Title: Glasses Lost
Word count: ~6,000
Warning(s): character death
Prompt: 25. "PTSD. Alcoholism."
Summary: Harry is not enjoying Professor McGonagall's party, so he leaves to wander the dungeons.
A/N: Thank you so much, leela_cat, for being the best beta ever. I'm really grateful to you and your expertise.
My footsteps echoed and came back to me. They made me nervous when they clicked under my feet once, and then three times on their return – each step more distorted than the last. It seemed I had a silent horde following me – ghosts that had come at my bidding, and stayed long past the moment I'd thrown away the Stone that called them.
The halls of Hogwarts made me uneasy.
Professor McGonagall – I'd never learned to call her Minerva – had the idea that there should be a party at Hogwarts to celebrate the defeat of Lord Voldemort on that illustrious date's anniversary. This party was to be separate from the parties that the rest of the world was throwing. She'd invited everyone who had been at Hogwarts that day. Our own, cozy, celebration.
The party brought me no happiness. I left soon after it'd begun and wandered around the school, finding myself in the dark halls of the dungeons.
The dungeons were creepy, making me glad once again that I had chosen Gryffindor over Slytherin. I stumbled in the hall and caught myself with my hand on the wall. It came away covered in a kind of slime. It must have been clinging to that wall, congealing and fermenting, because when I snatched my hand back the stench made my stomach roil. I pulled out my wand and evanesco'ed the mess away, wincing as the spell stung my hand.
I kept walking.
Until the echoes of my steps changed, and I whirled, my wand pointed. I stared, but there was nothing in the dark hallways nearby. My breaths came fast and hard as I watched for threats. I thought I had heard something – something sneaking up on me. I caught a flash of bright green out of the corner of my eye and froze perfectly, even my heart seeming to halt.
A moment later I turned to see what had caused the light, but there was nothing but darkness.
Keeping my wand out, I continued to walk, clamping reason down over panic every time the sound of my steps changed. There was nothing there – no one stalking me. There never was. But the dungeons unnerved me completely. So dark, so ephemeral. I shuddered and ran my hand along the wall. I would gladly caress slime and ichor again – anything to anchor myself in reality.
As I walked I grew more at ease. It became a personal challenge of sorts. Could I walk through the dungeons at night? Yes, I could.
I smiled, my grip on my wand relaxing and my gaze wandering over the portraits and walls. My sight was adjusting, and I saw the portraits shifting in their frames, the painted wind gently blowing through landscapes.
Then I looked up and saw the ceiling. Frozen by the sight, I paused, staring up at it. Spiders covered the ceiling. Tiny spiders. Huge spiders. They clung to the rocks above, crawling over each other like horrid beetles. Great webs glistened and hung. Ever so faintly, I could hear the rustle of tiny claw feet scraping over carapaces as they moved. I broke from my paralysis and hurried my steps until I was past them, glad I hadn't noticed them before.
I heard breathing ahead of me. Harsh breathing, roughened by distress. I clutched my wand and crept closer. All I could make out in the darkness was a set of flowing robes over a hunched body.
I couldn't light my wand – it would destroy my vision and leave me open to attack. I held still, my heart beating fast. As the figure looked up at me his eyes glinted deadly green.
Harry leaned over Snape. The man's cold eyes stared up at him - Harry had heard some girls say that you could read the world in a person's eyes, but he had never seen anything in Snape's.
Snape's bloody hands clawed at Harry's collar. His mouth opened and worked for a moment, before a horrible rasp of a voice came out. "Take it... take…" Silvery fluid began to pour from the man, matching his deathly pallor. Harry stared at it. He watched the fluid slip down over the man's cheeks and into his greasy hair, unable to think of a way to stop it.
Hermione thrust a small flask into his hand, and Harry gratefully held it under the flow of silver liquid. Watching the fluid fill the flask, he remembered what it was – memories. Snape slumped as his strength failed, drawing Harry further down.
Still clinging to life, he stared up at Harry. "Look…at…me…." He breathed, and Harry stared into his dark eyes, no longer so cold, but desperate. His hand trembled on Harry's collar.
