Harry found it difficult to keep his eyes open during the lecture about organic versus inorganic chemistry two weeks after he'd poured his heart out to Severus. He hadn't had any nightmares since then, as he'd asked Remus to buy him some chamomile tea, and his godfather had also gotten some Melatonin for him. It helped keep him asleep at night, for about a week, until he ran out of tea and his body got used to the pills.

"Potter!" Severus snapped, slamming his palm down onto the lab table in front of Harry, who immediately shrunk back, his eyes wide, as he stared up at him. "Explain to me the difference of organic versus inorganic chemistry."

"Inorganic compounds contain carbon atoms, and organic doesn't?" he asked.

Severus gritted his teeth in a moment of frustration, before he yanked Harry's textbook into his hands, and flipped to the chapter detailing the differences between the two kind of chemistry and slammed the book back in front of the teenager. "Would you kindly indulge the class on reading this sentence aloud?" he growled, jabbing at the page with his finger.

Harry swallowed, lowering his eyes to the black text upon the page, slightly jumbled due to the age of the printing press, and tried not to scream. "The main difference is in the presence of a carbon atom; organic compounds will contain a carbon atom, and often a hydrogen atom, to form hydrocarbons," he began, "while almost all inorganic compounds do not contain either of those two atoms. Meanwhile, inorganic compounds include the salts, metals, and other elemental compounds."

"You've successfully managed to mix up two different kinds of chemistry," Severus said, turning away from his lab table with annoyance. "You will stay after class with me today, Potter, and discuss why you think that chemistry is unnecessary."

Harry kept his mouth shut, and did his best to listen to the lecture until the hour ran out, and said goodbye to Ron and Hermione, and waved off Neville, Dean, and Seamus. He didn't even bother putting his textbook into his bag; for all he knew, his professor would want to damn him for not catching up on the extra credit reading he assigned each week. Instead, Harry placed his palms upon the cool surface of the desk, hoping that the coolness in temperature would manage to calm him down somehow.

Severus came towards Harry's desk again once the final students had left the classroom, and slammed a stack of papers upon it, right under Harry's nose. "Here is your latest essay that you elected to write for this class, Potter. As you can see, you scored below a thirty-nine, meaning that you failed it."

Harry took ahold of the edges of the essay, feeling his hands shaking as he took in the derogatory comments made by his professor, all in his spindly handwriting, written scathingly with red pen in every available margin space. "Guess I should expect all this from you, shouldn't I?" he demanded under his breath, hating that his voice was shaking as he addressed the man, who had been so kind to him two weeks ago, but now...

"What the devil are you talking about, Potter?"

Harry turned his essay loose, but the crinkles upon its edges remained. "You, and your treatment of me," he declared. "Nothing's changed, really."

"Potter..."

"No!" Harry said, launching to his feet then, gazing at his professor in a moment of courage. "I am not Potter. I'm Harry. Harry," he said, slamming a fist to his chest.

"Potter," Severus tried again.

"Was it all just a lie?" Harry whispered then, searching Severus's face for something, anything, which would hold the key to the man who had been so wonderful to him. "Were you just pretending to know what I'd been through? Did Headmaster Dumbledore ask you to talk to me, to get more information to Scotland Yard?"

"The headmaster didn't ask me to..."

"God, I was such an idiot," Harry said, stomping away from his desk, leaving his crumpled essay and textbook upon its surface, and his bag resting beside it. "I actually thought that I'd found an ally in you. But, I was wrong, wasn't I?"

"Potter, you don't know what you're..."

"I know plenty," Harry countered, his voice shaking slightly at the declaration. "Like that you were just letting me go on and on, not because you felt sorry for me, but because you've really hated me all this time. Probably liked hearing about me in pain..."

"That's enough!" Severus shouted, slamming his fist onto the surface of the desk. "I won't stand here and listen to outlandish lies—"

"Or what? What?" Harry demanded of him, stepping closer, coming to the bridge of his professor's nose, as green met black. "What could you possibly do to me at this point, Severus? I am broken, wrecked beyond repair, with no hopes for a future, if I go on like this. What could you possibly do to ruin me further?"

"I won't have this conversation, Potter. Not with you."

