CHAPTER 1NE: SHE'S A LADY

**Disclaimer:: I do not own Harry Potter or any recognizable characters, artistic inventions, etcetera. J.K. Rowling wrote it, Bloomsbury Publishing and Arthur A. Levine Books published it, Chris Columbus, Alfonso Cauron, and David Yates directed it, David Heyman and David Barron produced it, and Warner Brothers distributed it. I am merely a boy with plot bunnies in his mind; all I own is a poster, a pop out calendar, a Harry Potter Widget, all of the books, harry Potter: Film to Page, all of the movies, a white/red/black crowntail betta named Salazar, a grey doubletail named Bartemius, a crowntail named Voldemort, a black halfmoon-betta named Severus, a brown delta-tail betta named Fenrir, a silver/white rosetail-betta named Lucius, a seven week year old [about an inch long] male betta [unsure of what type] named Rabastan, a blue veil-tail betta named Draco, a tan/striped female splenden-betta named Pansy, a red crowntail female named Alecto, a green/blue corwntail named Bellatrix, a blue crowntail female named Millicent, and a white/red female plakat named Narcissa. She's a Lady belongs to Forever the Sickest Kids. Not me.**

**(::. .Okay, I'm obviously not making anybody go through some awkward gender switch and give them a twat. The title and lyrics are purely due to the fact that the plot I had in mind fit with it and Harry and Snape's relationship and feelings towards each other in my eyes. Replace the words "she/she's/girl" with "he/he's/boy" if you must. "He's a lady" doesn't quite give off the right vibe either though… The whole song is great you should listen to it, if you're an avid Snarry fan or even like Snarry a little then you should see how I think it describes them even in the slightest way. Cookies for whoever catches the AVPS reference! Enjoy the length of this chapter, I don't normally make em like this! .::)**

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I'm in love with a girl I hate
She enjoys pointing out every bad thing about me
I'm in love with a critic and a skeptic, a traitor
I'd trade her in a second

She's a backseat driver
A drama provider
An instant update of the world
She's a first-class liar
A constant forgetter
She's attractive but bitter

Did you scream enough to make her cry?
It's a turn around
Turn around
Baby, don't return to me
If you think that I'm not worth your time

She's a lady
And ladies shouldn't be messed with

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The pressure in harry Potter's lower stomach and groin was nearing painful with unbearable following shortly after. It only got more intense with every step he took. Itching to take care of his problem and uncaring of how late he was to Potions Class, he rushed to the bathroom. Merlin knew why he didn't go before lunch ended, but his bladder couldn't wait and it was highly unlikely that the Bat of the Dungeons would permit him to take a bathroom break. His detention would be worth it.

Five minutes late for the first time in his life, Professor Severus Tobias Snape burst from his private rooms from the door that connected them to his class room. He was, for a lack of a better word, pissed. Dolores Umbridge and her disgusting pink clothing had dared enter his previous class and judge, of all things, the placement of his rooms and his attitude. He'd certainly like to discuss her attitude and the placement of her atrocious being in the school, let alone his classroom. So, rather then getting the Ministry involved in his personal life by taking it out on the cow herself, he was going to take it out on his next class!

Scanning over the wastes of space in his class, his eyes came to a screeching halt and entered a deeper glare at the empty seat next to a frightened looking Ronald Weasley and in front of Hermione Granger who looked close to cursing the missing brat.

"And just where, Weasley, Granger, is our boy savior?" he growled out at the child's nerve to skip or be late for his class. Both were stammering messes, the bushy one stuttering through an explanation about lunch and the Great Hall while the red one was babbling incoherently.

"Where?" Snape roared, fright seeping out of the teenagers in the room and into Snape's stomach. He clearly fed off of their fear.

"Bathroom!" Potter's cronies squeaked out. He seethed,

"Anyone moves before I return and they get detention for the rest of the year."

Snape was in a rage, he'd never been madder. He stormed through the halls, robes bellowing out behind him before he made it to the bathroom two minutes away from his classroom. The door slammed open and the sound of choking and gagging filled Snape's ears.

"Shit," he cursed to himself, sending a distress Patronus to Pomfrey and Dumbledore before hurrying to the fatal positioned child. Several spells were cast that were used for breathing support or dislodging something from one's throat. None of them worked so Snape maneuvered the slowly bluing boy onto his back. Snape began pushing Harry's chest, but the chest compressions weren't working. He silently cursed himself for the umpteenth time that day, begrudgingly pressing his lips against two rosy pink lips that were open and begging for air. Gaining more air for himself, Snape went back to press their lips together again. As he did so, the door flew open once more and Snape groaned. A piercing hot pain came in his neck that spread across his body, warming it like an acid in his veins. He held his neck, bringing to away as his vision blurred at the scent of blood and the feel of it on his fingers. He knew that tainted scent from the Death Eater meetings,

"Snake…" Snape fell unconscious on Harry. Both lay dying.


