusion in between sleeping and waking, it seemed to him that he felt Ron picking him up off the floor and carrying him back to Severus and his room. His clothes were transfigured into his nightshirt, as they were nearly every night he fell asleep on the sitting room rug, and a moment or two later, he felt Severus' warm length slide in beside him.

"Severus?" he muttered fretfully, some part of him knowing that there was a reason why Ron shouldn't be carrying him to bed anymore.

There was no answer at first, but then a familiar, long-boned hand gripped his. He'd know that hand in a pitch-black room from its long fingers and bony wrist. Severus. Clutching that human security blanket, he gave a deep sigh and let himself drift fully over into sleep.

*********************

The persistent irritation of a bladder full of recycled ale woke him.

Before he'd even opened his eyes, Harry tensed. The luxurious, cool texture of the silk pillowcase beneath his cheek, the heavy arm banding his stomach, and the hairy male leg that was thrown over both his own told him in no uncertain terms that he wasn't in his own bed. He tried to ignore the morning erection that was pressed so intimately against his left side, but it was rather like trying to ignore the fact that a scorpion was in the bed with you. Once you were aware of its presence, it was the only thing that existed in your universe until it was dealt with.

He had a moment's sheer panic. The days of waking up with a stranger were long gone. Before his brain fully kicked into gear, he wondered if he'd been fool enough to take Eric up on his open offer. But, no. Although he'd gone to the Three Broomsticks last night, he'd left with Ron, Hermione, and Severus . . . .

Severus! That was it. He'd gone down to Severus' rooms to see how he was doing and fallen asleep on the couch.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry relaxed, opened his eyes, and turned his head slowly in the direction of the warm, moist breath that was hitting his shoulder – his nightshirt covered shoulder.

There, nestled beneath the Slytherin green duvet on the silver silk sheets, his mouth parted in sleep, lay Severus Snape, primly clothed in a billowing white nightshirt. His sleeping friend was lying on his right side, facing Harry, with his left arm and leg tossed across him. Harry couldn't count the number of times they'd woken up like this in that last month that they'd bunked in together as seven-year-olds. Severus usually started the night respectfully enough on his own side of the bed, but come morning, Harry would inevitably find the larger boy wrapped around him like this. Some things never changed, he reflected with a smile.

But it died quickly. Some things did change. As Severus was so fond of pointing out to him, they weren't seven-year-olds anymore. He knew he shouldn't be here. They weren't kids, as that erection prodding his hip proved.

Stars, it was big! But then, everything about Severus was big – his hands, his, feet; it only stood to reason that his –

Harry cut off that line of speculation. Common decency required that he move away from Severus and give the man some privacy, but Harry knew that his friend would wake at his slightest motion, and he wasn't ready to spoil the sleepy peace of the morning yet.

He was temporarily bewildered as to precisely how he'd ended up sleeping in Severus Snape's bed, but then he recalled being half awake last night and begging whomever had been sharing the warm couch not to leave him alone in the chilly room. How utterly humiliating!

But, obviously, Severus hadn't been too annoyed with him or he'd have kicked him out of his chambers. Instead of tossing him out on his ear as he should have done or just leaving him to sleep on the couch, Severus had moved him in here to the comfortable warmth of the man's own bed. What's more, Severus hadn't even levitated him. Harry had the clear memory of strong arms that he'd mistaken for Ron's lifting and carrying him in here. Strange.

But everything about his life right now was strange, Harry recognized. Beyond the usual weirdness of being the most eligible bachelor in the Wizarding World who refused to date, there was his current situation. Trying to put his life back together after spending over four months as a child would be hard enough on anyone, without the added bizarro slant of attempting to forge a deep friendship with a man who'd been his adversary for nearly two decades. If anyone had ever told him six months ago that he'd wake up in Severus Snape's bed and be relieved to find himself there, he would have sent the raving lunatic directly to St. Mungo's. Yet here he was, in Severus' bed, with Severus' erection pressing his hip.

Even thinking of Severus Snape as having a morning erection felt peculiar. Although his entire view of Severus had changed over the last few months, he'd never really thought of Snape as a sexual entity, even last night when Severus was relating how he'd acquired that burgundy jacket for his first date. Severus had made it sound like ancient history, like something that no longer pertained to him – in exactly the same manner the younger Snape had treated playing, he realized.

But Hermione was right. Severus wasn't old and he wasn't used up. The man was only forty-eight years old. He wasn't dead by a long stretch, even though Severus might behave as though he'd outgrown such needs.

