Title: No Words, No Sleep
Author: gin_tonic
Team: Phoenix
Genre(s): Hurt/Comfort & Romance
Prompt(s): Sleeplessness
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~17,000
Summary: If you lose your ability to speak, do you lose your independence? The power to decide what is right for you and your life? If you lose your ability to speak, do you lose your intelligence, your character, or all the other features that make you you?
A/N: A big thank you goes to yura_slash, zaisudra and unbroken_halo for beta-reading and to faynia listening to my ramblings without complaining. I'd also like to thank my team – you're awesome, guys! I also have to thank coffeejunkii for inspiring me back in 2006 with her fic Under the Ivy to start studying on aphasia.

No Words, No Sleep

The stone walls were rough and cold. Harry let his hands glide over them as he slowly walked through the hall. In the night the castle was almost silent - and blissfully so. Now that the workmen were asleep there wasn't even the hammering and knocking, and the magical sizzle in the air had come to rest for a few, short hours.

Harry exhaled and rested his head against the stones. Hogwarts. Who would have known that Harry would end up here? Certainly not him. If someone had asked him a year ago where he wanted to go after the war he'd have answered 'away'. He had not planned on staying. He had especially not planned on staying at the battleground indefinitely. In fact a year ago he had had a restored Godric's Hollow or a renovated Grimmauld Place in mind, preferably with him and Ginny inside.

Of course, that had been before everything.

Harry continued his way down the corridor. There were no portraits on the walls anymore. They had been taken down to be restored later, after the more important repairs had been finished. Like people's homes and Hogwarts itself.

He stopped and stared down at what had once been the west wing of the castle. Nowadays it was more a ruin than anything else. . .

It had happened the day after the last battle. Harry hadn't been able to sleep that much and he had got up early. He had been freezing despite it being April and he had felt dizzy. He blamed it on his death-and-resurrection experience. All he had wanted to do was go down to the kitchens and look for something to eat and maybe to make some tea for himself. He hadn't counted on anybody of the other side still hiding out in the castle. He hadn't counted on him stumbling over them in the quiet hours before dawn.

The curse had been uttered quickly and even though there had been pain it didn't fill the main part of Harry's memories. What he did remember the clearest of all was the sudden feeling of emptiness. It had been brief: the silence, the rush of sound coming back, lying on the cold floor not being able to breathe and then the passing out.

He had woken up in Hogwart's makeshift infirmary and everything had been different. And now Ginny and the Weasleys were at the Burrow, Hermione was in Australia to search for her parents and Harry was still here, at Hogwarts. Of course he could have gone to the Burrow, but, as much as he loved the Weasley family, the thought of crowded rooms with no privacy and grief all around had kept him at Hogwarts. The fact that Mrs Weasley was desperately searching for someone she could take care of in order to forget that one of her sons was dead had only been an adding factor.

Tired of wandering for a moment, Harry sat down on the floor and began drawing figures in the dirt and ashes. At the beginning it had been weird for him to only be awake when the sun went down. Like a vampire, he had said to himself. It hadn't anything to do with vampires, of course, but rather with the other people living in the castle. Living, waiting, crying. People who had lost their homes, their families, who didn't have a place to go to anymore. Some of them were waiting for their houses to be restored; others vegetated for an indefinite amount of time.

"Potter, bemoaning your fate in the middle of the night again?"

Harry closed his eyes. How could he have forgotten Snape? Snape, who had come back from the dead, so to speak. He hadn't heard it from the man himself, but rumour had it that Snape hadn't been a brilliant Potions Master for nothing. Apparently he had been prepared for Nagini's bite, and had taken a Bezoar and swallowed Merlin knew how many potions before the final confrontation. And now he was back again. And none the nicer.

"What, Potter? No witty comeback? Oh, wait, you aren't famous for those, anyway."

Personally Harry thought his "You don't have to call me 'Sir'" had been rather witty, but he wasn't about to argue about this. He had lost his taste for that when he'd woken up again after the last curse.

Harry's hand itched to grab his wand and show the sodden bastard just what he thought of him, but instead he just fisted a hand in his robes and tried to ignore the man. Maybe he should have tried that particular technique years ago.

"I would love to continue this exquisite conversation, Potter, but I must rather say that even the dusty old tapestry in my room is more interesting than you," Snape said, but still didn't move. Harry glared at him to get him going, but it seemed as if Snape was immune against that as well. It took several minutes of what . . . waiting? For Snape to leave.

"Good . . . go . . . go," Harry mumbled into the emptiness. As usual, he was disgusted at himself for not being able to express even a simple thing like being glad that Snape was finally gone. Harry had aphasia.

No owls arrived for Harry. He had never had a chance to acquire a new owl after Hedwig had been killed – hadn't even had the inclination to do so – and now it all seemed pointless. With the aphasia came an inability to read or to write. Instead of letters he now saw weird lines and circles. Harry knew that somewhere on the parchment were letters and he even could remember what they were supposed to look like, but he couldn't see them. Writing them was even harder.

He had tried drawing his thoughts with simple symbols, but nobody but him had been able to make out what he had been trying to say. But, hell, what did one expect from someone who just managed to draw a house?

Hermione had told him to try and get some therapy, but the country was still pure chaos and every Healer was needed elsewhere. He'd given up on ever regaining what he had lost anyway. And because of the aphasia he hadn't even needed to lie to Hermione about therapy – he just hadn't said 'yes'.

Harry watched the sunrise from his window and tried not to look at Hogwarts' grounds, but beyond. Beyond looked like peace. The grounds themselves wouldn't look for years like they had done when he had gone to school here.

School. That was another one of those terrible matters. Originally he had planned on completing his education, take his N.E.W.T.s and everything, but the thought alone was ridiculous now. He couldn't even read, not to mention write. How could he finish school? If anyone ever hired him it would probably be as a caretaker or something similar.

Harry shook his head. Silly thoughts, those. The morning hours always made him weepy.

When breakfast appeared on his table Harry sat down to eat a little bit and then, as the castle and its inhabitants woke up, he went to bed.

When Harry had woken up from his coma nothing had seemed out of order. People had been fussing over him, had run tests over his body and had asked him thousands of questions. Then he had tried to answer and everything had gone down the drain.

It had been so incredibly terrifying to watch everyone go crazy. 'Harry has lost his mind!' they had cried, not even acknowledging that Harry had been trying to tell them that he hadn't. Suddenly he hadn't been Harry anymore, but a body that should and could be moved around. Harry had tried desperately to communicate, panicking with every passing second. The words just wouldn't come out right. He could think and know exactly what he wanted to say, but when a word reached his throat it was as if someone had poured tar down it. The words were stuck and even though he tried so hard to force them out he couldn't.

How was one to react when suddenly the world treated one as if one was stupid, incapable of even making the simplest decisions? It was funny how in people's minds the ability to speak was linked to the ability to think. If you didn't say anything, if you didn't complain, then what they are doing is alright. They actually think they have the right to decide for you! Because, hey, you can't very well tell anyone what you want.

But Harry had had enough of people deciding for him. He had been in that situation for all his life, first with the Dursleys then with Dumbledore, and he wasn't about to let anyone do this to him for the rest of his fucking miserable life. Even if that meant that he had to seclude himself. He didn't care. Everything was better than being treated like an invalid.

It hurt though. Not that he had been that talkative before, but not being able to speak with anyone was awful. And that no one bothered to talk to him anymore (not that they could with him being alone in his room most of the day) hurt even more. Well, apart from Snape, who either had no clue about Harry's aphasia or was just cruel enough to gloat and humiliate Harry whenever he could. But at least he talked to him.

Harry leaned back in his chair and sighed loudly. He had never known just how bored a human being could become. There was nothing – virtually nothing – for him to do, unless one counted watching the sun set and rise. Of course he did other things like walking around or trying to exercise, but he couldn't do much of that since the whole right part of his body had been weakened after the attack. It had something to do with the left part of his brain being damaged, Harry remembered. At least Madam Pomfrey had explained it like that to Mrs Weasley – to her, not to Harry. It had made him throw his plate against the wall in frustration and anger. And in response to that the women had subdued him with a heavy Calming Draught and had treated him like a petulant child with developmental issues. As if he hadn't known what he was thinking! He had left the Hospital Wing shortly after that episode. Not that he'd managed to get far away, of course.

Severus leaned on the windowsill and watched how life started outside of the castle. A Thestral rose from the forest to circle over the trees for a couple of minutes. Most people would now be able to see them, he remembered and regretted the fact. There were things even he would have liked to spare humanity, and people watching someone else die was one of those things.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose to keep the impending headache away. The sun had risen and it would soon be time for him to go to the laboratory and brew new potions. They were high in demand lately. Healing Potions mostly, of course, but also Veritaserum, Calming Draught, Wolfsbane and for the likes of himself Pepper-Up Potions. Post-War time was not a time to be idle, that was sure.

Severus moved away from the window and opened his small cabinet, took out the last Pepper-Up that he had stocked and drank it. Without it the cabinet looked rather empty, even though it held most of his belongings. This was what war did to you.

The few books that he still owned he had left at Hogwarts during his flight and all the others had been at Spinner's End, which had been burned down to the ground. Severus suspected it had been someone who had wanted to destroy the last evidence of Severus Snape on earth when they had still believed him to be dead. Ignorant fools, the lot of them. As if someone like Severus, a potions master with years of experience in brewing and spying, was so easy to kill!

Months before the encounter in the Shrieking Shack he had started to suspect that the snake would become dangerous to him some day. Not that he had really thought he'd make it out of war alive, but he had been determined not to be copped off by a stupid snake. No, there were many more dignified deaths than that. So he had started to take doses of venom every day to build up a resistance against Nagini's poison. He had started to carry a shrunken emergency potions kit around his neck, equipped with basic healing potions and blood-replenishers. He had been prepared.

