Rattails

Rattails

A pulsing mass of flesh and hormones swirled around him. "Stop running!"

The two Hufflepuffs ignored him completely and darted though the crowd. A first year smashed into him, looked up with wide eyes, muttered an apology, and stumbled back to his large group of friends before he could have points taken off. The sheer volume of the teenagers was earsplitting.

Imagine, Harry Potter holding his debut concert here. Who ever would have guessed? Note the sarcasm. This dusty old castle that was Severus Snape's prison was the punk's home. For God's sake, it was practically his soul. Immediately after the war, all his money and time were spent getting the walls back up and the classes started. They tried to make him headmaster, but he wouldn't have it. No, no, he ran off for a few years and turned up a rock star. Snape chortled. Harry Potter a rock star. It was no surprise to this greasy old man, but the rest of the world had had a heart attack when he came out of hiding. Harry Potter rising from the ashes, a record in one hand and a guitar in the other.

Harry Potter. Back at Hogwarts. After seven years of being away. Gallantly returning at the spunky age of twenty-four. And that made Snape... forty-three. You couldn't tell it though. He didn't look a day under sixty.

He was bitter. So what? He liked being bitter. It scared the first years.

The crowd flowed around him. It pushing him gently toward the Great Hall, where he, regrettably, would be joining the rest of the population of Hogwarts.

The lights were dim, and the children were loud. Snape slipped into the back of the room. The tables were gone completely. Standing room only. Music blared from speakers near the ceiling over the top of the shrieking barbarians. At the front of the hall was a raised platform. He could see it now. The girls will scream and reach out. He will touch their hands. They will faint. Imagine, Harry Potter touching you! He was getting giggly thinking about it. Sarcasm.

"My word, Severus, I really didn't think I'd see you here," a voice cooed in his ear. It was aged and tired, but still had a hint of playfulness. McGonagall. Headmistress McGonagall.

"I'm no fool, Minerva," he said with disdain. "I know the second those lights go down, the students, being the balls of hormones that they are, are going to stop everything and fornicate. I also know that when the star steps on stage, none of the teachers will be paying attention to the students. I am here merely to prevent unwanted pregnancies."

The older woman chuckled. "You do have a way with words."

Severus just stared at her.

"You need to relax. Smile." She patted his cheek patronizingly. She was so different from the person she had been. The war changed everything. Everyone. Personally, he had liked her better the old way. Now she reminded him too much of Dumbledore.

He snorted.

"Of course," she continued, "you'll sleep when you're dead. Isn't that right?"

He was prepared to make a bitter retort, but was cut off by the lights shutting off completely. The ceiling's stars blinked out one at a time. The horrid din stopped, and a hush fell over the room. Snape rolled his eyes.

A spotlight blinked on. It was focused on a lonely microphone stand. The dust swirled in the light. The hall had never been so still with so many people. Feedback from the microphone rang out through the air.

A young man tentatively stepped into the light. His face was flushed with embarrassment. His hair was tied back in a tight ponytail that dropped to his waist. Huge, emerald eyes strained to see past the light and into the darkness. He wore a light green shirt with a gray lightning bolt slashed from the collar, the point resting just before his jeans began. His clingy jeans. They squeezed his thighs and small, tight...

It was disgraceful. And tactless. Trashy.

"Hello," he murmured into the mike.

Snape felt his breath catch.

The star smiled slightly. "How is everyone?" he asked conversationally. His eyes scanning an audience he couldn't see.

Snape's heart stopped completely.

~*~

Someone was going to die tonight. The first person he came in contact with was going to die. There was no other option. This was the prefects' job. Not his. Death Eater attacks had flared up again, so the teachers were cursed to roam the halls looking for miscreants. Didn't want to put the children in danger, did we?

So he prayed he would find someone, anyone, out of bed at this hour. They would die and that was that.

Music caught his ear. Perfect.

He started toward it. It was soft at first, but it didn't take him long to pick out where it was coming from. Just up the hall there was a balcony that looked over the lake and the forest. It was only the fourth floor so the view wasn't spectacular, but he had caught the little balls of hormones out there before.

He was able to hear the music better the closer he got. A guitar. A soft tenor was whispering words that were not coherent. The song was sad and slow. Deft fingers plucked at the strings mimicking the sound of rain. He approached silently, wanting to surprise them. He liked seeing them squirm.

He reached the open doorway and peered around the corner. The moon was full, and Snape could see as if it were day. A figure was curled up on a bench in the corner of the balcony. He was hunched over his guitar, and his hair fell across his face like a curtain. The fingers sped up. The song got faster, more desperate. His voice rose, and as it did he lifted his face to the moon. His mouth was wide as he choked out the words. Tears were streaming down his face. His hand strumming the guitar was flying so fast it was shaking his whole body.