Hermione hissed and pushed Harry back. "You bastard," she ground out with uncharacteristic vehemence. "You're not going to die, not after all of this."
As Harry watched, the life in Snape's eyes wavered and vanished, and his hand, still clutching at Harry, fell to the floor with a thud. Hermione screeched, startling Harry badly, and began waving her wand about.
"Tergeo. Sanguis Desino."
Suddenly a high, cold voice echoed through the Shrieking Shack and Harry whipped his wand out, convinced that Voldemort had returned. But he had not. He was merely broadcasting another ultimatum.
Harry pressed his lips together. Hermione slowed in her work and they listened grimly to the statement.
"You have fought valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses…"
As Voldemort spoke Ron grew more and more grim. When the Dark Lord had finished he practically shouted, "Don't you dare!" Harry glanced over, surprised, and saw that Ron was looking at him.
"Don't listen to him, Harry. He's lying."
"Yes, Harry," Hermione added, her wand moving over Snape's still form. "You must know he's lying. Don't even think of doing what he says."
"Of course I know that," Harry said, wondering. He stared at Snape, lying there. "I won't listen to him."
Hermione looked down at Snape, then smiled triumphantly. "I don't think that he'll die now. I need to get him to Madame Pomfrey, but he should live. I won't let him die after everything he's done. He deserves to live." She snarled the last statement, sending a chill through Harry as he imagined what would happen to the man after he recovered – after they'd won.
He gathered his invisibility cloak from the floor. "We need to go back to the castle. Ron nodded and stood, clearly relieved to be going back towards his family. Harry made to follow him but Hermione hesitated.
"You two go on. Snape will take some time, and I'm not about to undo all the work I've just done."
Ron immediately made to come back to her but she waved him away. "No, Ron, I'll be perfectly fine on my own. Voldemort won't be coming back here." She squared her shoulders and looked at Harry. "Besides, you need to watch Harry. Make sure that he stays away from the forest."
Harry frowned at her, and she smiled exhaustedly. Smiling back, he nodded. "You'll be right behind us?" he asked.
"Of course," she replied. Ron and Harry moved towards the tunnel, and Hermione returned to Snape.
I hated this school. Every day, the walls closed in on me a little more. I wished I could leave here and make a new life for myself, but I had nowhere else to go.
Any friends I had once had were barred to me by Voldemort's defeat. For who would let a former Death Eater, even one proven innocent of malicious crimes, associate with his former partners? I had nowhere to turn and nowhere to go but this school. And I hated it – oh, how I hated it.
I paused in the hall, leaned against the wall. My breath shuddered out of me, tainted by my hate. The dark halls closed around me. After a moment, I pushed against the wall and stood as I always did. I pushed past my hate and tried to calm myself. I would survive.
Farther down the dimly lit hall I spied a figure. I paused, wondering. There were few people in the school tonight, and I thought that they were all at McGonagall's party.
The figure stopped suddenly, swaying with the speed at which it halted, and stared at the ceiling. It crouched slightly, looking up. I glanced up at the ceiling but saw nothing. A madman, then. An uninvited guest? Intrigued, I stepped closer. Was this my death? Albus Dumbledore, perhaps, returned from the grave? A survivor of the war seeking revenge?
My heartbeat sped as I watched the figure. It lurched into movement unexpectedly and my breath caught in my throat. I felt hope build within at the thought of what was to come, instincts asserting themselves to counter those hopes.
I pulled my wand up, lighting the tip. And was disappointed once again.
Light sprung from the tip of Snape's wand, and his eyes faded to dead black. I flinched back and snarled. The sight of his hand, graceful and long, holding his wand up brought back horrifying memories of a schoolboy crush. I pushed those memories away.
Damn him, the bastard. Couldn't he show a little consideration? He'd nearly blinded me. But I supposed not. He'd always been that way. Worthless and cruel.
I wondered what he had been doing, leaning against the wall. My curiosity was piqued, mingling with my loathing.
"Well, hello Professor." I spoke steadily, despite the drinks I'd had before I left McGonagall's party.