"Am I really that sullied that you don't even want to insinuate, professor?" Harry whispered, feeling his heart pounding in his chest, due to Severus's closeness to him. "Life's just a game, at the end of the day. Isn't that right, professor?"

"This is not a game, Potter. What you're insinuating is very serious."

"I'm done with drama," Harry told him.

Severus nodded. "That would be a wise choice, Potter."

Harry slowly dragged his tongue along his lips then, and noted that Severus stiffened at the gesture, which was the opposite of coy. "I've never been that wise, professor," Harry declared then, closing the distance between the two of them.

The first time Harry found himself tasting Severus, he quickly found that he never wanted the encounter to end. Sure, he was damaged, broken, ruined—if perhaps only in his own eyes—but he just couldn't reject the unspoken thing between the two of them any longer. He knew that a line would eventually be crossed—he could feel it just beneath the surface that evening, two weeks before—but he didn't know he'd be the one to actually do it.

Severus, on the other hand, was in a full-state of fear, with a smattering of being over the moon somewhere lodged in that feeling. He felt a tremor flowing through him as he permitted Harry's tongue access into his mouth, and had to pull back a moan as the teen's hands found his hips, pulling him flush against him. He wanted this, craved this, was desperate for it, but, then, the slap of reality set in, and he forced himself away from the younger man.

"This... No," he said at last, shaking his head at him. "This is wrong," he whispered, forcing himself not to look at Harry as he turned around and fled from the room.

. . .

October dawned, and every opportunity he could, Harry would attempt to get a few words out of Severus, but nothing was forthcoming from the chemistry professor. All he would get were dark eyes and sad looks, and it physically broke Harry inside that communication seemed to be off the table for good. Perhaps this was the way it was always supposed to be; he'd been told how unwanted he was from the time he was a child, and now, the one time he'd ever wanted something so desperately that it hurt, he was rejected.

"Want to play a game of cricket, mate?" Ron asked, sidling up to Harry one Saturday afternoon, after they'd done some research on their English paper, to be done on Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell.

Harry shook his head, finding that all he could think about was clocks striking thirteen as they made their way back to the dorm common area. "Not right now, Ron."

"Oh, all right. Chess, then?"

Harry shook his head again. "Think I'll just catch up on some reading."

"You actually want to read that?" Ron demanded, looking at the chemistry textbook that Harry was clutching in his arm. "It's bloody boring, is what it is!"

"You saw my grade on my written assignment, Ron," Harry said, forcing himself to keep his tone patient with his best friend. "I really need to figure out the differences between inorganic versus organic chemistry, and be able to tell them apart, if I'm to keep my head above water in regards to the class..."

"I think doing some extra reading is a splendid idea, Harry," Hermione said, shooting him a bright smile and an encouraging nod. "I've never seen you take something so seriously, other than football. It's nice to see you turning to academics."

Harry smiled at her. "Thanks, Hermione."

"You need a distraction to get you out of this funk you're in," Ron declared, before reaching out and swiping the textbook away from Harry, and holding it over his head.

"Stop that!" Harry shouted then, as if Ron had taken away his ability to breathe. He reached out then and attempted to make a grab for it, but Ron had several inches on him, and he was virtually helpless against him. "Give it back!"

"Ron!" Hermione cried out. "Give it back to him!"

"Chemistry's not going to help you, Harry!" Ron said, his voice firm as he continued to hold the book out of Harry's reach.

"Ron, please," Harry begged, panting as the panic filled him to the brim. The handwriting in the margins of the textbook had been calming towards him, like a true friend, almost as if a past user of the book had been using it not only to help him with experiments, but also, in a way, as a personal diary, detailing his struggles with, well, everything. "Give it back, Ron, please. I just want it back..."

"Ron," Hermione whispered then, seeing the reaction that Harry was giving to Ron's bullying. "I think you should..."

"No, 'Mione," Ron said, keeping an eye on Harry as he continued to hold the book aloft. "Don't be such a bloody git, Harry! Grab your book if you want it so badly!"

"Ron," Harry said softly, his voice trembling as he attempted to figure out a way out of this rather traumatizing situation. "Please..."

"Or what?" Ron demanded.

Harry felt a combination of rage and devastation flowing through him. "I'm literally begging you right now, Ron! I just... I just want to..."