Severus Snape never saw beauty in anything- he hadn't since he was a child. Beautiful things were frivolous. What purpose did a flower have except to make more flowers? The few that were useful potions ingredients were the twisted vines that grew out of rock and only lived out of spite. Songbirds never did anything but sing, and ornamental furniture or homes were as efficient as regular ones. People were never beautiful. People were annoying and in his way. But this person and this heart wrenching song... they were beautiful. He couldn't bring himself to stop the guitarist.

It wasn't until he finished playing and stared at the sky, looking lonely and distraught, that the Potions master even recognized him for who he was.

Harry Potter.

He stepped farther into the doorway. Potter's head popped to the side, his eyes wide. Taken off guard, he wiped at his face, trying to rid himself of anything incriminating. He opened his mouth to make some cock and bull excuse, but Snape wouldn't let him.

"Don't say a word, Potter. Get up, take your blasted cloak, and go to bed. Now."

The boy scrambled into action. He brushed past the stationary Snape, his eyes unbelieving that he was getting off so easy.

~*~

"How is everyone?"

Had the question been asked from one average person to another, it would have been answered with an, "I'm well, how about you?" But he wasn't an average person, and he wasn't asking it to another person. He was asking it to 280 teenagers.

As Snape's heart was stopping, the rest of the room was bellowing. Some were using words but most were just making noise to be making noise.

Potter seemed amused. Once they calmed down a bit he spoke again, "I'm sorry, I didn't get that..."

They erupted once more. He chuckled this time.

The stage lights were rising, and the rest of the band was filing in behind him. One of the members handed him a guitar. The musicians could be seen clearly now. What the old man in the back saw shook him slightly, although he never showed it. Every person on stage, other than Harry, wore a black robe with long sleeves, a high collar, and a hood pulled over their hair. On their faces they wore masks. White, porcelain masks in the shape of skulls. McGonagall beside him was tense. Not one of the younger students had any idea what the significance of the costumes was, but a few of the older ones did. They glanced around nervously. The others went on, oblivious.

"I would like to introduce my band..." he started, sounding a bit skittish. "The Riddles." He smiled and they exploded with cheering.

The Headmistress sighed. "I hope he knows what he's doing."

Snape just snorted.

~*~

When Harry sat in his classroom the next day, he was no longer beautiful. He had returned to his clumsy, gangly, teenage self. Snape found himself slightly disappointed, even though he provoked Potter as tradition said to. He briefly wondered if he'd ever get to see that... whatever it was, again.

It was another week or so, before he was prowling the halls and heard the music again. That night it was drifting through the air of the East Tower. He'd walked all night, and just when he was close to the end of his shift he found him.

The guitar was strummed several times. Then there was a pause. It was played again but slightly different. Pause. He played it again, singing this time.

Snape slipped into the room, apparently unnoticed. Potter's back was to the door.

The boy continued to struggle with the song. At regular intervals he would pull a small notebook near him, scribble something, and push it away again.

The young man curled up on the desk spoke. "I write the music first. It just pops into my head." So Snape had been noticed. "The words don't come unless there's a melody to put it to." He stopped plucking at the strings. "Sometimes they don't even make sense to me. And I wrote them." He turned to face the silent observer. "I'm sorry, Professor. I shouldn't be out so late." He wasn't crying tonight, nor did he look as distraught as he had the week before. He did, however, look slightly embarrassed. He stepped down from the desk softly and pushed the instrument around to his back. "I get carried away and forget the time." The musician's eyes were shining in question. Would he be punished this time?

A thin silence fell between the two. Snape wasn't sure if he wanted to punish him. This bothered him. A lot. And that made him grumpy.

"You're pushing your luck, Potter."

"I'm sorry-"

"Five points from Gryffindor. Go to bed. And try not to make this a habit."

Please do. I want to hear you sing again.

~*~

The Headmistress sighed. "I hope he knows what he's doing."

Snape just snorted.

As if answering her, the rock star leaned close to the mike again. "We must laugh at that which frightens us, or we'll be afraid forever."

He hadn't thought the crowd could get louder, but they did. What he said was obviously somehow connected to one of his songs, presumably the one he was about to play.

Potter's focus went to the guitar in his hands. He smiled a familiar, sad smile and stroked the strings once before plucking them slowly, sadly. It reminded Snape of rain. It reminded him of moonlight, of tears, and of beauty.

He honestly thought he was dieing.

~*~

Harry had been discovered playing his heart out in the middle of the night over a dozen times now. The occurrences became more frequent, and his hiding places closer and closer to the dungeons. Each time, he got off with an order to go to bed, and, if Snape was in a foul mood, a few insignificant points off.

