"Harry," Snape called, rushing up from his lab. "Oh, there you are." Harry was sitting at the table pouring over his sixth year textbooks. "I need to be out for awhile. Will you be alright by yourself?" The last question was asked very pointedly. Snape hadn't forgotten what happened the last time he left Harry to his own devices, and likely wouldn't for a good long time.

"I'll be fine," Harry replied, slightly annoyed.

"Are you sure?" Snape pressed, his sense of haste dissipating.

"I'm sure," Harry assured him. "You don't have to worry about me."

"Yes, I do," Snape countered. "But you're sure you'll be alright while I'm gone? You'll be here when I get back, healthy and...alive?"

"Yes," Harry said. "I promise. Where do you have to go?"

"One of my...patients has an emergency. I need to go see to her. It will likely take a while, even on into the night. Keep the doors locked, and don't answer for anyone. There's food in the kitchen. I know you can cook. Make sure you eat enough while I'm gone."

"Yes, Mom," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. Snape took a moment to glare at him.

"I'll be back soon," he said. "Be safe."

"Just go already!" Harry shouted after him, smiling at the care in Snape's voice. "Everything will be fine. I promise."

"Alright, alright," Snape said, walking out the door. "See you later." And with that, he closed the door. Harry locked it behind him.

It had been a typical, boring afternoon. Snape usually spent that time in his lab anyway, so nothing felt different for Harry until dinner. About six, Snape usually came up and magicked some food together for the both of them. They usually ate in companionable silence. Snape probably figured Harry didn't want to hear about potions, and Harry knew Snape didn't want to hear about his textbooks. The man had read them himself years previously. He didn't need a teenager's review.

But now, Snape was gone, and Harry was under strict orders to eat something. It wouldn't be too hard. He'd gotten used to three moderate meals a day, and his stomach was currently informing him of the time. Snape would probably take an inventory of the food supply when he got just to make sure Harry had eaten. He rolled his eyes at the thought.

"Harry, you only ate three pounds of food?"

"Yes, and I ate all of it. No leftovers."

"I told you to eat. What are you? A teenage boy with a metabolic system with fuel efficiency like a tractor trailer or a paramecium?"

"A what?"

"Apparently you have the vocabulary of one."

By the end of his fantasy, Harry had pulled out some rice, beef bullion, and some peas. He began to cook the rice in the beef broth, and added the peas later. He found a few other things in the cupboard too. Not only was the baking soda still there, but he also found that Snape kept a few bottles of alcohol stashed in the back. It was a good meal. He ate alone, of course, which was more of a disappointment than he thought it would be. It wasn't like he and Snape interacted much at meals, but he realized he liked being with Snape, even when they didn't say anything.

There were leftovers. Harry ate until he thought he would burst, just to make a point to Snape that he could take care of himself. He didn't need the man to coddle him all the time. He was sixteen, which was plenty old enough to look after himself for an evening.

That didn't mean he didn't want Snape back, though.

Harry realized he had another therapy session the next day. And he'd done nothing about writing out those "notes" that were his excuse not to talk last time. He couldn't very readily say he didn't have time, could he? There was nothing to do in this old, run-down house except study and make potions. He had plenty of time to work on the notes. He just didn't want to. And now the time was running short. Why hadn't he started them earlier? Now he had a deadline to meet. Sylvia even gave him a couple extra days between appointments so he wouldn't feel rushed. So much for being cooperative.

Maybe it was better to work on it while Snape was out, Harry thought. That had definitely been his reason for not working on it. He didn't want to do it in front of Snape or have Snape ask why he was holed up in his room. Definitely.

Which left him no excuse not to work on it now.

Dutifully, Harry pulled out some parchment and a quill. He spent a good five minutes just staring at the blank pages, quill in hand, trying to think of where to start. Maybe he should try to tell the story of the first time?

It was the day before my fifteenth birthday.

He scratched it out. Sounded too much like a novel. These were supposed to be notes, to help guide him through the rough patches of talking, not an essay for Snape.

Lead in with an explanation of the life at the Dursleys. Talk about how the summer was strange. Talk about the pizza and dusting the bedroom.

Harry realized he could talk about all those things without notes. That wasn't the problem. What he needed was a good kick in the pants to make him say the rest of it. Then, he realized if he couldn't write it, he sure as hell wasn't going to be able to say it.

And Vernon raped me. Over and over. Three times a week. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights. And then Christmas break. Aunt Petunia and Dudley never came home. It was just me and Vernon, the entire time. That's a total of 23 times, not counting when he did it in the mornings too. And afternoons. It was the worst kind of torture I've ever endured. At the hands of a Muggle who was supposed to love and care for me. Not that he ever did, but he was supposed to. And 23 doesn't count the time in Malfoy's dungeon or with Nott. But Nott can't count, because I agreed to that. So like 23.5 since Malfoy's dungeon didn't go all the way, I suppose? I guess that's way more sex than any normal sixteen year old has. I think, right? I don't really know. And I hated it. Every. Single. Time.