"What?" Ron asked. "Run to bed? That's all you've been doing, Harry, if you're outside of the classroom. You're barely scraping through your assignments, you're not paying attention when Hermione helps us study, and you're not eating! It's a wonder that you're still standing—"

"Ronald!" Hermione shouted, seeing the tears threatening to escape from Harry's eyes. "That's enough!"

Harry stared, bleary-eyed, at Ron, before he reached out and punched him in the jaw as hard as he could, which caused him to drop the book, and Harry to snatch it up, holding it against his chest like a breast plate of armor. "You really shouldn't say things like that to me, especially about shit you won't ever understand," he told him, trying to keep his voice firm, as he fled up the stairs to his dorm room.

"We can't just demand to know what's going on with him, Ronald," Hermione chastised him, crossing her arms as they heard the dormitory door slam behind Harry, and watched as Ron rubbed his jaw, which was slightly inflamed from the punch. "He might pull away from us then, and we'll never get an answer out of him."

"'Mione, try to understand," Ron replied, selecting an overstuffed armchair and throwing himself down into it. "I mean, his grades'll start slipping soon enough, and I know that even you won't do his assignments forever."

Hermione rolled her brown eyes, settling herself in a second armchair, but in a far more delicate manner than Ron had a moment ago. "I hardly mind helping him out while he's in this rut he's found himself in, Ronald."

"You're always encouraging us to get good grades, and that should apply to Harry, too, even though he's in this rut," Ron countered.

"But you're actually suggesting pushing him, and that's not right either," Hermione told him, her voice gentle.

"Last I checked, Hermione, your parents were dentists, not proper doctors," Ron said, rolling his eyes at her.

"Yes, and your father's a museum curator, and your mum's a housewife," Hermione said, and threw up her hands. "We're not discussing our parents' occupations here, Ronald. We're talking about our best friend, and how we could push him even closer to the edge if we push him too hard into giving us an explanation for his distancing us."

"Charlie distanced himself from us, back when I was six," Ron said softly. "One of my first memories of him, given the age difference, and all..."

"What happened?" Hermione asked him.

Ron sighed. "Mum told me and Ginny later that he was gay," he said softly. "Took us a while to really understand what that meant."

Hermione swallowed. "Were you all right with it, though?"

Ron shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me, as long as you're happy." He turned around then, looking up the stairs where Harry had disappeared a few moments ago. "Think that's what's going on with him, 'Mione? Think Harry's gay?"

Hermione sighed. "I think there could be a great many things going on that we don't know about, Ron. Remus wouldn't even tell us what made him win his suit for custody. All I know is, it had to be bad enough, that malnourishment and a broken jaw in years' past had the authorities turning a blind eye to it."

Ron shook his head. "They needed to step in sooner."

Hermione's eyes locked with his. "You don't need to tell me that," she said softly.

. . .

"I still don't think this is a good idea," Ron warned as he and Hermione remained behind after chemistry class one day.

"Let's just see," Hermione said, and got to her feet, holding her books against her chest, the ones that she couldn't fit into her bag, even if she tried. "Excuse me, Professor Snape?" she asked, her voice kind.

Severus turned around then in a sweep of black robes and narrowed his eyes slightly at them. "I am quite sure that you're aware that my physics class begins quite soon," he said.

"In less than an hour, I know, professor," Hermione said quickly. "It's just that, we were concerned..."

"About your grades, Miss Granger? Well, allow me to put your mind at ease. You are doing rather spectacularly in this class. It seems as though chemistry has met its match with you. Now, if that's all—"

"We're here about Harry!" Ron shouted then, growing exasperated. "Sir," he added, when Severus raised a dark eyebrow at him.

Severus swallowed. "What about Potter, Mr. Weasley?"

"He's been rather distant towards us of late, professor," Hermione said, and Severus turned his gaze back on her again.

Severus sneered. "He is a teenager, Miss Granger. Distance is his middle name."

"Not usually," Ron countered, crossing his arms over the god-awful maroon-colored sweater he was obligated to wear, given that there was a golden 'R' stitched upon it. "Harry usually tells us if something's bothering him."

"Exactly," Hermione continued, "but ever since Professor Lupin got custody of him, sir, even he agrees that Harry has been more closed-off than ever."

"What makes you think that I—?"

