Harry's first weeks at Hogwarts that year were spent either in detention, exhaustion, or complete silence. Hermione pestered him constantly, begging for him to tell her what was wrong. Finally he snapped at her that he needed time to himself, and she brought up Sirius. Ron said that they missed him too, but he needed to get over it.

Harry hadn't spoken to them—or anyone—for exactly five days.

Harry watched the world pass by through foggy glass. Darkness filled his chest, and everything passed by in a blur. He felt disconnected from the world, and all he could do was mechanically finish assignments, trying to think about something other than how much his head hurt. Draco Malfoy didn't even interest him anymore. He sometimes saw the other boy wandering as he did. The blonde's eyes were terrible, and his expression permanently worried. Harry didn't wonder why anymore. He didn't wonder about anything anymore.

He could no longer fall asleep when he wanted to, so his nights were spent doing homework and reading ahead in the boring textbooks. He read until he understood, and he thought that maybe Sirius would have been proud of him.

Defense class was the worst.

Snape did everything in his power to try and get a rise out of Harry. Harry was accused of cheating, he was scolded for his inability to focus, and soon received detention at least once a week. The potion's master seemed the only one who noticed Harry's absence from the world, but Harry couldn't think hard enough to wonder why. His teachers were lucky he showed up for class at all.

Harry's trips to the girl's lavatory became almost daily occurrences.

He felt so in control of himself when he allowed himself to black out amongst the grimy stalls. Moaning Myrtle barely spoke to him anymore. She only stared at him with a sense of understanding that he had never received before.

"I used to come in here to throw up, you know," she said randomly one day. Harry was too tired to lift his eyes to her, but he 'hm'ed in recognition.

"I was too afraid to tell anyone. I thought they would think I was too fat to have an eating disorder."

For five days, Harry ached. For Sirius, for himself, for Myrtle, for all of the dying muggles…

Silence was so painful. Every moment was spent in his head; only he felt every ache. The world pushed down on him through his throbbing temples. The skin under his eyes hung grotesquely, the veins broken and stark against his face.

Hogwarts used to be his happiest place on earth.

Harry was only mildly surprised when he received his mid-term report card that day. 'Dreadful' across the board. Even McGonagall hadn't given him a break. He was surprised that none of the Professors had spoken to him about it. Maybe they really didn't care.

Harry gulped his water in brooding silence. Hermione and Ron sat exactly seven seats down from him at every meal. He felt their eyes, and he heard bits of their conversations. Ron was particularly annoyed with his behavior, it seemed. Harry glanced at them while he tore his toast to shreds. They were bickering as usual, and Ginny sat across from them whilst laughing at their antics. Things had returned to normal without him. It was Saturday, a Hogsmeade day. They would wander together through the village, laughing and growing closer, while Harry sat in the bathroom and listened to Myrtle sob from inside the third stall.

He remembered when he received a Hogsmeade slip in the mail with his Hogwarts letter. It had asked for a guardian's signature, as it always did.

He hadn't been able to stop tearing it up until it was a pile of dust on his bed.

Hedwig flew in a little late that day. She had visited him every day since school started. She was usually quite sympathetic, but today—as if disappointed in his bad grades—she swooped down right onto his plate and pecked him on the forehead.

"Oi!" Harry was unable to hold the noise in, and the instant it escaped, the entire Gryffindor table went silent.


Hedwig hooted irritably, flapping her wings rapidly as she tugged at his hair. He glared at her, quickly lifting his hands to defend himself from her assault. After a few moments, she seemed satisfied. She haughtily stuck out her leg, and pecked Harry one last time when he untied the letter he found there.

He stuck his bloody finger in his mouth, wondering what the hell was wrong with her. She stared at him for a moment, and then stole a piece of his bacon. He eyed her distrustfully as he unrolled the small bit of parchment.


We need to talk. I will be at Hogwarts at exactly five o'clock tonight. Please meet me outside of Professor Dumbledore's office.


Harry stared blankly at the letter. Why would Remus want to talk to him? Remus must hate him. He didn't really want to be yelled at. It was one summons that he would not attend.

Hedwig's soft hoot got his attention. She hopped over to him, and nuzzled his scabbed hand in apology. He idly stroked the downy feathers beside her beak, and she cooed pleasantly. She turned her head around to look at Harry one last time as she flew away.