Harry was beginning to feel overwhelmed. But he had to get these notes done, and he knew that all of this were things he couldn't talk about yet. So he had to write them. He pushed on, wishing for something to numb the pain.

Oh, subtract one from that total. Vernon did lay off me once. Because I promised to be willing in return for a one day reprieve. So 22.5. I think that time was the worst. I shouldn't have done it. It wasn't worth it. Malfoy was right. I sold myself for an evening alone.

Snape had those alcohol bottles. Maybe that would dull his thinking enough to get through this. Being the impulsive Gryffindor he was, he got up to do just that. He found a rather large bottle of firewhiskey and got a tumbler from the cupboard. He poured it about half full and put the jug back on the shelf. On second thought, he grabbed the jug and the glass and brought them both to where it was working. No use in having to get up if he wanted more. Quickly, knowing already what liquor tasted like, he took a large swallow. He coughed. Even though he'd had vodka and muggle whiskey before, neither prepared him for the sheer strength of firewhiskey. What was in it anyway? Was it rubbing alcohol under a different name? Because it tasted like shit. Perfect. It would do the trick. Harry took another swallow, which didn't taste so bad. He felt his ears get warm.

Maybe he'd take a break for about twenty minutes until the alcohol started actually hitting his system. Then it should be easier to write. He sat back in his chair, and laced his fingers behind his head, gazing up at the ceiling, praying for the alcohol to make him numb like it did once before. Bored, he took another sip. It was beginning to taste better. They said alcohol didn't taste as bad the more you got in your system. Another swallow. He wanted the alcohol to take effect now, so naturally drinking more would speed up the process... Harry knew better, but he still kept drinking at his now almost empty glass.

Then he felt the pleasant punch in the gut when the alcohol hit his brain. He felt a small smile creep onto his face. All the colors seemed brighter when he pupils dilated. Maybe he could write again now. He needed to get it done. He couldn't quite remember why but that'd been the reason for drinking in the first place. He poured himself some more. It wouldn't due to lose this buzz now.

The worst time. It was over Christmas. I just couldn't do it every day, and it was getting to be too much. It wasn't even a good day. I just stayed in my room, dreading the clock striking midnight. He followed through on his end of the bargain, and so I followed through on mine. I feel so dirty. Why did I do it? Why did he do it?

By the end, Harry's script was entirely illegible. Under sober conditions, it was chicken scratch. Under rapidly becoming drunk conditions, it was unsalvageable. He took another long swallow of the whiskey. His brain was swimming and the world looked like it was moving around. Maybe so much hadn't been such a good idea.

The alcohol had quelled his fears, but it hadn't stifled his sorrow. It simply brought his emotions to the surface. He was done writing for tonight. And now he needed to pee. After making his way to the bathroom, complete with touching the walls for support, and effectively relieving himself, Harry grabbed the whiskey and lay down on the couch in the other room. He threw his arm over his eyes, trying not to cry again. But he was failing, of course. Every so often he took another sip of the whiskey.

Then the door began to open.

How much time had passed? Had it really been all night? It felt like only a few minutes ago that Harry came over to the couch. He realized it must have been much longer, though, because the whiskey jar was much depleted.

"Snape!" Harry shouted, delighted when he saw the man's familiar figure enter the house. His voice was slightly slurred.

"What?" Snape asked. "Why are you still up? What - " Snape cut himself off as Harry launched himself at him. Harry embraced him fiercely, but not before stumbling slightly. It took Snape a moment, but he returned the enthusiastic gesture. Snape sniffed the air carefully, and then glanced at the table where the jar of whiskey still stood, along with a partially filled glass. For a moment, Snape couldn't help the look of disappointment crossing his face. Harry noticed though.

"I'm sorry," he immediately said. "I can explain."

"I should hope so," Snape said, a little coldly.

"I - I'm sorry," Harry slurred. "How's the lady?"

"She...didn't make it," Snape replied.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Harry replied. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Snape dismissed, picking up the whiskey jar and glass.

"Hey!" Harry protested. "I'll finish what's in the glass."

"No, you won't," Snape contradicted. "You're too far gone as it is." He brought the whiskey into the kitchen, and poured the remains in the glass into the sink, putting the jar back in the cupboard. "I'll pour all of it out if you don't give me good reason to trust you in the future."

"I'm fine," Harry insisted.

"You're tottering drunk," Snape corrected. As if to prove his point, Harry stumbled over his feet at that very moment.

"Am not," Harry slurred, sounding like the sullen teenager he was supposed to be.

"Are too," Snape argued back.

"Whatever," Harry dismissed, not really caring anymore. His body was numb. He couldn't feel a thing. He wished his mind was just as numb.

"You're taking a shower," Snape declared. Harry gave him a blank look. "Come on," Snape sighed, gently taking Harry by the arm and guiding him down the hallway towards the bathroom. He turned on the shower and half pushed, half lifted Harry into the tub, clothes on and all.

"What're you doing?" Harry squawked as the water drenched him.