His plan had worked out in the end and Severus had gone into hiding for a week, during which he had healed himself. Unfortunately, the intensive healing period hadn't done anything for his insomnia, which he had found useful during the war but was now a pest, causing him fierce headaches at all hours of the day and night.

And then he heard Granger and Weasley had cleared his name in front of a war tribunal, and so he had come back, only to find everything in shambles.

Potter was still alive, surprisingly. Severus had thought he had led the boy to his own slaughter, but Potter had survived. A miracle, people had told him, and Severus had been inclined to believe them for a couple of moments. But then his natural scepticism had kicked in and he had reminded himself that it had probably been something Dumbledore had counted on (even if he wouldn't have been sure about it. Dumbledore would have done everything to win the war, after all.).

Severus took the cup of coffee and the slice of toast with raspberry marmalade that the house elf had put on the table and left his room.

When he reached his laboratory the toast was gone, the cup was empty, and caffeine was cursing through his system, mingling with the Pepper-Up Potion and resulting in a quite nice wakeful state. It wasn't healthy, Severus knew, but it was better than permanently feeling restlessly tired. His body usually was enough of a reminder for that and he needed his mind fresh and awake.

Last night had been one of the completely sleepless ones. Usually Severus managed to get two or three hours of sleep, but for some reason he had felt compelled to wander the halls of the castle. They were safe, nowadays, if you didn't count the lost souls that occupied Hogwarts now. And lost they were, not knowing what to do, seeking constant reassurance and guidance. If Potter would come out of his hidey-hole they would turn to him and most likely that was one of the many reasons why Potter stayed were he was.

Potter was a problem all in his own, though, and Severus refused to mill over the fate of a broken child while brewing.

Aphasia is a disorder and is caused by damage to the brain - or rather damage to certain regions of the brain that are responsible for the production and comprehension of language. The reasons for this damage can vary from a stroke up to trauma and serve head-injury that can be caused, for example, by an accident. Aphasia can also occur slowly due to a brain tumour. Depending on the inflicted region the types of aphasia can differ, just like the symptoms of aphasia can differ.

Severus looked up from the book. He didn't know why he had felt compelled to consult his books on the matter of aphasia. He knew what the disorder was like, knew the symptoms and still . . . Had it been Potter's appearance the night before that had made him waste his lunch-break like this? It was not as if he could just brew a potion to fix the boy again. Matters of the brain and mind were entirely too complicated to fix with a sip. This was where the unfairness of the universe came into play again. You could bottle fame, brew glory and stopper death, but you couldn't heal the mind. It was similar to the mental wounds that were left by the Cruciatus Curse, of which Longbottom's parents were the perfect example. At least the boy was still coherent.

Of course there were ways to help aphasiacs. Muggle doctors and Wizard healers alike had developed methods of therapy that, even though they couldn't cure the aphasia, they could help the disordered to gain back a bit of their speech functions. But Wizard Britain was in post-war chaos and there were more important matters than treating the cast away Boy-Who-Died-To-Live. Besides, Severus doubted the boy would be prudent enough to get some help. After all he was all but stubbornly wasting away in that tiny room of his, only coming out at night to haunt the castle.

Harry had tried. At the very beginning he had tried to get back what he had lost. Hermione had sat next to his bed, pictures in hand and determined to help her friend get better before she left for Australia.

The task should have been simple. Name what you can see on the picture. Everyone could do that, right? Even small children could. And Harry had concentrated on the first picture, had collected his thoughts and had uttered a dragged out "Spoon" when it had been a rabbit on the piece of paper in front of him. Hermione had looked at him with so much pity in her eyes that Harry had begun to hate himself, the pictures and Hermione's therapy. But at least she had still believed in Harry's mental capacity.

Harry put his head to his door and listened for steps and movements in the corridor. When he was sure it was safe outside he opened the door and left the sanctuary of his room. As usual he let his hands run over the cold and rough surface of the walls while he walked. His steps were careful, nearly slow. His body was again aching in places a body that young shouldn't, but there was nothing to do about it. Besides, tonight he had a mission.

He rounded the last corner with anxious trepidation, then laid his eyes on the door to the library. A small piece of himself asked him what he wanted to gain with his visit. Was it pure self-torture or did he have something to prove?

Harry shook his head and moved towards the door with purpose. It needed quite a bit of pushing, but eventually opened, and Harry slowly walked through the library. Weirdly enough it wasn't as damaged as the rest of the castle. Sure, shelves had been thrown over and were lying around on the floor. But other than that and the dust it still looked like it had during his school-time. He could picture himself sneaking around under his invisibility cloak, trying to get into the Restricted Section during the night. Filch would round the corner any moment now and he would have to skirt around him and Mrs Norris.

The library stayed still and solemn.

The repair-troupes hadn't come to the room just yet, but that came as no surprise. Before Ron and his family had left for their home – Ottery St. Catchpole and surroundings were pretty bad off – he had read out the repair-plan to him, but Harry hadn't really been listening. Listening had become hard anyway. Oh, he did usually understand what was said to him, but he really had to concentrate in order to do so.

Moon was shining through the windows, casting shadows on the floor and walls. It must be the first time, Harry supposed, that he was in here at night and out in the open. But what other place could be more perfect for what he was about to do?

Harry raised his wand and intently looked at one of the fallen shelves. It wasn't broken, only needed to be put up straight again. 'Concentrate,' he told himself and exhaled deeply.

"Win . . . win . . . fly!" Harry said and nothing moved. No, that hadn't been right. These hadn't been the right words! Harry raked his left hand through his hair. He knew the spell to lift objects! He could remember the lesson with Flitwick during First Year, back when Ron and he hadn't yet liked Hermione and she had made the feather fly. He had made things fly, too. This spell should be easy!

"Win! Win. . .a. . .a!" he shouted angrily and swished and flicked his wand. Wrong! All wrong! This couldn't be it! He couldn't end like this!

Severus had come to the library to fetch a book on healing salves for burns. He had planned on using another sleepless night to catch up on them in order to improve the recipe he was using, and since most of his own books had been lost in the fire he had wanted to use the ones in the library. Besides, Pince was nowhere around to control him and make him bring the book back in one week's time or anything ridiculous like that.

Of course that plan had dissipated when he had found Potter standing in the middle of the library, shouting out bits and pieces of what Severus believed to be a spell.

And Severus couldn't help himself but slip into the shadows to watch Potter and his little scene. What did the boy try to do? Make himself hoarse? There were easier ways to lift up a shelf than Wingardium Leviosa - if that was indeed what the boy was trying to cast. He didn't even produce sparks.

Why did he keep up with the pitiful stammering anyway? Didn't he realise that his attempts would be futile? He should just cast the spells silently. Suddenly Severus remembered the disastrous Defence lessons back in Potter's sixth year. Potter hadn't been able to cast wandlessly back then.

Potter threw his wand away and sank down on the floor. Severus could hear a distant sob. Oh surely Potter wouldn't. . . He knew just the right way to set him straight again.

"Stop the disgraceful sniffling, Potter!" Severus called out and stepped out of the shadows. Potter needed to grow up. There were worse fates to face than the loss of normal speech ability. Potter should be lucky he had survived!

"You!" Potter spit out and scrambled to his feet, tears streaming down his face. "Go!"

Severus raised his eyebrows. "Oh, so you can speak?"

Potter shook his head violently.

Snape's voice made Harry whip around his head. Not him! Not here! He balled his hands into fists. He wanted Snape gone. He didn't want him to witness this weakness of his – it would only give him more ammunition!

"GO!" he shouted again, ignoring how the word scratched against the insides of his throat. He felt rough and raw all over and Snape's sneer was like a dagger cutting into his flesh.

"Angry, Potter? What a pity I can't understand you. You will have to try and find another method to make me leave then, don't you?" Snape looked pointedly at Harry's wand that was laying a couple of feet away from him. What was Snape on about? Hadn't he just seen how useless Harry's wand was for him? Nothing worked!

Snape summoned his wand and Harry felt sick as he saw the other man fondle the wood. His hands didn't belong there! It was his! Harry jumped forwards and grabbed the wand before Snape could hold it out of reach. Lovingly he cradled it to his chest.

"What, you actually have a value for that stick of yours even though you can't do anything?" Snape was mocking him and Harry just couldn't stand it. He wanted him to stop, to leave him alone. Snape understood nothing.

Harry felt his skin starting to prickle. It began in his toes, raced up to his stomach, pooling there in the middle and then practically shooting out of his finger-tips.

The library was suddenly filled by a load explosion of noises, nearly deafening, and Harry could barely keep standing. The energy was swirling and racing and floating and Snape was there in front of him on the ground and it looked as if he was bleeding.

He hadn't wanted this! This was not what he had intended . . . Snape couldn't be bleeding . . . what if he. . .?!

Harry desperately tried to call out to him, but the only thing that left his mouth was gibberish. He wanted this to stop, wanted – Harry closed his eyes and tried to will the magical hurricane down –

Seemingly out of no-where strong arms wrapped around him and Harry gasped in shock, the magic ebbing away at instant. He could smell the scent of fresh herbs and something bitter underneath and black. Slightly rough robes rubbed against his face. Harry gasped again and noticed how his tears were flowing again. He clung to Snape, feeling safe somehow, feeling . . . different.

"Stupid boy," he heard Snape say and let himself be pulled closer.

Severus let Potter stay in his arms for a bit longer, his hand resting awkwardly on the boy's back. To be honest he didn't know how to comfort someone, especially not someone who had just suffered from a magical outbreak, letting the summoned magic of several weeks that had apparently passed without a cast spell out. He could only hope that Potter was managing alright.