At least he still had one friend.

Draco Malfoy's sobs echoed off of the walls. For once, it was not Myrtle. Myrtle hovered beside Harry, her expression surprised. Harry supposed that was an appropriate reaction. He wasn't aware Draco Malfoy expressed any emotion other than distaste.

Draco seemed to have an unending amount of tears. Harry and Myrtle listened to him gasp, small scratchy noises that surely grated on his throat. Every once in a while, he would quiet and give a small sigh. Then the sobs and whimpers would start again, even louder than before. The two spectators hid for almost an hour, until Harry decided to make an appearance. He quietly exited the stall, and Myrtle laughed silently and plunged into the toilet.

Draco jumped. He was hunched over the sink, his shoulders shaking. He stared at Harry in the mirror, his gray eyes wide.

Harry stared back, unsure of what to do.

Draco whipped around, his expression curling into a shaky sneer.

"So this is where you've been hiding, Potter."

Harry nodded.

"A-all you want is attention, isn't it? That's what you've always wanted…"

Harry shook his head.

Draco exploded, smashing his fist against the sink with a loud crack.

"FUCK YOU! YOU LIAR! All you do is fucking linger, like a ghost. What the fuck is wrong with you, Potter! What happened to all of that Gryffindor anger, hm?"

Harry stared at Draco's hand, which was leaking blood into the sink. He pondered the question, and wondered if he should answer.

Draco gave a bitter half laugh, and his fists tightened on the edge of the porcelain sink.

"They say you're going to kill The Dark Lord? You can barely stand."

He was right.

"What happened, Potter? What fucking happened to you?"

One look into those haunted gray eyes, and he knew the answer.

"I was abused, and I killed my godfather."

His voice was so quiet and scratchy. He had meant to be imposing to wipe the look off of Malfoy's face, but he sounded so tired…

Malfoy's expression flickered, and Harry couldn't decipher the emotion there. The boy finally sank to the floor, pushing back his messy blond hair.

"Everything is just so fucked up, now…"

Harry nodded, and he shakily took a seat beside his childhood nemesis. The two boys sat in companionable silence for an immeasurable amount of time.

Finally, when the only light in the bathroom was the moonlight that shone through the window, Draco Malfoy stood up to leave. In the doorway, he paused, and gave Harry the most gut-wrenching smile he had ever received.

It took Harry almost an hour to remember how to move again.

The next day at breakfast, Remus owled Harry again.

Hedwig didn't seem angry with him, only sad. She sat practically on his arm, her body comforting warmth as he read the letter.


Why didn't you come? And where were you when I went looking for you in the Great Hall? Please, Harry. Give me a chance. I really need to speak with you face to face. I'll be there again tonight, and please don't avoid me this time.


He shot Hedwig a questioning glance, silently asking her if he should go. She hooted loudly, nuzzling his shoulder. He sighed in resignation, and Hedwig did a victory lap over the eating students.

Harry was embarrassingly squeezed in his former Professor's arms the minute he drifted to the designated meeting place. Remus inhaled deeply, and Harry wondered if his sense of smell was heightened when in human form.

The werewolf looked even more haggard than usual. Harry hadn't seen him since the scene at the ministry, and the death that occurred there had taken a toll on the soft-spoken man. His eyes were almost as dark as Harry's, and his lips trembled when he smiled. He was thinner than usual, and he was so hunched over he looked decrepit. Harry ached again.

"Harry…you look awful…" Horror appeared on the werewolf's scarred face, and Harry fought a wince.

"Merlin, when was the last time you ate anything? Gods, Harry. What've you done to your mouth?"

Harry had taken to pulling off the dry skin of his lips with his teeth. He didn't stop until he felt smoothness and tasted copper on his tongue. Lupin's observation made him want to chew on them again.

"Harry, why don't you answer me?"

Harry had been wondering that as well. The only words he had spoken since he arrived at Hogwarts were to Draco Malfoy. His throat suddenly felt terribly dry. He croaked out a reply to ease the werewolf's mind.

"Sorry, Professor. I was thinking. I haven't been myself lately."

Remus trembled, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. After he had composed himself, he pulled a parchment out of his pocket.

"Harry, do you know what this is?"

Harry stared.

"My report card, sir."

Remus nodded vigorously, his amber eyes darkening.

