To hate, to be violent, is demeaning.
It means you're afraid of the other side of the coin -- to love and be loved.
James Baldwin

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, Mr. Potter," Minerva McGonagall said, smiling from the front doors as Harry, leaning heavily on his cane, made his way up the wide stone steps.

Harry smiled back at her, hiding the trepidation he felt. It had only been two years since he'd seen her at Dumbledore's funeral. His world had changed significantly since he'd been part of the Auror honor guard with several other former Hogwarts students.

He glanced up at her, automatically assessing her with an Auror's eyes. From what he'd heard and read, McGonagall had weathered her first years as Headmistress well, but clearly it had not been without a price. Her bearing was straight to the point of rigid. A tartan trim edged her otherwise black robes, making her complexion look even paler than he remembered. Her gaze through the square glasses was as direct as it had always been.

"It's good to be here, Headmistress." Harry reached the top and tried not to look as if he were breathing hard. "And please call me Harry."

She held out her hand to him and he took it. "Of course you may call me Minerva. We're all very excited to have you with us. Do come in."

"Thank you." Harry followed her inside.

"Even without your injury, it can be difficult for first time teachers to handle a full schedule. And teaching Defense Against Dark Arts can be very physical." She glanced at his cane pointedly.

"I think I'll be able to handle a full course load and what is required for the job," Harry assured her steadfastly. He wasn't willing to entertain the possibility that he couldn't.

She must have seen something in his eyes, because she gave him a hard, assessing look and asked, "How are you feeling, really?"

Her expression indicated that she expected honesty from him. "I have good days and bad days, about what you'd expect. It's been six months. I think it's more than time to get on with my life."

McGonagall nodded, seeming to accept what he said at face value. "Are you in much pain from your injuries?" She stopped in the middle of the main entrance hall. "You'll have to tell Madam Pomfrey what, if anything, you require."

"It's manageable most days. I don't require anything on a daily basis." He looked up at the moving staircases. "Stairs can be a bit of a challenge, though."

"I thought as much." She glanced at the stairs thoughtfully, and then focused back on him. "There are rooms available on this floor, but they won't be quiet once the children arrive. The dungeon rooms are cold, but the stairs down don't move and might be easier to maneuver. There are, of course, rooms on the third floor of the North tower; it's farther away, but it does have the advantage of nearly perfect privacy. You may have your choice."

The dungeons were out. He couldn't envision living that close to Snape. Granted, he probably wouldn't hate Snape as a colleague as much as he did when he was a student, but Harry also couldn't imagine he'd be pleasant to live around under any circumstances. Besides, the damp would not help the constant ache in his hip. The first floor would be the best for him physically, but he wanted privacy. "I'll take the rooms in the North Tower, if that's all right with you."

McGonagall looked skeptical for a moment, but finally nodded. "I'll take you up, then. If you do find that you need to change locations for any reason, don't hesitate to let me know."

"I will." Grateful for the assurance, Harry made his way slowly to the stairs and followed McGonagall up.

*****

His rooms were spacious, with big windows that let in a lot of light. Despite the difficulty of getting to them, Harry knew he'd made the right choice.

It felt good to be back at Hogwarts, and so good to have something productive to do. He'd missed that when he'd been convalescing. God, that had been awful. Even with the care he'd received, the constant, unrelenting pain had nearly driven him mad. The inability to move freely enough to go outside or even to the loo without assistance had been worse than the pain itself, and had made him irritable and unpleasant to be around. He'd hated having to ask for help. With a shake of his head, he let the thoughts of that time go and focused back on the present.

There were things that needed doing and it was time he got to them. He pulled three small cubes out of his robe pocket. They contained all of his worldly goods. Before he'd given up his flat in London, he'd miniaturized the furniture he thought would be useful and sold the rest.

He set the first one down on the floor, and waved his wand. The furniture grew back to its normal size. A second wave of his wand and a sofa, two arm chairs, and a desk arranged themselves in his sitting room. Another wave and some of his pictures and other possessions arranged themselves on the walls and tabletops.

The bedroom had several windows that looked out over the back garden of the castle. He could see Madam Sprout's greenhouses. Beyond that was the hut where Hagrid had once lived. Even now, years later, Harry felt a pang in his heart when he thought about the gentle soul who had been his first friend.

Harry set down the second cube and waved his wand. His bed, cupboard, chest of drawers, and several small tables grew back to their proper sizes and moved around the room to the correct positions.

He set Hedwig's cage on one of the bedside tables and looked over at the window where she was perched on the sill. At his gesture, she came to sit on his shoulder, nipping his ear playfully. "Well, girl," he said, reaching up to stroke her soft feathers. "It looks like we're home again."

She hooted happily.

"Yes, I know. It's been a while since we lived here, hasn't it." Over fifteen years, Harry realized with a start. Oh, he'd been back since he'd left school, but never for more than a few days.

Now -- now he was back to stay. A sense of satisfied pleasure settled over him.

The last small cube contained his luggage, all of his clothes, his books, and the few other sundry things he'd collected in his travels. It wasn't that much to show for thirty-three years of existence, Harry thought, sliding the last book into place with a flick of his wand.

Before he could spend too much time contemplating that depressing thought, a knock at the door pulled him from his reverie.

"Yes?" He opened the door to see Madam Hooch standing there. "Oh, hello."

"Good to see you, Harry," she said briskly. She looked the same as he remembered, tall and solid. Her eyes were so light they looked yellow in most lights. Not unlike Remus Lupin's, actually. "Minerva asked me to stop by to let you know there's a staff meeting after supper. She said she was sorry she forgot to mention it this afternoon."

"You didn't have to come all the way up here to tell me that," Harry said. "It's good to see you, though." Secretly, he was pleased that she'd made the effort.

"I live just down the hall. Besides, I wanted to welcome you. How are you doing?" She nodded towards his leg and cane.

"Fine." He mustered a tired smile. Traveling and unpacking had worn him out. "I'm glad to be back. Do you want to come in?"

"No. I don't want to disturb you." She took a breath, looking slightly uncomfortable. "I haven't heard how bad you were.... Can you fly?"

Something sharp twisted in his chest, but he was used to ignoring it. The thought that he might never fly again was too much to bear. "No. Though they tell me there's some hope that I will be able to someday." Just not much, he admitted to himself.

"I'm so sorry." She looked down, clearly ill at ease. "I'm so sorry to hear that. You were such..." she trailed off, her face flushing. "If there's any--"

Shaking his head, Harry stepped back, refusing to let his sorrow show. "Thanks for letting me know about the meeting, Madam Hooch."

"Oh, do call me Xiomara." Hooch smiled, her awkwardness easing. "We're to be colleagues after all."

That was going to take a bit of getting used to, Harry thought, but appreciated her easy acceptance of him. "True enough. Thanks. I'll see you at supper."

She waved and left. Harry turned back into his room. Hedwig, who had retreated to her window perch at the knock on the door, flew back to his shoulder. "Well, what do you make of that?"

Hedwig hooted sympathetically, nibbling on his hair and he stroked her chest feathers. After a moment, she hooted again to let him know she wanted something and flew to the window. Harry let her out. "I bet you'll make new friends with the owls here." He watched as she flew towards the owlery. "At least one of us will have a social life." He hadn't come back here for a social life, in fact, he'd come back for just the opposite: to find something productive to do and maybe a bit of peace.

*****

Before supper, Harry glanced into the mirror as he ran a brush through his hair. He was too pale. His green eyes didn't seem as bright as they once had. Too much had happened, he supposed, too much pain, too much worry, too much of everything. It had worn away at his optimism about life. As much as he might wish it weren't so, he wasn't the same person as he'd been last time he was here and he never would be again. As if to prove the point, his thigh started to throb and he reached down to rub it absently.

Before he could slide into despair, he shook himself. No, he wasn't the same, but he was still himself, could still contribute something to the world around him and this was where he was going to start.

Squaring his shoulders, Harry gathered his courage around him. Right now, he had dinner and a meeting to attend.

When he'd been in hospital, he'd been too occupied with other things to get his hair cut. It now fell just past his shoulders in heavy waves. To his delight, he'd found that the weight of it tamed some of its unruliness. He kept it tied back with a leather tie.

The scar on his forehead had faded in the years since Voldemort's death. Even with his hair tied back, it was visible only if you looked for it. Unfortunately, though, to many people, no matter how many years had passed or how much his scar had faded, he would always be the Boy Who Lived and then Lived Again when he killed Voldemort.

He checked his robes before he left and decided that he looked acceptable for supper and the meeting after it. The worst problem with his injuries, Harry thought with some irritation, was that he had to leave a lot of extra time to get where he was going

Dinner was served in the teacher's common room rather than the Great Hall when the students weren't present. There were several staff members already there when he limped in. Harry glanced around, trying not to look as nervous as he felt.

"Good to see you, Harry," Professor Flitwick said, looking him up and down, not bothering to hide his curiosity.

Harry supposed he preferred honest curiosity to the surreptitious, pitying glances of most of his friends

Although he was not tall by most standards, Harry still towered over the diminutive Flitwick. "And you, sir. You're looking well."

"Do call me Filius, dear boy." Flitwick smiled. "I am well. How are you? We've heard about --" He nodded toward the cane.

"You could hardly have missed it, I'm told." Harry forced a smile. As much as he hated to talk about it, hated having to relive the whole thing over and over, he knew everyone was going to ask it. He told himself that he should be grateful for their concern. Unfortunately, he couldn't always control what he felt. "I'm fine. Really."

Flitwick, seemingly content to accept that at face value, nodded and moved away to talk to someone else.

After several minutes of chatting with the few Professors that he did know, Harry had to sit down.

A long table had been set up across the back of the room and several of the teachers were already seated. He sat down next to Madam Hooch, relieved to be off his feet.

"Strange, isn't it?" Hooch bit into her chicken leg and chewed with obvious relish. "Coming back as an adult."

"It's going to take a bit of getting used to, I will say that." Stomach growling, Harry helped himself to a piece of chicken from the communal platter, along with mashed potatoes and glazed vegetables.

When he'd been a student, the food at Hogwarts had always seemed so plentiful and so delicious. It was no less plentiful now, but after a few bites he had to admit that his tastes must have changed, because it seemed a bit ...well, a bit bland. He reached for the salt shaker and sprinkled it liberally over his chicken.

"Ah," a voice said softly from behind him. "Harry Potter. Our new -- celebrity."

Harry looked over his shoulder, and for a moment he was eleven again, speechless with outrage. The feeling faded quickly, though, and he forced a smile. Some things never changed. "Am I more famous now, do you suppose?"

Snape's mouth twitched very slightly. Harry couldn't quite believe it, but it looked like he might be trying not to smile. "We shall see, shan't we, Mr. Potter?"

"It's good to see you, sir," Harry lied, making an attempt to be pleasant.

"I rather doubt that." Snape moved past him and took his place at the end of the table without another word.

Shaking his head, Harry went back to his food, dismissing Snape from his mind. There were too many other things to worry about to even consider Snape, starting with his teaching schedule and lesson plans then continuing on to his condition and how well he actually was going to hold up.

Although he hadn't admitted it to McGonagall, he was concerned about teaching and its effect on his recovery. He hoped he was going to be strong enough to meet the demands of his position. No, he told himself, he couldn't think like that. If he did, he failed before he even started. One way or another, he'd do what he needed to do.

*****

After supper and the staff meeting -- where he'd actually exchanged a few civil words with Snape -- Harry knew he could not put off seeing Madam Pomfrey any longer. Reluctantly, he made his way to the infirmary. It was only after he arrived there without mishap that he realized that the stairs had not once tried to trip him or make him lose his way. Climbing them still wasn't easy, but at least the stairs hadn't gone out of their way to make it more difficult for him. He didn't know if they only tried to confuse the students or if they were being merciful to him, either way he was grateful.

"Madam Pomfrey," he said, knocking on the doorjamb of her office and then sticking his head inside to smile at her.

Pomfrey looked up. "Harry, dear. It's good to see you. What can I do for you?"

"I wanted you to see me before I start classes." He hated having to expose the wounds to anyone, even someone who was a professional. But he knew that she needed to know all the details just in case something went wrong.

"Why don't you go into the examine room," she said, pointing to the door across from her office, "and get undressed. There should be a smock on the table. "I'll be in a couple of minutes."

Harry nodded. He found the smock and got undressed. Using his hands, he lifted himself into a sitting position on the table, then swung his legs over, draping a sheet around him and lying back.

"Do you have your medical records from St. Mungo's?" Madam Pomfrey asked as she came around the curtain of the exam table.

Harry had expected the request and was already holding out the small ball that contained all of his records.

"Thank you." She slipped the ball into the pocket of her robes and smiled at him. "So now give me the condensed version."

"Don't you know already?" Harry was chilled from the coolness of the room, and shivered.

"Are you all right?" she asked, seeming to study his face intently. "It isn't cold in here."