On several occasions the older man had tried to stay just inside the door and listen without being noticed. Harry had always called to him without turning around, and his meager audience would stay and sit and listen before sending him off to sleep. Conversations were becoming more and more regular, but mostly they enjoyed each other's silence. His music was unsettling in its hopelessness, and it was rare if he did not get emotional; although, it wasn't always sadness that consumed him. One night Harry abandoned his guitar completely. Instead, he ranted and complained to a silently understanding Snape. People were too kind, too understanding. They placed him on a pedestal, told him he was fragile, asked him if he was okay, and pushed him off again into the open mouth of a hungry beast. The bastards. The professor was twice as hard on Harry in their next class together. A week later, when they met again, Harry had actually thanked him.

"Do you play an instrument, Professor?"

"I started playing the cello when I was four. I played it for ten years, but I haven't touched it in twenty."

"Oh..."

Silence.

"Any critiques? For my music?"

"It's too sad."

"I... I don't know how to write anything more upbeat... I'm never happy, so why play like I am?"

"You need therapy, Potter."

"But, Professor, I thought that was why you were here."

Snicker.

"Insolent brat."

"Snarky Greaseball."

Snort. "Original."

"Learned from the best."

Silence. Music.

"Explain to me why you feel the need to be out and about at odd hours of the night."

"I can't sleep. The songs, they get in my head." Potter squeezed his eyes shut and batted at his forehead with a loose fist. "They won't leave and they drive me crazy 'til I get up and play them. Maybe I've gone mad." His head jerked up, and he stared at Snape waiting for his opinion.

"You're not mad, Potter. You're seventeen." He had to remind himself of that sometimes, this person in front of him never seemed to still be a teenager. "Surely there is somewhere more appropriate where you can," he sneered, "express yourself." He crossed his arms, glaring.

"I've tried to find one, Professor!" he cried out crestfallen. "I even tried putting a silencing spell around my bed curtains, but the acoustics were terrible. I... I can't play in the common room. It'll wake everyone up. And I can't play when people are still up. All they do is ask me to play songs they know... They're so loud." He squinted his eyes and made a face as if they were yelling in his ear now. "The... the first time I cried, I heard about nothing else for three weeks." His eyes fell to the floor. "Seamus still hasn't let me live it down."

That was a shock to the system. What about all that Gryffindor loyalty crap?

"I don't suppose giving you a detention would do any good. You'll just be out here again next week. Am I right?" He tapped his fingers slowly on his crossed arm.

Harry gulped. "I suppose."

"And you realize that not even the prefects are allowed to wander the halls anymore. It's too dangerous."

"Yes, Sir-"

"So it would be irresponsible of me to let it continue."

"Please, Pro-"

He'll just have to use one of Snape's rooms. It's not like he uses them all any way.

Don't say it. Don't say it! You love your peace and quiet!

"You may use one of my rooms."

Dear God.

Potter gaped.

Snape sighed.

"Behind the portrait of Morgana. The next time you get one of your weird urges to... make your music... go there. Tell her your name. She'll let you in."

Potter was still gaping.

"Close your mouth and go to bed."

~*~

Harry Potter danced and sang and sweated all over the stage. A few of the songs were from his high school days, but most were new, less sorrowful. None were blatantly about the war or the Dark Lord, but some had undertones. They were about a variety of things. Some were based so heavily on Muggle society, Snape barely understood them. The few scattered in about relationships were almost all the same- everything gets mucked up because he has commitment issues.

"Everyone still doing okay?" he asked into the darkness, still breathless from his last song. They screamed. "I would like to introduce a good friend of mine." A spotlight blazed through the air toward the drummer, who stood and slowly removed his mask. "Draco Malfoy." There were a few murmurs. Severus actually heard a girl near him remark that he was even hotter than Potter, and she hadn't thought that was possible. The tow headed young man stepped closer to the front of the stage while the star explained that this next song was completely Malfoy's.

He turned out to have a beautiful voice. It was tamer than most of the songs that had been played all evening. The hooked nose professor would have enjoyed it had it not been so brazenly about Potter. Some bullshit unrequited love song. He was sure that no one else saw the connection, but there wasn't much a surprise there. Snape knew both of them better than he cared to admit.

~*~

"How the hell would they know what I want? What I need? I don't need them to make my decisions for me! I'm of age for Christ's sake!"

Harry had been going on like this for some time now. Severus Snape was resting on the couch in front of which the irate teen was pacing. Someone had finally told McGonagall that Harry was sneaking out at night, and she had badgered her student to tell here where he was going. He refused. She gave him a detention and warned him not to leave again. Yet here he was. "They just want to keep me locked up till I have to fight Voldemort. Then if I win, they'll just throw me away! Not one of them cares!"