Now that he thought about it, Harry had to admit that he was curious. Who did Severus sleep with?

He tried to picture his friend with someone, and came up blank. He racked his mind, thinking back over the years that he'd known this man, trying to remember if there were ever any particular men that Snape seemed to spend time with, but there wasn't. For as long as Harry had known him, Severus had lived the life of a monk here at Hogwarts. He supposed that Severus could have confined his sexual encounters to summer holidays, but . . . Severus usually stayed at Hogwarts over the summer breaks, which meant . . . .

No, not even Severus Snape could go that long without, Harry told himself. Yet, everything he knew of Severus told him that he wasn't wrong, that the man really had been alone that long.

Harry tried to imagine what it must have been like for Severus, and couldn't. These past five years since Julius, he'd tried to go solo, but he always fell. Once or twice a year, he'd meet some bloke in a pub and there would be a few nights of blessed relief before he went back to going it alone. Perhaps it was the same for Severus; only, he had the clear memory of Snape saying that he didn't like pubs. If he didn't do the club scene, where else would someone like Severus meet people?

There was only one answer to that. His instincts were probably right. Severus didn't meet people. He just hid away here in his dungeons, feeling alone and used up.

He wasn't alone right now and he certainly wasn't used up, Harry thought with a quick smile as he felt that hard-on nudge his hip. His own morning woodie pulsed harder in mindless reaction. If this were Blaise, he might have reached down and done something about that brainless need, but he knew Severus wouldn't appreciate such a move. Hell, Severus would probably die of humiliation at the thought of anyone knowing he had a morning erection, let alone that he was actually touching someone with it in his sleep.

It didn't mean anything, Harry knew. What guy didn't wake up with that urge every now and then – or, in his own case, every damn morning. It was just human nature. For all his control, Severus was as mortal as the rest of them. So, why did it still seem so strange to think of Severus Snape as having these same human frailties?

He studied the sleeping man's face, as if searching for lost clues.

He remembered how when he was in school, he'd thought that face ugly. He still heard the students say much the same things that he had. Dirty, greasy Snape, the humourless bastard of a potions teacher, with his ugly, long nose, yellowed teeth, hands, and face, and his greasy, stringy hair . . . . How often had he and Ron voiced those very sentiments? He'd believed them true back then, he really had. There had been a time he'd thought Snape so ugly that it had made him wince to look at the man. But now . . . .

He didn't think Severus was hideous anymore. Perhaps he'd simply gotten used to Severus' looks, but when he saw that face now, he didn't automatically think ugly. Yes, Snape's nose was big, and his features harsh and strong, as though chiselled from stone by an angry sculptor. There were frown lines in his face that were etched so deep Harry knew they would never be soothed smooth. His skin was slightly sallow from its constant exposure to all those harsh potion fumes, and his hair was often sweaty for the same reason, but his teeth were no more yellowed than any other forty-year-old wizard's. And when he wasn't sneering, Severus was almost attractive in a rugged way. There was a banked-down sensuality about the man that even his ascetic clothing and lifestyle couldn't completely conceal.

The lifestyle itself was a surprise.

Harry remembered what he'd always expected Snape's private rooms to look like. He'd pictured shelves lining the sitting room, filled with bottles of those disgusting dead things Snape kept in his lab. There would never be a fire in the hearth, no furniture, comfortable or otherwise, in the sitting room, just a single hard-backed chair next to a rickety table with a candle stub to grade test papers by. And the bedroom wouldn't be this lush collection of tasteful antiques; it would contain only a single pallet with a moth-eaten blanket, and have more in common with a monk's or prison cell than this sensual boudoir in which Harry found himself. It shamed him to know that he'd held those misconceptions straight up until last Saturday night when he'd invited himself into Severus' sitting room to fight for their friendship.

He'd gotten so much wrong about Snape over the years. Right up to how he'd react to their restoration to adulthood. Ron, Hermione, and he had all expected Snape to go into seclusion after that, but Severus had had more courage than they had credited him. Although it was pushing him to his emotional limits every single day to allow them into his life, Severus wasn't cutting them off; he wasn't choosing to be cruel. He was keeping the promise he'd made to Albus in that dream world that had started all this to try to open himself to the things he was lacking in his life. Having spent the last five years hiding away himself, Harry appreciated the courage that took.

Harry wasn't kidding himself. Severus was no saint, not by a long shot. He was still petty and cruel. He still liked to run his classes through intimidation and mockery. The potion master's sarcasm was as mighty as his wand, and that was a formidable power in itself. But under all that nastiness, the man was his friend. Harry was going to do everything in his power to view that as the bottom line, no matter what transpired from day to day.