"I'm fine. I seem to feel the cold now more than I did before." Lying half naked on a table with only a sheet for covering didn't help that fact much, Harry thought. "What would you like to know about the injury? It was in all the papers for months."

"I know that you were injured, rather severely, in the line of duty." She looked admonishingly at him. "Beyond that, I have no knowledge. I do not read nor listen to gossip."

She must be the only one then, Harry thought with some bitterness. God, he hated to talk about it, hated to think about it. "Of course not. I was hit with a Gladius spell."

He could see from her expression that she didn't know what that was. That didn't surprise him. It was a rare spell that required a tremendous amount of power from the wielder. There were much easier ways to kill. "It's quite literally a sword spell. The wand can cut in the same manner that a real sword would, but without any direct contact from the wielder. I have a glancing blow across my lower back and hip because I turned as the witch I was fighting cast it the first time." Harry shuddered as he remembering the sickening feel of rending bone and muscle, and then the blinding pain.

Pomfrey motioned for him to continue.

With a deep breath, Harry pushed past the memories and continued on, focusing back on her. "The wound on my thigh was a more direct hit. She sent the sword spell right through it. Intended, I suspect, to cause me to bleed to death. I would have, too, if one of my people hadn't been able to spell the bleeding temporarily. I survived, as you can see, but my career as an Auror is over."

"Don't tell me they sacked you?" Despite her words, her tone indicated she would have no trouble believing such a thing of the Ministry.

"Mandatory disability retirement, with full pay." It wasn't that much, but Harry didn't need the funds to live on, either. At least he hadn't had to fight for it as some injured Aurors did. "They *are* paying for my medical expenses."

"As well they should, with you injured in the line of duty." She raised the sheet and looked down at his thigh for a moment, seeming to asses the wound on sight alone. "Let's look at your back."

"It's not very pretty." He gritted his teeth as she rolled him on his side to look at the wounds on his back first. They were still red and ugly and painful. Even after they faded with time, they would always look awful.

He could hear her sigh and pull out her wand and felt her run it over the wound, following it with a gentle finger. "These things never are pretty or pleasant. At least the wound has closed and has begun to scar over."

"The healers at St. Mungo's did what they could to close it, but unfortunately it took some time before the bleeding stopped fully. They could stop it for a time, but it always seemed to start to bleed again if I moved wrong or did too much. It's only now that I can move around without worrying about opening it back up again." Harry could hear the relief in his own voice. The truth was that he'd been terrified they would not be able to get the wounds closed permanently. "As it was, it took months."

Pomfrey nodded, understanding and sympathy in her look. "You were in hospital for almost three months."

"Yes. Then I spent three more on semi-bed rest at the Burrow." Harry smiled. He adored Molly and Arthur Weasley. They had insisted he stay and then had taken care of him as if he were one of their own.

"What are your most pressing problems?" She looked him right in the eyes, her concern evident. "What pains you the most?"

"I have deep muscle cramps and spasms." Harry touched the scar on the front of his thigh lightly and felt it tighten further. "The quadricep is so badly damaged from the spell that I wonder sometimes how I can walk on it at all." Despite the pain of it, he was damned grateful to be upright and mobile under his own power.

"I can see that." Pomfrey watched it intently for a moment. "You must have been in very good shape physically before the injury."

"I played amateur Quidditch with the MLE league after work. We all kept in shape that way." Harry looked away, not letting her see how badly it hurt to know he'd never play again. "It's hard to believe that I was ever that strong. I seem to spend so much of my time in pain."

"I suspect it will be a long while before that changes." There was sympathy in her voice. "They were after you specifically, weren't they?"

Perhaps she had read some of the articles on the raid after all. "Yes." Harry tried not to wince at that. He couldn't help feeling helpless and annoyed that fifteen years after he'd killed Voldemort there were still people out there who were trying to kill him for it. What did they think, that killing him would somehow bring Voldemort back? "Ouch," he murmured as she probed a little too hard and he could feel the already tense muscle cramp hard.

"Sorry, dear." She pulled the sheet back over him. Then she raised her wand and flicked it once. The muscle relaxed. "Better?"

"Yes. Thank you." He closed his eye for a moment and breathed out in relief. "I know you can't do that very often, but it does feel so much better."

"I know it does. However, to continually force the muscle to relax would damage it over time." She patted his other thigh gently. "You're not in that bad shape, considering everything."

"No. I suppose I'm not. I do know I'm lucky to be alive." He wasn't ungrateful, either. But the cost hadn't been cheap and he'd be paying it for a long time to come. "They say it's possible I might be able to fly again."

Her compassionate look told him her view of that assessment, but she nodded just the same. "One day. Perhaps. You'll have to do a lot of healing first. The muscles will need to be a great deal more flexible than they are right now."

Disappointed not to be given more hope, he knew that it would be better not to have any expectations. It would lessen the devastation when the time came to accept the inevitable, but some small part of him refused to give up the dream. Maybe it hadn't been long enough for him to let go without a fight. Or maybe he was just grasping at straws. "I know," Harry said, sitting up. "I'm very stiff much of the time and I've been told it will only get worse. Do you have anything that might help with that?"

"I don't keep anything that potent on hand, but I'll ask Professor Snape to brew a potion to help relax the spasms." She said it as if she believed that Snape would do it just for him, just because she asked.

Harry knew better and grimaced. Even if she could persuade him to do it, the last thing he wanted was to owe Snape anything. "I don't suppose there's anyone else who could do it?"

"Not unless you do it yourself." The admonishing look Pomfrey gave him made him feel about twelve. "You're a teacher now and as such, I think it might be wise for you leave your schoolboy grudges behind you."

Well, he'd certainly been put in his place, hadn't he? Instead of getting angry, though, he smiled at her, lowering his eyes. "Yes, ma'am. You're quite right."

She laughed at him. "Always the charmer, aren't you, Harry Potter."

"If only it worked half as well now as it did when I was still young and cute." Even to himself, Harry sounded far too wistful.

"This has got you down a bit, perhaps?" Pomfrey's tone shifted again, becoming serious and concerned again.

What was he supposed to say to that? She had to know this hadn't been the easiest thing he'd ever gone through. Though, all things considered, it hadn't been the hardest, either. "A bit, perhaps. It's taken a lot out of me."

"You can talk about it with me, if you would like." Pomfrey met his eyes. "I'm trained to help you."

"Thanks." Harry looked away. While he did know the benefits of talking out his problems with an uninvolved third party, he wasn't quite ready to do it yet. It was too hard to even think about what he'd lost. "I'll think about doing that."

"You do that." She stepped away and took hold of the curtain, preparing to pull it around. "Get dressed and come to see me in my office."

Harry nodded as the drape closed. Talking about it with her, or anyone, wasn't going to help him accept his limitations. No, he was going to have to figure out a way to do that on his own.

*****

A few days later, Harry came around the corner of the corridor that led to his rooms, and slammed into something hard and unyielding. He bounced back, landing on his bum and hip.

"Oof," Harry gasped as pain exploded through his leg and up his spine. A wave of nausea flowed over him and he breathed in and out slowly, hoping it would pass before he got sick or passed out.

Looking up to see Snape hovering over him did nothing for his disposition. Harry was mortified that it had to be Snape seeing him like this. He muttered, "Damn it," through his teeth and sat up gingerly, trying to keep his weight off his hip.

"Are you blind? No, of course you're not. You simply can't be bothered to watch where you are going, can you?" Snape's, tone was as waspish and cutting as it had ever been in class. "Do you plan to get up off the floor?"

"I'm thinking about it," Harry snapped back, fighting back the need to be sick as the pain subsided enough for him to think about moving. Getting up without leverage took some work, even using magic. He set his cane upright on the floor and waved his wand at it to make it stay that way. Then, using it as leverage, he forced his shaking legs under him and stood.

Snape looked at him, his lips twisted into a disgusted sneer. "You imbecilic boy. If you needed help getting up, why didn't you simply ask?"

"I want nothing from you, Snape. Nothing at all," Harry said through his gritted teeth, his fury surging past all bounds. God, how he hated that Snape was seeing him like this. "Besides which, I'm quite sure that if you even deigned to help me, it would be tainted like you are."

Before Snape could respond, Harry continued on his tirade. Now, having found a convenient target for all of his frustrations, he couldn't seem to stop himself. "In fact, I'm surprised you're not laughing at the funny sight. Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived is now The Boy Who Is Broken. You've been waiting years for your revenge on me, or maybe even longer for revenge on my father, and now's the time." Some part of him knew he wasn't being fair, but his temper had snapped completely.

He looked up at Snape with all the animosity he'd ever felt for the bastard oozing through him. "Why don't you just kick me while I'm down? It wouldn't be the first time, would it? And it's not as if I'm going to be able to retaliate." Feeling himself sway, Harry gripped his cane tighter. "I can't. Just like I couldn't when I was when I was a student. Why don't I ask for help? I'll tell you why ù because I know you would never help me."

Snape's head jerked back as if he'd been slapped. "You're quite right, Mr. Potter. I would never do anything to help anyone as unappreciative as yourself. Good day." Snape turned on his heel, his robes flaring out and started to walk away.

Rather belatedly, Harry realized that Snape wouldn't be on his doorstep without a reason. "Why were you here in the first place?"

"I'd come up here to trip you, of course. I get my jollies that way. Didn't you know that?" Snape turned and sneered at him, but there was something in his eyes that didn't match the look on his face.

"I don't doubt it." Harry saw Snape's nasty expression falter for a split second. It was enough to let him know that he'd gone too far, said too much that he shouldn't have said, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care. He took a breath and tried to look contrite even if he didn't really feel it. "What did you want?"

"What makes you think I wanted anything from you?" Snape nodded towards the other end of the hall. "As it happens, Madam Hooch lives right there. Perhaps I was visiting her."

Closing his eyes again, Harry willed the ache in his leg to subside enough so he could think more clearly. If he didn't sit down very soon, he would fall down. He repeated his question. "Why were you coming to see me?"

"As I said--"

"Don't. Okay." Harry paused and took a breath wishing he was sorry he'd blown up at Snape, but if anyone he'd ever met was worthy of his ire, it was that bastard. "I'm sorry for snapping at you. That's more than you ever said to me for all the shit you put me through in school. Now, tell me what the bloody hell you wanted."

For a second, Snape seemed taken back by Harry's anger. Then he straightened up to his full height, and looked down his long nose at Harry. "Madam Pomfrey asked me to make a potion for your injury."

"Oh." Bloody hell. Harry felt like ten kinds of a fool. He hated it when he let his temper get the best of him and unfortunately that had happened a lot lately.

"Yes. Exactly." Snape glared at him, his expression furious. "Since obviously I've made a mistake in coming to see you, may I leave now?"

"Would it help to say I was sorry?" Harry asked, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and knowing already that it wouldn't, that it would take a great deal more than an apology, even a sincere one, for the greasy git to be at all forgiving. If he ever would, which now that Harry thought about it wasn't at all likely.

"No." Snape turned around and walked away.

Harry hobbled into his rooms and collapsed on the sofa with a sigh of disgust. Hedwig came over and sat on the back of the sofa and pulled at the tie in his hair. He stroked her soft head and murmured dejectedly, "What am I going to do now?"

*****

The stairs down to the dungeon were stone and didn't move, but that didn't make them any easier to maneuver, especially not when he was in a lot of pain. Of course Harry wouldn't be going to down to see Snape even if he weren't in so much pain. He didn't want to apologize again, but the ache and tremor in his hip and thigh were only getting worse. He had to have a muscle relaxant, and nothing Madam Pomfrey had would help him.

As Harry saw it, he had two distasteful choices: he could go to St. Mungo's and ask for something from their sometimes less-than-adequate staff or he could throw himself on Snape's mercy. All things being equal, he'd rather fire call St. Mungo's, but he knew that anything they gave him would be less effective than one of Snape's potions. He hated the circumstances that made him a supplicant, but he knew he required Snape's skills.

Harry rapped once on Snape's office door and then he pushed it open when he heard something he hoped was an entry invitation.

Snape didn't even bother to look up from his desk, continuing to work on whatever was in front of him. "Go away."

It had been only two seconds and he hadn't said a word, but Harry could already tell this was not going to go well. Irritated beyond words, he nonetheless gathered his courage and continued anyway. "I need you to do me a favor."

"No." Snape still didn't look up. His voice was flat with recrimination. "Go away and don't come back."

"No." Determined, Harry folded his arms over his chest. If the prat was going to be stubborn about it, he could be too. The utter ignominy of having to beg for this tore at his pride and made him queasy. "I know I was an arse, but I need the potion."

"No." There was no give in Snape's voice; his refusal sounded final. "Get out of my office."

"I'm not leaving until you let me apologize." Harry admitted to himself that he should have done that anyway, even without the promise of the potion. He felt bad about what he'd said. It didn't make it any less true, but he shouldn't have been so cruel.

"Since the only reason you would do that is because you need me to do something for you, it would be rather meaningless, don't you think?" Snape finally looked up at him. His face was impassive, but his eyes were furious.