"Care?" Hermione asked, and something flashed from behind Severus's eyes. "I would not wish to presume anything about you, professor, for the intimacies in your private life are hardly any of our business. However," she went on, noticing that Severus was about to interrupt her, "as one of our professors, it is your duty to make sure that all students are safe and well."

Severus swallowed. "And that is your fear, then? That Harry is not safe?"

"Or well," Ron said, nodding his head. "Last week, I tried to snap him out of it, and all he wanted to do was go upstairs and read our chemistry textbook."

Severus shrugged. "I'm sure he informed you about his less-than satisfactory grade he received on his last paper," he drawled. "Naturally, catching up on his reading would be a good activity to participate in thereafter."

"Yes, but, sir, Harry had a panic attack when Ron snatched the book away from him," Hermione said quickly, and Severus's eyes widened. "It's an older book, sir, so perhaps he has some sentimental value attached to it..."

"But he was holding the bloody think like it was a bible or something!" Ron shouted.

"Language, Mr. Weasley," Severus warned, and Ron promptly shut his mouth. "What makes you think it is an older edition textbook, Miss Granger?"

"Our current edition textbooks are toned with a Persian blue, professor," Hermione said patiently to him, "while Harry's copy is more of a cobalt."

Severus blinked. "You are an expert on colors now, Miss Granger?"

Hermione laughed. "When you're an only child with parents who run a successful dental practice, sir, they find many after-school activities for you. Ballet, debate club, Latin, Spanish, and one year was painting."

"And the other years, Miss Granger?"

"It went ballet, debate club, Latin, Spanish, painting, cooking, and martial arts," Hermione told him in a patient manner. "But, as you can see, Harry's devotion to his textbook is another matter entirely. I mean, he practically sleeps with it, professor!"

"He does," Ron confirms, and Hermione and Severus promptly turn to look over at him. "We share a dorm room, sir, and it's an odd sight to see a textbook in one's bed."

"Not mine," Hermione said with a huff, crossing her arms.

"I think you are the rare exception to that rule, Miss Granger," Severus replied. "Very well, then, if you are so concerned, I will send Potter a note, letting him know that I am available to talk. Is that acceptable?"

"Oh thank you, thank you, professor!" Hermione said, grinning up at him before she made a grab for Ron's arm and pulled them from the classroom.

. . .

"Uncle Vernon used the belt for years," Harry said quietly to Dora, clutching at the mug of chamomile tea, as they both sat in Remus's rooms, which he'd vacated for their conversation. "I would have to say I was four when he first used it."

"You mentioned you were two when you started your chores?"

Harry nodded. "Yes."

"So, you'd been doing the inappropriate chores for two years before the belt was used?" Dora asked, just to recap.

Harry swallowed. "Yeah, that's right," he replied, lifting the mug of tea to his lips, the steam tickling his nose as he sipped it.

"What happened leading up to Vernon using the belt for the first time?"

Harry shuddered, staring into the mug of tea, the swirls of steam fogging up his glasses, permitting his thoughts to return to that day.

"Bring my coffee, boy," came the demand, like clockwork, like it always did, as his uncle read the newspaper.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry said quickly, simultaneously flipping bacon and sausages in a fry pan on the stove, the burn marks on the underside of his arms a constant now. He left the bacon and sausages to fry on a low setting, before he took the coffee pot, and poured the steamy brown liquid into his uncle's favorite mug, attempting to ignore the stench and sight of sludge inside the pristine white mug. He dragged his tongue over his lower lip in a moment of concentration, not wanting either the pot or the mug to shatter. Turning, he returned the pot to its place on the counter and lifted the mug, before stepping towards his uncle.

"Hurry up!" his uncle shouted again.

Harry's gasp escaped his lips as the mug fell to the floor, shattering instantly upon contact with the poorly-patterned linoleum, the drink liquid splashing mostly on Vernon Dursley, but the rest catching at Harry's exposed neck. "Sorry, sorry, Uncle Vernon!" Harry shouted.

"You will be sorry, you freakish boy!" his uncle shouted, yanking Harry by the arm and hauling him into his lap, using his other hand to undo his belt, the buckle and exposed line of leather slapping Harry in the face and head. "Quiet!" he growled amid Harry's protests, and promptly yanked his nephew's oversized trousers down, and promptly used the belt, as hard as he could, on the exposed skin...