His head was throbbing quite fiercely were a stray piece of wood had struck him and he hoped the cut wasn't too deep. He hated knit-healing his injuries alone – and he would have to do it that way, because there was no chance he would let any one of those imbeciles in the castle try to cast a healing spell that involved needles on him. In fact he wouldn't allow any of them to cast any spell on him, full stop.

The downside of this comforting business was, of course, that Potter got his robe wet with his tears. When those seemed to have ebbed down a bit Severus squeezed Potter a little and cleared his throat.

"I will only say this once, Potter: You're not a child and you're not helpless. I refuse to treat you as either and you will not behave as such. Understood?"

Potter nodded against the folds of Severus' robe.

"Very well. Then we will get up now and you will go back to your room and get some sleep. You'll likely feel drained after that display of yours."

With a bit of struggle both of them managed to get up, holding onto each other. For an awkward moment both of them stopped breathing, not quite looking at each other. Then Potter's eyes widened and he raised a hand to Severus's temple.

". . .Red. . ." he said eventually, staring at the blood on his fingers. As if the boy had never seen blood in his life before. This wasn't the first time Severus was bleeding, nor would it be the last.

"It's nothing. A potion will take care of this," Severus said and cast a quick Scourigify on Potter's fingers. "If you'll excuse me." He whirled around in a flutter of his robes and stalked out of the library.

Despite Snape's words the day before and long hours of sleep Harry didn't feel better the next day. He felt just as restless, just as lost as he had ever since his diagnosis had come out. Watching the half-moon rise his thoughts circled around the events of the last night and of how incapable he felt in general. How would things be once Hogwarts and the rest of the magical world were properly restored? Surely Harry would be expected to be leaving and find a place on his own. But he couldn't go back to Grimmauld Place or Godric Hollows. In a fair life he wouldn't have had to wonder about these things, wouldn't have had to wonder what job to take after everything was done. Because what could he do, being an Aphasiac? Most jobs required being able to read or to talk. Hell, he couldn't even take over Stan Shunpike's old job at the Knightbus!

Harry turned his back towards the window. Wouldn't it be better to be dead than living this half-life? It would be so easy. He wouldn't even need a wand. Just a knife or something sharp and he would slice open his arms and finish it, once and for all.

A sharp knock on the door startled Harry out of his thoughts and made him lick his lips nervously. At the beginning people had taken to knocking on his door, trying to make their saviour come out and give them hope. But Harry wasn't their saviour, nor was he able to give them hope and soon enough the knocks had stopped.

Until now, at least. Harry closed his eyes and willed the person away. He wasn't in the mood for human contact right now.

But the knocking came again and when Harry didn't open that 'someone' in front of the door unlocked the door magically.

Harry jumped back, wand in hand and watched with a wildly beating heart as Snape entered his room.

"Put that away, Potter. It's useless anyway," Snape said with a sneer and closed the door behind him.

Harry turned around to hide his pained grimace. The wand wasn't useless – he was. He shook his head as if to shield himself from the traitorous thoughts – they would only lead in one direction. He had been there, done that and didn't needed to go back just that quickly. Though. . .

The sound and smell of tea being poured in a cup – no, two – got Harry's attention again and he looked at Snape, who had taken the liberty to serve himself from the pot the elves put there every afternoon. It was still steaming, which could only mean that Harry had woken up too early.

Snape pushed one cup towards Harry and sipped at the other, making (what Harry thought of as) pleased noises. Harry ignored the cup and glared at Snape. He wanted him out of this room. He wanted to be alone.

But Snape ignored Harry's looks and rather studied the room around him. Harry felt uncomfortable; he hadn't had much to make these rooms presentable. What he had at Hogwarts he had had with him during his life as an outcast and most of his other stuff was still at the Burrow. Not that it would make much of a difference in the appearance of the room, but still.

"I see you didn't bother to make yourself at home, Potter. Eager to leave here soon?" Snape asked; of course finding Harry's momentary weakness.

Harry pressed his lips together and opted not to speak, no matter how much he wanted to give Snape his piece of mind. Of course he wanted to be gone from here. And he would be, as soon as he knew how and where to. But what he longed even more for was Snape to be gone.

Snape crossed his arms in front of his chest. It would be a defensive pose on most people, Harry thought, but on Snape it looked haughty, self-confident and superior.

"Potter," he drawled, "It will be like this: You will wake up, have breakfast and then you will come down to my quarters. I will teach you –"

Harry shook his head wildly. Oh no, he'd not do that again. Potions had been horrible enough with Snape, but his own failure at wordless spells had left Harry scorched and he would not be taught by Snape again. It would only lead to disaster!

"Don't shake your head - do what I say. You will come down to –"

"No!" Harry shouted. "No . . . cooking!" The words came out pressed and as soon as Harry had said them he knew they had been wrong. Sounded wrong, tasted wrong.

And Snape? He only blinked once, granted, and then continued as if nothing had happened: "What would you rather do? Spend your life without magic? Helpless? Defenceless?" Snape raised an eyebrow sardonically. "I told you I would not treat you like that, Potter. And if I have to take you as a student again so be it – Merlin help me."

"I -" Harry started again, not knowing what to say. He just knew it had to be something that made Snape leave.

It seemed to have worked, somehow, because Snape got up and Harry felt startled. Of course Snape had to go and shatter his wonderful illusions only moments after: "You will come by after you had something to eat and took a shower. This is not open for discussion – though I'd like to see you try."

Severus felt himself on the verge of nodding off, not quite tumbling over the edge, banned from that wonderful land of dreams and hopes and rest. He might have managed to slip a little bit further, into the state that closest resembled sleep these days, but Potter knocked at the door.

It could only be Potter, because there was no single other of the many occupants of the castle who would dare to disturb the Potions Master. Madam Pomfrey was prone to pay him a visit, though she would not knock like that. She would tap the door with her wand, setting off a slight chime that Severus heard whenever he was awake and could easily ignore when he was asleep for once.

But this knock bore trepidation as well as a demand and Severus would not refuse Potter – he had, after all, ordered him to come here. He had a mission to fulfil; to save the blasted boy again – only this time from himself.

Potter was shuffling his feet when Severus flung the door open. All too unwilling to go through with this, Severus surmised, but that wasn't enough for Severus to change his mind. It needed more than a petulant Potter to do this.

"Get in already so we can start. I don't wish to leave the door to this thrice-damned drafty hallway open for longer than I have to." Especially since one of the other inhabitants could get it into their head that his door was open for visitors. He didn't have the energy for painful hexes right now.

Potter showed no sign of understanding, but he shuffled in. Severus would have called it progress, had he been one of those people who called a glass was half full when there was nothing but a few drops in it anymore.

"Sit down," he told Potter and pointed at a chair that wasn't blocked by parchment or residues of an experiment. Severus' laboratory was in fact the old Potions class room, as his original laboratory had been destroyed during the war. In a corner stood a cauldron in which a new batch of the Wolfsbane was quietly simmering away. The potion was high in demand theses days.

Potter sat down as willingly as he had during his time as a pupil, but Severus ignored the brat's behaviour and checked up on the potion.

"We will begin with the essentials once again. Nonverbal spells are usually needed to give you an advantage in a duel situation. In some cases they also serve well for mute people and for cases such as yours. The wand is held in the same way as usual - everything else is, in fact, just done the same way, only that the spell's intention is not voiced, but wanted, which means that you have to concentrate on what the effect of the spells is supposed to be, as well as the actual incantation. Now concentrate: This is probably why your spells didn't work back in sixth year, Potter. You lacked the concentration, the determination and couldn't focus."

Severus drew a breath and looked up from the cauldron. Potter hadn't said anything yet - maybe he had run away while Severus wasn't looking.

But no, the brat was still sitting there, wearing a tight-lipped expression between shame, anger and sadness on his face. Severus sighed. Not a good beginning then.

"Alright, Potter, let's begin anew. Wand position and the rest stays the same," Severus started again, this time checking for understanding on Potter's face; it took a couple of moments, but then he got it. Maybe simpler explanations would have granted greater success with the teenaged monsters back then, as well. "To cast you will do this: Concentrate. Imagine what the spell shall do. Think of the incantation. Focus your energy to the tip of your wand and then let it flow."

Progress was slow and could be compared to a squirrel painstakingly collecting nuts to get over the winter, only to have at least half of them dug out again. To say it was frustrating was an understatement; and that counted for both Snape and Harry.

It had taken long enough for Harry's liking until he had understood what Snape had wanted him to do, but he couldn't say that he had been happier to do it than back in sixth year. The same unwillingness had befallen him and not showing it had been a struggle.

Harry grabbed an apple that was a left over from his late-night breakfast and flopped onto the bed, closing his eyes and bathing in the silence of his room.

His nerves felt chafed and raw – all because of Severus bloody Snape. The man hadn't changed, that much was sure. Demanded, yelled, ridiculed non-stop. Harry had to admit, though, that it was something of a nice change from how other people treated him. At least Snape didn't think of him as a frail porcelain figure and kept true to his word that he wouldn't treat him like a child. Like an inferior brat who didn't know how to cast spells properly, yes, but not like a child.

Harry licked a bit of the apple juice that had tried to make its way down his chin off and lifted his wand with his free hand. Everything had been so easy once. You just had to say a word, had to move your hand and the wand in the right way and things worked. At least most of the time. And now. . .

"Win . . . win . . ." Harry gave up and sighed. No use. It was either non-verbal or nothing – which meant not much at the moment. After all he hadn't managed to cast a single spell and it work successfully.