"I would have apologized anyway. I know I was being an arse. Pain does that to a person." Humiliated by the whine in his voice, Harry gritted his teeth and went on, "Surely, even you can understand that."

"I understand nothing. Did you not say that?" Snape sneered at him, his face ugly and twisted with disgust. "I don't care."

It struck Harry that nothing he could say would change Snape's mind. Unbelievably, Snape simply wasn't going to help him. And Harry was shaken by the idea. He honestly hadn't expected Snape to deny his plea, to leave him in pain. With a sigh that allowed too much of his defeat to be heard, his shoulders slumped in defeat, and Harry took a step back. "Sorry to have bothered you."

"Close the door on your way out." His tone was implacable; he really didn't care.

Without another look at Snape, Harry turned and left. He felt like he'd been slapped, stunned, as he always did when someone was ruthlessly cruel. Even with everything he'd seen in his life, it always came a as a shock.

Trudging up the long hallway towards the first set of stairs, he looked back, half hoping Snape would come after him. He should have known better. There was no mercy in Snape, no understanding, no compassion. Only malice and hate and bitterness. That it was Harry's own fault that he'd brought Snape's wrath down on himself made him feel all the worse.

Suddenly, he was so tired. It seemed to take hours to reach his rooms. He fell into bed. Even though it was the middle of the day, he just couldn't keep his eyes open.

When he woke again dusk was falling. Pushing himself out of bed took a great deal of energy, but Harry managed to reach his desk and scribble a note to Madam Pomfrey. He gave it to Hedwig to deliver. It galled him to have to ask for help, but he couldn't do more than simple spells as he was now.

Hedwig must have realized how bad he felt, because Madam Pomfrey arrived at his room remarkably quickly. She looked at him consideringly. "Why won't Professor Snape make you what you need?"

"I insulted him." Harry wasn't going to say more than that if he could avoid it. Knowing he was wrong and actually having to admit it were two different things. His pride had already taken a thorough beating, and he wasn't sure how much more he could take. "Will you spell my hip and thigh again? The muscles are cramping and twitching almost constantly now."

She felt it through his trousers. "It's a deep spasm."

"I know that. I need something to relax it," he snapped and then looked at her apologetically. "I'm sorry. It hurts."

"I know it does." She closed her eyes and touched his leg with her wand. To Harry's relief, the muscle relaxed immediately -- not completely, but enough so that he could think a little more clearly.

"Thank you," Harry said, grateful beyond words that the pain had eased. "I'll fire call St. Mungo's now."

"You might try talking to Professor Snape again, apologize." Pomfrey looked displeased with him. "There are only so many times I can use that magic. Eventually, spelling the muscle will cause it to deteriorate."

"I know. I've tried to apologize to Snape." His anger surged as he thought about his treatment at Snape's hand. "I'm not going to try again. The man hates me and is looking for an excuse to be cruel. It doesn't matter that I'm an adult, he continues to treat me as if I were a student here."

"You've given him so much reason to change that opinion, haven't you?" Her expression and tone were sarcastic enough to rival Snape.

"Whose side are you on, anyway?" Harry didn't understand her defense of Snape. "I haven't done anything to him."

"I am on no one's side," Pomfrey said tartly. "Have you truly done nothing to warrant his bad temper? Would you have said whatever it was you said to him to anyone else?"

Looking down, Harry knew he wouldn't have, but then, no one else he knew deserved it the way Snape did. "Anyone else would have helped me."

"Without asking?"

"How do you know what happened?" Harry glanced suspiciously at her. "Did he tell you?" Then, he realized how foolish that was. "He wouldn't do that. I know him. He'd never admit to anything."

She simply shook her head. "You might consider that you don't know him nearly as well as you think you do."

Harry wondered if he should say something else, but the truth was, he didn't want to know Snape. He didn't want to have anything to do with him. "I'd better call the mediwizards at St. Mungo's now."

At least, Madam Pomfrey could take a hint. She gave him a small frown but then left his room without any further comment.

*****

The potion the healers at St. Mungo's gave him was less effective than he'd hoped. It did reduce some of the swelling and ease some of the spasms, but not enough to make him truly comfortable. Nothing would do that, though. He told himself he should be grateful for what he could get. He could function. That was all he could ask for.

Classes began.

For the first class of his third years, Harry decided he'd take a page out of Remus Lupin's book and use a Boggart.

He felt a pang of guilt thinking about Remus. They hadn't seen each other in months, and only rarely exchanged owls. The only people Harry had kept up with while he'd been convalescing were the Weasleys and then only because he couldn't avoid their intervention.

"All right, class," Harry said as he limped into the classroom first thing on Wednesday morning. "You may put your books away. We're going to have a practical lesson today."

The class murmured. Several students looked up at him expectantly.

"Bring your wands and follow me," Harry said, picking up his cane and hobbling down the steps and then out of the classroom.

Unlike Lupin, he wasn't going to take them into the teachers' lounge; he went instead to an unused classroom across the hall. He opened the door and the students filed in, milling around.

Moving through them and across the room, Harry stood beside an old wardrobe he'd had brought in for the occasion. It rattled ominously and he saw several of his students jump. "There's a Boggart inside here." Harry gave his statement a moment to sink in. Some of his students looked puzzled, but more looked scared. "Can anyone tell me what a Boggart is?"

Robert Kinsey and Adam Chesler looked at each other and then Robert raised his hand tentatively.

"Mr. Kinsey?" Harry nodded to him.

The boy cleared his throat. "Um... A Boggart is a shape-shifter that becomes an image of our worst fear."

"That's right. It will take the shape of our worst fear." Harry smiled reassuringly, as several students began to look even more nervous. He explained how Boggarts liked dark places and how more than one person could confuse it. "There is a charm that will repel the Boggart. It's easy to say, but you must put some force behind it. Let's say it together first, without our wands. Riddikulus!"

Dutifully, the class repeated the word.

"All right, Miss Dearborn, come forward." Harry felt desperately sorry for the poor girl. She was third year's Neville Longbottom. Except where Neville had been good with plants, no one could seem to find anything poor Amelia Dearborn was good at. Maybe this would help her.

A thin-faced girl with long, limp dark hair looked up at him, her eyes filled with fear. "Yes, sir," she whispered.

"What is the thing you're most afraid of?" Harry asked gently, leaning on his cane, giving her an encouraging smile.

She blushed and looked away, but said quite clearly, "Professor Snape."

There were several snickers from the children gathered. As much as Harry would have liked to agree with them, especially since Snape utterly terrorized her, he could not disparage a teacher in front of the students, it would send the wrong message. He nodded, accepting her choice without comment.

"When I was in school here," Harry said with an understanding smile for Amelia. "One of my friends was also afraid of Professor Snape. Our Defense Against Dark Arts Professor had my friend imagine Professor Snape in his grandmother's old-fashioned green dress with a hat. A big hat with a vulture on it."

The whole class laughed nervously.

"The key to making a Boggart less scary is to laugh at it. Do you think that seeing Professor Snape in such clothes would make him less scary?" He stopped and smiled at her, waiting for her to nod. "All right, imagine him in such clothes." Even if it didn't help her to deal with the bastard, he remembered that particular class very fondly.

Amelia sucked in a breath and nodded.

Harry turned toward the rest of the class as he spoke, "I want you all to imagine your worst fear, and then what would make it silly or funny. Remember that laughter is what we use to banish a Boggart."

He gave them a moment to think about it, and then he nodded for Amelia to take a step forward. "After Miss Dearborn, I'll call each of you forward." He turned to Amelia. "Ready?"

Stepping forward, she held out her wand bravely as he opened the door.

Snape stepped out, glaring right at her.

" Riddikulus!" cried Amelia and Snape changed clothes, wearing a fair rendition of Neville's long-dead grandmother's green dress and vulture hat.

Amelia smiled, clearly pleased to have done something correctly, and stepped back.

"All right, Mr Baxter," Harry said as the Boggart turned its attention away from Amelia. The boy stepped forward and held out his wand.

The rest of the class went well, but standing the entire lesson had made Harry's thigh throb incessantly.

He crawled into bed that night exhausted, his hip and thigh aching and wondering how he was going to make it through the next day.

*****

By the end of the first week, he had to face the fact that there was a very real possibility that he would be unable to complete the term. Hell, he wasn't sure he could get to the end of the month.

He slept most of Saturday, and went to see McGonagall in the late afternoon.

"Minerva. Thank you for seeing me," Harry said, limping into her office, gripping his cane so tightly that his knuckles were white with the effort. He glanced briefly at the portrait of Dumbledore, half-hoping to have a word with him, but he was asleep, snoring softly.

"Are you all right?" McGonagall's expression revealed her concern clearly. She glanced pointedly at his hand on his cane. "Do sit down. I've been very pleased with the reports I've been getting on your first week."

Delighted with her praise, but dreading what he had to say, Harry sat down gracelessly in chair in front of her desk. "I'm glad to hear it. I like teaching. However," he paused, and after a moment, sat up straight and plunged on, trying to keep back the disappointment he felt with himself. "I think I may have overestimated my ability to handle this job."

"I thought you were mostly recovered." She looked startled and upset by his pronouncement.

"It will be years before I recover completely. I had hoped--" He looked down and took a deep breath. Christ, how he hated to admit any weakness; even more than that, he hated how his body had betrayed him. "I could manage the physical aspects of the position."

"You are finding that you can't?" McGonagall met his gaze. "Are you in tremendous pain?"

He nodded. "Nearly constantly. I've barely made it through the first week. Madam Pomfrey has had to spell the muscles twice."

McGonagall shook her head, her hand touching her throat. "Dear Merlin. I can imagine how bad that must be for you."

"I wish there was something else that would help the muscles relax, but I haven't been able to find anything." It was his own fault, as always. Foolishly, he'd allowed his temper to mucked things up with Snape, and now he had to live with the consequences. "I had hoped that I would be stronger."

"Harry, I'm sorry. I wish I could tell you that I could find someone to replace you, but I think you know that unlike other subjects, Defense Against Dark Arts requires a special kind of magic." Her voice held a world of sympathy, but that didn't negate her expectations of him.

He felt the weight of those expectations settle heavily on his shoulders. Not letting himself sag, Harry nodded. "I understand." And he did. He'd been hired to do a job and was expected to do it. No excuses.

"However," she continued, with a glint of challenge coming into her eyes. "I think there are a few things we can do to make the situation a bit more bearable for you."

"Yes?" He hadn't expected that anything could be done.

"For one, can we recruit a couple of the better seventh year students to help out with the practical demonstrations. I think that might permit you to stay off your feet for at least part of each class." She thought for another moment. "Perhaps some of the seventh year students who are writing their theses on defense might like to experience teaching?"

Harry nodded, intrigued by the suggestions. It could work. Where there had been only determination and despair a moment ago, hope started to build. "Yes. Yes. There are five students doing defense theses this year. I think any of them would be excellent, and they would no doubt love to help out with the younger students."

"That would be good for all involved." McGonagall's brows creased as she thought for another moment. "Perhaps we can also minimize your trips across the school?"

His brow creased as he considered it, mentally counting the times he walked across the school and the amount of pain he was in on his return. "Yes. Even a few less trips would help."

"That's what I thought." She smiled. "Why not take lunch in your office rather than going all the way down to the Great Hall?"

"I hadn't thought of that, either." It was easily a ten minute walk -- or in his case nearly twenty -- from his classroom to the Hall just for lunch.

"I can ask the House Elves to bring your meal to you." She was silent again. "You might consider breakfast in your rooms?"

"No. I think I should be there for breakfast and dinner, if at all possible." He would miss too much if he were absent from more than one meal a day.

She nodded. "As you please, Harry. If it gets to be too much, you must let me know."

"I will. Thank you." Relieved and buoyed by his conversation, Harry squared his shoulders and stood up. "I do feel better today after some sleep, too. I'll see you at dinner."

*****

After sleeping most of the weekend, Harry felt well enough by Monday morning to face his classes. He made it to breakfast with almost enough time to actually sit down and enjoy it.

"You're an idiot, Potter," Snape said softly as he passed Harry's chair on his way out of the hall.

"Quite likely." Harry hadn't spoken to Snape in nearly two weeks, not since he'd asked for help and been denied. Keeping his eyes on his plate, Harry refused to spar with Snape, not this morning, hopefully not any morning. It was too frustrating and he couldn't win. In his mildest voice, Harry asked, "How in particular am I an idiot today, sir?"

"See me after classes today, and I'll be quite happy to tell you." Snape swept past him without another word and left the hall.

As Harry watched the swirling black robe disappear, a voice inside his head told him that the only reason Snape would order him down to the dungeons was to torture him. Harry promised himself he wasn't going to expect anything from that ruthless bastard.