Sometimes the potions master really was worried that Potter had a touch of paranoia. "Calm down-"

"Calm down?! But... They... And... I-" He was starting to hyperventilate now. Severus stood up and took the boy's arm firmly in his hand.

"Breathe."

Harry did so. It calmed him a bit. "They don't know me. I have ambitions. I want to plan my life!" He stared calmly up into the black eyes of someone who actually understood. Severus treated him like a human, gave him space, and understood.

"What are your ambitions, Harry? What do you want?" He was still gripping the other's arm, gently now.

"I want to kill him," Harry spat. "Go find him, and off him. I want action. I hate sitting here!" He took a breath. "I want... to fly. To have a family. Get a regular desk job, when I graduate, where I sit in a cubical all day and do paperwork. I want to play my music for people and have someone connect to it. I want to make love with someone who sees past my scar. Hell, it would be nice to have sex at all!" He laughed ruefully, but Snape knew he wasn't done. He was looking for answers in the older man's eyes, but Severus wasn't sure he had them. "I don't want to be special. But I do want to be someone. Anyone but who I am already." The sadness in his voice was overwhelming. His head dropped, and his shoulders shook. "I want... " He looked back up, his eyes full to the brim with unshed tears. "God dammit."

Then The Boy Who Lived kissed his nasty, greasy potions master.

His arms slid around Severus' neck, and, by God, he had never wanted anything so bad. His heart was pounding, and Snape responded better than Harry could have wished for. The kiss was pure and soft, although, it didn't stay that way long. It soon built up, snowballing toward something bigger. They grabbed at each other, pulling at the other's hair and clothes. There was no romance there, but there was a surplus of emotion. Need and adrenaline collided. All they knew was the other's smell and taste and heartbeat.

It was the older of the two who broke it. Resting his forehead of the other's he whispered, "Harry... we can't." His fingers played with the hair at the nape of the young man's neck, never wanting to let go.

"Please don't say that..." he pleaded and held the other tighter. Not able to bring himself to look him in the eye, he buried his head in Snape's chest.

"Harry, I'm your teacher... I'm old."

"You are not old, don't say that-" His hands pulled at the thick wool of Severus' robe.

"I killed-"

"No, please don't. You did what you had to-"

"We can't-"

"But you want it too, don't you?"

"Your finals are next week." Potter finally looked up. "Think it over. Come back to me if, and only if, you're completely sure... I will be here."

~*~

The students drained out of the hall quickly, talking shrilly. The concert was over, but they still had copious amounts energy. There would be parties in the common rooms tonight. Severus Snape had no doubt that they would stay up all night. He was just thankful it was a weekend, and that he didn't have to deal with the tired little brats in the morning.

The last of the teens were trickling out the door, and Snape continued to lean against the back wall, unmoving. He should probably round up the stragglers, but he didn't think he was in the right mindset to scare them into paralysis. If you're going to do something, do it right or not at all. People in black shirts came out on stage and started taking down the instruments and equipment.

He was torn. There's no way he should show his face. He felt sadness ripping at his insides. The last song... The gist of it was that someone had fucked Potter over royally, but he wouldn't have done a thing differently. It was scattered with potion ingredients disguised- "The rats and their rattails, but no one knows who the rat is here."- and things Snape had never told anyone but Harry. Here he was on display for the masses to ridicule, but it was safe because the idea of a song about him was more absurd than most people could even comprehend. It had been fast paced and angry, but somehow had changed everything.

His feet moved, his permission barely given. He knew where they would take him, but did he really want to go there? Seven years was a long time. He could go back to his rooms and settle by the fire with his bottle of scotch. It was a habit now. A habit picked up seven years ago when his bed still smelled like vanilla. So, sure, he could be a coward and drink himself into oblivion. But, by the heavens, he was no coward. He stood on the front lines of two wars in his lifetime. This was no war. He was completely mad. Comparing war to affairs of the-

"Name?"

He was pulled back to reality. A bulky man in a tight black shirt stood in front of a large wooden door. It was painted olive green, and the paint was flaking off in every direction. The man wasn't particularly threatening and didn't appear to be trying. He looked bored. He had barely looked up from his fingernails when Severus came around the corner. They were in a tight hallway in a wing mostly separated from the rest of the castle.

"Snape..." He hated that his voice betrayed how unsure he was. He was out of practice.

"Whoa!" The man's head snapped up. "Professor! Do you remember me? You haven't changed at all. Lawrence Higgins?"