And after a while even Snape had been too tired to keep training with him and had, thank Merlin, sent him to his room. Just in time, Harry wanted to add. People had begun to wake up in the castle.

Severus rubbed his eyes and breathed in deeply as he stirred the potion for the seventy-sixth time. He had reached the critical part; mistakes were not an option now. Determined, he willed his iron-heavy eyelids to stay up and counted the grains of Ghostsalt that he let slowly trickle into the curse-cure that Madam Pomfrey needed so direly.

He was so incredibly exhausted. If only he could muster the energy to actually sleep, but even that was too much of a strain. Maybe . . . maybe after he would finish this potion he could sink back into sweet oblivion. . .

Some degree of consciousness noted how the Ghostsalt slipped from his hand. He didn't even have to the time to jerk awake before the explosion took over the room.

If the earth really shook like some of the castle's inhabitants later swore, Harry didn't notice. In fact there was nothing he really had to take note of that was somehow unusual until he entered the former Potions Classroom for his next few hours of torture. Until then there was only the usual dread, apprehension and maybe a little bit excited anticipation. He had been, after all, able to cast a silent Wingardium Leviosa and a simple Transfiguration charm. It was slow progress, but at least there was progress.

A weird feeling of hope fluttered around Harry and let a smile grace his lips for some sweet seconds. Maybe he'd be able to make another one work today. Maybe Snape's eyes would get this pleased shine about them again.

Harry pushed the heavy oak-door to Snape's lair open, a greeting forming itself slowly and hesitantly on his tongue. It died as Harry saw Snape lying on the floor, blood on his face and some substance that seemed to cauterize its way into Snape's flesh.

A wild cry broke from Harry's throat and he rushed over to Snape. Harry ripped his wand out and tried to say Evanesco without success, then tried it, in panic, non-verbally, but nothing changed. The slime was everywhere, sizzling away, and Snape was lying in the midst of it. He tried a Wingardium Leviosa in vain, and then grabbed Snape's robes and pulled him away from the puddle of the potion. His hands were burning and yet he knew it wasn't enough. The potion needed off or it would eat Snape alive!

Harry looked around in panic and found the fireplace. He grabbed some Floo Powder and threw it into the fire. His head followed without much hesitation. He wanted to call out to the hospital wing, but knew before he actually voiced the words that they wouldn't come out right.

It was probably nothing but luck that instead he said "Pomfrey" and that the Floo-fire seemed to accept this. His head started spinning until Harry thought he would have to throw up, then abruptly stopped. Harry screamed until he had the mediwitch's attention.

Madam Pomfrey had always had a marvellous ability to read people. She had been one of the first to notice what was wrong with Harry when he awoke from coma and it wasn't different this time. She must have seen the panic and the need in Harry's eyes, Harry told himself as he watched her work.

It had taken her only mere seconds to banish the potion around Snape, leaving the rest for later examinations, probably, and some more to get him stabilised so he could be moved to the Hospital Wing.

Harry had run through the castle instead of taking the Floo, not trusting himself to manage the feat a second time. There had been people around, but he couldn't remember their faces - and couldn't care to, to be true.

What mattered now was Snape, who was laying in a bed only a couple of inches away from Harry. Madam Pomfrey was still running tests, casting spells and summoning potions. She had stopped the cauterisation of his flesh and must've done something that would let it grow back, but Snape was still unconscious.

It was creepy, frightening to see him lying there as if he was dead.

Madam Pomfrey straightened up and wiped her forehead. "He's stabilised so far. There's nothing I can do for him at the moment. The spells and salves need to start working now," she said, sounding tired. It didn't keep her from taking out more salves and bandages or from starting to work on Harry's hands. He had completely forgotten about them and only now noticed that they were hurting. And this was only his hands – how much would Snape feel when he woke up?

Harry nodded. "He . . . o. . .k. . .?" he pressed out.

"He should be, after a while," Madam Pomfrey answered. A pained moan came from the other side of the ward, catching her attention.

For the first time Harry noticed that they weren't alone. Most of the beds were occupied, hands and heads of sleeping patients sticking out under the duvets. Most of them had probably been injured during the war – the fact that they were still here accounted for the severity of their wounds – others in chaotic post-war duels, maybe, or repair works. St Mungo's must have been packed if so many were at Hogwarts.

"Severus was supposed to brew a potion for a patient of mine," Madam Pomfrey told him, looking worried. She finished bandaging Harry's hands with a sharp tug and continued: "I need to go and find another potions master as soon as possible, or he's not going to make it. You stay here, Potter. Watch over my patients and don't let anyone die!"

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but the matron had already grabbed her cloak and was in the Floo before a sound could come out his mouth. A loud swoosh and then nothing but the faint breathing of dozens. Harry swallowed thickly. How was he supposed to help others when he wasn't even able to help himself?

The first time Severus woke up he hallucinated. He imagined he saw Potter bending over a bed in what seemed to be the infirmary, talking to a man lying there. But Potter was unable to talk straight and wouldn't talk to anybody, never mind that he wouldn't be out of his room where other people could see him.

The second time Severus woke up Potter was sitting next to his bed, apparently asleep. For a moment Severus was sure that he was hallucinating again, but when he moved and pain flared through his body he discarded that idea immediately. Why should someone hallucinate that Potter was sleeping like a dark angel right next to him or that they were in pain, anyway?

Severus breathed through the pain and opened his mouth to call out Potter's name with his raspy voice.

Potter blinked, disoriented, shook himself awake and, once he realised that Severus was awake and waiting for him to bloody notice, grabbed Severus' hand. His grip was so tight that it nearly hurt, but Severus barely noticed. He only saw that Potter's eyes were shining with wetness.

"Fool," Severus rasped and pulled his lips into something akin to a sneer.

Harry wiped Snape's forehead carefully, trying not to wake the man from his light slumber. Two days had passed since the incident in the old potions classroom and Snape had only improved slightly.

He was more or less lucid now, but he was awake way too often for Harry's liking. And while Snape kept criticising every move Harry made in order to take care of him (and to feel somewhat useful), he never told Harry to go away. Which was kind of Snape's way of saying that he wasn't doing such a bad job – at least in Harry's mind, that was.

The amount of worry he felt for the other man confused and disconcerted him. He couldn't remember having felt anything like this before and couldn't find a word for it. Harry tried not to think about it, but with the silence in the hospital wing that became nearly an impossible feat.

To busy himself he tried to find a reason why the explosion happened. Snape hadn't been very forthcoming on that matter, saying something about accidents that shouldn't happen to someone like him, but still did once in a while - the risk of being a Potions Master – but to Harry this sounded very much like a feeble excuse. And Harry should know – he was the king of feeble excuses, after all.

Potter was watching him. He could feel it in his bones. That inquisitive stare, those insolent eyes trained on him . . . he had felt it ever since Potter's damned first day in this school. It was probably a safe guess to say that he would always be able to feel it.

Haunting Potter, that was what he was. And he was even worse than Madam Pomfrey, who had at least the decency to leave him alone once in a while so he didn't have to pretend that he was sleeping.

Well, it was no use. He didn't care much for lying around, especially not when he had to do it without a book. He would just have to wake up then.

Severus opened his eyes and blinked sleepily. "Potter," he said gruffly as a manner of greeting and Potter scooted back from the bed and leaned back into his chair. "Still here?"

Potter nodded.

"I thought we had an agreement, Potter. You talk, I teach you the non-verbal spells. "

"But . . . you . . . you bed," Potter mumbled, obviously trying to speak as quiet as possible so no-one could hear him. Severus was glad that his hearing hadn't failed him over the years.

"Yes, I bed. Does that make you think that you're having a break? Because you're not, Potter, I can assure you that. Now draw the damn blinds – magically, Potter – and let's begin. I'm terribly bored and you will suffer to give me some entertainment."

Potter glared at him – much better, that look – even though only half-heartedly and closed his eyes to concentrate. If the blasted boy didn't learn how to cast a spell without doing that he would be mush as soon as the next duel he would surely get himself into had begun.

It took several more days until Snape was finally let out of the hospital wing. Harry fetched him and accompanied him to his quarters – even though he had to pretend that he had only walked by the infirmary by chance. He wasn't sure whether or not Snape actually believed him, but this little lie allowed them to walk through the castle with only minor snarking from Snape. Harry counted it as a good sign for Snape's help and couldn't help but smile.

"Something funny, Potter?" Snape asked, sounding not as irritated as he usually would have. The release out of Madam Pomfrey's eager fingers was apparently lifting his spirits.

Harry shook his head, but couldn't suppress the grin that could have illuminated a whole city.

"There better isn't," Snape mumbled. And since Harry was inclined to believe in the unbelievable he thought that there might have been a smile tugging at the corners of Snape's mouth.

Today was a good day. Harry would find out why Snape had had the accident and he'd fix it. Things would get better again.

Only that they didn't.

Harry had mulled the thought over and over in his head, had tried to find another way around this, reasons for Snape's accident; had waited and watched, but seeing Snape tremble like this was the last straw.

"You . . . bed . . . no good," Harry said and promptly winced, blushing, as he realised what this must have sounded like.

Snape raised and eyebrow and sneered. "Oh really, Potter? I can't recall you were one of the fortunate ones I could prove the contrary to."

Harry frowned, trying not to make sense out of the sentential fragments that he had understood and concentrated instead.

"You . . . bed . . . you . . . you sleep. Volde–" he stopped himself. This was not what he had wanted to say. "Bad," he concluded.

Snape was the one to frown now. He must've understood then.

"None of your business, Potter," he snarled, got up and strode over to his cabinet, starting to sort through his stores.