Although his classes were easier after a restful weekend, by the end of the day Harry was exhausted. He'd managed to find time to speak to his seventh year thesis students, and he was relieved and pleased to find that all of them were willing, indeed eager, to help him. However, there were some tasks, such as the three detentions needing supervision that evening that Harry had to do for himself. There would be no going to bed early for him.

With barely enough energy to keep his head held up, let alone held high, he nonetheless trudged into the dungeons. A strange mix of hope and dread filled him.

"Come," Snape called at his knock.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" The tentativeness in his own voice galled him. He sounded like he had when he'd been a student reporting to Snape for detentions. Straightening up, he met Snape's gaze, determined to see this through no matter what the greasy git said to him.

"Yes, Potter. You're no smarter now than when you were a student." Snape seemed pleased with this pronouncement.

A flash of anger flared inside Harry, but he was too tired to sustain it. "Is that why you called me down here? To say that again? Couldn't you just have said it in the Great Hall? It would have saved me the trip." He carefully kept the disappointment out of his voice. No sense in giving Snape more ammunition.

"Are you so ignorant that you don't know how this game is played?" Snape's face was twisted in an ugly sneer.

He had no idea what he Snape was on about, and frankly, he didn't care. This was hardly a game to him. "Professor, do you have a point?" Harry asked, attempting, with only moderate success, to keep the irritation out of his voice.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do." Sitting back a bit, he folded his arms over his chest and glared at Harry. "You were supposed to ask me again."

Fury started to roil through him, and he glared at Snape. What was he talking about? "Ask? For what exactly?"

Snape's look grew harder, more disgusted. He seemed to be taking this as a personal affront. "You are such a blithering idiot. You were supposed to ask for the muscle relaxant potion."

What did Snape expect? That he'd keep asking and being refused? That he'd allow himself to be humiliated over and over to keep Snape amused? Not a bloody chance of that happening. His anger and frustration went up another notch as he shook his head. "You said no. I didn't think--"

"No, of course you didn't think. You never think." Exasperation rolled off Snape in nearly visible waves. "I came to you to offer you my services, and you insulted me."

That hadn't actually been fair of him, Harry admitted that. However, they had been over this before and he wasn't going to go over it again. "I said I was sorry. What more did you want?"

The look Snape shot him was the classic look of a teacher faced with a particularly dense student. "Your apology only evened the score."

Harry got it. He didn't like it, not one little bit, but he now understood where he'd gone wrong. "I needed to ask again. So that...."

"Exactly."

Pride warred with pain for less than an instant and pain won easily. Straightening his spine, Harry sucked in deep breath and let it out slowly. He inclined his head politely, and said sincerely, "I'm very sorry I insulted you. Would you please give me something to help with the muscle spasms?"

He hated Snape more in that moment than he'd ever had before. That Snape deserved the apology only made it worse.

There was ever so slight a triumph in Snape's black eyes as he pulled a jar out of his drawer and set it on the desk. "This is a general muscle relaxant. You may use it twice a day, morning and evening, directly on the wound. It should be effective for helping the spasm and some of the pain. If you want something tailored specifically to you, I'll need to see the wound and know the exact circumstances under which you received it."

Harry allowed a small amount of hope to wend its way into him. He should have realized why Madam Pomfrey insisted he see Snape. The knowledge sat like acid in his belly. "Would you do that? Tailor it to me...?"

Snape's expression was so sharp it could have cut flesh. "Of course I would, you moron. Why else would I ask you down here? It wasn't for your scintillating conversation or your delightful personality I can assure you." Snape stood and walked around the desk. "Take off your robe and trousers. Let me see the wound."

Fighting a blush and losing, Harry shook his head, glancing pointedly around the office and shivered. "Not here."

The glare was a perfect imitation of the one Snape had used in Potions class when he'd been about to reprimand someone -- usually Harry. "Why not?" Snape asked, folding his arms over his chest.

"I'll need to strip completely for you to see it properly and it's too cold in here for that." Harry tried not to squirm under Snape's disproving gaze.

With a loud sigh that sounded affronted by the inconvenience, Snape nonetheless nodded. "All right. Let's go into my rooms. They should be warmer on your delicate skin."

Could Snape be anymore condescending, Harry wondered as he followed him down the hall and around a corner, away from the main classrooms and student labs. The dimly lit corridor easily could have been, and probably was, missed by most students. Snape led him to a heavily warded door.

Once they were inside, Snape turned to him and gestured. "Now, if you please, Mr. Potter. I don't have all night."

Relieved that the rooms actually were warmer than Snape's office, Harry tossed his robe over a nearby chair, and then bent slowly to remove his boots and the rest of his clothes.

He felt ridiculous standing in front of Snape wearing nothing but his shirt, tie, and socks. Lifting the hem of his shirt in the back, he tried not to grimace at the thought of anyone, even Snape, looking at the ugliness of his wounds. He mentally steeled himself and pretended an indifference he didn't feel. "As you can see there are actually two wounds. One is across my lower back and hip and the other is the gouge on my thigh."

Snape knelt down and examined both scars, tracing them first with his wand and then with his finger much as Madam Pomfrey had done. "The damage is much more extensive on your thigh, isn't it?"

It sounded like a rhetorical question but Harry answered anyway. "Yes. The wound on my back and hip was painful and bled a lot until they got it closed, but it was nearly superficial." Or as superficial as a sword wound across the back could be, Harry supposed.

"Hardly that." Snape's tone didn't quite sink to uncaring. "I would say simply not as life-threatening as the other wound."

"I suppose so," Harry said, knowing he'd been lucky and hoping his luck held for just a while longer.

As Snape continued to examine the wound, Harry took advantage of the opportunity to look around the sitting room.

It was long and rectangular. A brocade sofa and matching chair sat in front of a large fireplace. A large wooden desk sat in one corner, across from a door that presumably led into his bedroom. On either side of the fireplace stood three or four floor-to-ceiling wooden bookcases over-filled with books and scrolls.

For all that the room was empty of personal effects -- except of course Snape's Order of Merlin, First Class -- they were not cold or Spartan. Maybe it was the cream and brown colors or the comfortable look of the high quality furniture, Harry didn't know. It wasn't what he'd expected of Snape.

"Get dressed," Snape said, startling him out of his thoughts. Snape sat down at his desk, picked up a quill and parchment, and began to write.

Harry dressed silently and waited as patiently as he could manage for Snape to finish writing.

Finally, Snape looked up. "Explain to me exactly how you were injured and what was done about it. Leave nothing out."

With a sigh, Harry recited the story by rote, including as much detail as he could remember. He tried to keep his voice uninflected, but his gut tightened painfully while he spoke. It was impossible to talk about injury and the aftermath without reliving the horror of it and Harry didn't have the perspective of time to ease him through it.

"You're a great fool, Mr. Potter, but a damned lucky one. That wound should have killed you," Snape said when Harry had finished his recitation. Snape's expression revealed nothing of his thoughts on the subject or maybe he simply didn't care at all.

"I do know that. The question is, can you help me?" Harry tensed, waiting on pins and needles for the count or to it took Snape to deign to answer him.

Snape's grin was completely self-satisfied. "Yes. Of course I can. I'm very good at what I do. I'll need to create something special, though, and it will take several tries. We shall have to see how the muscles respond to the various combinations."

At the arrogant assurance of success, Harry felt something he hadn't felt in a very long time: hope. He wasn't sure why he believed it, but if Snape said he would help him, then Harry had no doubt that he would. Snape might not make it easy for him, probably would do everything in his power to be difficult, but however grudgingly, he would do what he said he'd do and do it well. "Thank you," he said, quietly. He'd never meant anything more.

Snape shook his head, his expression wary. "Don't thank me yet. We may have a long road ahead of us. In the meantime, the potion I gave you earlier should help you get through the day. It should be more effective than what you've been getting from those imbeciles at St. Mungo's." Without warning, Snape's patience seemed to run out. "Now get out."

Harry took the jar and left without another word. Not even, he realized as he shut the door, any thanks.

*****

As much as he might hate Snape personally, Harry had to admit the potion was brilliant. After just a few days of using it, he felt better than he had since before the injury. Not perfect, not even good, but so much better than he had been. He had every hope that he might make it to the end of the month without doing himself any more damage.

After a week, he'd used most of the potion. At breakfast that morning, Snape told Harry to meet him in his office after classes had finished. When Harry arrived, Snape took two jars out of his drawer and set them on the desk.

"This one is my first attempt at a custom potion," he said, pointing a long finger at the first jar. "And this is the regular muscle relaxant. Don't mix them up, and don't combine them. You must use one or the other."

"Which one should I use?" Harry asked, excited about the prospect of something more potent than what he'd been using.

"It is your choice. However, if you choose to use the experimental potion, I cannot guarantee it will work. If it does not work, then you will also not be able to use the other one right after it." Snape's words sounded like a dire warning.

For a moment, Harry thought about it, weighing what a custom potion would be worth in the long run. "I'll try the experimental potion. That's what this was all about anyway, wasn't it?" Harry reached for it. "Thank you."

Snape closed his hand over Harry's before he got to the jar. His palm felt surprisingly calloused. "I would like you to record all your reactions to each potion, no matter how small."

When his hand was released, Harry eagerly pocketed the jar, and raised an eyebrow at Snape. "Why do I need to do that?"

"Did you sleep through all of your potions lessons?" Snape's glare carried so much disdain that Harry wanted to hex him. "You are an imbecile."

"So you've said." Even if he found it galling, Harry could put up with insults if he had to. Now that he knew Snape's potion worked, he was willing to endure whatever humiliation Snape deemed as its price. Of course, he'd hate Snape even more for it. "Answer the question, please."

Snape shook his head, looking disgusted, but to Harry's surprise he answered. "Each combination of ingredients reacts differently. I will be better able to tailor a potion to your specific needs if I know exactly how you react to each combination. Write it down. It's for your own good."

"I'll do my best," Harry said without inflection. As frustrated as he was with Snape, as much as he hated him, Harry knew better than to let it show. Snape would not waste a chance to use it against him and Harry simply didn't have the energy to deal with that.

"Having seen your best, I would endeavor to do better than that, were I you," Snape said dryly, and then looked down at the book on his desk, clearly dismissing him.

With anger pulsing through him, and no other choice but to go, Harry turned around and walked out.

That night, he applied the experimental potion. While it warmed his skin nicely, disappointingly it didn't loosen his muscles nor continue the warmth for long. After an uncomfortable night, Harry limped down to Snape's rooms in the early morning.

"What do you want, Potter?" Snape asked as he pulled the door open, wearing a long plain black dressing gown.

"How did you know it was me?" In pain and out of sorts with everything, the last thing Harry wanted to deal with was a malicious bad-tempered Snape. He leaned on his cane, and gritted his teeth. "The potion didn't work. How long do I have to wait until I can use the other potion?"

"Did you write down the effects?" Snape's tone was silky with menace, quite similar to the tone he'd used when asking if Harry had completed his homework.

After Snape's insistence, he wasn't stupid enough to have forgotten that. With a wan smirk, he pulled the parchment out of his robes' pocket and held it out. "Yes. Of course."

Snape read it quickly and then looked disgusted. "This isn't very detailed. I had hoped you might have learned something after leaving school. More fool I."

A scathing or insulting retort would have felt ever so good right then, but Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on letting his annoyance go. He needed Snape and they both knew it. "I don't think well when I'm in pain."

Snape didn't look as if he cared one way or another. He lounged in his doorway, obviously not intending to invite Harry in. Not that Harry cared all that much for the niceties, but he'd have liked to sit down before making the long trek back to his rooms. "You can't use the other potion until tonight."

Bloody hell, Harry thought as his knees started to go weak, but he forced himself to stand up straight, telling himself that it wasn't as bad it could have been. The throbbing in his thigh gave lie to that. Irritated, he took a breath and let it out slowly. "Fine. I'll need that jar of it."

"You might ask nicely." If Snape had sneered or been condescending, Harry would have seriously considered an Unforgivable, but he said it almost as a matter of course, as if his heart wasn't in it. Part of him really wanted to taunt him or hit him, but Harry knew better.

It didn't matter, Harry thought and tried hard to believe it. With a deep breath, he gritted his teeth even harder, and then gave into the inevitable. "If you please, may I have the muscle relaxant potion?"

"I'll get it for you." Snape turned back into his rooms, leaving Harry standing in the open doorway.

Harry waited uncomfortably, damming Snape to all seven levels of hell. What was it about him, what grievous sin had he committed that made Snape want to torture him this way? Fine, he'd been rude, but hadn't he paid for that?

"Here. Use it only twice a day," Snape said, handing him the jar. "I'll have another version ready by the end of the week for you to try."

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice. God, how he hated Snape.

*****

At week's end, Snape provided a second version of the experimental potion. This version worked better than the first. It actually loosened the twisted muscle, but it only lasted for a short time, so it was less than ideal.

The process was repeated in the following weeks, and the potion continued to work better with every iteration of it. Harry was pleased to be having more good days than bad, and even the bad days weren't as draining or debilitating as they had been before the potion. Snape wasn't any easier to deal with, but Harry felt his pride was worth the gains.

