I have yet to determine if this is a one shot or not. I've been writing and re-writing this for months, and I can't figure out if I should make this longer. I usually don't do one shots, but I really like how this turned out. Should I turn this into a multi-chapter story?

For all of you who are anxiously anticipating my sequel to Forbidden Fates, the posts will hopefully start soon- I want to get a bit more finished before I post anything for that. Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing my stories. I hope you like this one.I usually don't do a Sev POV, but I wanted to do something different.

Warnings: Slash, HPSS. Attempted suicide.


Pretty Little Thing

He had changed. I could see it immediately as he walked in. Not the physical changes of puberty over a long summer, no, his eyes. They locked on mine for just a second, and then let go, dropping to the floor as he followed his friends into the room. He's grown. Not so much so that he is unpleasantly tall (as a matter of fact, he had not grown an inch since his fifth year), but that he had grown into his beauty.

I think I saw it before anyone else. Before the fluttering, stuttering fan girls, before older women probably even started turning their heads as he passed them on the streets. I saw it when he was just a boy, when I saw him in the Great Hall for the first time in a line of other snotty little children. I had waited so long for this, for him to mature perfectly, to ripen, to be just…sweet enough as I pluck him from those crowds that seem to gather around him. He was pretty,young, and a bit thin and wane, but he is even more beautiful now.

His magic calls to me, it's strong, deceptively so, from that slender frame. We're at an Order meeting, his first, despite he's yet to enter his seventh year. The thought reminds me that he is technically still my student. It makes me feel dirty.

My attention is called upon as Albus starts the meeting. "Settle down, settle down." His twinkling eyes reign over us all, sometimes annoying with the way he knows, the way he controls everything. I wish for this war to be over soon, so I can pursue my boy in peace.

As the meeting drones on, report after report, I steal a glance over the members of the Order. Molly. So upset that her two youngest are allowed to attend meetings now, even though they've been under the influence of the Order and Albus for ages. Arthur, talking seriously with his eldest son, Bill.

Fred and George, trading whispers as well, probably of more interesting subjects than business like their father. Ron, his face red as he glares at the floorboards, probably angry or jealous because of Miss Granger's fleeting, worried glances at Harry. Harry sits between them, as usual, to keep the peace. I look away as he meets my eyes.

I see Miss Weasley, also glancing at Harry, twirling a strand of her trademark Weasley red hair around a finger, although probably for a different reason than Miss Granger.

Teenagers.

I move on, studying Tonks, who is watching Moody make his report. The wolf is sitting next to her, brooding and grey, staring at the table. Still in mourning for his mutt, no doubt. It is my time to make my report.

"Severus?"

"He is still gathering followers. He intends to keep quiet about his plans until the last moment, for fear of a traitor, but he is thinking of heading toward the continent to gather a few vampire clans."

"Troublesome. I assume you spoke to the proper people and made preparations already." Albus said, twinkle dimming just slightly. Yes Albus, nearly tell everyone in the Order my secret. I nod silently and sit back down.

Albus speaks up once more. "I think it is time for advanced training for our newest members. That is why I asked all of you to come here tonight."

Miss Granger grins, Mr. Weasley puffs his chest out slightly, anger disappearing, and Mr. Potter's face is unmoving. I can see the anger there, even if no one else can't. He isn't the only one who thought that training should have started long ago.

"Remus, Tonks, and Shacklebolt will be taking turns for the rest of the holidays. During the school year, Severus will be taking over."

I turn to the Headmaster in surprise. He glances at me, and I know I cannot fight it, despite what I say. The children start protesting at once with the usual diatribes, but Mr. Potter is conspicuously absent. He is most likely glad to receive any training, he doesn't care who it's from.

The meeting ends quickly, and I hear Molly telling everyone to stay on afterwards for cake and tea, a celebration for Miss Granger's and Mr. Weasley's induction as Head Boy and Head Girl, another merit for good behavior, most likely.

Everyone stays after for the free food, and they all mill around. I'm about to take my leave, but Albus shakes his head, so I must stay. I lurk in the corner, glaring at everyone who comes near. Bill breaks out the firewhiskey, and the adults seem a bit happier, and Molly pushes the children away from the drunks.

I slip out, unnoticed. Granger and younger Weasleys eat their cake on the stairs, I see Potter slip into the library. Curious, I follow, waiting a few moments. As I enter the room, he's scanning the books silently. I take in his form.

Hardly taller than a female fourth year, about 5' 1", and not likely to grow any taller, he's beautiful. Pale, unmarred skin, dark hair brushing between his shoulder blades, wearing dark jeans and a faded emerald Weasley sweater, and scuffed school shoes. His usual standard, then. What I would give to see him wear something a bit more...interesting. The clothes do not seem right on him, no matter how I look at it. Like they are just coverings, not paid much attention to. Which is probably true. I like his longer hair though, it suits him.

"Professor Snape."

I've been caught. His emerald eyes stare at me, making me freeze momentarily as I stand in the doorway. I close the door behind me.

"Potter."

"How are you?"

Taken aback slightly by the question, I answer automatically. "Fine."

Potter just smiles. "I always say that too." He looks back towards the bookshelves. I watch him for a moment more, then go to sit on the couch. He eyes me for a moment, then sits on the armrest of an armchair close by, thighs on either side. The sight teases me, and I look away.