Every instinct he owned was telling him that he was about to experience a major test of his resolve.

As he watched, Severus' nose twitched, as if smelling him in the bed beside him. Before he'd even opened his eyes, Snape's entire body tensed.

Harry held his breath as those dark-lashed lids lifted.

"Harry?" the sleep rough voice was rife with confusion. Obviously, Severus did mornings only slightly better than Hermione.

"Good morning," Harry greeted with what he hoped was a cheerful smile. "Thanks for not tossing me out on my ear last night."

"What?"

He saw the exact moment Severus' remembered. Severus' expression closed down immediately, becoming shuttered and wary. A heartbeat or two later, Severus withdrew his arm and leg from where they covered Harry and moved his lower body clear with seeming nonchalance.

Once again, Harry was impressed as hell with the other man's aplomb. He knew his friend had to be shaking in his boots, figuratively, if not literally.

Thinking that they could both use a minute or two to compose themselves, Harry said, "Excuse me while I borrow your bog for a few minutes."

When he returned from the loo five minutes later, Severus was up, with a Slytherin green towelling robe tied primly shut over his nightshirt. For all that he'd put himself in order, Snape's hair was still loose around his shoulders. The black cascade fell nearly past his shoulder blades now. It was a dark and appealing curtain around that tense face.

Recalling how soft it had felt sliding between his fingers last night, Harry looked away from his friend's hair. What the devil was wrong with him, he wondered, unable to excise that sensual memory from his thoughts.

Trying to centre himself, he stared about the room. The bed was made and all the wall torches lit to provide as much light as the dungeon digs allowed.

Determined not to be embarrassed, Harry sat down on the edge of the bed and drew his knees up to his chest, hugging them with his arms. He saw Severus' dark gaze sweep over his bare, hairy calves, and felt an inexplicable shiver pass through him in its wake.

"I can't imagine what you must think of me," Severus said at last from his tense stance by the armoire.

Was it only yesterday evening that he'd transfigured that jacket for Severus while standing right there? It felt a million years away right now.

"What?" Deciding it was best to play innocent until given no chance, he tried to keep his tone mildly puzzled. This man was a master at sniffing out deceit. He dare not overplay his hand.

"That distasteful emotional scene I inflicted upon you last night – "

Harry blinked. That wasn't what he was expecting.

Severus was worried about last night? Not about Harry knowing about his morning woodie? Only as he thought about it now did he realize that Severus probably believed that he hadn't noticed his morning hard-on pressing into him. After all, anyone with even a modicum of propriety would have moved away from the sleeping man when they'd recognized what was happening. They wouldn't have lain there and . . . .

Abruptly aware of the gross impropriety of his behaviour this morning, Harry thrust the thought out of his mind for later consideration and tried to deal with whatever was bothering Severus now. He knew he was getting off easy. If anyone was owed apologies here, it was certainly not himself.

"Whoa, there," Harry interrupted. "Who's the one who used to wake us up five out of seven nights a week? I don't remember anyone complaining about distasteful emotional scenes then."

"You were a child," Severus said.

"So what? I needed you and you were there for me. That works both ways."

"I don't know what came over me," Severus continued, as though he hadn't heard. And, perhaps, he hadn't.

"I do," Harry countered, waiting until Severus was looking at him and seeing him. "That day we were restored last week, Hermione told me that we were both going to be dealing with a lot of stressful emotional issues as we tried to process the changes going from a child to an adult engendered."

"You seem to be coping just fine," Severus said with a trace of bitterness, as though it were some kind of contest that he had failed.

"Am I?" Harry laughed and then informed, "I don't sleep without potions. And I'm just as lost as you. I spent nearly an hour that first day sitting on the couch wrapped up in Hermione and Ron's arms before I had the nerve to leave their quarters. At least once a day, one of them ends up hugging me. They always say it's for their sakes, but I'm not stupid. I know I'm not dealing well."

"You're not?" Severus sounded amazed.

"Last night was the first night I was able to sleep without taking that potion you prescribed for me," he admitted.

"Your insomnia may not have anything to do with our current situation. You've always had difficulty sleeping," Severus pointed out.

"True, except for those months we shared a room. You were there last night, so I was able to sleep. How screwed up is that? Last night was as much for me as it was for you, so please don't feel guilty about it." He felt very self-conscious about what he'd just admitted once he finished speaking. He could feel Severus' gaze digging into him.