"This is not you, Harry. You have never received grades like this. You were so great in Defense, why are you doing this? 'Dreadful's in every subject?"

"I guess I've had other things on my mind, sir," said Harry as calmly as possible. Remus' lips curled downward.

"Let's go to Professor Dumbledore's office, Harry. We need to have a talk."

It was Holiday break, and Harry was in his dead godfather's house listening to Remus having sex. He almost felt like he was intruding, but he was too fascinated by it to care.

Tonks was really loud in bed.

It was well after three in the morning, and Remus didn't know that Harry didn't sleep. It was an understandable misunderstanding; an unknowing annoyance.

Harry got creepy crawlies every time the bed on the floor above him creaked.

The lovers fucked over his head for over an hour. Harry wanted to let them know that he was awake, but he was frozen underneath his covers. The thought of Remus having sex scared him. The thought of Tonks having sex scared him even more.

And the thought that they could do it in their dead loved one's house made him want to vomit.

He was wearing gloves, a hooded sweatshirt, sweatpants, and socks in the bed. He didn't want any part of Sirius' prison to contaminate him. He didn't want to think about Sirius. Especially when Tonks was loudly orgasm-ing above him.

Hours later, the sun crawled upward. It barely visible through the holes in the black, grimy, and moth-eaten drapes. Sirius would have laughed at this situation. He would have snuck Harry up a butterbeer and they would have smirked at Remus in the morning.

But Harry had killed Sirius, and all he could feel was numbness.

"Potter," The deep voice rasped quietly.

Hermione grabbed a handful of Harry's hair to prevent him from shooting upwards and clocking Ron in the face. When his heart stopped racing, he looked up to his most hated Professor.

"Detention, Potter," Snape said in a tone so familiar, the class erupted with laughter.

The only laughter in Snape's class was at his expense.

Snape seemed exhausted for the entire detention. He looked worse than Remus. His quill trembled slightly while he graded papers, and he kept his head bowed low to the parchment. Harry glanced at him constantly as he took lines. Normally Snape was so punctual and no-bullshit.

Harry wanted him to yell again.

Hands everywhere, but there were only two. He shamelessly rubbed against those hands, letting noises escape that he didn't care about anymore. He bucked his hips against answering arousal, and he didn't care. Lips, warm and wet, caressed his face. He pushed against them, licking and biting like a puppy. It was so good, so hot, he waseverywhere, god, those potion-stained fingers followed the trail of hair from his belly-button—

Harry woke up.

Dear god, he had a raging erection.

And dear sweet Merlin's trousers, his erection was for Snape.

He angrily thought about the grimy, greasy, ugly,bony git, and the harder he got. Merlin, why was Snape so sexy?

He hated the teenage hormones that forced him to relieve himself while Myrtle laughed from across the bathroom.

Harry wondered when he had turned homosexual.

He had never thought of other boys before, not until The Dream. Well, Snape couldn't really be called a boy. Harry wondered what the body underneath those bulky black robes looked like. No matter how grotesque he pictured it, it always managed to make a lump in his throat.

Draco Malfoy liked to smoke muggle cigarettes in Harry and Myrtle's bathroom. The first time he saw Draco nonchalantly pull one out and light it with his wand; he had burst into hysterical laughter and Draco and blushed haughtily. Harry had to admit, it did look pretty cool. (Draco's lips were terribly pink, and Harry eyes inevitably strayed to the perfect mouth when he—) The smell was gross, though.

"Can I call you Harry?"

Harry gave Draco a weird look. It was always 'Draco' in his head.

"I mean, we've been bloody sitting in here together for months, and we haven't killed each other. I even helped you with homework, for Merlin's sake."

God, he was right. They were practically married.

"Good, because 'Potter' is the fucking ugliest name I have ever heard of. Harry is much nicer."

A bit stung at the insult to his family name, Harry retorted,

"Your name is Draco Malfoy, and you say my name is ugly?"

Draco engaged him in a wrestling match that ended with Harry's neck burned by a stray cigarette, and Draco sputtering apologies through his hysterical laughter.

For the first time in a long, Harry felt perfect.

Harry was back at the Dursley's, and his wrists were gushing blood into his grimy sheets.

He wondered when everything had turned to such shit. Shit so awful that he was willing to take his own life just to get away from it all. Shit so awful, he had lost everything he had grown to love.