"I assume Dumbledore didn't tell you he was going to have you train us. He forgets to ask sometimes. He always assumes we will always do as he asks." His lilting voice falls on me, and I realize Harry Potter is…making a joke?

I look at him, and he smiles shyly. So pretty. His fingers run up and down his thighs, which are covered in the worn, baggy, faded jeans, in a fit of nerves. I watch them, wishing those were my hands, caressing those slender thighs that I know are hidden beneath that clothing.

A sigh makes me look up. What draws me to him? Why have I become so fixated on him? It is not his fame, it is not just lust…if it was just that, I would have acted on my feelings long ago. Something drives me further, deeper towards him, spiraling out of sync with the rest of the world around me…he drives me mad!

"Sir…may I…ask something?" My thoughts abruptly stop at his hesitant question. I nod, curious. There are many things the boy could ask, now that we are at better speaking terms with one another…not close enough to be friends…but…more like colleagues of a strange sort.

"Have you ever been in love?"

I am taken aback. The child asks if I've ever been in love. Something unexpected, most people don't think I'm capable of it. I say so to him. I idly wonder why the question was asked.

He shakes his head. "I don't think so." He says softly. "You are…patient. You pay attention to details. You work hard. I think whoever you would fall in love with would be very lucky…"

I stare at him. "Yes. I have been." I murmur, looking down. My chest feels constricted, as it does when I am near him, but it is even more so than usual. The things he says… boys shouldn't be talking of such things with me.

He slides off of the arm rest. "What was it like?" An innocent question. I wish I could show you, that I could treat you with every passion, every feeling that I know you deserve to have. How you've been deprived of these feelings, I know. I used to be like you. So hopeful. Naive.

What is it like? Obsessive unrequited love that makes you feel like a dirty old man, but at the same time so alive, that you would do anything for a chance to have it…I think these things, but I cannot say it to the boy.

He can tell I'm not going to answer him.

"I've never been in love. The Headmaster says that Love is what will save me. How will it, if I don't know what it is? I was never shown love by my relatives, and I certainly know that those people in there don't really love…me. They love what I represent…I think."

Part of me feels sorry for the boy. I could never show it though. He would never accept it. I want to comfort him. Say something.

"The Headmaster is sometimes foolish. As if the Dark Lord could be felled by love."

"I suppose it's a good thing that someone knows better." He smiles slightly. "Thank you for…everything, I guess. You don't have to put up with us, but you do it anyways."

He shifts.

Its all for you. I do it all for you. I want you to live long enough to realize there is more to life than…just running from danger.

Our eyes meet, and I'm secretly afraid he can see my feelings for him. But he doesn't. "Thanks for listening, I suppose."


It is the middle of the night the next time I see him. It is just a few days later, but I had been roused from the books in my rooms by a frantic Dumbledore. He tells me there is something wrong, to bring my supplies. He's already called Poppy.

I floo into Headquarters, following the wails of Mrs. Weasley. Other than that, there are whispers and cries, and something feels dreadfully wrong. I see Dumbledore's face, he is pale, and looks older than I have ever seen him.

"What has happened?"

"Harry…see to him. See what you can do." The old man pleads.

My feet react before my brain, taking the stairs two steps at a time. I follow the wails to the room at the end of the hall. Dumbledore is at my heels as I throw open the door. The wails grow louder, from Mrs. Weasley presumably, but all I can see is blood.

Sweet smelling blood, with a spicy dark tinge that fills the air, covering bedding, surrounding a pale, gaunt like figure. Poppy is already at the boy's side, trying to heal him, but no luck…the wounds are not closing. They are self inflicted- cuts oozing blood from thin wrists, onto the sheets.

I grip him by the chin, and I know exactly what to do. "Mr. Potter, you are not going to die. You are going to live, damn it!" He slapped the boy, making Potter gasp, eyes flicking open.

"S-Sir?" He rasped, his voice is soft, unbelieving.

I look down, and the wounds are slowly healing themselves. That is the only way to heal self inflicted wounds. I would know. I look to Poppy, Mrs. Weasley, and Dumbledore with a dark look. "I suggest you all make yourselves useful elsewhere."

The three of them leave quickly, leaving the two of us alone. I raise his blood-slicked wrist up to his face, and he cringes away.

"No. Look at it." I grip it harder, and his eyes flick to his wrist.

"Why would you do such a thing?"

Those eyes look into mine. He knows. I don't know how, but he knows.

"If you don't believe in love, how can I?" He whispers weakly.

"Silly, foolish child." I whisper, pulling him close. "Don't ever scare me like that again." I hold onto him tight, not caring if I get blood on me.

He stares up at me. "I…don't understand."

"How am I to ravish you properly if you are dead?" I whisper in a joking tone, but I'm not really joking. He can tell.

"Sir…" He breathes, and soft lips press to mine. Hunger consumes me, and I press back.


yay kisses!

So, should I make this a one shot, or should I continue? If I get enough reviews and ideas, perhaps I will post more. There are lots of ways that this story could go, and I'm not sure which direction to take it in. REVIEWS are awesome. You will make me do the 'fangirl dance' if you post them. Believe me, I will.