A few more weeks into the process, Harry received a note from Snape telling him to report to Snape's lab the following Sunday before breakfast and not to use the potion that morning. Harry supposed it was not as bad as being told to report for detention, but something about the tone of the note was like a tiny burr under his skin, not quite painful, but ever so annoying. Still, he knew better than to argue with Snape about anything having to do with his potion.

Early Sunday morning, he trekked down into the dungeons, noticing that the walk was not as painful as it had been even two weeks ago. That it was early morning, and he hadn't used anything on his sleep-sore muscles meant he didn't have an easy time getting around, but it was easier than it had been.

"You wanted to see me?" Harry said, as he came into Snape's lab. There was a narrow table set up in the middle of the room with a white sheet draped over it.

"Yes, I did." Snape gave him a long-suffering look and pointed to the table. "I want you to take off your clothes and lie down on your back."

Snape surprised him again. Of all the things Harry had expected him to say, that hadn't even amongst the possibilities. If it had been anyone else, Harry might have made a joke about it, probably something with a blatant double entendre, but not with Snape. He laughed nervously. "Why?"

"I want to use the newest version of the experimental potion on you. I think it would be better if I apply it." Snape turned back to his desk, and shuffled through a sheaf of parchments. After a moment he looked up and scowled. "Get on with it."

Without another word, and fighting a blush he felt stupid having, Harry stripped off his clothes. He lay down on the table, and covered himself up with the sheet. "All right. I'm ready."

There were several colored jars on the table next to Harry. Snape chose one of the jars and opened it.

"That smells nice," Harry said, using idle chatter to cover up his nervousness about whatever Snape was planning. "Like cardamom."

Without responding, Snape lifted the side sheet and tucked it around Harry's thigh, leaving the wound exposed, but did not apply the potion. He seemed to be examining the scar, but with Snape, it wasn't always easy to tell what he was doing.

Harry felt his irritation levels rise at the continued lack of information from Snape. "What are you doing to do?"

"I'm going to apply this potion." Snape's tone was condescending as if he were speaking to an idiot or a child. "What did you think I was going to do?"

"That's just it, I don't know." Every encounter with Snape was frustrating in the extreme. If the bastard hadn't made so much progress, and weren't so good at his craft, Harry might have given up on this by now. He let out a sigh. "Let me rephrase it: what exactly are you going to do me and why?"

Snape picked up his wand and touched the back of his own hand and then repeated the move on the other hand. He muttered something that sounded like "gauntus", but Harry wasn't sure and he didn't recognize the word. "What was that?"

"A spell to protect my hands," Snape said, dipping his fingers into the jar, and scooping some of the contents out.

"If you need something to protect your hands, what about my skin?" His voice rose to an appalling squeak. Despite that, he wasn't actually worried that Snape would hurt him. Since he'd begun this, he never once questioned that Snape would help him, never even thought to question it.

"You should have thought of that before you climbed up." Snape's smile was nasty, but it seemed to be forced, as if it were just for show. Snape put a large dollop of the cream into the indentation of the scar and smoothed it into the wound and surrounding area.

Immediately, the potion warmed against Harry's skin. Then it grew hot. Not hot enough to burn, but enough so that Harry could feel the heat as it seeped in deeply. Lifting his wand, Snape waved it over Harry's thigh. The potion started to vibrate, and seemed to be making the muscle relax, not exactly the same the way spelling the muscle did, but the result was close to it.

"Wow. That feels amazing." Harry leaned up on his elbow. "I thought you couldn't use magic to relax the muscle."

"No, you stupid boy, you can't use magic to spell the muscle to relax." Snape wasn't looking at him as he spoke. His whole focus seemed to be on wound.

Confused and becoming annoyed, Harry gritted his teeth and tried to let go of it. "Isn't that what I just said?" Because that's what it sounded like it to him.

"I didn't spell the muscle to relax, you fool. I created a potion that did it," Snape said, his tone making sure Harry felt like an idiot.

"Okay. How exactly is that different?" Harry still didn't understand at all.

"The muscles were not forced to relax. They were coaxed into it, by the heat of the potion. That is the difference and because of it the muscles aren't damaged by it." His tone dripped with condescension, as if he were explaining to a none-too-bright first year.

Harry still wasn't sure he understood the distinction, but given the results, he wasn't going to argue about it anymore. "Thank you."

There was no acknowledgement of his thanks and by this point, he wasn't expecting any. It annoyed the hell out of him that Snape didn't even look at him. "Turn onto your stomach and I'll finish this," Snape said.

Grunting, Harry rolled over. He gritted his teeth and said nothing, trying to control his wish to slap Snape out of his indifference.

A few minutes later, Snape was done and had replaced the sheet. "You may return next Sunday and I will apply another dose."

"Not before then?"

"No. This should see you through the week. If it does not, I wish to know about it immediately." Snape gave him an admonishing look. "Take detailed notes on every reaction you have."

"Of course." As if he would be stupid enough to forget something like that. He knew he'd never hear the end of it.

"Get dressed and get out of here." Snape walked away.

Even though he knew he should be used to it by now, Snape's abrupt dismissal stung just a bit. Harry sighed as he sat up and reached for his clothes.

*****

As the weeks passed, Snape continued to adjust the formula, and Harry dutifully noted his reactions to every change. It was a bother to keep such detailed notes, but he steadfastly did it. The results were amazing and Harry was delighted with how well he was feeling.

Finally the potion had been refined to Snape's satisfaction and he declared that only minor fine-tuning was necessary. After using the final potion for a week, Harry reported to Madam Pomfrey to discuss the results.

"I'm sure I don't have to tell you that you're much improved." Pomfrey sounded pleased, but there was an edge to her tone that bothered him.

"It feels like the wounds are starting to heal. Not just relax for a moment or three, but to really heal. I feel stronger than I have since before I was injured." For the first time, he had hope that he might actually be able to get his life back together. "There are days when I feel good," he added with a smile of pure pleasure.

"Very good." She ran her wand over his thigh again and smiled at the results. Then she looked back at Harry, her expression turning very serious. "Make no mistake, the improvement is entirely Professor Snape's doing. His expertise is the reason you feel so good today."

He'd been there every step of the way with the snapping, snarling, brilliant bastard. There was no doubt whatsoever in his mind how good Snape was. "I do appreciate it."

"You might show it a bit more," she said, shaking her head and seeming exasperated with him. "Have you even thanked him properly?"

Harry was puzzled by her reaction and a little hurt. Didn't she realize that he and Snape were only just on this side of the civil line when dealing with each other? "Of course I have. Are you angry with me? What did I do?"

"I shouldn't have to tell you this." Pomfrey said, sounding very much like a disappointed teacher with a student who had done something stupid, something that they should have known better than to do.

He waited, expecting her to continue, to explain. When she didn't, he let out a frustrated sigh. "Tell me anyway, all right. Clearly, I've missed something."

"Don't you think Professor Snape deserves your thanks and gratitude for the improvement in your condition?" Again she sounded like she felt she shouldn't have to be telling him this.

It was starting to seriously irritate him that she wouldn't let this go. "I've thanked him repeatedly." Only because Snape had forced it out of him, Harry admitted to himself, and he'd hated Snape for every ignominious word he'd been required to utter.

She must have seen that in his eyes or read it in his expression. "Why shouldn't you be grateful, damned grateful in fact, for what he's done? It took a great deal of his time and effort to help you."

Her words prickled at Harry conscience, because he *was* grateful. Grateful beyond what words could express. Not even in his wildest dreams had Harry imagined the potion would be so effective. While he wasn't entirely free of pain, he was as close as he was likely to ever come. "He's made me beg for everything he's done for me."

Shaking her head, Pomfrey looked utterly disgusted with him. "So, he doesn't deserve your thanks?"

"He's a hateful man," Harry said, feeling guilty for saying it since he knew she was right, but having Snape rub his nose in it made it more difficult to cope with. "Why do you defend him?"

"Perhaps I believe he is worthy of my defense. You have not treated him well." She made it sound like he started it. Snape was the one who wouldn't let things go.

"He's treated me worse than I have ever treated him." By the look of her, Harry'd bet that wasn't what she wanted to hear. But it was true and he wanted to believe Pomfrey knew it, too. He had tried, and he'd been constantly frustrated by Snape's bad tempered response or his indifference until Harry was inured to it.

She shook her head again, seeming to grow more frustrated with him. "He answers back forcefully, yes. Sometimes, I'll concede, more forcefully than he should. His life has not been easy."

That was all fine and dandy for Snape. "'Harry Potter. Our new celebrity'," Harry said, glaring at Pomfrey. "Those were the first words that bastard ever said to me." They still cut into him, even years later. Harry remembered years and years of being humiliated by countless questions that he couldn't answer and a teacher who seemed out to get him for no apparent reason.

Pomfrey sighed. "Harry, you were eleven. You're old enough now to let it go."

"My first night here, he repeated the words, in exactly the same tone as he did all those years ago." Harry took a breath, trying to reign in his anger. But there was no calming it. "The bastard wanted to shove my nose in it again. Just as he has done since I started here as a student."

"You're hardly a student now," Pomfrey said, her tone not quite as reasonable as it had been a moment before. "Can't you let your anger go?"

"Every time I'm around him, I feel like I'm being treated like a student, and a not very bright one at that. Why do you defend him? Why do you even like him?" Harry shook his head, disgusted to be having this conversation. How could anyone like or defend Snape?

"He's not a nice man, Harry. Not by any means." She met his eyes with all seriousness. "He is, however, a good one. He is deserving of some consideration."

"I'll grant that he is a good man," Harry said, forcing a mildness into his tone that he didn't feel. "But he makes it so hard to do anything other than be rude to him. He's never acknowledged my thanks in any way. After a while, I've just stopped saying it."

"Do you think that's the right way to handle that?" Her tone was as mild as his had been and it didn't sound as forced. "That you should be less grateful? That he deserves no consideration?"

"That's just it. I am grateful." Harry looked at her pleadingly, wanting her to understand. "But he's such a mean-spirited and ugly man. As for consideration, he shouldn't expect to get what he does not give."

Pomfrey folded her arms against her chest and shook her head, her expression disappointed. "His lack of physical beauty should not enter into it."

"It doesn't. I meant inside. I would never, ever, judge someone on how they look." Harry glared back at her. "I think you know that."

A dull red touched Pomfrey's cheeks and she stood, her expression slightly more embarrassed than annoyed. "All right, we're done for now. Go on and get dressed." She left him after that.

That she actually seemed to like Snape was more than Harry could begin to understand. Confused and annoyed by it, he half-wondered what he'd missed with Snape. He climbed off the table, and pulled on his clothes.

That he hadn't properly thanked Snape for his time or his help prickled Harry's conscience. Spending even the smallest amount of time in Snape's presence had the tendency to send his blood pressure through the roof. Harry breathed out slowly, trying again to stifle his anger.

Maybe he wasn't being fair about Snape, but Snape wasn't fair either. Why was Snape allowed to be less than fair and Harry was called to task for answering it? He picked up his cane. Time to go and apologize to Madam Pomfrey, even though he wasn't sure he should have to.

He knocked on her office door and waited for her summons.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking down at his feet. "I don't want to fight with you about him." Harry didn't add that Snape wasn't worth it.

Pomfrey cleared her throat and met his eyes. "I'm sorry, too. That was rude of me. However, I do believe that Professor Snape's done you a great service."

"I know he has." In all fairness, he admitted, at least to himself, he probably could never adequately thank Snape for what he'd done. "I don't think I can get that across to him."

She met his eyes seriously and smiled slightly. "I believe that if your thanks came from the heart, he'd know it."

Despite the fact he was sincere, was grateful, Harry wasn't so sure about that or that he could make it seem sincere, but he nodded anyway. "I can try."

Pomfrey's expression softened and she smiled at him. "I think that should be good enough. I'll see you for another checkup sometime in January, after the winter term starts."

"Yes, ma'am." He stepped back. "Thank you."

*****

Harry thought about it for a day, and then found himself going to see Snape. Madam Pomfrey was right and he'd put it off too long already. Much as it galled him to admit it, he owed Snape more than simple thanks could repay, more than anything could repay.

He stepped into the doorway of Snape's open office and he rapped his knuckles on the frame. "May I speak to you for a moment, sir?"

"What do you want, Potter? I'm quite busy." Snape barely looked up as Harry came into the office and stood in front of his desk.

Thirty-three years old, and he was once again reduced to thirteen by this man. God, how Harry hated him. "I've come to thank you for the potion." Harry cleared his throat and tried to put some sincerity behind his words, but it was difficult with annoyance clashing with the gratitude. "For all the work you put into it. I very much appreciate it."

Snape didn't look up. "Fine. You've done what you came to do. Now leave."

Despite his best intentions, Harry's temper slipped. "You're a right bastard, aren't you? What does it take to satisfy you?"