Harry had been there. Dumbledore had explained the horcruxes, and Harry had gone silently to protect the old man he had admired since he was eleven. He hadn't been much help, because the Headmaster still managed to be poisoned for a fake locket. If he were a real hero, he would have drunk the potion himself.

He had been there when Draco—sobbing—had threatened the Headmaster's life. Harry knew he wouldn't do it, but knowing what had caused that smile so many months ago tore his heart in two.

Harry had fucking been there when Snape coldly enchanted, "Avada Kedavra," and Dumbledore had sailed from the Astronomy Tower.

His voice had been gone from lack of use, but he had screamed insults at the man's shaking back as he chased them from the grounds. An unchanged Fenrir Greyback had bitten Bill Weasley.

Voldemort wasn't even there.

He wanted Snape back so much it hurt. He wanted Draco to be there, an annoying prat but with kindness that rivaled Dumbledore's. He missed the magically lit cigarettes. He missed the rumbling voice growling, 'Potter' at him.

He didn't even know either of them, but he missed them so much.

The weight of death pushed down at him through his aching temples. His blood poured out through his sliced skin, and his heart beat hard and fast, pushing even more out.

Sirius would not be proud of him, and he didn't fucking care anymore.

Neville could kill Voldemort. Harry wasn't the only child born at that time. Neville deserved a little recognition.

Harry would be the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Kill-Himself.

And to be honest, he was perfectly fine with that.

At some point, he had rolled out of his bed and onto the floor. He wanted to die in the cupboard, but he knew he wouldn't make it there. It would have been nice to see his 'happy place' one last time. His parents smiled up at him from their photo, unaffected by the gore. He didn't allow his blood to touch them, even as he convulsed and gasped for breath.

"Harry!" The deep voice rumbled, and Harry knew it wasn't real, because Snape would never call him 'Harry'.

Harry woke up with scarred wrists and a growling stomach, and he realized that Snape had kidnapped him. He immediately buried his face in the pillow beneath his head and inhaled as hard as he could.

Dear sweet Merlin, it smelled like him. Snape smelled of peppermint and clean laundry, and the man had fucking brown sheets. The room was all black and mahogany, and the man had stylish brown sheets.

"Potter, you're an idiot."

Snape was suddenly right there, his thin white lips inches from Harry's, and his hair hung around them like a thin black curtain—

Harry threw his scarred arms around the thin man and kissed him as hard as he could. It was all wrong, Snape's huge nose squashed Harry's, and their teeth clanked together, but it was so real.

Snape pulled back, an eyebrow raised and his mouth snarling in a completely unpleasant way. Harry unbuttoned the man's collar. His neck was slender and pale, and Harry wanted to caress it.

"Not your best Potter. Here, let me once again try to teach you how to do something correctly…"

Then they were kissing, and it was perfect. Snape's lips were firm, but gentle, and Harry's whole body wanted to vibrate with pleasure when their tongues collided. He didn't care where he was, he didn't care that he had been kidnapped; all he cared about were those spidery fingers crawling up his shirt and over his stomach.

"Hm…" Snape broke the kiss to look down at him with hooded black eyes. Harry's shirt was under his armpits, and Snape's fingers were tracing Harry's happy trail, just like in The Dream.

"It is amazing to me how doing absolutely nothing for months produced muscle." He ran a finger through the dips in Harry's abdominal muscles. "Teenage boys," He tutted, cupping Harry's groin and enveloping the answering squeak with his tongue.

Suddenly Harry was ravenous, and his hands ripped at Snape's clothes. The thick wool fell away when the buttons tore, but Snape's only response was to growl bite Harry's lip in a completely arousing way. He wore a black silk undershirt, and he was unashamed when Harry divested him of it. Clad only in black trousers and socks, Snape was more beautiful than anything Harry had ever seen.

His skin was so pale, but there was not a mark on it. Even the veins didn't show through the firm, soft flesh. His nipples were small and brown, and he had almost no chest hair. The only hair in sight was the thin black trail, and the stubble on his jaw.

Harry tugged off his own shirt, and he kissed Snape again so he could feel their bare skin press together.

It was perfect, and finally real.

It all ended in under an hour with a delicious press of naked arousal, and Snape deeply grumbled something about a return adolescence into Harry's hair.