"Harry?"

"I ended up burning the bacon and sausages," Harry recounted quietly. "Uncle Vernon really wasn't happy about that." He sat back on Remus's couch, lowering his legs when Valencia made her presence known, and pawed her way into his lap. "Accused me of wanting him to starve to death, when all he was meant to do was provide to for family..." Harry cut himself off then, his tone bitter, as he buried his fingers into Valencia's blackish-blue fur.

"And he sold drills, correct?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, forcing breath in and out of his lungs. "He had a couple over for dinner because he wanted to sell some to their company. The family dog got into my room and ended up chasing me down the stairs—which was rather brilliant, given how old he was at the time—and ended up upsetting the entire evening. The poor dog was so senile that of course he couldn't be blamed for the night being ruined, so Uncle Vernon got better-quality locks for my bedroom and put bars on my window."

"He say why he installed the bars?" Dora asked.

Harry swallowed. "The house was my prison," he stated, "and my room was my cell."

"What happened to the dog?"

"Ripper," Harry replied bitterly. "Not that I was ever close to the thing, but having Aunt Marge's dog use it as his personal chew toy, to the point of death, was very unsettling."

Dora sighed, lowering her pen. "I know this might be difficult for you, Harry, but do you remember anything before you came to the Dursley's?"

Harry sighed. "A gun?"

Dora blinked. "Who had a gun? Did your parents own one?"

Harry shook his head. "No. From everything Sirius and Remus have told me, they hated guns and stuck up for anti-gun laws at every chance they got..."

"So, whose gun was it?" Dora asked.

"Riddle's," Harry said softly.

Dora nearly choked as she sipped her tea. "What...?"

"I remember the night they died," Harry said softly. "Riddle bypassed the high-tech security system they'd put in place, and knocked down the front door. A lot of reports have him as average build, but I guess he'd been working out, or was on steroids or something, because he nearly tore the thing off its hinges," he whispered. "Dad... He told Mum to take me and get me out of there. It was late, and I was already in bed, but I heard him shout at her. She ran upstairs to my room, and I heard a gun going off—pop. Then Mum burst into my room and grabbed me, and was about to leave with me, but Riddle broke into my room next, telling her to hold still so that he could shoot her, but she begged to be allowed to leave and take me with her... He didn't like that," Harry told her. "Then, he shot her, pop...but..."

"But what?" Dora asked.

Harry lifted up his fringe then, and the healed-over bullet wound glared back at her. "They rushed me to the hospital, after he shot me," he whispered. "Wasn't expected to survive the night, due to the trajectory, where I was shot, and the blood loss. They just gave me all the blood they could, and hoped for the best."

"How did you even...?"

"No idea," Harry replied. "I had a five-percent chance of survival, with a three-percent chance of a good quality of life afterwards. One activity outside the house I was permitted was the local library," he whispered. "I scoured articles to find out about my parents, and that's how I found out that I was shot, too."

"How old were you?"

"Thirteen," Harry said softly. "I came home late because I was wandering the streets for hours, trying to figure out how I'd survived. When I came home, Uncle Vernon was so enraged with me that he broke my jaw. We left for Kings Cross in the morning."

"Remus told you about your mother, correct?"

Harry gave a nod. "Yeah. He told me about Mum, and Sirius told me about Dad."

Dora smiled. "What do you know about them?"

"Everyone talks about Dad, but Dad was a bully," Harry whispered. "They... They all went here, you know, and that's how Mum and Dad met. A lot of the professors that teach here went to this school as well, and I know that Professor Snape and my dad never got along... They say I look just like my dad, except for one thing."

"What's that?" Dora asked.

"My eyes. I have my mother's eyes," Harry said softly. "But, I think I've got more to her than what meets the eye."

"How so?"

"I wouldn't deliberately bully anyone," Harry said quietly. "Dad and Sirius... Well, I'm sure you know."

Dora nodded. "I know."

"I wouldn't do that," Harry said quietly. "It's just...it's not me. I don't want to seek popularity by picking on the underdog."

"You're kind," Dora stated.

Harry smiled. "Headmaster Dumbledore seems to think so," he replied.

. . .