Looking up slowly, Snape fixed him with a withering look. "You might try sincerity, Mr. Potter. Or at least--" Snape cut himself off. "Get out."

"No. Damn it. I came down here to thank you -- sincerely -- and you treat me like I've insulted you. I haven't. I'm damned grateful for what you did for me, you bloody self-righteous prat." Frustrated almost beyond words, Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Why is everything so damned hard with you?"

The bastard actually smiled at him. "I'm difficult. Live with it and I'll keep making you the potion or don't and find someone else to brew it for you. Either way, get out of my office."

Harry wanted to throttle him. He wanted to wrap his fingers around Snape's skinny neck and squeeze until the bastard turned blue. "Can't you give an inch?"

"No. I give nothing. Ever." Snape glared harder, his mouth twitching into an ugly sneer. "Didn't I tell you to leave? Your listening skills are no better than they were when you were a student."

Just when he had thought he could not get any angrier, Harry was further annoyed to learn he was wrong. God, he was ready to scream with frustration. "Damn. I'm letting you do this to me, aren't I?"

"Bravo, Mr. Potter--"

"Oh, belt up, you arse," Harry said, through his clenched teeth, his fury reaching critical mass. "I'm so sick of this."

"I am not asking you to stay and listen to it." Snape's eyes narrowed and his lips twitched before they flattened out into a thin line. "Actually, didn't I ask you to leave? Why yes, I do think that I did."

"I'll leave when I'm good and ready." It finally had occurred to Harry that Snape was baiting him, trying to get a rise out of him as he always had done, and it was working because Harry was letting it work. Harry wasn't stupid nor was he a coward. He'd faced down taunting Death-Eaters without showing even a flicker of emotion, but when he was around this man, he lost his ability to see reason.

He looked at Snape, actually focusing on him. As if a veil were lifted, for the first time ever, he saw Snape simply as a man: someone who was bad-tempered and nasty to be sure, but also someone with vast skills that he'd used tirelessly for Harry's benefit, someone who never got the accolades that should have been accorded him, someone who deserved Harry's absolute and unstinting gratitude. He was someone who deserved Harry's respect.

Harry blinked, half-expecting the image to change, but it didn't. No monster here.

Snape looked back, right into his eyes. Not flinching, not angry, seemingly not caring at all.

"It's a game to you, isn't it?" Of course it was, Harry thought, remembering that Snape had called it exactly that when all of this had begun. Insight brought a surprising calm with it and the release of his anger.

Something flashed in Snape's eyes, something that wasn't the bored irritated look he usually favored. "Do shut the door on your way out."

Debating what he should do for about ten seconds, Harry finally turned around and limped out with as much dignity as he could muster. If Snape wanted gratitude, then Harry would give it to him. Oh, yes, Harry thought determinately, he'd give the man gratitude.

*****

"Minerva. Thank you for seeing me," Harry said as he came into her office. He smiled up at the portrait of Dumbledore, who waved, but didn't seem inclined to say anything to him. "I'm wondering if I might say a few words at dinner tonight?"

"About what?" McGonagall managed to look both curious and suspicious as she gazed at him over the top of her glasses. "I don't usually allow speeches."

Smiling his best and brightest, trust-me smile, Harry said, "I'd like to publicly thank Professor Snape for all the work he'd done on the potion that's enabling me to live with my injury."

McGonagall looked skeptical for a moment as she assessed him. She must have liked what she'd seen because her expression softened. "Not enough people realize how fine a potions master he is. Still, I'm not sure he'll thank you for the notoriety."

"He won't take my thanks in person." Harry tried to convey his sincerity, which wasn't hard since he was. "I thought a bit of a grand gesture might convince him of my gratitude."

"I think that's a fine idea," Dumbledore chimed in from the wall, his eyes twinkling in their characteristically bright way. "Severus would like the attention."

"You mean you would, Albus." She glared at him, but he continued to smile happily. "Snape is a different animal entirely. Now go back to sleep."

"Not with all this noise about." Albus looked awfully spry in his portrait. "Besides, I think you need my advice. Let our Harry say his piece."

Harry grinned at Dumbledore, appreciative of his support.

"Despite what Albus says, I'm not sure Severus will appreciate a public declaration of thanks, no matter how well intended." She glanced away from the portrait and back at Harry. "However, if you feel that you should do so, you have my permission."

"Thank you. I won't speak for long." Just enough to get his point across to Snape, Harry thought with anticipation. He could hardly wait to see how the bastard responded to his little speech.

"I should hope not." There was a note of amusement in her voice now.

"Thank you," Harry said to McGonagall and stood. "Good to see you again, Professor." He waved at Dumbledore on his way out.

*****

Harry had barely made it back to his office after dinner when Snape descended upon him, his robes flaring.

"You imbecilic moron!" Snape's face twisted into a ferocious scowl. "What on earth did you hope to accomplish with that... display?" For all his glowering, Snape didn't seem cross at all. In fact, under the bluster, his face seemed to be flushed and not angrily either. Harry would bet that he was pleased.

Leaning against the front of his desk, Harry smiled at him as sweetly as he could manage, hoping he didn't look as self-satisfied as he felt. "I wanted you to have no doubt of my sincerity."

"Bloody Gryffindor." Snape faced him, stalking closer. "Do you think I'm stupid enough to believe that... that..." he seemed to have run out of words.

With considerable effort, Harry bit back a laugh. Finally, finally, he'd done something right. "Actually, yes. I thought it was necessary to demonstrate the lengths to which I would go to show how grateful I am for what you've done for me." He pushed off the desk and took a step forward, so that he was right in Snape's face. "I am grateful, you bastard. I really, truly am."

"Perhaps you are at that," Snape conceded, and then his thin lips lifted a bit and his crooked yellow teeth showed, and Harry thought perhaps he'd actually smiled. A real smile.

He couldn't decide if he wanted to hex the prat or kiss him.

That last thought brought Harry up short. He hated Snape. Deeply. There could be no kissing where there was hating. That was too sick to think about. But there he was in Snape's face, with Snape looking down at him, not scowling for once. Snape's mouth looked awfully soft ... all it would take would be for him to lift his head...

Oh, God. Harry was utterly horrified. "Urgh..."

Thankfully, Snape stepped back without seeming to realize how close he had come to... Harry couldn't even think it. It didn't happen. It wouldn't happen.

"You are as articulate as ever, Mr. Potter." Snape's acerbic tone brought him safely back to reality.

Shaking off what had just almost happened, and burying it deep down inside him, Harry tilted his head and looked at Snape. "You know, you might call me Harry."

Snape looked at him suspiciously. "Why would I want to do that?"

"Why not?" Harry quirked his lips and almost grinned. "We're colleagues after all; a bit more informality is permitted." Not too much, though, Harry decided.

"I'll give it some thought." To Harry's surprise, Snape also seemed a bit disconcerted by the whole encounter, and without another word he turned and left, his robes billowing out perfectly behind him.

Harry's knees would no longer hold him, and he collapsed into a nearby chair. Sweet Merlin, he'd just thought about kissing Snape. Snape! He needed a drink.

*****

Harry stayed at school during the winter break, even though Hermione and Ron had asked him to spend the entire Christmas hols with them. As much as he loved both of them -- all four of them counting the kids -- he'd wanted a bit of time to himself now that he was feeling better and could enjoy it. He had agreed to Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and although they were disappointed, they said they understood. Harry hoped that they did.

"It's been an age since we last saw you," Hermione said, handing him an ale. "How are your leg and back?"

For once, Harry didn't have to come up with a polite lie, not that such things ever worked with either of them, but he usually did try. "I'm actually doing well. I'm in a lot less pain than I was even a couple of weeks ago."

"I'm glad to hear that, mate," Ron settled on the sofa next to him, and Hermione disappeared into the kitchen.

"Where are the kids?" Harry asked. Ron and Hermione had two sons, six and eight years old. Harry was proud as hell to be godfather to the oldest boy.

"They're both at my parents' for Bill's daughter's birthday party this afternoon." Ron let out a sigh. "My parents are going to bring them back tonight for Christmas Eve dinner."

"Good. I was looking forward to seeing them." Harry loved them both so much and delighted in indulging the boys whenever he thought he could get away with it. "I've got presents for them." He pulled the shrunken cube of presents out of his pocket. He'd brought presents for Hermione and Ron as well.

Ron groaned. "Do you have to spoil them so?"

"Of course I do." Harry smiled at Ron's distressed look. "It's part of my job as godfather to spoil them rotten."

"You're only godfather to James, not to Daniel," Ron said.

"Wouldn't want poor Daniel to be jealous, would you?" Harry laughed. He lived to spoil the boys. "I want to do it. I love them."

Ron shook his head and then smiled. "Don't I know it? Fine, then. What did you get them this year?"

"You'll see when they do." Harry smiled mysteriously, anticipating the surprise and he hoped delight when the presents were opened. He'd gotten both boys the latest model of brooms for younger children -- they had parental controls that could be set for height and speed. "It always surprises me when you mention Bill's daughter."

Ron looked at him, his eyebrow raised. "What? After being so wild that he actually got married? You know that he loves his wife."

"I know he does. It's not like I'm heartbroken or anything. But he had such an impact on my life." Harry thought back on that time with a combination of warm nostalgia and not a little bit of chagrin. "It was only the one summer, but...."

"Yeah," Ron chuckled, almost to himself. "We all knew before you did."

Harry felt a blush creep across his face. He knew there had to be worse things than his own cluelessness, but sometimes he wondered why he couldn't see what was in front of him. "If Hermione hadn't said something to me. God, I wonder how old would I have been before I figured it out?"

Ron laughed again, and took a long pull from his ale. "I'd like to think you would have figured it out sooner or later."

"Figured what out later?" Hermione asked, settling next to Ron. With a smile, Ron tossed his arm around her casually and pulled her against his body. She snuggled into him, tilting her head up, and he leaned down to buss her lips.

Although Harry tried, he couldn't quite suppress a jolt of pure envy. Seeing them together reminded him of what he wanted, and had just about given up hope of ever finding.

"That I preferred wizards. Though switching sides didn't help in the relationship department, either," Harry said. It troubled him to think about how many women he might have hurt as he kept searching for something he wasn't going to find with any of them.

"You'll find someone, Harry." Ron always seemed so sure about it. Of course, it was a lot easier for Ron to say that. He'd known his beloved since he was eleven.

Harry, however, hadn't. By the looks of it, he didn't think he was going to find him, anyway. Before he could get too maudlin, he forced a smile and said, "I think I'm going to take a break from dating for a while. I'm not up for the search these days."

Hermione's expression showed her concern and she reached out, putting her hand on his. "You're doing so much better. It's been months."

Nine months and two weeks. "I am doing much better." He looked at Hermione pleadingly. Talking about the glaring lack in his life hurt too much, and he willed her to change the subject. "When is dinner tonight?"

"We're actually going to eat fairly late, given the party and the amount of food that the kids will have consumed. How is school?" Hermione smiled at him, understanding without words as she always did. "I always thought I would be the one going back to Hogwarts to teach."

"Why haven't you?" Harry had wondered that himself. She'd be an excellent teacher. "You would be very welcome."

"I would have to give up my job, and I love it enough to defer teaching for a while longer. I'll get to Hogwarts one day, I suspect." She touched his shoulder and smiled encouragingly. "What's it like to be back there?"

"I call almost all of the other professors by their given names. I think that was the hardest thing to get used to." Harry laughed and then added, "Everyone except Snape, of course."

"Of course," Ron's face twisted into a frown. He hated Snape every bit as much as Harry always had. "Is the greasy git still awful to you?"

To be fair, Harry conceded, maybe he didn't hate Snape as much as Ron did anymore. If he went that far, maybe he might admit that he didn't hate Snape at all. However, to acknowledge that would require that Harry consider what he did feel about him, and there were simply too many emotions connected to Snape. He hadn't had time to sort through any of them. "He was awful to start with, but I think he was reacting to me."

"How do you mean?" Ron finished off his ale, and set the bottle on the table. "He's still a complete bastard, isn't he?"

"Sometimes." Harry sighed at Ron's confused look. His confusion about Snape made it difficult for him to put it into words. "It's not the same as when we were in school. When I started to treat him differently, he did the same. Not that he's a nice guy or anything close, but he's not... overly horrible."

"I'm thinking that's probably as good as you're going to get with him," Ron said, thoughtfully. "I still wouldn't want to have to see him every day."

Harry nodded, but he wasn't sure about that anymore either, "He did make a potion that's been helping my muscles to relax enough to heal properly." If he were being honest, "Actually, it's done more than that. I'm so much stronger than I was a few months ago that...."

"What?" Ron asked. "You didn't mention he was doing that."

"Didn't I?" Harry felt his face heat with embarrassment. He knew very well he hadn't mentioned it to anyone and he should have done. It was hard to talk about. First, he hadn't wanted to get anyone else's hopes up, and then he didn't want to talk about how horrible Snape had been treating him.