Snape was pulled slightly more out of his own head and looked incredulously at "Lawrence."

"Hufflepuff. I was short, blond hair..." he trailed off when the Potions master's face was nothing but blank. "Right. Um. Let me check." He pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket. It had a list of names on it. He scanned it quickly. "Right. Go on in." He reached behind him and grasped the doorknob, turning it.

Snape brushed past him, pushing it open all the way, shutting it behind him. He didn't have time to think about why he was on the list.

A cluster of people was flitting around the room. Several doors were scattered, they lead to various bathrooms and lounges like the one they were in now. There were several large mirrors on one wall, and Victorian couches sat on the wall opposite. Several people were shouting, but none out of anger. A young, black-haired woman jumped on the back of an unsuspecting boy. He almost fell, but she was small enough to not do any damage. They collapsed in laughter.

Someone let out a, "Whoo!" and swirled into the doorway from the adjoining room. He was cackling and lifted a bottle in the air. His green eyes were shinning, but aware. He had obviously just cracked the bottle open. His long, black hair was freely falling everywhere, glad to be free of its restraints. He was even more beautiful this close up.

Most of the people in the room had, slowly, taken notice of the shadow hanging around the door, but this young man had not.

"I'd like to make a toast!" he announced. He glanced around to make sure everyone was looking at him. He curiously followed their gaze. His face fell.

The bottle slipped from his upraised hand, shattering on the stone floor.

"Severus," he breathed.

~*~

"Severus! I'm done!" He came bounding into the Potions classroom. Snape didn't look up, but Harry could see him smile. He was brewing something, Harry didn't know what, nor did he care. He was practically vibrating with energy. He was back and no longer a student.

"Grind the rattails." Snape was still smiling, although very slightly. Harry opened his mouth to repeat himself, but the mortar and pestle were pushed to him with the tails already in the bowl. It wasn't disinterest the Potions master was expressing; he had been waiting for Harry. With a newfound confidence, he picked up the pestle and ground the tails in silence. He looked at the ingredients laid out on the counter, but didn't recognize the potion.

"What is it?"

"Pain reliever."

A book was open at Severus' elbow that stated that basil leaves needed to be chopped. He reached for the cutting board and knife, his hand brushing Severus' wrist. In the past the professor had evaded most attempts of Harry's to touch him, but now he allowed it. They continued that way, bumping elbows and brushing hands, until their work was a vibrant blue color and completely cooled off.

Snape looked seriously at Harry. "Have you fin-?"

Harry grinned. "Yes." He had never seen Snape uncomfortable before, and if he had to take a guess he would have said that's how the older man was feeling at that moment. Uncertainty was a foreign emotion on Mr. Tall, Dark, and Arrogant.

"Do you still-?"

His grin widened. "Yes."

Relief actually showed on Severus' face. "In that case-" He brought up a hand and pushed a lock of hair out Harry's face. "Perhaps you would like to retire for the evening?"

The next morning found Severus Snape the most comfortable he'd been in years. It was the first night in weeks he'd slept the night through. Considering how busy he'd been the night before it was no surprise. He smirked, breathing in deeply. Vanilla. Harry.

The boy was tucked against his chest still snoring lightly. His ruffled hair tickled Snape's collarbone. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and his eyelids fluttered. Soft, tan skin begged to be touched, and disheveled hair cried out to be smoothed. When his face was relaxed he didn't look like a hero, he looked like a boy whose biggest worry was Quidditch matches and his exams. He looked innocent. Something nagged at Snape's mind, but he ignored it.

His hand ran the length of Harry's bare back before rolling him off. He got up to use the restroom, pulling on his bathrobe. He opened the door and was immediately faced with his reflection. The light from above the mirror was callous and unforgiving. It all hit him at once.

His hair looked unwashed, though he'd taken a shower less than twelve hours before. He reached up- it felt greasy too. It was tangled and coarse. His eyes were black. Nothing extraordinary there. His nose was too big and crooked, having been broken once or twice in the past. He already had a crease on his brow from frowning. Crows had already done a dance around his eyes. His skin was papery thin and pale. Dark circles framed his eyes from not sleeping properly for years. He was only thirty-six, but looked like he'd lived a life three times that long.

Snape spun around and stared at the child in his bed. That's what it was- he didn't look innocent when he slept, he looked like a child. His face was so round and calm.

Seventeen. Legal? Yes. Moral? Ha.

He was the child prodigy. He was the savior of the wizarding world. As much as Harry denied it, it was true. Severus Snape- the evil, greasy man who no one can decide whose side he's on- deflowered the only hope for wizardkind. The public would be on them in a second. That meant people. People knowing. It would ruin everything. It would ruin Harry.