After what felt like an eternity, Severus said in as nervous a tone as that cultured voice could attain, "This isn't the first time you've said something like that. Do you really expect me to believe that my mere presence has a beneficial effect on you?"

Harry realized that Severus really didn't get it.

"Why wouldn't it?" he asked. "For the last four months we weren't out of each other's sight for longer than a trip to the loo, and half the time I followed you in there. I never had a friend like you when I was seven for real. No one ever protected me or looked after me the way you did."

"You and Ronald Weasley were best friends from the moment you met on the Hogwarts Express," Severus coolly countered, as though he suspected he were being had.

Harry sighed. "I was eleven when I met Ron, not seven."

"I don't see what difference that makes," Severus answered.

"I'm not trying to diminish the friendship I had with Ron when we were young, but . . . it's a difference of degree. Ron and I were more grown up when we met. I was too old to ask for some of the things I needed and he was too young to see through my bluffs. You gave me things that I never had in my whole life."

"What sort of things?" Severus asked, totally suspicious.

Harry tried to think of a way to explain without sounding completely inept, but he'd been seven at the time. Inept pretty much described most seven-year-olds, except Severus, who had always been so smart and competent. "The sort of stuff that most people take for granted when they're kids. I guess it had a lot to do with my background. The Dursleys never really went out of their way to make things easy for me. They'd baby Dudley like he was made of glass, and then leave me to struggle along on my own while they cooed and aaahed over him. I'd fall down and no one would comfort me when I cried. Hell, most times no one would even help me back up. They'd lock me in my crib in that cupboard and let me scream half the night. I always had more than my share of skinned knees, bruised elbows, and bumps on my head when growing up because I was trying to do stuff for myself that a toddler or little kid couldn't manage on his own. There was never any attempt to make life comfortable or safe for me."

If possible, Severus' face grew even paler and tighter. He seemed to be working very hard to hold onto his temper. "Their neglect was criminal, and I sincerely wish that our laws would allow me to redress the wrongs done to you. But, what has any of this to do with your friendship with either Ron or me?"

"By the time I met Ron, I was fairly self-sufficient. I was pretty much who I am now, except an inch or two shorter," Harry joked, and then continued in a more serious tone. "I wasn't a baby or a burden. Ron never had to teach me the basics of Wizarding. He never had to help me get my winter cloak buttoned up every day after class, or lift me up so I could reach the bathroom sink to wash my hands, or help me cut my meat in the cafeteria at lunch. He never had to use drying and warming spells on me to keep me from getting frostbite when I played too long in the snow. And he certainly never climbed into bed with me when I had a nightmare or held me when I cried. You did all that. You were the best friend I ever had. That hasn't changed just because we're older."

He heard Severus' gulp from across the room. "But you already have a best friend."

"What?"

Severus quietly said, "Ron . . . ."

Realizing everything this proud man wouldn't allow himself to ask, Harry laid it all on the line. "Ron and I will always be the closest of friends, but I'm not his best friend anymore. I haven't been since we were fifteen. Hermione is. I understand and respect that, but . . . their relationship changed what Ron and I had. We're family. They both love me, but they come first with each other. It's been that way since we were kids. I never had anyone of my own until Professor Dumbledore gave you to me."

As soon as he said the last words, he felt like an idiot. They made Severus sound like a puppy or something. He held his breath, awaiting the no doubt scathing response, but all Severus gave was a subdued, "I see."

That was the catch phrase Severus used whenever he was at a loss for words. That hadn't changed since they were seven.

"I guess that was a bit more than you needed to hear," Harry said a minute or two later, uncomfortable under that bottomless gaze.

"No," Severus quickly said, and then, "I mean – "

"I know," Harry smiled. "It's a lot to take in. Don't worry. I'll clear out and give you some peace for a while." He looked around the bedroom and ended up calling, "Accio Harry Potter's wand," to get his wand back. Then he transfigured his nightshirt back into the clothes they'd been last night.

Fully dressed, he stared at the pale man who seemed almost frightened of him at the moment. "Thanks for everything, Severus."

To his relief, his friend seemed to rally.

"I believe that should be my line," Severus gravely responded, lightening the mood with a nearly playful, "but you are most welcome."

Harry grinned. "Thanks." As he started for the door, he paused to quickly ask before his courage could desert him, "Do you have any plans tonight?"

Severus' face blanched even whiter. "I – "

"We could check out the Muggle bookstore I told you about. Will you come with me?" For some inexplicable reason, he felt as nervous as he had the first time he'd asked Blaise to join him on a Hogsmeade weekend in seventh year. Which was utterly ridiculous, because this was just Severus.