None of his business? It was damned well his business if he had to watch Snape fall apart with each passing day! The circles under his eyes, the trembling, the near unconscious-like mini-sleep phases that Snape seemed to fall in once in a while without even recognising. He was driving himself to the ground! And it was none of Harry's business?!

"You . . . you always . . . and," Harry took a deep breath. "I talk. You . . . sleep."

"Potter –" Snape growled, slamming a jar of dried gills back down.

Harry's grabbed Snape's shoulder and made him turn around. It was surprising how easy that was. "Fair. You . . . I . . . work. Talk. Sleep. Fair. You and . . . and . . . I change."

Snape rubbed his heads over his face and sighed.

"Potter, it's not that easy. This is not something we can exchange. It's non-negotiable. It's not as if I don't want to sleep. I can't. Have you ever heard of insomnia?"

Harry stared at him, not comprehending really what Snape had said. Merlin, how he would love to understand everything the man said. Snape loved to talk in those complicated, box-like sentences, making it hard for anyone to follow. He had never admit it, but Harry had actually liked to listen to Snape - if the man hadn't been busy verbally abusing Harry, that was. He could still remember that very first lesson, when he'd been so impressed by Snape that he had wanted to write it all down.

But those times were over. Harry couldn't follow Snape's flowing speech anymore. Snape had even cut it back, just for him. Harry couldn't think of a proper reason why he had done it, but the fact that he had kept standing.

"I can't sleep," Snape said with a sigh. "No matter what I do. If I'm exhausted enough I lose my consciousness, but whenever I try to sleep I can barely manage two hours. That's why I haven't been sleeping. It's not something I can control."

Harry could hear the contempt in Snape's voice. It wasn't hard to imagine how much Snape hated it.

"Cure?" Harry asked. His hand was still holding onto Snape's shoulder.

Snape shook his head. "None of my potions have worked so far." He moved away from Harry, returning to the cauldron in the corner. Harry's hand felt cold. "At least I have time to brew."

Harry shook his head and closed his eyes. "No sleep . . . you . . . and . . . death."

Never before had Harry wished he could go to the library and research sleeplessness. An attempt would be futile and nothing but frustrating. There were no picture books, after all, and those were all that Harry could read.

It didn't stop Harry from going to the library, though. The castle was still silent and the moon hung high, its light beams sharp on the stone floor. Someone had been in here since the last time, Harry noted. The shelves were standing upright again, the books weren't scattered any longer and not even the windowsills were dusty anymore. Progress.

He wandered through the aisles, fingers skimming over the spines, leather soft against his skin, and wondered how to help Snape. There had to be way how. Maybe Madam Pomfrey knew something. But wouldn't Snape have asked her already?

Harry leant his forehead against the cool glass of the window and looked through it onto the slightly contorted grounds. He could remember fire, hexes. . .. No, none of that now. That was in the past - the present needed him now.

He wished Hermione could be here. She would know what to do. She could find out about insomnia and how to help Snape.

In the end Harry found himself in the hospital wing the next night, despite everything. It took a while until he could make Madam Pomfrey, who had just been about to go to bed, understand what he wanted exactly and it took even longer for her to explain about sleeplessness.

Snape had applied to her help and she had hoped her prescriptions and the potions he himself had brewed had made a difference. And after the potions accident, she told Harry, she had tried to talk to Snape, but he hadn't been interested in anything she had to say about potential therapies.

"Other . . . cure?" Harry asked haltingly, his feet dangling over the rim of the bed he was sitting on.

"Other than the potions, you mean?" Harry nodded at Madam Pomfrey's question. "Well, the potions should cure the usual forms of insomnia. There are spells, too, but they only function as aide to the potions. And as potions don't seem to work. . . I think the problem lies somewhere else than the usual for insomnia. Of course the war will have to do something with this, but this cannot be all. Maybe his near death. . ." Madam Pomfrey trailed off, looking thoughtful.

Harry, too, crunched up his forehead. Maybe he should ask Snape about the experience in the Shrieking Shack. He hadn't dared to bring it up so far - not only because he was somewhat afraid of Snape's reaction, but also because he himself didn't care to relive that night. Seeing Snape there on the floor, bleeding to death. . . or rather apparently bleeding to death. He knew blood replenishers and a bezoar had played a role, but nothing about the details. Maybe it was time.

Severus looked at Potter and glared. The brat had been acting strange all night already and Severus was not in the mood for any dawdling, foolishness, laziness or general idiocy at all. Which made him question again why he had insisted on training that Gryffindor in non-verbal spell casting.

"I did not permit you to speak, Potter, so kindly refrain from damaging my ears and try to cast that spell," Severus snarled. His wand-hand twitched ever so slightly and he saw that Potter had noted. Good.

He would not answer the brat's questions. His life – everything about his life – was private and not open to public. The fact that Potter had twice already been able to get a glimpse of his thoughts - the second time more or less voluntarily, of course, was enough. What Potter had seen during that night was all he would ever be allowed to see – Potter should be thankful for that.

And thankful that Severus was once again helping. He could begin to show is gratitude in casting that spell, Severus found and told Potter so.

Sometimes he very nearly was jealous of Potter. The awful brat had fallen asleep. Right here in Severus' lab, head resting on one of the tables, next to chopped Fugu liver. His mouth was slightly open, the glasses hung askew, criminally long lashes behind them.

If Severus had been someone to like fluffy bunnies, for something other than a good, healthy meal, or maybe romantic poems, he might have said that Potter was adorable. Since Severus was not someone like that he just contemplated waking Potter with a hard kick.

What had Potter done to be so tired? As far as Severus knew he had spent the major part of the day asleep, then had come here to train with Severus. He knew that the spell casting was taking up quite some energy, he could feel it himself. But Potter couldn't possibly be that tired. Lazy sod.

Severus shook his head and, with one last look at Potter, went over to his cauldron to gently stir the healing salve.

"Dammit, Potter! Concentrate!" Snape yelled for the fifth time, looking furious. "Focus on your wand, focus on the incantation, direct your energy –"

Harry gritted his teeth and wished he could effectively shout at Snape to shut the bloody hell up. He had heard it often enough, probably could cite the whole blah-blah in his sleep, but it still didn't work! There was nothing for it! It wasn't going to work!

Snape was yelling even louder and Harry shut his eyes as if that could block Snape out. Shut up! Shut - up! He needed a Silencing Charm. A Stunner. Anything to make Snape stop, because He'd Had Enough!

The shockwave that exploded from his wand was surprising and hard, and Harry fell. He would have hit the ground with a decisive crunch, if Snape hadn't caught him in the very last moment.

Harry stared up, wide eyed, his fingers clutching onto Snape. Snape's hair was touching his face, tickling him slightly, and both of them were breathing hard. Ever so slowly Snape lowered them to the ground. Harry didn't let go of him.

He found himself held in Snape's arms, strong even through the fatigue his body must surely experience, warmth seeping through his clothes. Snape smelled of various potions ingredients – some of them pleasant, others not – but most distinctively of something that reminded Harry of Aunt Petunia's little herb garden.

He felt a blush rise on his skin and closed his eyes, burying his face in Snape's robes. Merlin, how long had it been since he had been held? It must've been ages he had been that close to somebody. Maybe with Ron and Hermione in the tent, seeking warmth during winter, or with Malfoy clinging onto him when they escaped the Room of Requirement. . . but neither of those events had been remotely like this.

His blood pounded in his veins and his heart wanted to leap out of his chest, but it was confined in his chest and his body chose to send out a skin-covering blush instead.

Slowly Snape let go of him, settling Harry onto the floor, cleared his throat and went to check up on the jars in the shelf. It was all Harry could do not to try to cling to him. He breathed deeply in and out, told himself this reaction was normal if someone was as lonely and that the trembling had to stop now. Sometime between that moment and dawn it worked.

That night he dreamt of Snape. It wasn't even one of his formerly usual Snape-dreams, where the Potions Master would swoop bat-like down at him and try to steal Harry's heart and liver to make obscure concoctions he would later feed to the Slytherin first years to make them grow into evil little monsters. This time it was a dream of a very different quality.

It had him trashing around wildly in bed. When he woke up he found his head dangling over the right edge of the bed while his feet were lying awkwardly in the region of his pillow near the headboard. The blanket was nowhere to be seen - he later found it under the bed; Merlin only knew how it had got there.

He threw his sticky sheets and shorts right into the laundry basket, feeling very thankful that this didn't happen in a dorm (again), and took a long shower, unsuccessfully trying to occupy his mind with anything that didn't lay down South.

The blush he acquired on his way to the dungeons didn't dissipate for the next few hours. Snape's suspicious looks didn't help the matter either. What would Snape do if he learned what was going on in Harry's head and dreams? Would he be disgusted? Enticed? Would he throw Harry out? Or would he pull Harry closer and kiss him, touch him, rasp into his ear. . .

Harry excused himself with a squeak and hurried to reach the loo.

Three days later Hermione arrived at Hogwarts. Harry and Snape were sitting in the orchard, enjoying the last warm sunbeams for the day. Snape was reading a book that smelled distinctively like potions and Harry was practising spells on flowerpots as Hermione joined them. The beam she wore on her face told Harry that everything had gone according to plan and that her parents were safe and sound. Then Hermione spotted him and tackle-hugged him with a very un-Hermione-ish squeal.

"Hello," Harry said, when Hermione finally stepped back, and wondered whether to smile back or turn tail and run.

"Oh, I'm so glad to see you again! Just wait till I have told you all about my travels in Australia - you wouldn't believe where I found my parents. And the culture there is so very fascinating! I mean, I had read about the natural magic there, but to actually experience it and feel it flowing through the earth! I mean, Harry, it was practically pulsating in the earth instead of just floating through the people there!"