Ron shook his head slowly, looking somewhere between hurt and annoyed. "No. You did not. I talk to you at least once a week, and you haven't mentioned a thing."

With his school schedule and Ron's changeable Auror shifts, they couldn't see each other as often as they had when they worked together, but they did stay in close touch.

"I'm sorry. I should have mentioned it sooner. At first, I wasn't sure he would do it, and then I wasn't sure it would work." Harry felt like an idiot. He wasn't sure why he hadn't mentioned it, but he felt compelled to add, "I'm very grateful to Snape for it. I will never walk without a limp, but I'm more pain free and healthier than I ever believed I would be."

The shocked look on Hermione's face had Harry a little baffled. Almost nothing surprised her like that. "What?" Harry asked. "Are you that surprised that Snape did this for me?"

"Quite frankly, yes. I'm very surprised."

"Why?" Harry didn't understand her attitude. "I mean, yeah, he's a greasy bastard, but even he has some compassion." Even if you had to drag it out of him, Harry didn't add.

"Let me understand this," Hermione said slowly, her words very precise. "Snape made you a potion that helped with your injury? Made it so well that you're in better shape than you ever thought you might be?"

"Yes." Harry definitely got the feeling he was missing something. "It took him weeks to do it."

"I'll bet it did." She met his eyes. "Did you know that Snape is one of the top potions masters in all of Britain? That his services are highly sought after by just about everyone? That he almost never does anything for an individual." Hermione shook her head in exasperation.

"If he's so good, why does he still teach at Hogwarts?" Ron asked, his tone edged with disbelief. "I mean, after the war, he could have gone anywhere. Why didn't he?"

"I believe that Hogwarts is his home," Hermione said with understanding in her tone. "I know that he could write his own ticket anywhere in the wizarding world. I don't think you appreciate just how good he is."

"No, I didn't know that," Harry said, thinking about it for the first time. Snape had done something amazing for him, something that was better than he could have ever hoped for. His conscience stabbed him because he *still* wasn't grateful enough. What did that say about him? "I suppose it makes sense. By the time he perfected it, the potion worked beyond my wildest expectations."

"I'm sure that it did." Hermione sounded just a bit sarcastic right then. "Harry, he simply did this for you? Because you asked? And you still hate him? Don't you think that's awfully petty?"

"Well... He's a mean-spirited, bastard." But maybe... Harry sighed. He was more than a bit conflicted where Snape was concerned.

She shook her head again, and this time she looked frustrated with him, rather the same expression Madam Pomfrey had sometimes.

Ron seemed to understand though. He looked at Hermione. "Why should Harry feel anything other than hatred?" He held up his hand. "Okay, maybe grateful too, maybe even very grateful, but that doesn't change the fact that he's a git. I'll never forgive him for the way he treated us at school."

A buzzer sounded and Hermione stood up. "I'd like to point out that we've been out of school for twice as long as we were in it. It's time for both of you to let it go."

Harry watched her retreating back. "I've never been able to think of Snape rationally," Harry said, draining his ale. "But I think she might have a point."

"I don't think so, mate. I'm going to hate that bastard until I die." Ron grinned as he said it, as if he enjoyed his hatred of Snape.

Harry never had, despite hanging onto it for so long, probably a lot longer than was healthy. He needed to think about it.

*****

Harry returned from Ron and Hermione's on Christmas night, Apparating to the gates of Hogwarts. Because it wasn't late, and he didn't feel like going to bed yet, he detoured by the Quidditch Pitch as he always did when he came in the side gate and had the time. It was just to... to what he asked himself? Relive your former glories? He could almost hear Snape's mocking voice asking him that.

There was someone flying, out above the pitch. Harry stopped to watch the silhouette against the night sky. A deep yearning split his chest and he had to remember to breathe. Whoever it was knew how to fly. They looped and rolled against the backdrop of the nearly full moon. Harry felt so much envy that he hardly bear it. He might fly again, someday, but he would never again move like that on a broom.

Tears prickled in his eyes as he watched another perfect maneuver. Harry never cried. Not over anything. If he were ever going to give into his despair, this shouldn't be the thing he wanted to cry the hardest over. The thing that hurt the worst. All the people he'd lost, all the things that had gone wrong, all the mistakes he'd made, and he wanted to cry over flying. Snape was right: he was a fool.

He stood there looking up, watching and envious. The rider fell into a deep dive, and Harry had to duck to get out of the way. "What are you doing?" he called out to the person who had just missed him. He came to a stop beside him, and he saw it was Snape.

Snape's hair was tied back, his cheeks were flushed red with the cold, and he looked like he'd been enjoying himself. The jealousy burned like acid in Harry's gut.

Looking at Harry for a long moment, Snape said nothing at all. Then, amazingly, he moved backward and inclined his head toward the broom.

"I'm not sure I can stay on." Harry glanced at him regretfully and then thought for a moment. "If you hold me, I could steer."

"I think it would be better to let me steer," Snape said. "Just hold on."

With his heart pounding in fear and excitement, Harry set his cane against the bench he'd been standing near, and climbed on. His thigh muscles protested when he tightened them, but they did what he wanted them to do. That he would pay for this tomorrow was not even a question. That it would be worth the cost, even less so.

Snape's arm went round his middle and held him in a firm grip, his other hand held the broom in front of both of Harry's hands. They both kicked off and soared upward into the cold night air.

He was flying again!

There were no fancy moves, no loops or rolls, but they moved fast enough for Harry to hear the roar of the wind and feel it whip through his hair. It felt wonderful beyond words.

Fierce joy filled him. It was better than the first time he'd flown because this time he'd known what he'd been missing. Harry thought his heart might burst from the sheer amount of happiness in it.

As the first shot of adrenalin wore off, Harry became conscious of the pressure of Snape's chest against his back. Of Snape's warmth surrounding him, of his arm across his belly and his hand in front of Harry's steering the broom. In the sheltering embrace, Harry felt safe in a way he couldn't quite understand and surprisingly didn't care to question.

"It's time to go back, Potter." Snape's low voice cut through the wind and his thoughts. Harry nodded as Snape landed the broom efficiently.

When he climbed off, Harry turned back to look at Snape. "Thank you." The words seemed so woefully inadequate to express what Snape had done for him. "That meant a lot to me."

"You're welcome," Snape answered and kicked off again, disappearing into the night sky.

All of Harry's leg muscles protested greatly as he walked slowly back to the castle. He didn't care. Whatever stiffness or soreness he might endure tomorrow would be more than worth the joy of that ride.

*****

It was entirely possible, Harry thought, ignoring the papers piled on his desk, that he didn't hate Snape after all. With a deep sigh, he acknowledged that he didn't even dislike the bastard. How he actually felt, Harry wasn't sure and probably didn't want to know. He could only go so far at one time.

The broom ride puzzled him. Snape's reasoning for showing him such kindness continued to evade Harry's ability to understand it. It was going to drive him mad. It made no sense. It was out of character, as he understood Snape.

Which meant that Madam Pomfrey was right and he didn't understand Snape nearly as well as he'd always thought he did. It was that or Snape had gone mad. Of the two options, Harry assumed that since no one else seemed to think that Snape was acting oddly, perhaps he hadn't suddenly gone batty. So, it was the first option.

That was troubling.

What was more troubling than that, though, was the desire to kiss Snape had returned, and with more force than Harry's previous encounter with it. Not only that, but now the urge to touch him was accompanying the longing to kiss. That left Harry shaking, but as hard as he tried to tell himself that it was revulsion, he knew that it wasn't.

Contemplating Snape over dinner a few days after the ride, Harry simply couldn't understand where the impulse had come from. Snape was ugly. Any way you looked at him, there was little, no, nothing, to recommend him. His hair was lank and oily. His skin was pale. His teeth were yellow. He was skinny and as disagreeable as a man could be.

What was it about the man that made Harry want to have anything to do with him?

Looking up, Snape caught him watching and Harry gave him a weak smile. Snape looked away, disgusted.

*****

"May I have a word with you?" Harry asked, leaning on the open doorway of Snape's office. Between picking up the potion, discussing the results -- Snape was still making minute changes to formula -- Harry felt like he spent an inordinate amount of time in the dungeons. This time, however, it was of his own choosing.

"About what?" Snape looked up briefly at him and then back down at the stack of whatever he was grading. "As you can see, I'm quite busy."

Thinking about his own stack of end-of-term essays that required grading before the students came back from their winter holiday, Harry nodded with sympathy. However, he knew he had to understand what happened before it drove him mad. "I wanted to thank you again for the broom ride."

"You're welcome." Snape looked at him again. "If that's all..."

In his mind, he steeled himself and outwardly he straightened up, tension creeping into his gut. This was even harder than he'd thought it would be. "No. Actually, I'd like to know why you did it."

"Why?" Snape's expression turned amused and he shrugged. "Why not?"

"Keep the enemy off balance? Is that it?" Harry asked, thinking at least that made some sense to him -- all part of Snape's mind games.

Some of the amusement left Snape's smirk. "It's a wise strategy. However, I do not consider you the enemy. More of a permanent annoyance, to be truthful."

"Thanks, I think." Relaxing just a bit, Harry hoped that might be some progress. To where, he wasn't sure, perhaps only another step away from enmity. "You're going to drive me mad, you know that don't you?"

"I shall look forward to it." Snape's mouth turned down, smile fading. "If there was nothing else, Mr Potter, I should like to finish this before midnight."

For a second, Harry thought about going, just leaving well enough alone, but something inside him couldn't let it go. Those urges to touch Snape hadn't gone away, in fact, they seemed to be getting worse, going so far as to invade his dreams. He had to resolve this. "I'm not going to leave until you tell me why you did it."

Frustration and annoyance bled off Snape. "Don't be a fool. It was obviously a momentary lapse on my part. If it engenders this kind of reaction, then I surely won't be so stupid again."

Harry hadn't thought he'd consider doing it again. Truth be told, he still couldn't quite believe it had happened the first time.

Snape must have read his thoughts on his face, because he scowled. "If I promise to take you up again, will you leave?"

Harry knew a good deal when he heard one. Already anticipating another ride, he smiled and nodded. "Saturday afternoon or do you have a hot date for the first night of the New Year?"

"Saturday is fine." Snape picked up his pen and then looked at him. "I don't date."

Something about the way he said that bothered Harry. It sounded a little too final. "Anyone? Ever?"

"No one. Never." Snape glared at him, and Harry knew he'd worn out what little welcome he'd ever had.

"I'll meet you on the Quidditch pitch at 4:00 pm." Excitement had him smiling widely as he regarded Snape. "Thanks."

"Fine." Snape's look was assessing, and then changed back to annoyed. "Now, leave me alone."

Harry left then and without another word. He was going flying with Snape again! If he could have, he would have kicked up his heels in glee, both at the prospect and, yes, he could admit it, the company. God, what was he thinking, he wondered, and then decided that he didn't care.

*****

A few minutes before 4:00 on Saturday afternoon, Harry limped to the bench where he'd met Snape the previous week. It was cold and the wind had picked up. Snow was expected again during the coming week and he knew there wouldn't be many more clear days like this until spring.

The anticipation he'd been feeling for the last few days exploded in his chest as Harry looked up and saw Snape dive down towards him, coming to a stop right above his head, and then moving down.

Harry waited until Snape was close enough so that he could mount the broom comfortably.

"I'd like to fly. If that's all right with you?" Harry asked, hoping that Snape wouldn't mind, because he wanted to fly a broom on his own so badly right then he could almost taste it.

"If you feel up to it, I have no objection." Snape moved back enough to make room for him.

Once on the broom, Harry's excitement soared as he settled close to Snape's chest, and Snape wrapped his arms around his middle. That same safe feeling washed over him, and Harry inched closer, basking in it.

After kicking off, they climbed high into the cold afternoon sky. The broom moved easily under Harry's direction. Exhilaration swept through him. How he loved to fly, to feel the cool wind move past his face, to feel free and unencumbered.

On impulse, he sent the broom into a dive. Snape clutched him tighter. He couldn't help laughing out loud as he pulled back up. It felt fabulous.

When he leveled off, he was breathing hard, giddy with excitement as his heart pounded in joy. "That was brilliant," Harry murmured.

"You idiot. What if you'd fallen off?" Snape's anger was brutal and raw, his fear evident in every harsh word.

Harry hadn't been worried at all. It had felt too good after so long without even the hope of being able to do that. "It would have been worth it."

"No. It would not have been. Don't do it again." The fear Snape wasn't able to hide overrode some of Harry's joy.

"I'm sorry." He felt badly now, especially when Snape had been so.... Harry was at a loss for a word to describe Snape's generosity in taking him flying and what it meant to him. "It was stupid of me to do that. I'm sorry I scared you."

"Indeed, it was idiotic." Snape nudged him and he took the hint, flying upward again, and this time, he circled around the forbidden forest, thrilling in every second he was on the broomstick. Surprisingly, Snape's warmth near him added to his enjoyment.