Harry clutched at the note in Severus's handwriting as if it was a lifeline, and ran as fast as he could to the basement of the school, after his interview with Dora ended. She did not leave the room after he excused himself, and he noticed Remus coming out of the inner portion of his private quarters as soon as he stood to leave. It was plain to see that there was something more between the two of them, and Harry was pleased that Remus had found himself someone nice to be in a relationship with.

Harry curled his hand into a fist and rapped at the door as quickly as he could. He breathed a sigh of relief when Severus opened it, and moved to the side so as he could enter. He stood there, trembling slightly, still clutching at the note, as he turned to face Severus. "Why...? Why did you send me a note?" he whispered, and Severus sighed. "You've been ignoring me for a good two weeks, sir. I... I don't understand why..."

"Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger came to see me."

Harry swallowed. "Oh?"

"Yes. It appears as if they're concerned about you."

Harry swallowed. "Can't think why that would be, with Ron trying to take my personal property, and Hermione spending the vast majority of her time with him these days..."

"Mr. Weasley seemed to think that passive aggressive behavior was the way to go, while Miss Granger believed you needed space."

Harry crossed his arms. "I don't need space. I need to be understood." He turned away from Severus then, his shoulders shaking. "I... I thought you were the person who would understand me, sir. I thought that..."

"Harry, you've got to understand that I'm entirely sympathetic to what's been going on with you lately—well, for the past decade and nearly a half," he said quietly. "But what you've also got to understand is that I am still your professor."

"So what?" Harry asked, pushing the emotion out of his voice.

"So what?" Severus demanded, trying to keep his voice level. "Harry, you need to understand what's at stake here."

"So, what, this is all about your position at the school, is it?" Harry demanded, whipping around to face Severus, and nearly stumbled backwards when he realized how close he was standing to him. "You... You never cared at all, did you?" he whispered.

"That's not true, Harry," Severus replied. "I always cared, I do care, even now. But I think that you're a little confused, and you're latching onto a positive presence, and you may not be in your right frame of mind..."

"So, what, then?!" Harry cried out then, pulling himself away as Severus lowered his hand to place it onto his shoulder. "You're calling me mad, are you?!"

"I don't think you're mad, Harry," Severus assured him. "I think you're scared, broken, and more than a little traumatized. Not to mention the notion that you may be suffering from depression, anxiety, and post-traumatic stress disorder."

Harry shook his head, pivoting away from Severus and proceeding to pace around the room. "I don't understand what kind of game you're playing here," he said, digging his hands through his hair and tossing his note at him. "On the one hand, you claim to be worried about me, and now you suddenly want to see me because Ron and Hermione said some stuff to you. But whenever I try to get to the bottom of what this is—and don't deny that there's something here, please—you always push me away. Why are you pushing me away?!" he cried out, coming full stop before Severus, and stared up at him.

"Because I am an adult, Harry. You are still a child."

"I haven't been a child since I was fifteen months old, when that murderer shot my parents right in front of me!" he shouted, feeling tears pricking at his eyes. "Mum didn't die right away, you know?" he asked then, lowering his eyes, the tears streaming down his face, muddling the look of the Turkish carpet at his feet, so much so that he didn't hear Severus's sharp intake of breath opposite him. "The shot was fired on her first, and she screamed—he didn't get her right away, but he was on a mission, Riddle was, and he didn't give a rat's arse that her knees buckled and she fell to the ground, me in her arms. He fired again, and I screamed, too, but then I faded into unconsciousness... She bled out, me in her arms, before the coppers showed up. It didn't take very long—I know they arrested him at the scene, thanks to the security system being tripped and 999 being alerted. Three-percent chance of survival with a good quality of life," Harry whispered, his tone bitter. "I'd say they mucked up that statistic pretty good..."

"You... You remember your mother's murder?" Severus whispered.

Harry raised his eyes, meeting the horrified expression of his chemistry professor. "It's my first-ever memory," he told him.

Severus swallowed. "I had no idea, Harry..."

"And why would you?" Harry whispered to him. "You only started talking to me like a human being, and not the scum on your boot, this year. You were pulling me in with similarities in our circumstances, but then you shut me out once I..."

"You took it too far, Harry," Severus said quickly. "We're not supposed to..."