Hermione took a deep breath and Harry, sensing that this was probably his last chance to say something for a while, started speaking: "You . . . Down . . . you . . . come . . . and the . . . heart good."

It was Hermione's expression, confusion that she tried in vain to cover up with a trembling smile, which told him that something hadn't been quite right with what he had said. Harry himself had only noticed how diffluent his speech had been.

Harry turned away, disappointment smudging his face.

"I . . . don't understand," Hermione then admitted. Her voice was as insecure as her expression had been.

"I believe Potter wanted to tell you that he is glad that you are back, Ms Granger," Snape told her, not once looking up from his book.

Hermione's lips formed a surprised 'Oh!' and Harry tried to ignore the fact that Snape knew and understood him better than one of his own two best friends.

Snape had left, muttering about a potion, and Harry finally had some alone-time with Hermione. But while he appreciated this he couldn't help but feel anxious. Firstly, because there was no-one around who could translate his stammered gibberish to Hermione, and secondly, because Snape hadn't brewed much without Harry in the room.

Harry wondered if Snape was conscious of that fact, if he maybe had done it on purpose because Harry would be there if something happened. This brought him back to his Snape-problem. Maybe Hermione could help.

Harry steeled himself, turned back to her expectant face from where he had seen Snape last, and started to speak: "How . . . make . . . good sleep? . . . No . . . sleep . . .and . . .and . . . how . . . help?"

Hermione looked at him in confusion, then pity took over her face. "Oh Harry," he whispered and put her hand on Harry's.

Harry was shaking his head. "Not . . . not me," he said with emphasis.

Hermione stayed for a couple more hours. They soon left the orchard and retreated to the library where they had tea. Madam Pince would have had a fit, but even Hermione didn't mind. In fact she told Harry that she had often wished to drink a cup of tea in the library.

"Okay Harry, let's get this straight. There is someone with sleeping problems, right?" Hermione started, looking down at the notebook in front of her. She waited for Harry's nod, then continued: "And you want to help, of course. They tried all of the regular sleeping aids and potions, I suspect?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Well, there are other possibilities to spur on sleep, but they are not as common or popular as the usual ones." Hermione checked if Harry was still following before she continued.

It was good to have Hermione back here, Harry thought and smiled slightly. He hadn't realised how much he had missed being separated from her. Without the owls they would have exchanged under normal circumstances the time they had spent apart felt even longer. The same ruled for Ron, but Harry had been separated from Ron for longer. And besides, Harry knew that Ron had other things to worry about right now.

Hermione proceeded to explain to him what methods he could use to aid his someone. She spoke of herbs and oils and relaxation, of fumes and scents, and of the fact that most men simply seemed to ignore that there were other ways than just swallowing potions.

Eventually even Harry understood what Hermione was getting at. They had finished their last drops of tea, then got up.

"I need to get to the Burrow. Ron's no doubt waiting up for me," Hermione said and smiled, lost in her thoughts for a moment.

"You . . . hi . . . I . . . hi," Harry stammered and waved hello with his hand.

"I will. Harry, if you need anything at all you can send an owl. Just make a cross on a piece of parchment. I'll come immediately."

Harry nodded, though he couldn't imagine ever trying to send her or Ron an owl again. But it was best not to argue with Hermione.

"Alright. And remember that you'll have to test the herbs and everything. I have never bothered to get too deeply into the subject and cannot tell you which works best." Hermione looked at her watch and levitated her bag with a few whispered words. Harry tried not to feel jealous of the way she used her magic.

They hugged and then Hermione was on her way to the gates and Harry went to his room. He needed to get some sleep before he could start plotting properly.

Harry, who had just woken up from a nap that had been induced by a good, healthy bunch of Valerian being burned, entered the laboratory quietly.

Snape was bent over his cauldron. He had pushed his hair, which looked like he had washed it this morning, behind his ears to keep it from getting into his face. It didn't seem like he had noticed Harry's entrance; he was so engrossed with whatever potion he was brewing.

Harry watched him for a bit, smiling slightly as he noticed Snape was muttering to himself, again and then turned back to his assigned task. He was supposed to re-shelve an assortment of jars while using only magic. And of course he mustn't break any of the glasses or Snape would have his head.

Back during his school-days this would have been easy. Nowadays pearls of sweat ran from his forehead when he cast spells. But at least he could cast them. And the whole thing was a pretty good exercise for him, too. He didn't need to lift weights or go running if there was an exercise like this.

In Harry's opinion it took ages until the first jar landed in its assigned place. The next followed, then a third until there was only one left.

Harry wiped his forehead and raised his wand. Wingardium Leviosa he thought, visualising, concentrating and the jar rose into the air like its predecessors had done before. Harry sighed contently and let the jar sail over. It was nearly done, he thought, glad that he would be able to rest after this, when suddenly his concentration slipped. The crash of the jar sounded through the room.

"Potter!" Snape whirled around, glared at Harry, then looked at the ingredients on the floor.

"I . . ." Harry started. His mouth opened and closed without any words making their way out. The day couldn't have been over without him fucking up again, could it? He didn't want Snape to be angry with him! He had hoped that if he would do everything right for once today, Snape might be something like proud of him.

"Sorry . . .. I . . . crash . . . and . . . I . . . I buy. I . . . sorry . . . crash jar . . . I lose . . ."

Snape sighed. "I know you're going to buy new ingredients, Potter. In fact I expect it - and it's appreciated that you're doing this voluntarily." Snape vanished the shards and the useless green slime-things, then stood up and looked at Harry's face. "Your apology is accepted. Don't worry too much; it is not complicated to get more Gillyweed."

Harry could only stare at him. Not only had Snape understood Harry's confused babbling - better than one of his own two best friends – but he also didn't seem to be angry. Something –a weird tickling, one that filled all of him, then raced down to his toes and back up, and settled in his stomach. Harry felt a bit dizzy and reached out to Snape to steady himself. Snape's helping hands warmed the small of Harry's back and his arm. It reminded him of –

Harry leant forwards and touched Snape's lips with his.

It was brief and when he looked at Snape he saw that the man's eyes were wide open. Whether it was surprise or anger that held them like this Harry couldn't make out.

Harry bit his lip.

"I . . . g-. . . go. . .." he stammered, only too aware that Snape had dropped his hands.

"Yes. Yes, you should."

Severus stared at the ceiling in his dark room, searching for something other than sleep for once.

Was Potter lying in bed right now, thinking about Severus? He wasn't sure whether or not he wanted Potter to. Severus had never expected Potter to kiss him. Sure, he himself had thought about it. Potter was young and reasonably attractive, after all - but he wouldn't have acted on these thoughts! They were perverse, weren't they? The memory of Potter as his student was all too fresh and Potter himself was surely not in a state that could be described as fit for anything remotely in the direction of a relationship. He was lonely and vulnerable.

Severus had been there, conveniently. Good reasons for a kiss, but not for anything else - at least not for Severus. If Potter wanted. . .. well, it would be better for both of them if he didn't. Potter didn't really. . . as soon as Potter was ready to take on life again he'd be gone. And Severus would, too, whenever his accounts would be unfrozen and he and his possessions were free to go. 'Where to' was a problem he would take care of when it was time.

Restlessly Severus turned around in his bed. But his burning eyes didn't want to stay closed and his mind didn't want to stop spinning. Once again he had to admit defeat. This was not a night for rest or sleep.

Severus pushed the covers away with a growl and got out of bed. Maybe a book would do the trick.

Harry watched the sunrise from his old dorm in Gryffindor Tower, which was still under construction. For a moment he allowed the sunbeams to swallow him and the colours to dance over his body - blue, lilac, and yellow danced caressed him in as a gentle unit – before coming back to present. He could still feel Snape's lips on his – or vice versa, rather – and the longing to have that for real again all but consumed him. His movements familiar to the walls around him he leant his head against the stones. A Thestral rose high above the forest, circled and vanished back in the woods again.

Had it been so bad of him to kiss Snape? Snape hadn't been very enthusiastic about it. Maybe he wasn't interested in Harry. Maybe Harry had destroyed the little peace the two of them had. But Snape hadn't hexed him - that had to count for something, right?

He wondered what had overcome him, what had compelled him to kiss Snape. Did he really find Snape attractive or was it the gratefulness that he felt towards the man that had led him?

Harry frowned at the place where the Thestral had vanished into the forest and tried to call a picture of Snape to his mind. Determination lining the strong face, piercing eyes concentrating on the cauldron, fingers moving quick and with precision even though tiredness was wearing him down. . .

Harry's face flamed as he imagined those fingers touching him, the attention on his body. No, it was definitely not gratefulness that had made him act.

But did this make sense? He was on the way of . . . well, not healing, but getting better. He was adapting, Hermione would call it. And he was probably expected to leave soon. And he should. Only. . .

Harry shivered at the thought. It wasn't only that facing a world that was so much based on communication without being able to communicate normally that didn't sit well with him, but the thought of leaving Hogwarts. Hogwarts and Snape.

Thinking of it made his stomach turn.

But there were more important matters to think about. Snape's sleeping problem, for instance. Even if Snape wasn't really keen on doing with Harry what Harry wanted to do with Snape – Harry still wanted to help him. Part of it was obligation, of course. Another part was his saviour-complex, possibly, and the other – well, he didn't expect enthusiastic thanks, but Snape had done so much for him and was a good man. He deserved something better than what he had got so far.

Potter had arrived earlier than usual and hadn't waited for Severus to open the door for him. Instead he had let himself in – Severus had still been in his quarters and didn't dare to ask Potter if he had managed it by magic (which would have been good) or if Severus had forgot to close and lock the door (which would have been really bad).