"Potter." Snape's voice was quiet – the rasp had never gone away, despite Madame Pomfrey's healing. Every time I heard him speak, I felt his ghostly hand on my throat, pulling me down, closer. I could see the demented half-light of the Shack, smell the thick dust…
He turned to walk away, and anger replaced the apprehension his voice had raised in me. How dare he? He wanted to ignore me? Now? After everything?
"I do wonder what you're doing here," I said following him down the hall. "I mean, crouched in the corner like some horrid...old...bat. I thought that you only did things like that in the daytime."
"Do grow up, Potter. And go home."
The castle was eerily silent when they finally reached it, and when they entered the Great Hall Harry knew why. The bodies of the dead had been laid out across the tables where students usually sat.
Harry stopped and stared as Ron rushed forward to join his family. He saw Hagrid, Remus and Tonks, and so many others. But in the end, his eyes were drawn to only one.
Far down the table, next to her brother, red hair spreading like dark flame, lay Ginny. She was pale and still, and seeing her there made him want to scream. He backed slowly out of the hall but couldn't take his eyes off her body. He couldn't breathe.
He was dimly aware of McGonagall rushing from the hall to accost Hermione, who had come up behind him. They argued for a moment before Hermione ran past him to catch up with Ron, breaking Harry's stillness.
He sucked in a breath of unseasonably icy air. Turned and ran numbly – away from the hall. When Harry finally knew where he was, he was standing in the Headmaster's office, the flask of Snape's memories clutched in his hands.
Damn him, I thought. Snape knew very well that I had no home. Everyone knew that. "Why? Do you want me gone? Are you afraid of me, Professor?" I hissed the last word and leaned close to him. I wanted him to look at me. He wasn't allowed to verbally assault me and then just walk away. Not allowed.
Snape whirled around, and I grinned. Finally, a reaction.
"I want you to get this through your thick head, Potter. I am not, and never have been, afraid of you. You are an abominable leech and a greater cretin than even your father – something I had not believed possible. I am not afraid of you. I simply want you as far from me as possible."
I stared, breathless, as he turned and left. He...he.. Even my thoughts staggered to a halt. I ran after him. He would not have the last word. I'd show him. I wasn't a little boy he could insult at will. Not anymore. He'd be sorry for saying things like that to me.
Potter. I couldn't believe that he had had the nerve to accost me like that, in the middle of the night.
The boy, for I could not bear to call him anything else, was a drunk. He was a notorious drunk, and had been so since the Final Battle. Making his way into the depths of the dungeons and insulting me, his feet unsteady and voice loud, only proved the depths to which he had fallen.
I didn't want to argue with him. I didn't want to see him. I wanted him out of my life, out of the newspapers and, to be perfectly honest, dead.
I ran after him, my thoughts in chaos as I attempted to respond. "My father!" I finally burst out. He paused, then kept walking. Frustrated, I thought hard. Ah! I had seized on it. A sure way to make him pay attention. "You keep comparing me to my father. But I want to know how much I'm like my mother!"
He stopped, and slowly turned.
I stood, hands on my hips, challenging him. His eyes grew colder as he looked at me. "You are nothing like your mother. Nothing. You shame her."
Ron settled next to Harry at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall. It was two days after the conclusion of the Final Battle and the death of Voldemort, and the tables had been cleared. Still, Harry thought the table in front of him felt cold – as if the chill from the dead bodies had seeped into the wood and would remain there for eternity.
He folded his hands together and placed them on the table, where the wood was coldest. Ron slid a glass of water in front of him. Harry frowned at it. Water? Ron shrugged.
"Figured that you needed it, mate." He lifted his own glass. "We all need it." Ron squinted at his own glass, his eyes dark, and tipped it back, choking slightly as he swallowed.
Harry stared at him. He tried to figure out what Ron was doing, but couldn't. So he opened his mouth and, after a momentary hesitation, asked, "What are you talking about?"
Ron rubbed his throat, and in a raspy voice answered, "Firewhisky."
Harry blinked slowly and looked back at the drink, sitting so innocently in front on him. Hermione settled down next to and leaned over.