"Tell me a different reason, one other than you being a professor and me your student, or the age difference," Harry begged as he stepped closer, gripping Severus's shirt in his hands. "Tell me that I'm not mistaken, and that you felt it, too. Say if we were just two random blokes, and there wasn't as big an age difference, would you... Would you see me...?"

"I see you, Harry," Severus whispered to him.

"Then... Then why can't you just allow yourself to...?"

"Because it's wrong," Severus told him firmly, unknotting his fingers from their grip upon his shirt, and stepped a more appropriate distance away from him. "Can't you see how wrong all of this is?"

"All of this?" Harry whispered, his voice shaking. "You... You feel it, too?"

"I cannot answer that question and keep my integrity intact, Harry."

Harry swallowed. "So, what is this, then?" he whispered, his vision unfocusing as he focused on a space behind Severus. "Why did you summon me here?"

"I wanted to see if you were all right..."

"I think you know very well that I'm not all right," Harry whispered to him, gritting his teeth, willing for his voice not to tremble. "You rejected me, and I don't suppose you care how much that hurt me, but it bloody well did," he said quietly. "I... I can't just stand here and pretend that I'm alone in this so... I'll just..." Harry forced himself to stop speaking then, before he pushed past Severus and bolted from his rooms.

. . .

Headmaster Dumbledore had announced the Halloween Ball to take place on the evening in question, and Year Ten to the Upper Sixth Form were permitted to attend. Lots of people were already pairing up, with Ginny and Dean agreeing to go together almost immediately, Blaise and Pansy going as a formally established couple, and Luna with her long-term boyfriend Rolf Scamander. It came as a shock to Hermione when Ron asked Lavender to go with him, and Harry agreed to take Hermione as friends, to which she was slightly all right with.

"It'll all work out," Harry told her gently, rolling his eyes as she automatically reached out to adjust his crimson silk tie.

"I'm just sorry that neither of us could go with who we really wanted to go with," she mused softly with a shrug of her white shoulders, exposed by the knee-length, sleeveless, pink dress she was wearing.

"Seamus is taking both Parvati and Padma Patil," Harry muttered, a sly look on his face, and Hermione rolled her eyes this time.

"Boys these days, really," she grumbled, accepting Harry's arm as they meandered towards the canteen, which had been redecorated and set aside for the night. "You know, of course, why he's doing it."

"To get Lavender to chuck Ron and go to him, of course," Harry replied.

"Good to know I'm not the only one who sees it," Hermione muttered.

Harry and Hermione walked into the canteen, while Professor Flitwick had spent hours setting up over the course of the day, between English lessons. There were Jack o' lanterns suspended by extra-strength wires from the high ceilings, plus a live band, cobwebs dotting the walls and hanging from bits of ceiling not already established as glowing pumpkin territory, fuzzy and black spider figurines dotting every surface, and many other things that screamed Halloween as they looked around the canteen.

"They certainly went all-out, didn't they?" Hermione asked.

Harry nodded. "Definitely," he replied.

Harry smirked at the cover band for The Nightmare Before Christmas, a popular American film that he had watched over the summer at Hermione's insisting. As the song about Jack Skellington played, Harry pulled Hermione out onto the dance floor, and noticed that Ron looked just a bit shocked at how wonderful a time the pair of them were having. Of course, all good things had to come to an end, and were it not for the pair of black eyes boring into him throughout the dance, Harry could've said he almost had a good time.

"What's going on with you?" Hermione hissed as they left the dance floor.

Harry sighed, marching over towards the refreshment table, and ladled himself a generous cup of punch, swallowing it down quickly. "I don't know," he admitted.

Hermione sighed, looking around for a moment, before she lowered her voice. "It wouldn't have anything to do with Professor Snape, now would it?"

Harry blanched as he looked up at her. "How do you...?"

"Why do you think Ron and I went to him in the first place to check up on you?"

Harry shook his head. "Ron... He doesn't...?"

"Of course not," Hermione told him. "I wouldn't do that to you, Harry. He... He suspects that you're gay, but I didn't tell him. I know you'll tell him when you're ready."

Harry swallowed another sip of punch. "He won't talk to me," he said softly, and Hermione knew her friend well-enough to know what he was talking about. "I... I kissed him," he said softly.

Hermione gasped. "Harry, he's our chemistry professor!"

"I know, but I couldn't help it..."