After an hour, Harry was disappointed to have to end the ride, but he knew that it was time to go back. His back had started to ache from the cold, and his legs were already numb. He landed by the bench, and wasn't surprised at how stiff he was as he dismounted.

As he looked up at Snape, he smiled widely, all of his joy showing on his face. "Thank you. I owe you for this."

"You're welcome. However, you owe me nothing." Snape didn't smile back at him, regarding him with an intense look that seemed pleased.

"I owe you more than I shall ever be able to repay," Harry said softly. For a moment, his dearest wish was to show Snape just how much he felt for him. Without considering it any further, he slid his hand around the nape of Snape's neck, and kissed his cheek softly. "Thank you."

Snape's eyes were wide and glassy with what seemed like shock. He blinked several times, looking almost as if he were puzzled by what just happened.

Harry couldn't resist the pull, and leaned up again, nudging Snape forward, closer this time, sliding an arm around his waist. Very gently he pressed his mouth to Snape's, their cool lips brushing briefly. He pulled back almost as soon as he'd begun. Snape's mouth was sweeter than he'd ever expected.

Fear and exultation and longing all roiling inside him, and his heart pounding harder than when he'd dived the broom, Harry moved closer still. He desperately wanted to taste the sweetness again. Leaning into another kiss, he let his mouth cling to Snape's for a long moment,

At first, Snape's mouth was completely slack, as if he couldn't believe Harry's audacity. As Harry started to pull away, fearing that he'd offended him, Snape moved with him, too hard, mashing his lips against Harry's.

Harry put a hand on Snape's cheek, and eased him back a bit. Leaning in again, he molded his mouth to Snape's, softly and firmly, delighting in the taste and texture of Snape's lips. Snape mimicked Harry, his mouth yielding into the kiss.

Snape moaned softly.

The sound glided across Harry's spine, and down into his gut, arousing him as few things ever had. Enchanted, he pressed closer to Snape, deepening the kiss, desire starting to build inside him.

He licked along Snape's lower lip, using his teeth to pull gently on it. When Snape opened his mouth, Harry slipped his tongue inside. For one very long second, Snape stilled completely. Harry was about to withdraw, when Snape's tongue tentatively touched his. An electric shock went through Harry, straight down his spine and he shivered in pleasure.

Harry slid his other hand onto Snape's waist to draw him even closer. The positioning wasn't good, not with Snape hovering on the broom. Disappointed, he took it as a sign this wasn't the right time, and pulled back completely.

Glancing at Snape half fearfully, Harry was surprised to see his eyes were still closed and his breathing was labored.

With a deep, soft sigh, Snape licked his bottom lip and opened his eyes. He looked shocked. No, more than shocked, Snape looked like he wasn't entirely sure what had just happened.

Then, just to be difficult, Snape leaned forward and brushed his lips across Harry's. "Good night, Potter," he said, his voice husky, and he flew away.

Harry looked after him in disbelief.

*****

As much as Harry wanted to talk to Snape about Saturday afternoon, and even though they saw each other at least twice a day during meals, he didn't find any time. His classes were going well, but that meant planning, and office hours, and a myriad of other responsibilities.

The one night he did find himself free, he met Ron for drinks in a pub in Hogsmeade. He'd thought about bringing up the subject of Snape, but since there wasn't anything to say, he'd decided against it. He wasn't ready to fight that battle, especially if nothing came of it.

It was Saturday again before Harry had time to pursue the issue. The snow was falling as it had been the entire day. No flying today.

There had been no contingency plan. Actually, they hadn't agreed to fly that afternoon either, but Harry had planned to be on the Quidditch pitch. He expected that now was the time to take himself down to the dudgeons and have a chat with Snape.

"What do you want?" Snape said as soon as the door opened, and he saw who was standing in front of it. "We're not flying today."

Harry shifted, trying not to let his nervousness show. "No, I expect not. I do know that snow and flying don't mix well."

"I ask again, what do you want?"

"May I come in?" Harry asked, taking a deep breath and preparing himself for a negative response.

Snape's look turned suspicious. "I'm sure I'm not going to like whatever it is you have to say." However, Snape stepped back and let Harry come in. "Get it over with."

"You don't have to sound so resigned." Amused by the ploy, Harry felt his mouth twitch as he tried not to smile outright.

"I am resigned." Snape's tone held a note of suppressed laughter. "Why are you bothering me?

The smile he'd been fighting broke loose. Snape sounded neither resigned to Harry's presence nor unhappy about it, both of which made Harry feel a bit less nervous. "May I sit down?" Harry asked solicitously.

"If you must." Snape started to return to his sofa and then stopped and looked back at Harry. "I suppose you'll want a brandy, too?"

"That would be very nice." Harry couldn't help his grin. Once he understood the language Snape spoke, it was like talking to a different person. "Thank you for asking."

"I didn't ask."

"Of course not." Smiling back at him, Harry took the snifter that was handed to him. He didn't know a lot about dishes or glasses, but the crystal seemed very fine to him. The brandy was delicious. "This is quite nice."

"Yes." Snape sat down and sipped his drink, saying nothing else.

For a few minutes the only sound was the crackling of the fire, and both of them sipping their respective drinks. The silence started out companionable, but became strained with time.

"The social niceties have been performed," Snape drawled lazily. "What did you wish to speak to me about?"

"Last week." Harry's nerves jumped a little. He wasn't all that sure what he wanted, except, perhaps, to understand what he was feeling, and maybe figure out what Snape was feeling as well.

Snape gave him an impassive look, letting nothing of what he might be thinking escape onto his face. "What about it?"

"You don't make things easy, do you?" Tensing up more, Harry breathed out, trying to relax the knotting in his shoulders. "We kissed."

The look on Snape's face didn't change, but his lips twitched slightly. "Yes, Potter. I did notice that."

"I noticed something else, as well." He'd thought a lot about that. None of the answers he'd come up with made much sense. No, that wasn't quite right. One of the answers made too much sense. He just couldn't credit it, even from Snape.

Snape continued to regard him, clearly waiting for something. When he didn't say anything else, Snape shook his head. "That's very observant of you, Potter."

Harry wondered if Snape were being deliberately dense, or more likely he was embarrassed by it. "By my calculations, you're fifty-four."

"You can add, too. Amazing what they teach the young in school these days." Snape's look turned withering. "However, you've still not made your point."

The game playing with Snape was starting to drive Harry mad. "I think that is the point."

Snape shook his head, confusion finally showing on his face. "My age? I know your logic is convoluted at the best of times, but you've lost me completely. What does my age have to do with a kiss?"

He wasn't a hundred percent sure, but it seemed like a good guess. A trickle of worry went down his spine. If he got this wrong, Snape would be scathing in his condemnation. "Only that you hadn't done it before."

"Ah. I see." Snape didn't look the least bit discomfited by the observation, nor did he deny it. "I don't believe that is any of your business."

Well, it wasn't, Harry acknowledged, but he was starting to believe that he wanted it to be. More than that, he thought perhaps Snape might want it, too. "How it's possible that you hadn't?" Harry kept his voice soft, inquiring, no hint of mockery or laughter.

"Why should I tell you? Do you wish to have more fodder with which to ridicule me?" His whole expression and demeanor changed. It seemed that he actually believed Harry could or would do that to him.

Taking offense at that, Harry glared at him. "I haven't belittled you at all." At Snape's continued acrimonious look, he amended, "Well, not about that. I wouldn't."

"What do you want?" Snape sighed and put his snifter back on the small table between the sofa and the chair. "I've asked that several times now, and you've not given me a satisfactory answer."

While Harry didn't understand the fascination he felt for Snape or his attraction, he was willing to accept it as well as the implication of what he thought he knew. Soft peddling the whole subject was not, however, in his nature. "All right, if you want it spelled out for you: how is it that you've never been kissed before?"

Snape sneered at him, seemingly unembarrassed by either Harry's outburst or the information that it contained. "The answer should be self-evident, Potter. Even you can figure it out."

"Clearly, I'm not very bright. Indulge me in an answer, Professor." Exasperated, Harry put just the right amount of mocking in his tone to hopefully annoy Snape into an answer.

"I didn't want to." Snape stood and walked to the fireplace, putting his hands towards the flame as if to warm them. "I think that's all the answer you shall need."

"Then, why last week? What great and momentous thing happened then?" Because Harry knew that there must have been a reason for Snape to allow it after remaining untouched -- that didn't seem like an appropriate word to use in context with Snape, but it was all Harry could come up with -- for his whole life.

"You happened, Potter. You simply took what you wanted." Snape sounded both belligerent and bewildered.

Harry wasn't sure exactly what he'd expected or wanted from Snape when he came in tonight but now he was determined to have an answer. "Oh no, Professor. You're not getting away that easily. That wasn't just me kissing you. You were giving it back just as good as you got."

Turning around slowly, Snape's eyes flashed with something Harry couldn't read. "Fine. I liked it. All right? It was pleasant." Snape's words held his surprise and his tone lowered. "It was surprisingly sweet."

Well done Harry, he thought, as a shiver of pleasure went through him. "Oh," he said, amazed that Snape would admit it.

Standing before the fire, with his hands twisted in his robes, Snape seemed uncharacteristically shy. It was not a good look on him, and Harry was grateful when the moment passed quickly and Snape's familiar sneer returned. "If you have nothing else to say, I think that it's --"

"Actually, I do." Even if he didn't understand his own desire, Harry knew it was real and, he suspected, returned. He stood up. His movements were neither graceful, nor quick. If Snape wanted to move away, he had plenty of time to do so.

He didn't. Watching Harry warily as he stopped right in front on him, Snape looked like he might have wanted to move back, but there was no place for him to go. "What is it, Potter?" His voice had a very slight waver, and beneath it, Harry could hear fear and want in nearly equal measures.

His own nerves vibrating with tension and desire, Harry put his hand on Snape's cheek. "Just this." Stretching up, he kissed Snape. His mouth moved against Snape's, tasting the brandy and his unique flavor. Whatever else Harry could say about him, Snape was delightful to kiss, his lips soft and giving.

Sliding his arms around Harry's back, Snape drew him closer, holding on as the kiss deepened. Snape seemed have an innate talent for this, seeming to understand the concept without instruction. His tongue slid into Harry's mouth, and with the great attention to detail he was known for, Snape slowly explored, tasting every surface.

Desire humming through him, Harry groaned, tipping his head back. Snape leaned forward a bit more, moving his mouth from Harry's lips to his neck, licking along his throat down to the collar of his robe, his arms tightening further. Delightful sensations rippled along Harry's skin, everywhere that Snape's tongue and lips touched.

Sliding his long fingers into Harry's hair, Snape pulled it free of its tie, letting it fall free. The feel of Snape's fingers in his hair was just exquisite. Moaning softly, Harry gave himself up to it, relishing each separate sensation as well as the whole.

Moving his own hands from Snape's face to his body, Harry slid one hand firmly down his long back to his waist, and then down further to his bum, squeezing gently. The firm round flesh under his hand, even through several layers of cloth, felt absolutely delicious. Harry squeezed again.

Snape stiffened and pulled back to look at him, his expression startled.

"No?" Harry asked, regretfully moving his hand up to Snape's waist.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Snape let out a sigh and opened them again, but he hadn't relaxed. "Apparently not."

"Okay." Harry didn't let his disappointment show. This could not come easily to Snape, he thought. "Um... I guess, we should stop."

"As it isn't going to go where you want it to, I expect you're right." Snape's tone was barbed and jagged, but there was an undercurrent of annoyance that Harry didn't understand. Perhaps it was directed at himself, rather than Harry. Snape stepped back, pulling roughly out of Harry's arms.

"How can you know where I want this to go, when I don't?" Frustrated again, Harry knew that everything about this situation was so fraught with problems, for both of them. "Maybe we should talk about this?"

"Talk about what, Potter? There is nothing to talk about." Snape's tone had grown colder and harder, but the expression in his eyes belied that. "I do think it's time for you to leave."

"Running away won't make it better." Harry looked up at him, patience warring with exasperation.

"I thought you understood. Nothing is going to make it better." Snape turned away and faced the fire again.

"Well, I think you owe me an explanation." That was a stupid thing to say, Harry thought, not quite believing he'd actually said it.

Obviously neither could Snape, his shoulders visibly stiffened. His tone scathing, Snape started to say, "I owe--"

Harry cut him off before he got it out. "I know." He held up his hand as if Snape could actually see him from behind. "You owe me nothing."

"Exactly so." Snape sounded almost mollified and he turned to look at Harry. "Do try and remember that."

"I want to know. I want to understand you." Harry sat down on the sofa with a sigh of relief. While he was kissing Snape, he hadn't noticed the ache in his muscles from standing too long.

"Why should I satisfy your curiosity at my own expense?" There was something in his tone that Harry recognized far too easily: distrust. How could that be such a surprise?

Still the level of it upset him enough to consider what they were doing. Yes, there was an attraction, and kissing Snape was delicious, but even if h