"We're legal, and this is a special occasion, so." She lifted her own glass in a toast and turned to Ron. "Honestly, Ron, what do you think you're doing? Small drinks. He told when he gave it to you…"
As she spoke Harry examined his glass of whiskey. The drink was deceptive. It looked exactly like water. Slowly, dully, he lifted his hand and curled it around the glass. Warmth streaked down his arm with a shock, and Harry's lips parted.
Almost in a daze, he brought the glass to his mouth and took a tiny sip. His lips buzzed, and his jaw clenched. Heat shot through him like a streak of lightning – searing and refreshing – as he swallowed. The chill of death – of Ginny's death, of his own death – finally waned and vanished.
He drank again.
Anger flamed through me like the best liquor. He would accuse me of shaming my mother? He? I dove for Snape, intending to hurt him, though I wasn't sure how. He stepped back, and my grasping hands seized on the waist of his robes instead of the collar as I'd intended. My knees slammed into the ground.
I stared up at him, frozen. The light still cascading from his wandtip lit his face pleasantly – far more gentle than the fires of the torches most common in the castle. Memories of watching his hands work during class swarmed back to me. Long fingers curled around the handle of a small potions knife, which glittered in the torchlight.
My eyes moved over him, captivated. My anger drained away. His lips were thin and smooth. His tongue darted out to moisten them, glistening as it slid back in. His eyes shone in the light, reflecting flames that didn't burn. He stared at me, eyes intent and roving.
He grabbed the collar of my robes and lifted me back against the wall. My breath stuttered.
"Don't you dare touch me," he hissed. "You've made a mess of your life for the past five years, and I refuse to let you drag me down with you."
I sneered, my hate for him pouring back into and mixing with my desire.
I kissed him viciously, biting down on his lower lip. He gasped into my mouth, and I stared hungrily into his face. His dark eyes were wide and shining. He tried to pull back, but I had wrapped my arms around him like tentacles and held him close. I was stunned by my own daring. But it felt so good. I smiled and laughed, twisting closer as his grip on my neck relaxed.
I kept kissing him, and slowly he relaxed, his eyes slipping closed. His mouth was so warm and dry. My cheeks flushed as I reached up to begin undoing the buttons of his robes. He pushed me back against the wall briefly, jarring me loose, then stepped away, panting for breath. I saw desire flash in his eyes as he looked at me and I smiled ferally. My erection throbbed with anticipation.
Then he shoved me away, and I hit the wall. Pain flared through me, making my thoughts stumble. He backed up one unsteady step, then turned and walked quickly away. I watched him, breathless. Slowly I began to think again. No, I wouldn't let him get away. He couldn't ignore me.
I hurried away from Potter. Far away. In any direction but towards Potter.
That damned boy was so infuriating. First he had followed me up and down the halls, insulting me as best he could (feeble, really), and then he kissed me. My lips stung, sore from Potter's bite. I tried to do up the top of my robes where Potter had succeeded in slipping the buttons free, but my fingers were shaking.
There. If I turned here, I could get back to my rooms in just a few moments. I would be safe there.
Safe from Potter? I asked myself. The boy's kisses had been surprisingly adept, despite his obvious drunkenness, and, for an instant, lust had taken me by surprise. I hadn't felt such purely physical desire for many years, and it had taken a monumental effort to wrench myself away.
But I had to get away from Potter. He was Potter. I simply couldn't sleep with him.
I followed Snape down the dungeon halls. He was easy to find, obviously distracted by my attentions. When he reached his rooms – hidden behind a dark, recessed door, so predictable – he whispered the password and slipped inside.
He didn't shut the door, so I caught it with trembling fingers and followed him in. I reached out, my hand coming close but not quite touching him. He led me deeper into a maze of rooms that could lead directly to the Chamber of Secrets for all I knew.