"He could've lost his job," Hermione said, panicking now.

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's all he cares about, really..."

Hermione shook her head, dragging the punch from his shaking hand. "I highly doubt that that's the case, Harry. He likely doesn't want you to ruin your future."

"I looked it up," Harry said quietly. "Age of consent is sixteen. If he really wanted me, he could have me..."

"Harry, where is this coming from?" Hermione demanded. "You never spoke about him like this before this year, or at all, unless it was to complain about him..."

Harry sighed. "I think I knew I was gay when Cho kissed me before Christmas last year. Her actions just confirmed it," he told her quietly. "But with Snape... I think I knew there was something from the moment I heard his voice..."

"His voice?" she asked, lifting the punch to her lips.

"Yeah. Blimey, Hermione, his voice is dead sexy..."

Hermione nearly choked on her drink of the punch. "I'm glad you know what you want, Harry, but you've only got this year and next year," she told him gently. "Once those years are over, and Snape feels similarly, you can explore it all then..."

"I'm sick of restrictions," Harry muttered to himself, before he raised his eyes again, seeing Severus slip out of the canteen, and Anthony Goldstein approaching them. "Hey, Tony," he said in a friendly manner.

"Hey, mate. How're things?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "Oh, you know, can't complain," he replied.

"Hey, Hermione," Anthony said, smiling politely at her.

"Tony," Hermione replied with a smile.

"Dance?"

"I... I'm here with Harry," Hermione said softly.

"Oh, please," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Tony, if you didn't know it already, Hermione and I are like brother and sister. If you want to take her for a spin, and she wants it, too, then, by all means, I won't stop you."

Anthony looked delighted at that and offered Hermione his hand. "Shall we?"

"Yes, I'd like to," Hermione said, flushing becomingly as she handed Harry his punch back, and glided out onto the dance floor with Anthony.

Harry sighed, setting his cup of punch down and making his way towards the door that Severus had gone out of, and dashed down the corridors towards the basement, knowing that he had to have gone down there. He caught up with him eventually, and grabbed him by the hand, which caused Severus to whip around quickly, and gaze down in a shocked manner at Harry.

"Potter!" he hissed, yanking his hand back and away from him. "What is the meaning of this inappropriate behavior?"

"I can't take this," Harry whispered, stepping closer to him, and Severus froze before him. "I just need to know that I'm not crazy...or mad..."

"I think we've established the fact that I wouldn't describe you either way," Severus told him softly, unmoving, but for his lips.

"Just... Tell me I'm not wrong," Harry whispered.

Severus sighed. "Wrong about what?"

"You know what!" Harry hissed at him, his voice cracking at the end. "Tell me that there's something between us. I know there is. I can't be wrong, can I?"

"Potter, I told you that we couldn't..."

"Harry," Harry told him, his voice filled with desperation. "My name is Harry. I thought we were already passed this."

Severus swallowed. "We were, until you crossed the line, Potter," he said, before he turned around and walked off.

"Wait," Harry said, latching onto his hand again and moving so that he was standing in front of him, panting with anxiety. "Look, I know I'm not crazy here, Severus," he said, and watched as his chemistry professor looked positively put-off by the use of his given name. "I know I can't be crazy or mad because, no matter how brief it was, you kissed me back. Now, either you feel something for me, too, or you were just pretending that I was someone else. That, or you're as starved for affection as I am," he went on, and Severus sneered. "Just...tell me. Which one is it, Severus, so I don't dare to hope for something that I might be imagining."

"I will not tolerate a student asking me such an intimate question."

"You snogged me back!" Harry shouted. "I hardly think you throwing up the teacher-student relationship being forbidden thing applies here!"

Severus gritted his teeth. "That's enough, Potter."

"Is it?" Harry whispered, closing the distance between them, and noted with glee that Severus seemed to gasp slightly then. "When is it enough, sir? I just want you to tell me that I'm not mad, and then I'll drop it..."

"Fine," Severus said, grabbing ahold of his shoulders, staring directly into his eyes and seeming to not want to let him go; there was a heartbeat, a second one, and, finally, at the third one, Severus let him go and pushed him away from him. "Perhaps you are not mad... Harry," he said softly, whispering the word like an omen as he shoved his way past him, and darted into his inner rooms, slamming the door behind him.