Potter looked different today, Severus noted. There was a certain air of contentment around him that was a little bit disconcerting. Severus opted for sending a glare in Potter's direction before making a bee-line to his work-desk. Madam Pomfrey had asked for a couple of vials of sleep-assisting potions. Too bad the stuff was useless for him.

"Hello," Potter said and smiled. As if nothing had happened. A happy Potter. What a sight.

"Potter." Severus nodded his head at him. Polite, but distant. He hoped that would throw Potter off. Then he noted something. Something was smelling . . . smelling like lavender and chamomile, even though he hadn't used either in a potion lately.

"Potter?" Suspicion edged in his voice. The brat wouldn't have dared to try his own hand at brewing potions, would he? Valerian was used in the Draught of the Living Dead and chamomile in a Calming Draught, and there were some potions in which a combination of all of these herbs was used, but Potter surely didn't know any of these. . .

"Smell . . . smell . . . nice?" Potter pressed out, sounding and looking terribly hopeful for a reason Severus couldn't determine. He found himself saying yes even before the question of whether it had smelled bad in the room before had finished forming in his head.

He pushed the thought aside and, once Potter had chopped the ginger roots and the preparations for the potions were done, began to train Potter again.

A sense of victory and dread that he didn't want to investigate further came over him when Potter managed to cast a proper Transfiguration spell after only a reasonable amount of shouting on Severus' side.

Potter radiated relief. And he was looking at Severus in a way that Severus had trouble interpreting. This was not a good sign.

From that point on Potter's behaviour became stranger and stranger. He started insisting on burning herbs whenever they met and threw looks at him ever so often that held the promise of something that never came. Severus waited, telling himself that he waited in dread, ready to react, hex Potter when necessary, but as the days passed not even the incident after the shattered jar was repeated.

He must've dozed off or spaced out, Severus thought as he came to himself. Warm, strong hands were on his shoulders, moving slowly and yet with a slight pressure that could have been determination. For a moment he was so shocked that he tensed up slightly. But then he realised that this must be Potter and that Potter, despite former animosities, would never harm Severus. It was an odd feeling, knowing that. Or rather actually admitting that, because Severus must have known before.

Severus tried to relax and let Potter do his thing, whatever he wanted to achieve with this. And it actually felt kind of good to have his shoulders massaged. Severus wasn't so stupid to miss that. He could always tell Potter to give up on his silly hopes later.

"Okay?" Potter finally asked and Severus found himself tempted to snort and sneer and tell Potter he was a bit late asking that, since he had been doing this for a couple of minutes already. But he didn't and just nodded. But only slightly.

How long had it been since someone had touched him like this? It was as if Potter genuinely cared.

A pleasurable shiver went through Severus' body as Potter moved his fingers up to the muscles on Severus' stiff neck. They moved slowly, in circles, kneading and pressing and shifting. Severus closed his eyes again

Harry continued massaging Snape's shoulders for a little while longer after the man had dozed off, then gradually eased the pressure of his hands away and stepped back. He took out his wand and prayed to whoever wanted to listen to him that his spell would work and that he wouldn't lose his concentration this time.

The spell slowly formed in his head and he pushed it out toward his hand, then towards his wand. There wasn't a light or anything else accompanying the magic and the only sign that it had actually worked was the fact that Snape slowly rose into air, hovering there.

Now don't doubt yourself, Harry, Harry thought and, biting his lip, he slowly moved the wand and directed Snape's flight. Carefully he followed, always keeping close to Snape and hoping that if necessary his seeker reflexes would jump in and he would be able to stop the fall. Don't doubt!

It was quite a feat to get the door open and manoeuvre Snape through it without hitting the man's head against the door frame or anything disastrous like that. And half-way through the room sweat was rolling off of Harry's forehead, dripping into his eyes and making him blink. He imagined his eyelashes must look like confused butterflies trying to perform a mating ritual, only wetter, and he nearly let his concentration slip, but then he had reached the bed and it was over.

As the magic slowly faded and Snape sank down on the bed, Harry exhaled like he had run a marathon. Never in his life would he have expected magic to be this strenuous. At least not ordinary magic like a good, old floating spell. But here he was, sweating and groaning and huffing. To be true he had imagined that in combination with being on Snape's bed a whole lot more different. But then again he had just wordlessly levitated a man of at least hundred-ninety pounds - and that had to count for something.

Harry wiped his forehead and glanced down at Snape. Undressing him was out of question - Harry blushed even at the thought - but Harry could cover him with a blanket. That would surely be better than just having him lie there. And he shouldn't wear shoes . . . but no, it was better not to risk waking the man up.

So instead Harry fetched a blanket and covered Snape - Severus, Harry thought, I really should call him Severus - with it as carefully as he could. For a moment he considered staying and just watching Severus sleep, but he was sure Severus wouldn't appreciate that.

Severus. He really should use the name more often.

When Severus woke up he was disoriented for whole three seconds. Three seconds was actually a long time for a former spy, who was not that long in retirement yet. It was somewhat disconcerting to experience the sensation.

Then he noticed the familiarity of his room and his bed and wondered how he had gotten here. He had last been in his laboratory with Potter –

"Potter!" Severus' surprised yell stayed unheard and ended about the same time as Severus lifted the blanket to check on certain things. Well, good, he was still dressed.

Then Severus realised something way more important than the fact that a nubile young man might have undressed him. He had slept. Slept, not just dozed or fainted. He hadn't been comatose, nobody had knocked him out (at least he didn't think Potter would have done that; besides, there were no sore places on his head and head injuries didn't heal that quickly), and there hadn't been any potions or other medical helpers been involved.

Only Potter's burning herbs and his hands. Potter's hands.

Well. Severus cleared his throat.

He didn't see Potter until their next scheduled meeting that evening. Potter came in as usual, slightly hesitant, an unsure expression on his face, and went over to his working station.

"Hello," he said and gave Severus a small smile. Severus nodded. At least the brat had the decency not to ask him if he had slept well or anything inane like that. No, he just waited patiently for Severus' instructions.

"Madam Pomfrey needs more burning salve. It seems like fire is reason number one for injuries during the reparations these days," Severus said snidely. "I need you to cut some chamomile that we will use to calm the nerves around the injured spot."

Potter nodded and set to work. Neither of them made an attempt at conversation as they were used to. Potter wasn't too keen on talking anyways and that suited Severus just fine. Generally, at least. Now he rather found himself puzzling over the fact that Potter had helped him to find some sleep.

Not that good deeds were so surprising for Potter, but the way he had done it and that he hadn't mentioned it in any way surprised and confused Severus. Wasn't Potter the one true example for a boasting knight in shining armour?

Severus glanced over at Potter and found him looking. Was that pity in Potter's eyes? Severus shook his head at himself. No, pity didn't glitter like that. Did Potter feel like he owed Severus? Severus certainly thought that Potter owed him quite a lot, but whether or not Potter agreed with him he wasn't so sure about. Or maybe it was just that Potter was lonely and that he thought he could counteract that feeling by helping Severus sleep.

Severus snorted at himself. Now that he felt more awake – not awake like a normal person would, but more awake than he had been, and that was already something big – he found himself over-thinking things. Nothing good had ever come out of that. It hadn't when he had over-thought everything concerning Lily and telling himself that he could be straight for her – it had rather made everything worse – and it wouldn't with her son, either.

Potter made some sort of noise that was inscrutable but that he had chosen during their first hours together as the perfect noise to get Severus' attention. And he got it, for Severus turned towards him with a questioning expression on his face. Potter had learned during his first visits in the laboratory that Severus would not do the talking for him and Severus never gave him the easy way out by asking yes/no questions.

"I . . . I . . . ready," Potter stuttered and pointed at the perfectly cut chamomile pieces in front of him.

"Very good," Severus approved. "Now levitate them over to the cauldron. I've already got the base solution simmering in there – you just need to add the chamomile and stir ten times clockwise and then seven times counter-clockwise."

Potter nodded, took out his wand and levitated the herbs with an ease that made Severus feel queasy inside. It wouldn't take long till Potter left.

Harry nodded his thanks at the beaming house elf that had brought him his breakfast and stared down at the plate. A soft pop that announced that Harry was alone in his rooms was the only sound in here.

Noises from the other rooms next to Harry's could be heard, too, and Harry wondered whether or not he should go out today and enjoy some of the autumn sun outside before it would give away to winter.

The task sounded daunting to him – Severus would surely not come with him. There would be other people outside and Harry would be alone with them. They would probably want to talk to him. Talking to Severus was one thing, talking to others. . .

He would think about it. Maybe.

He couldn't help but to wonder why Severus hadn't asked him about the night before. The man must've noticed that Harry had brought him to bed - something like that couldn't be missed. But yet he hadn't said a word. Was he embarrassed by it? He certainly looked better, more relaxed, more awake. Harry should really give him a massage again.

"You . . . you . . . good? You back," Harry said that night after adding the valerian and lavender to the bowl he had prepared. This time he had used oil, hoping the smell would be more intense and therefore more relaxing.

Severus turned and blinked at him like he knew what Harry wanted to say but purposefully didn't understand. It made Harry frown. He hated repeating himself.

"You. Back. You . . . need . . . back . . . good?" Harry asked again, trying not to show his irritation.

Instead of answering Harry's question though, Severus increased his 'confused look' only more and topped it off with a question: "How did you manage to put me into bed?"

It took a while till Harry could puzzle the semantics of the sentence together. Something that wouldn't have been possible had he not been able to guess what Severus was talking about – as Severus very well knew. Severus was playing games and Harry didn't like it a bit.