As we walked through his sitting room, his lab, and other rooms, I dimly saw his hands lift and begin to undo the robe fastenings at his neck. I reached up and with tingling fingers slipped the buttons from their holes at the neck of my robes.
one, two, three
The collar of my robes fell loose. I reached down to my stomach.
one, two, three, four, five
With each button undone I took a step, keeping the distance between us. I rolled my shoulders, and with a slither and rustle they fell to the floor. Snape didn't pause, and I watched as he kept undoing his robes.
I followed. Slowly, I undid the cuffs of first my left sleeve, then my right. I began working on the row of buttons that ran down my chest. In front of me, Snape's robe billowed and I knew that he had undone the last button. But he did not slide it off.
He stopped in the next room and I didn't hesitate, taking the last step into his bedroom. A large bed sat flush against the opposite wall. Snape raised his wand, and a candle lit itself opposite the bed, casting just enough light to see.
I pulled the last button out of its hole, and savored the rush of cool air that fell across my chest. Snape turned, and I saw that although he wore trousers, he wore nothing else under his robes.
I moved towards the bed and this time he was following me. Glee rushed up within. I spun and took quick steps back towards the bed but my legs felt awkward and I stumbled back until they hit the mattress and I wrenched to a halt.
Snape pushed me back and I fell. I laughed. Finally. I had followed him for what seemed like forever, and finally, finally, we were here. His fingers trailed like fire, sending shocks across the bare skin of my chest. He pulled my shirt down and off me.
Cotton shifted against my cock as I was shoved farther back on the bed. I groaned. My heart pounded, and a flush ran along my cheeks. He didn't pause, following me. The bed dipped under his weight and my hips canted up with it.
I pushed up onto my elbows, and he shoved me back down. As I slammed into the soft sheets, his mouth slammed into mine. I gasped, opening my mouth and kissing as desperately as possible. But my tongue was clumsy, slippery from the drinks I'd had earlier and my own inexperience with such passion. I felt like I was drowning in him.
He bit my lip and I squirmed as my eyes flew open wide, reaching for him but repeatedly losing my grasp. My gaze was drawn inexorably to his. His dark eyes shone in the dark room.
I smiled and threw my head back. He shifted and bit my ear. Pure feeling shot straight to my cock, and my arms shuddered under me. I lay there feeling him work on me. He kissed my neck and his mouth shocked me, tightening my nipples on my chest and drawing a deep moan from me.
I didn't see him move but his hand was suddenly on me – I wasn't completely hard yet – close, so close – but the sensation sent a tremor through me and I arched back and up. He was tantalizingly close.
He leaned down and whispered in my ear, his voice deep and raspy. "You're drunk. You're drunk," he whispered.
Yes, I thought, of course I'm drunk, I'm always drunk.
My hips jerked against his, and I frowned. I felt, against my cock, only a slight hardness. "Come on," I whined. He pulled back and frowned down at me like I was a student once more and I laughed, suddenly cheerful. I surged up to kiss him and he slowed us down, making each movement of his mouth against mine slow and torturous.
Languidly, I fell back and let him kiss me.
When he finally pulled back, I blinked up at him owlishly. He had removed my glasses. When? I was dizzy from lack of air and something else. My lips parted, I stared up, numb. He slid off the bed slowly. With a delicious shift of his shoulders, he removed his robes and let them slide to the floor.
Potter lay limp upon my bed, dark hair blending into the darkness around him. His eyes were hungry. So was I.
I saw his eyes flash as I shrugged off my robe, and so I made my next motions slow. I reached down and pulled lightly at the first button on my trousers, taking a full moment to undo it. There were five buttons on my trousers, and I took my time with each one. By the time I was finished, Potter was panting hard. His hand cupped his cock – obviously desperate to come but not willing to do it himself.
I smiled to myself. Yes, he would come by my hand and no other.
I removed my trousers and pants quickly. As I moved back onto the bed, Potter moaned and reached for me. I pushed aside my doubts and kissed him. His breath was thick and fiery – tainted by the drinks he had consumed earlier – for I was sure he had eaten nothing. He was so nimble and young, and he squirmed under me, teasing me with his presence.
We pulled out of the kiss at the same moment. Potter reached down, eyes unfocused as he stretched. His hand seized my cock, and I allowed my eyes to drift closed at the hot contact.