The press- he didn't want to think about the press...

And, by God, Harry was so young.

The word pedophile heaved across his brain.

Speaking of heaving...

He felt nauseous.

So he left. He left the boy sleeping in his bed and didn't come back until he was completely sure it was empty.

~*~

"Potter."

No one moved.

Slowly Harry lowered his hand, realizing the bottle was no longer there. His eyes took in the shadow lurking in the door frame. "You look like shit," he observed. The people in the room looked back and forth between the frozen figures, wanting to witness the drama firsthand. Who didn't like a bit of drama?

The man near the door- Severus, was it?- swallowed hard, but didn't answer.

"Why are you here?" Harry looked a little less flustered and a little more angry.

Why was he here? He should just turn around and walk out.

Good idea. Run away. It's what you're good at.

"Rattails." His voice was steadier that he felt, but not much.

Harry's anger evaporated into suspicion. "You came? But you hate crowds and loud music..." He received no answer. "Come on, out with it." He tapped his foot impatiently. "You're here, say what you want and leave."

The lurker didn't move.

A young man spoke up. "Okay. I think we should go help take down the stage."

"No, man, we have techies for that-" the girl on the floor argued.

"Seriously. Dude. We should, like, help them." He grabbed her arm and pulled her up.

"What?... Oh. Okay!" She smiled mischievously. Winking at the boy, she marched out of the room. The others followed with few protests.

Harry watched them go, puzzled.

"Your friends have no subtly, Potter."

"Why did you come?" he demanded.

"And neither do you." Severus pushed off the door he had been leaning on. He didn't answer because he wasn't sure either.

Harry snatched an unopened beer bottle off a table. Signing, he popped it opened and brought it to his mouth. In an afterthought he paused, the bottle resting on his bottom lip. Then he held it out to Snape. "You look like you need it more than me." His words were cold and his eyes cautious.

"Beer. How... crass." Snape looked disdainfully at the bottle.

"It may not be your precious scotch, but it's all we have," he snapped.

"It's all yours." He nodded his head. Harry thought that if he'd had a hat on, he would have tipped it.

Silence fell over the awkward pair.

"You look like shit."

"Yes, Potter, you said that once before. You, on the other hand look like you're doing quite well."

Harry actually blushed. This surprised Snape. "Um. Did you... did you enjoy the concert?"

"As much as I can enjoy anything. I do believe you once informed me that I do not have 'fun' because I am not in possession of a heart."

Harry snorted.

Silence.

He snorted again. "I did say that, didn't I?"

Harry plopped down on one of the sofas, and Snape followed, more gracefully.

There was a pause. It was that certain kind of pause that seems to last for hours to those caught in its trap, but moments to an outside party.

"So... um... how have you been?" The rock star was staring fixedly at the floor. The teacher followed his lead.

Severus should really have taken the beer. As it was, he was already regretting choosing this hellhole over his warm rooms and scotch. He took a deep breath. "My students are the most rambunctious I've had since your class. I never leave this bloody castle. I've driven myself into seclusion. Oh, there's the occasional drinking myself to sleep and waking up in strange parts of the castle. Overall, I can't complain."

Harry's face flushed. "Sever-" he started, sympathetically.

Snape grimaced and faced Harry. Pity was the last thing he wanted. Cutting him off, he sneered, "You, on the other hand, seem to have been quite busy. I should have realized that you and Mr. Malfoy were compatible."

"We're not. He just thinks we are..."

"Ah, yes."

More silence.

"And you, Potter? How have you been? Still a celebrity, I see. "

"If you're just going to be sarcastic and rude, you can leave."

Snape turned to him, his eyebrow arched into a dangerously high altitude. Potter has grown a backbone. Potter met his gaze, not faltering for a second. Snape shut his eyes and sighed. When they opened, Harry hadn't moved. "Very well." He rose as gracefully as he could, nodded his head at the seated man, and moved to the door slowly, reluctantly. He reached his hand out to the knob, touching it lightly. Pleading for Harry to ask him back and let him leave at the same time.

"Wait..." Harry rose, and took a step forward. He spoke hurriedly and embarrassedly.

"If I haven't gone senile, I do believe you just asked me to leave," Snape said with composure.

"I never wanted you to leave!" He was frantic now and looking back at the ground. His fists were balled, and his beer was sitting on the couch, innocently watching the scene unfold. "And I sure as Hell didn't want you to come back. But here you are again, fucking with my head, again."

"Potter."

"Why won't you just leave me the fuck alone?"

"Stop it," Snape growled. Surprisingly enough, Harry obeyed. "I came to make sure you were all right."