"Yes," Severus answered in a strained tone, as if it took everything he had to get that single syllable out.

"Brilliant. I'll see you at dinner, then." Giving Severus the most encouraging smile he could manage, Harry all but bolted from the room.

He was feeling a little better as he stepped out of Snape's sitting room into the Slytherin dungeon corridor; that was, until he saw Blaise Zabini stopped dead in his tracks, gaping at him as he closed Snape's door behind him.

Abashed, Harry realized how this must look to his friend. He was sneaking out of the potion master's quarters, wearing the same clothes he'd had on at dinner last night.

Trying for normal, Harry forced a smile and greeted, "Hi, Blaise."

"Er, hello, Harry." For some reason, the handsome brunet appeared even more uncomfortable than him. After a tense second, Zabini's irrepressible humour took hold of him and he grinned and asked, "Have a good night, did you?"

"Ah, I guess it'd be stupid to say this isn't what it looks like?" Harry asked, braced for the worst.

For a moment, he had a horrible vision of Blaise teasing him for the rest of eternity over this, but then the mischievous glint entered those warm brown eyes, Blaise loosed an earthy chuckle, and said, "Of course, it's not what it looks like. That's Severus Snape's door, for heaven's sake, Harry!" Blaise concluded with a glummer, "More's the pity."

Wondering whether it was Severus or himself who'd just been insulted, Harry tensely asked, "What?"

"I don’t care who you sleep with, so long as you're back in action again. Even if it were Severus Snape. I'd volunteer myself if I thought you'd take me seriously."

"When have you ever taken anyone seriously?" Harry joked, because it was the only way either of them could handle what had happened between them eleven years ago.

The answer was there in Blaise's eyes, as it was whenever they were alone together for too long, but his old friend forced a grin and played along with, "You've got a point there. So why are you sneaking out of Snape's quarters at this late hour if not the obvious reason?"

Harry flushed and admitted, "I fell asleep on the couch."

He refrained from mentioning the part about waking up with a sexually aroused Severus wrapped around him, wisely deciding that that information would not aid his stand.

"Ah."

"So, how'd it go with Eric last night? You're getting back rather late yourself," Harry remarked.

To his bewilderment, Blaise's cheeks filled with colour. "Er . . . ."

"Don't tell me you're on the outs already," Harry said, genuinely disappointed. He'd hoped that Blaise would keep Eric occupied for at least a few weeks.

"No, we're not on the outs," Blaise quickly assured.

"Then what's up?" For something was. Harry could see it in his friend's expression.

"It's just, it was weird, was all," Blaise uncertainly offered.

"How weird is weird?" Harry questioned, alarmed by anything that could have unnerved his jaded friend in the bedroom. Eric had always seemed such a nice, normal bloke to him. He couldn't imagine the big blond throwing anything Blaise's way that the sensual Slytherin would find disturbing.

"We, er, never made it to the bed," Zabini confessed.

"Ah, more rug burns and stair bruises?" Harry tried to sound sympathetic, but couldn't quite hide his laughter.

"No, you're not getting it. We never did anything. We sat on his couch all night talking – until I fell asleep, that is."

"Oh, poor Blaise. Sorry."

"No, it was great," Blaise swiftly corrected, then, appearing self-conscious, he said, "I mean . . . ."

Seeing something in those dark eyes that Harry hadn't seen there since they were seventeen and trying to make something impossible work, Harry asked, "So are you going to see him again?"

Blaise nodded. "Tonight."

"That's great," Harry approved, meaning it.

"I was wondering . . . do you think anyone would mind if I brought Eric with us to the Three Broomsticks on Friday?"

Anyone being him, Harry correctly interpreted. Not having to fake his approval of Blaise's partner for once, Harry grinned and said, "No, I think everyone would be delighted to see you both there."

He was shocked by how relieved Blaise seemed. "Thanks, mate. If I didn't tell you this over the past week, it's great to have you back as a grownup. You were missed."

"Thanks," Harry blushed.

"Oh, and, Harry?"

"Yes?" he asked, not trusting the light in those bright eyes.

"Take some advice from an expert. Spare yourself some grief. Leave a change of clothes in the serpent's den." Chuckling, Blaise patted him on the shoulder and moved down the corridor to his own door.

"Serpents have nests, not dens, you prat," Harry called after him. "You're a serpent yourself; you should know that!"

Feeling really good about his life for the first time in what was probably years, Harry hurried up to his rooms in Gryffindor Tower before he could run into anyone else observant enough to realize he was still wearing yesterday's clothing.

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