"Finally," he whispered, his voice nearly as rough as mine.
I opened my eyes and grasped Potter's shoulder, turning him over. I remembered myself in an instant and slipped off the bed, rummaging in my robes for my wand and nearly springing back onto the bed when I found it. Potter was still on his stomach, hips jerking futilely against the mattress.
Sliding my hands beneath his hips, I drew them up. His very skin trembled at my touch. From the depths of my memory, I cast a spell and then threw my wand aside. The spell would not ensure comfort, but it would ensure that neither of us injured ourselves.
I reached forward, my hands moving of their own volition, feeling for his entrance. He gasped as my fingers caressed the small pucker, and I quickly shoved them inside. Potter sighed and then groaned, his head falling back and his back arching.
I nearly moaned myself at the heat of him so near. With a sharp twist I plunged my fingers deeper and he cried out, wordless in his pleasure. I pulled them out. Satisfaction curled within me like a sated cat as I guided my cock forward and pushed inside him.
Potter shivered beneath me, and I could see his mouth in profile, gasping. The tightness surrounding me was exhilarating, and I moved deeper. Potter's cries were wordless combinations of pain and pleasure, and he twisted to drive me more deeply into him.
I was glad to oblige him in this. The rough friction as I moved in, then out of him drove my passion to yet unreached levels. Soon we had established a hard rhythm, guided by nothing but my own desire.
As my climax built, I clutched at the sheets, my perceptions overtaken and narrowed to this tiny world of pressure and sensation and oh yes pain, unable to stop. Suddenly Potter cried out and writhed under me, his muscles clamping tight for an instant. And I fell apart as well, shattering and drowning and losing all rational thought and constraint.
Potter fell out from under me to lie prone, unsheathing me. I slid off the bed and tried to stand, only to end up leaning against the bedpost, panting. As I breathed, I watched him.
He stared back for an instant, and then as if nothing in the world could stop it, his eyes slipped closed. His face was simple, like a child's, and his lips stretched themselves into a broad smile.
Leaving him there to sleep, I staggered over to the armchair across the room to seek my own rest.
I woke slowly, morning sunlight boring through my eyelids. I squinted and shifted in the bed, then froze. This was not my bed. I could feel it.
I opened my eyes and looked at the blank wall across from me. Stacked stones, worn smooth by many years. I was in the dungeons. I shifted and slowly turned back towards the sun, regretting the movement instantly. Both the light and the turn had aggravated my headache – a leftover from the night before that I clamped down on. I was used to it.
I forced myself to think through the pain – think clearly. A window. There was a window in the dungeons. Where the hell am I?
Slowly I stood, facing the blank wall once more. I did not want to look at the sunlight – so obviously enchanted – just yet. I winced at the pain in my arse. I had had sex. But with whom? My mind remained fuzzy as I tried to remember.
The sheets slipped off me as I stood, and chill air rushed over me. Hastily I pulled them back around me but it was too late. The cold tongue of death had touched me. I would have no relief until I found something to drink. And that meant I had to look at the light.
I turned, with my eyes fully opened, and the sunlight burned me.
She leaned over him, silver hair soft and shining, bright sunlight burning though it. Like an angel. Harry stared up at her. So he was dead. Dumbledore had said that he would not die, but he was dead after all. Harry was torn. He'd wanted to live. He'd wanted to save them all. But he was dead, and it was so, very, peaceful.
Then her voice broke through to him. "Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?" she hissed at him, her face twisted in desperation. He remembered her then. Narcissa Malfoy. Draco's mother. He blinked once, then nodded slightly, unwilling to speak.
She sat up straight, her thin fingers gripping him almost painfully. "He is dead, my Lord!" she proclaimed.
Yes, I am. I'm dead.
He couldn't get the thought out of his head. As Hagrid, weeping, picked up his limp body and began to carry it, Harry thought, I'm dead.
When they reached the battlefield and a single cry of grief rose at the sight of him, he thought, I am dead. See, they are mourning for me.
It was only amidst the battle, when he fell to the cold stone floor, that Harry discovered that he was not, actually, dead. He only felt that way.