"Since when have you ever taken the initiative to be concerned for someone's welfare?" he snorted.

"I've been taking care of you since you were eleven."

Harry coughed and would still not look Snape in the eye. After some obvious consideration, he spoke again. "Why did you leave?" His voice was small and his hands were clenched together.

There it was.

Lie! Whatever you do, don't tell him that-

"I was frightened."

You never listen to me.

He squeezed his eyes shut, unbelieving of what he just uttered.

Harry made a face. "Frightened of what? Me?"

Snape gazed levelly at him.

Harry's face relaxed, then bunched again in concentration.

They looked at each other for a beat. Snape looked uncomfortable, but he was searching for the other's reaction. A million things were running across Harry's mind and face, and he couldn't seem to pick one.

"Why are you really here?"

No answer.

"Did you come to sweep me off my feet and ride with me into the sunset? You aren't much of a romantic, so that's doubtful. Did you want a confrontation? Should I yell and scream? Is that it, Severus? Maybe you wanted to see if I was fairing as well as you. But you aren't doing very well, are you? Or, you really do like fucking with my head. Which is it?"

"That's right, Potter." With every word that came out of him mouth, Snape felt angrier. "My life revolves around making you miserable. All those times I put you back together, all those times I-" He was so flustered that he couldn't finish his sentence. He growled in frustration. "All of it. Everything. Just to make you crazy. It was all part of my master plan." He felt something inside of him bending. It was a brittle something; the farther it bent, the closer to shattering it became. "Oh, and I fucking hate you." He held his gaze steady, using what little control he had left on himself. "Is that what you wanted to hear? If that's really what you want to believe, I'm not going to stop you." He was fuming now. "Oh, and if I fucked you over that bad, why the fuck am I on the stupid list to get in?"

Harry Potter, the man who took down more than any other on the battlefield, the man who not only killed but destroyed the most powerful wizard of the age, The Man Who Lived, was dumbstruck. "I can't-" he started slowly, very slowly. His eyes fluttered shut. "I'm so tired... of thinking. Seven years, and I can't... stop. Thinking. Of you. Why... are you always in my head?" He squeezed his already shut eyes tighter. He felt tears welling, and he wasn't about to let them drop without a fight. Not in front of the man who hurt him so bad so long ago.

A soft touch to his cheek brought him back. His eyes flung open. The man, the cause of so much anger and hatred in Harry's life, was gently caressing Harry's pallid cheek. The icon on suffering traced his nimble fingers around to Harry's chin. Severus's eyes were wide and as frightened as Harry felt. Harry could barely breathe. His face tilted upward without his permission. This time he couldn't stop the tears, they fell freely down and off his face. They were so very close.

Then the nasty, greasy Potions master kissed The Man Who Lived.

Similar to their fist kiss, it was devoid of all romance. In contrast, though, there was little emotion other than sadness. Their lips were cold and shaking. Harry was too shocked to move, and Snape's hand never left his chin.

"The Hell?!"

Harry spun around wrenching his chin out of Snape's grasp.

Draco Malfoy stood red faced and heaving in the open doorway. His fists were curled, and he looked ready to pounce.

"It's good to see you too, Draco. You never write anymore." He was completely ignored, by both parties.

"You'd better explain yourself, Potter!"

"I don't have to explain shit to you!" Harry spat back.

Malfoy seized Harry's arm and jerked the smaller man. "You want to say that again?" Snape jumped forward, his initial reaction to protect. Something wild in Harry's eyes scared him a little, and all of his forward motion ceased. Harry reared back and knocked Malfoy squarely in the nose with a left hook. Instantly the last Malfoy was flying at the floor with suspicious red droplets flying out in an arch away from his face. "I don't have to explain shit-" He spit on Draco's profusely bleeding face. "To you."

Snape felt a twinge of pride. Harry could obviously take care of himself.

~*~

Still nauseas, Snape returned to his rooms. He stood in the doorway to his bedroom and stared into it, not really seeing. The sheets were crumpled. One pillow was on the floor. The boy was gone and so were his things. He walked over numbly and picked up the pillow. He started to place it back at the head of the bed, but then thought differently. He glanced around, almost guiltily. There was no one. The boy was really gone. Bringing the pillow up to his face, he felt his stomach settle. He pressed his nose into the cushion and breathed. Vanilla. Harry.

In that moment, Snape felt that leaving the boy in his bed was the worst thing he had ever done to someone else as well as to himself.

He dropped the pillow and rushed to the bathroom.

Had there been anyone around to hear, they would have heard heaving.

~*~

Snape stood very still. He watched Draco writhing on the ground, and Harry standing over him. "I told you what would happen if you touched me again, and you did." Harry squatted next to the bleeding man. "With all my warnings and everything. Tisk, tisk."