Severus Snape was, according to popular belief and in accord to his unenjoyable morning, not—repeat not a happy camper. Having woken up unexplainably pissed off with a headache resembling the Cruciatus Curse, he simply wanted to Avada Kedavra himself rather then have to deal with his next class. He could already see it clearly.

His absolute favorite god son would torment his favorite savior of the wizarding world, his favorite freckled red headed Gryffindor-Equal-Rights activist would run his mouth at Severus's unfairness for taking points for the wondrously scarred hero. He'd then mouth off to his less-than-worthless god son, his favorite bushy haired know it all would drone on about something he couldn't care less about, and his favorite plump, stuttering, esteem-lacking waste of space would botch a potion and likely blow something up. Thus resulting in Severus taking points and handing out detentions like Albus Dumbledore handed out lemon drops, while his hands twitched to choke one of the less lucky brats he was forced to spend an hour with.

Of course that urge and choking one of the poor sods would likely end up getting him sacked and cause him to have no use to Dumbledore or Voldemort. His being forced would deem him useless to his self promise to protect the spawn of his best friend, not love of his life, Lily Evans. He most probably would have been in love with her if not for the fact that he liked penis nearly more than she did. And believe him, the female Gryffindor certainly enjoyed her fair share of penis, her tool of a boyfriend made it well known all the while they'd gone out. That was their downfall. He told James that no one wanted to know of his sexual extortions with a mudblood, Lily hears and called him a bloody faggot, and the marauders near tortured him daily, being less okay with his homosexuality then the rest of the wizarding world had been.

Laws were much different then those in the muggle world had been. Since the time of Merlin, who'd been in sexual relations with his very male friend, society had been okay with it. They were treated no different than heterosexuals had been treated. That was made sure of when Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin outed themselves as a couple. Of course the obvious laws regarding incest and of an adult entering an intimate relationship with someone under legal marriage age, sixteen. Why it was a year sooner then the legal age for magic use, Severus didn't know.

He was brought out of his musings when the door to his classroom slowly creaked open. Surprise, surprise. His favorite, normally late, concoction of his best friend's egg and the seed of James Potter… forty-five minutes early? He glared as the fifteen year old backed his way into the room, slowly shutting the door behind him.

"What," Harry jumped and nearly dropped his belongings, startled at the annoyed potion master's voice. He'd oddly expected him to be elsewhere. "are you doing, Potter?" Harry turned about face and took in the man's appearance. His greasy hair was tucked behind his ears and out of his face. His normally scrunched-up-in-anger face looked as if it had an upgrade. He looked less unattractive then he had with his hair hanging limply in his face, his nose seemed smaller without the shading his hair provided. His pale skin contrasted well with his dark eyes, dark hair, and his dark robes. He didn't look nearly as pasty or unnaturally pale. In fact he pulled it off rather handsomely, Harry thought. He pulled it off really handsomely—flushing slightly and cutting of his train of thoughts, harry could pull out nothing but a shrug and a choked out "Nothing," to answer Snape's question. Snape sneered and seethed,

"Lying again. Just like your useless—" Not in the mood to have his late father dragged into this Harry decided to just spit the truth out rather then just swallow it,

"I'm hiding—" Snape cut him off with a snort,

"From your many fans I'm sur—" taking his turn in their little game of cutting one another off, Harry glared back,

"From Ron and Hermion—"

"Why—"

"Do you care?" There was silence. A long silence. Awfully long, really. Both males stood pin straight, sat pin straight in Snape's case, glaring the other down from across the classroom. Snape was the one to break the cycle and sighed as the glare fell and was replaced with a tired look.

"Go and find refuge elsewhere, Mr. Potter." He said softly, gently almost. Harry broke eye contact and looked down dejectedly.

"Yes, sir… sorry…" he muttered, holding his things closer to his chest and he left, opening and shutting the door the same way he had when he entered. Snape sighed again. He did care. He always had. He despised himself for how he treated the boy these past five years and, thinking back on it, he never knew why he started treating him as such in the first place. In all honesty he didn't even look all that much like his pompous good for nothing father, so that was hardly an excuse. Maybe it was the wonder and breathtaking innocence in his eyes that—shut up, imbecile!

Snape growled, not liking where his thoughts were heading. His chair slammed back as he stood, he needed a drink. His fangs began to elongate to an uncomfortable length, his lips parted in discomfort as he entered the wards to his private rooms and made way for the kitchen. In the fridge that was more like a warming box rather then a cooling box, there were two bottles; one a dark red the other a dark and dingy looking shade of yellow, almost brown. The red was type AB- blood, the dingy yellow/brown being a mix of blood and absinthe. Going to class drunk could probably lead to someone being either fatally injured or brutally mauled, so Snape went with the alcohol-free bottle. Drinking his thirst away he washed his wine glass.

He ended up being five minutes late to class, for the second day in a row and the second time in his life, after pacing around in his kitchen lost in his own thoughts. Just how, exactly, was he going to survive having the Potter boy living with him for the next two years?