I gasped, overcome by the not-so-distant memory. My aching eyes wandered around the room, so empty of life and decoration, and I remembered the night before. Snape. I had slept with Snape.
My stomach roiled for a second, disturbed by the very idea, and then I remembered his hands. Those dry hands, with their long dangerous wonderful fingers, caressing me. And his surprisingly soft lips, hot and shocking on my forever-cold skin.
For a moment, even the chill that pervaded me retreated under the assault of those memories. And then it returned, worse than ever, cold spears driving through every part of me. I wrapped the sheets tighter, but they didn't help. Nothing helped but alcohol. It didn't matter that I'd slept with Snape. All that mattered was that I get home, to my bottles, and push back the cold that had overtaken me.
Dragging the sheets behind me, I searched the room for my glasses. I didn't know where my clothes were either, but the sheet would work. But, I couldn't do anything without my glasses. I needed them.
I searched the bedside table, knocking something, perhaps a candlestick, over with a bang. I searched a desk that I found by stumbling into it. I searched the sheets themselves, sitting down on the floor and pulling them into my lap, squinting as I ran my fingers through the folds. Nothing.
Dismay curled within me, deepening the freezing of my heart. I needed my glasses. Without them, I could do nothing, go nowhere, I couldn't call Ron or Hermione – they had refused to help when this sort of thing happened. I had no one. I had to find my glasses.
I began to crawl, feeling the floor as I went. Then I saw something out of the corner of my eye. A tall, dark shape with glittering eyes. Snape.
I sat at my desk, alone in my empty classroom. My hand came up and brushed over my eyes as I remembered the previous night. How foolish had I been, to sleep with Potter? I had obviously gone mad. It had seemed like a fine idea at the time, I recalled. And my memories were so intense that it almost seemed like a good idea now.
Potter's glasses sat, full of innocence, on the desk before me. I stared at them. They were so like James'. But both he and Lily seemed so far away now, and I found myself unable to muster either love or hate for them.
Potter was sleeping in my bed. I had not been able to sleep well and had left my room to sit here in the wee hours of the morning. Only, my classroom didn't feel as comfortable as it once had. The entire room felt off, simply odd. My routine was broken, and I didn't know if I could ever go back.
There was a crash from my bedroom, and I slowly stood. Potter was awake then. I wasn't sure what I'd do when I saw him. My mind was consumed by memories of the night before and my own tangled emotions.
I took my time in getting to my room. When I reached it, Potter was on the floor, wrapped in a sheet and crawling with his arms outstretched. He looked up at me suddenly, eyes unfocused.
"Snape," he began, his voice rough. "I, uh, have you seen my glasses? I need them, you see. I have to get home, and I need to go now but I can't get there without my glasses and…"
He rambled on, but I merely watched him. His hands were shaking. He stuttered as he talked and appeared nervous despite the erection that I could see though my sheets. He wanted to go home and drink. I could tell. An alcoholic can never go for long without liquor.
I frowned down at him, toying with his glasses as I considered. Should I give him his glasses? Let him go home and ruin himself once more?
I remembered his body in my bed, lithe and desperate, his face shining with a terrible happiness as I fucked him. No, I decided, I would not let him go.
So I slipped his glasses into my pocket and whipped out my wand.
"iSomnus,/i" I said, and Potter didn't even try to avoid the spell, though he could clearly see it coming, even without his glasses. He slumped and I levitated him over to the bed. I would have to brew many potions for him, and I couldn't afford to give him back his glasses yet. I would cure him of his addictions – I would save him yet again.
I considered his peaceful face as he slept. Lying so still, he looked almost like the dead.
A/N: So here it is. The Snarry-A-Thon entry. With the reveals up, I can finally post this. And I'm afraid that I won't be posting anything else for a while. I've signed up for about five too many fests, and so I'm going to be working hrd to finish them for a while yet. And then they all have their own reveal dates and such...
In any case, nothing for a while. But I will try to put aside time to finish Simplicity of the Soul, and I'm working on getting things beta'ed. So, there is progress, though it's slow.