“I am not leaving you like this, Severus. Harry, do something. Anything,” Hermione said.

 Didn’t Hermione know that he wasn’t good with those sort of situations?  “I don’t know what to do, Hermione. It’s not like I grew up… man, you do something,” Harry replied.

 They both looked down on the man who still struggling to get a hold of himself somehow. Harry stretched out his hand to help him up, but it wasn’t accepted.

 “Don’t touch me, Potter,” Snape snarled, looking absolutely murderous. He stood up on his own, wobbly at first. “Go upstairs. Go!” .

 For a change they both obeyed, glad to get away. They sat on an on the edge of the bed, not looking at each other, feeling completely useless. Downstairs, Snape seemed to take apart his house; they heard things smashing against the wall, wood cracking, shouting and more smashing. Finally, it went deadly silent and the two stared at each other in fear, both thinking the same.

 When Harry saw the cigarettes on the side of the bed, he grabbed them, stood up and slowly walked downstairs, his face expression that of a prisoner on the way from the death row to his execution. He had no idea how close to reality that was.

 The sofa was the only thing that hadn’t been broken or thrown over. Harry saw the dark head from the back and decided to pour a whiskey, no… two. He then sat down next to the man, handing him his glass and cigarettes before emptying his own glass in one gulp. At first he wanted to gag and then he felt the hot, strong liquid calming him somehow.

 “Thank you,” Harry heard the man say in a brittle voice, almost broken. “You’d better get the whole bottle, I need to talk to you.”

 The calmness went away just as quick as it came and he jumped up and he got the bottle with the golden liquor and poured two generous helpings. Snape actually offered him a cigarette, but Harry declined politely.

 “They are bad for your lungs,” Harry said earnestly. The answer was a deep, low chuckle that sounded more like a sob than anything. “Are… are you okay, Snape?”

 The man snorted, exhaled the smoke slowly and stared at Harry.

 “I don’t think I have ever been further from ‘okay’ in my life.” The obsidian glare was too much to take; Harry fidgeted with his glass and then emptied it just as quickly as the first one. “Potter,” Harry turned to him again. “Do you trust me?” The black eyes were curious, sad and full of some other emotion Harry could not identify. It made him nervous.

 “I do,” Harry replied.

 The older man scrutinised him, Harry almost feared he would use Legilimency on him again.

 “Are you absolutely sure?”

  “Yes, Sir. I am. Especially after… well… after what just happened.”

 Snape nodded thoughtfully, a calculating look took over his harsh features.

 “Then listen now. Listen carefully Potter, because as of now, there will be no more secrets.”