Harry took out his wand and repeated what he had done two nights ago. This time it was harder, because Severus was actually a moving aim, but Harry managed anyway and let Severus float for a bit to get his point across. Then, after what had been only seconds, actually, he ended the spell. Severus' feet thudded onto the floor.

"I see." Severus turned around and went back to writing labels or whatever it was that he did.

"Sev!" The abbreviation, indignant as it was, slid over his tongue as if he had practised it. He had intended to use Snape surname, really, but somehow it had got lost on the way to his tongue – like so many other things. Severus didn't seem to be pleased.

"I don't remember giving you the permission of addressing me so informally!" he snapped, eyes blazing.

"You . . . I . . . I . . . ask . . . you . . . ask . . . rub," Harry hastened to say, hating himself for not being able to even give a sound reasoning without sounding like an idiot. Severus didn't seem to notice the difference.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Potter!"

"I . . . help!"

"No, you didn't help. I don't want you to help. I don't need you to help!" Snape yelled. Harry was out of the door before he could start another tirade.

Severus sat down on the stool next to him and rubbed his eyes. They were burning again and a part of him wished that he had taken Potter up on his offer to give him another backrub. But it would have been a dangerous thing to do. Backrubs enforced intimacy, something that was completely uncalled for.

They had been intimate enough already, hanging around each other for longer than was probably healthy. And since Potter was obviously able to cast non-verbal spells – even though it seemed to take some effort – he would soon leave. It was for the best if neither of them acted on anything they would regret later. It would only cause silly and unnecessary feelings of obligation and they couldn't have that.

Potter would join the world of the living and Severus would do so, too. Soon. He only needed to get that damn letter – one silly little letter that would officially allow him to resume his life. Then he would brew a couple more potions for Poppy, stock her up on potions and salves that would suffice till she found a new brewer and then he would leave. Maybe for the continent. He hadn't been in France yet – or any other country for that matter.

It would be a nice change. He would eat food that he hadn't yet had the chance to try, would visit the places he had read about and would be able to collect potions ingredients himself that he had had to order by owl before.

It sounded like a nice life. If only he managed to get rid of that sleeping problem. If only he got rid of that feeling that something would be missing as soon as Potter was gone from his life.

Egoist. Stupid arsehole. Self-centred, insensitive bastard!

Harry had tried to curse Severus aloud, but hadn't managed much more than a half-uttered mutter that sounded like 'gah'. It only infuriated him more and made him blast a glass that was unfortunate enough to stand on his nightstand.

When the shards had fallen to the floor Harry sat down heavily on the bed. Somehow he had imagined things would be different than this. He had thought Severus would be thankful for what Harry had done for him. He had thought Severus might like him back. He surely hadn't imagined anything that involved Snape yelling at him. Where had he gone wrong? Had something he had done changed the whole basis of their relationship? They had been getting on okay, hadn't they?

He flopped down on his back and glared at the ceiling. Why couldn't things ever go like he wanted them to?

Harry turned his head towards the window. The sun had vanished already and Hogwarts had been dipped into darkness. Maybe he should leave, Harry thought. Maybe he needed a new start. If Severus didn't want him or his presence then there was nothing that could hold him in the castle.

Potter didn't show up the day after the fight, nor the next. It was as if the castle had swallowed him up; in fact Severus didn't even know whether or not the brat was still living in the castle. It was surprising how lonely the castle felt without Potter being around him each day. But it was only loneliness that Severus was feeling – he had overcome that more than once and would manage to do so another time, too.

Still, he had no real explanation why he was walking towards Potter's room after he came from the infirmary instead of going straight back to his lab. His feet kept on walking, no matter how hard and loud his mind was screaming at him not to go there. Because in one way he didn't want to know for sure whether Potter was gone, while in the other he needed to. He needed to know if he had driven Potter away.

When Severus was only about twenty feet away from Potter's door he came to a halt. The empty potion vials in the bag he was carrying clinked against each other. Ridiculous. His behaviour was nothing but ridiculous. Severus shook his head at himself and turned to leave.

Just that very moment the door to Potter's lair opened and Potter himself, hair tousled, expression grim and a trunk in his hand, stepped out of the room. Severus could do nothing but stare.

"Sev!" Potter exclaimed and immediately looked even angrier than before.

"Potter." Severus inclined his head. "I see you are leaving."

"Yes."

Harry had not counted on seeing Severus before leaving. He had hoped to leave out the big, dramatic exit and just sneak out of Hogwarts before anyone noticed. But he should have known that he wouldn't be so lucky. None of his ideas worked according to plan, after all.

Severus looked tired and lost and it made Harry's heart ache to see him like this. But it couldn't be helped. Severus didn't want him, didn't need him and Harry had to leave.

"So I have been successful."

Harry nodded. Yes, he had successfully driven Harry away. Harry aimed his wand at his trunk and magically lifted it. Yes, he had come far.

"I knew this day would come. You go on, Potter, and live your life. It's not like there is anything holding you here."

Harry frowned at that. "Could," he pressed out.

"I don't think I know what you mean. Being alone, holed up in an old castle full of fugitives won't do you any good!"

Harry shook his head at the idiot of a potions master and slowly closed the distance between them. Snape didn't push him away when Harry hugged him, but he didn't hug Harry back either.

"Potter. You need to leave," Severus cleared his throat. Harry, stepping back, his shoulders slumping in defeat, nodded. He turned back towards his trunk, then remembered there was something he could give Severus that might help at least him.

Potter started digging in his trunk like a leprechaun searching for his own gold and nearly seemed to vanish into the depths. When he emerged he was holding a bunch of twigs in his hands. Severus could make out Valerian and rosemary in the mess.

"You . . . burn." Potter said with emphasis and pressed the bunch into Severus' hands. "You . . . burn . . . you . . . better."

Ever so slowly Severus accepted the shrubbery, not breaking eye-contact with Potter even once. He realised that this was an offering – Potter's eyes and his mind were wide and open. And if Severus wanted he could well dive into the depths. Potter would let him, even wanted him to use Legilimency.

Severus didn't. "Go on. There are surely things and people who are waiting for you."

Potter's face clouded. "I . . . no. I want -"

"You want to live a perfect, happy life, Potter. That's what you want. Picket-fence dreams were those that always occupied your mind."

"I . . . I . . . no . . . like . . . picket."

Severus shook his head. Of course Potter wanted the whole picket-fence nonsense! He had to! Severus hadn't had the luck to have any of that and Lily hadn't had it for long enough. Potter needed to have it now!

"Shut up, Potter! You don't know what you want!"

". . .Do." Potter was still looking at him with this expression on his face. . . It took everything that Severus had to push him away.

"Potter, I've become convenient to you! You have been my student for six years prior to this . . . inconvenience – you are just used to me!"

"No. No. I . . . I . . . touch. I – I think . . . and I touch. I . . ." Harry raked a hand through his hair in frustration. "I love you!"

The exclamation shocked both of them.

"I love you," he repeated dazedly, let the words roll on his tongue, tasted them, and put his warm hand on Severus' arm.

Severus regarded him for a moment, staring at him as if he was a poisonous snake of sorts. Then he jerked Harry to him and crashed their mouths together. Their lips parted almost instantly, tongues touching in a pace that should have resulted in them being knotted together.

Severus' hand gripped onto Harry's shoulders and Harry, unable to help himself, clung to Severus in turn.

"Merlin, Potter –" Severus gasped and hoisted him up.

"Harry," Harry corrected him and re-claimed Severus' mouth. Neither of them noticed the trunk falling down onto the hallway floor, nor did they think of the herbs that were lying around as well. Harry didn't even notice that it was him who pushed the door open with his magic.

All they registered was that there was a bed waiting. Severus gently, but hurriedly put Harry down on the bed and climbed on top of him, ridding both of them from their offending clothes.

Harry's hands found their way into Severus' hair and to his back, pulling him even closer. He moaned as their erections brushed against each other, raising his hips to get more friction. "Want . . . want . . ." he gasped helplessly and let Severus' capture his lips again.

Severus got lost in the sensation of touching and kissing Harry. The sweet scent of Harry was all around him and he couldn't think anymore. He had lost all his inhibitions out in the hallway and all that counted here, in Harry's sanctuary, was getting more of Harry.

"Yes," Severus breathed against Harry's mouth and pushed Harry's legs apart. "Have you. . .?"

Harry shook his head and bit his lip, but Severus' didn't look like that admission would stop him. He just slowed down a little bit, covered Harry's torso with kisses that made Harry's writhe in anticipation.

Harry supposed he should feel nervous, but he could only think about it finally happening. Severus was here and he was touching him and –

Another gasp, surprised and aroused, was ripped from Harry's throat. Severus' fingers were sliding in and out of him, preparing him, brushing his prostate. He needed more, he wanted – Harry pushed back eagerly against Severus' fingers and whined slightly when they were withdrawn.

Severus took his cock into his hand and ever so slowly pushed into Harry. He watched how Harry's face crunched and relaxed again, waited till Harry opened his eyes and pulled him down for a kiss before he started moving again.

"Yes!" The groan mingled with Harry's responding one on their tongues as their hips snapped together. Severus' cock sank deeply into Harry, before withdrawing and plunging in again. Their movements became frantic and Harry wormed a hand between them to work his own cock.

The tingle filled both of them at the same time, racing from the middle of their thighs down to their toes and up again. Harry came bare moments before Severus, who followed with a hoarse cry, then slumped down.

Gently, he kissed Harry's shoulder and sighed. Was this really it? The end of their misery?

"Stay," Harry murmured sleepily and spelled the blanket over their naked forms.

Severus didn't know if Harry meant him or himself, but he just took both possibilities for granted, closed his eyes and fell asleep.

THE END

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