"Did that really just happen?"

Snape didn't answer for quite a while.

"I don't know. I'm too tired to properly analyze the situation, Potter, but I believe we just had homosexual intercourse."

It still counted as intercourse when there was no penetration? Blimey, Harry wasn't a virgin anymore!

"Yeah, I kind of think we did too. Did you want me as much as I wanted you?" Harry glanced up at Snape. He could hear his stomach digesting food, and he could feel the soft skin beneath his own stubbly cheek.

It was all so real.

"Potter, I have wanted to fuck you into you senses for almost a year now."

A year. Last year, he had been depressed. Sometime earlier, he had tried to kill himself.

It was all so far away when he was in Snape's bed, and Snape's bony hip was digging into his belly.

"You're not a bad guy, are you Snape? I kind of don't really care if you are, but I have a feeling that-"

He was interrupted by deep guttural laughter that was almost scary. Well, it was very scary. He had never heard Snape laugh, and Harry soaked in the sound and the accompanying smile with all the rest of his brainpower.

"No, Potter. I am a Death Eater who kidnapped you so the Dark Lord would never find you. I killed Albus Dumbledore to save Draco Malfoy's soul, and I am the reason your parents are dead. I am a very bad guy."

Harry thought about all of that, and all he could think about was how much Snape was a very good guy.

"At least you still have your looks."

Snape gave another snort of laughter, and kissed him again.

Neville actually killed Voldemort.

Snape didn't stop laughing for days. Draco was as silent about it as Harry had been during his entire sixth year. Harry expected it had something to do with the million galleons he promised to Harry if Neville actually succeeded. Lucius—the haggard blond man who occupied Snape's guest room—told Draco he would Crucio him if he ever even thought about paying Harry that money. It was all fun and games, really, because Lucius smiled at Harry every time.

Draco was a frequent visitor to Spinner's End, but he insisted on helping out with the rebuilding of Hogwarts. Harry sent his love to his friends, but he didn't want to leave until he was sure his life was so good he would never think about killing himself again. Imagine, if he had succeeded, he would never have had sex with Snape.

That would have been terrible.

So, all was well. Hermione and Ron married as quickly as they could, Harry and Snape somehow held together a steady relationship, and Lucius Malfoy snarked at them from his sickbed in the guest room.

"I knew you were low, Severus, but I never knew you would settle for sex with teenaged boys."

"Oh shove it, Malfoy. Your porridge is getting cold." And Harry would spoon feed the man, who ate in the most dignified way he possibly could.

They were a family; a family that Harry had ached for all of his life. He loved them with all of his heart, and in the gooiest and cheesiest way possible.

Snape told him about everything. The man opened up like a book.

Harry did the same. They discovered their childhoods and feelings were more similar than either had imagined. They remembered Harry's mother together, and Snape helped Harry forgive himself.

He and Snape were the mother and father, Lucius was the crazy uncle, Draco was the moody son, and Ron and Hermione were their small children.

He never thought he would be in a homosexual relationship with his former potions professor, nor did he think he would become best friends with Draco and Lucius Malfoy. It was all strange, but he couldn't have asked for a better family.

Their loved ones of the past filled their mantle, and an hour a day was spent in front of the fire, drinking tea and telling stories. Even in all of this, somehow Snape managed to be every bit an arsehole as he had always been.

In their loving, sexual relationship, Snape was himself.

Harry was glad, because he found everything about Snape unbearably sexy.

Draco thought they both needed to be institutionalized.

A.N.: I know, I know.

This is made up of so much fail.

I was just reading about how some people think Fanfiction writers are 'pussifying' Harry by making him depressed. Well, guess what, FUCK YOU. I think it's incredibly brave to be able to overcome a disease that affects your mental health, and Harry has every reason to be depressed.

I'm depressed because of a chemical imbalance. I know what it's like.

Anyway, I'm sorry the ending is rushed. I still thought you guys might like this. I'll probably tweak this some more, because right now it's 3:52AM and this is sooooo full of typos and mistakes.

I like this writing style. I love it when you can feel the character's emotions, even when it's in 3rd person.

And BTW, if you Favorite Author'd me because of a Naruto fanfiction and you don't like HP, I'm terribly sorry for you. Snarry is my OTP, forever and always.

-Marching Clocks