"Oo boke by dose!" Malfoy exclaimed from his back, holding his nose. When he spoke blood sprayed.

"Yes, it wouldn't surprise me if it were broken." He swatted Draco's hands away from the source of all the blood with one hand. With the other, he drew his wand and waved it in the other's face. There was a sickening crack and Draco let out a strangled cry. "I should really have let it heal crooked, but I thought better. You do have such a pretty face." He patted Draco's cheek patronizingly.

This was certainly not the Harry Potter Snape had enjoyed the company of seven years before. This person before him was so much more callous than he had thought possible. He almost seemed to be enjoying putting Malfoy through Hell. A vicious smile broke out on Harry's lips, and Snape was sure that he was enjoying it. Hunkered there next to the blood stained man, he actually looked a bit mad. Snape felt his chest tighten and his heart stop for the second time that night. "When I get done talking to Severus, here, I expect you to be gone. In fact, I don't ever want to see you again." Draco was shaking his head frantically. Snape was surprised he wasn't whimpering. "Scram."

Malfoy scuttled up from his lying position and practically hurtled out the door. Harry let him get all the way out the door before he stood up again. "Bastard," he muttered. Shaking his head, he faced Snape. "Where were we?" he asked completely serious.

Potter had gone stark raving mad, and suddenly there was nothing Snape regretted more than leaving him in his bed. He felt his words getting away from him again, and he felt another one of his disgustingly honest moments coming. The little voice in his head was completely gone. He was pretty sure its chin was on the floor as well. "That was one of the sexiest things I think I've ever seen."

"What? Beating the shit out of Malfoy?" The tiniest smile tilted his lips. "That was just recreational," he chuckled.

A contemplative silence fell over the pair.

"You really did just come to check on me, huh?"

"I really did."

Harry's gaze dropped to the floor, and he shuffled his feet. "Thank you."

Something told Snape he had better leave before he lost all of the control had had on himself. "It was good to see you again." He lurched awkwardly toward the door. "If you ever need anything..." His hand rested gently on the brass knob.

"I know." Harry smiled a sad little smile. He stood in the middle of the room. The red carpet reflected up onto his face. His hair whipped down his back, as unruly as ever. The clingy jeans still looked as disgraceful as they had earlier that evening. His eyes were wide and worried- like he was losing something. There were mirrors on his left and Victorian couches behind him. The beer still sat, barely touched, on the cushions. Snape took in the sight as well as he could before twisting the orb in his grasp. He was afraid that it would be the last time he would see this wild creature. The knob creaked and he felt it vibrate up through his elbow. He pulled it open and slipped out. The last things he saw were Harry's eyes: brilliant and glowing, but distinctly sad.

~*~

A week later, a letter was dropped into his breakfast.

A month of daily owls back and forth and Harry came to Hogwarts for another visit. Without his band. He stayed the night.

Three-and-a-half months after the concert, one hundred plus owls, a graduation ceremony for the current seventh years, and every one of Harry's free nights spent at Hogwarts, found Snape in the greenroom of The Wildersburg Theatre. It was directly under the stage and wasn't actually green. He'd have to ask about that. He was seated on a comfortable, but in no way presentable, couch. Harry Potter was straddling his lap. "The Boy That Rocked," as they were now calling him, was running his hands through Snape's hair. He leaned down and buried his face in it. "Will you be in the wings?"

"You know I will," Snape chuckled. He ran his hands down Harry's back and stopped at the top of the scandalous jeans. "Shouldn't you be warming up your voice or something? You go on in-"

"I vanquished the darkest Dark Lord there ever was!" He threw a fist into the air victoriously. "I have no need for mortal things like 'warming up,'" he declared before nuzzling Snape's neck. "It's not like what I do can be considered singing anyway."

"In that case, shouldn't you be stretching? What you do do is aerobics. You'll be sore."

"Oh, I'll be sore tonight." He nibbled his partner's ear.

"Is that all you think about?" Severus drawled.

"Sometimes I think about music or... well, no. Just sex and music."

"You're completely mental."

He grinned. "You keep saying that, and I'm beginning to think you like it."

The door burst open. The girl with black hair had a head set resting on her ears. "Harry. You're on." She had the decency to blush at the scene before her. Harry didn't. He jumped off the couch and, with a wink at Snape, waltzed past her and through the door.

"He's completely mad," Snape informed her as if apologizing for startling her. She blinked at him several times as he rose from the couch and brushed nonexistent dust off his robes.

"Yeah, we keep saying that, but he doesn't listen." She composed herself a little. "Now come on, Rattails. I'll show you where backstage is."

END