"Sobering you up a little," Snape explained as he held Harry in the shower, careful to keep his eyes, nose, and mouth out of the water.

"I'm not drunk!" Harry objected. Snape didn't reply, and after a period of time which Harry couldn't tell, Snape finally pulled him out of the shower, shut the water off, and cast a drying spell over his sopping wet clothes.

"Better?" Snape asked.

"Sure," Harry agreed sullenly.

"You sound better," Snape observed. "Walk out to the couch under your own power. I want to see how you do." Harry did so, with much less grace than he usually would have, but he did it without falling down or knocking anything over.

"Why?" Snape asked, guiding Harry's descent to the sofa cushion.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Why did you start drinking? You've never shown any interest before."

"Had to write," Harry tried to explain. "I had to write notes for Sylvia tomorrow, and it was hard. I thought the alcohol would help."

"Did it?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I wrote lots more. I didn't mean to make you mad at me. I'm sorry." Harry didn't realize how little he'd actually written after starting his binge.

"Hmm," Snape replied, settling down on the couch next to Harry. "I'm not mad at you."

"She said to talk to you too," Harry suddenly blurted.

"Sylvia, you mean?" Snape clarified.

"Yeah," Harry confirmed. "She wanted me to talk to you about...stuff."

"Interesting," he said.

"I'm really sorry, you know," Harry continued.

"For?"

"For comparing the Occlumency to the rapes. You're nothing like Vernon at all, and I know that. And that was really cruel for me to say, and I'm sorry. Are you going to forgive yourself? I forgive you. And you said you forgave me."

"Harry..." Snape began, a look of anguish crossing his face for a moment.

"I'd give anything to unsay it," Harry continued. "But I can't. What can I do? I don't want it to come between us. I want you to like me."

"You're not responsible for my feelings," Snape dismissed. "I won't let it come between us, Harry, I promise. And you're not the one I dislike."

"Don't dislike yourself either," Harry said. "You're actually quite likable once you get past the unlikable part."

"Such wisdom," Snape drawled.

"No, I mean it," Harry pressed. "You're really nice, and I like having you around. I missed you today. Eating alone wasn't any fun."

"I wasn't under the impression it was fun when I was here."

"It's not, but it's nice, and you're there for me. So don't hate yourself. It's not good for you."

"And drinking like this isn't good for you, either," Snape countered. "Obviously, we're going to have to talk about this more once it's run its course. Like in the morning, when you have a hangover. In the meantime," he summoned something, "I want you to drink lots of water." A glass of water flew into Harry's hand and he began to sip.

"I'm sure Sylvia never intended for you to get yourself drunk over those notes," Snape continued.

"No," Harry agreed. "But I'm not drunk."

"Would 'plastered' be more to your liking?"

"I'm buzzed."

"We'll argue terminology tomorrow," Snape promised. "I'm sure she didn't intend alcohol to play a role in your notes at all."

"Prolly not," Harry said.

"Then why did you do it?"

"I let it go till tonight," Harry explained. "And I'm sorry, but I was so scared. I didn't want to write them, and I know I can't talk about it without them, and she expects me to have them by tomorrow...I didn't have a choice."

"I think she would have understood, if you had tried your best," Snape rebuked gently. "Were you able to write anything without the alcohol?"

"Yeah, a little," Harry admitted.

"Then that should have been what you bring in," Snape concluded. "You've pushed yourself too hard, too fast this way."

"I know," Harry said, his emotions surfacing again, tears welling up in his eyes. "I want to get better, and I don't know how. The nightmares won't go away and the daymares are almost as bad."

"Harry," Snape said, taking the boy's hands in his own, "I understand. I really do. I know what it's like to be haunted by the past, and it doesn't make you any less."

"You understand more than anyone else," Harry conceded. "But do you really understand, really?"

"What do you mean?"

"The Dark Lord used you and threw you away like a piece of meat," Harry spat. "And that was terrible, but he didn't play with your mind like Vernon did. He fucked my mind more than my body, I think." Snape gave him a confused look.

"Would you care to explain? I know he was adamant that you enjoy it, like a consensual lover."

"Snape, I - I don't know where to begin," Harry said, tears now flowing down his cheeks. He sobbed once.

"Tell me the worst thing you can think of," Snape suggested. "It's what's bothering you right now, isn't it?"

"I did make that deal, like Malfoy said," Harry confessed suddenly, sobbing thoroughly, hanging his head so low it was between his hands, which Snape still held. The grip tightened slightly. "It was Christmas, and they didn't come back, and it was just the two of us all break, and it was hell. He'd taken off from work. He barely left the house. I was helpless. I was used to a few days off when they came back during the week, but they didn't come back! I was desperate. And Vernon came to my room that night and I just couldn't. I thought I'd die if I didn't have a break, and I told him that. And he said I wouldn't die, I just needed to finally relax a bit. And I don't know what happened, but I said that I'd try to relax tomorrow if he just let it go tonight. And he said really, how much would I relax? And I said that I'd consent, okay? I wouldn't fight him at all or beg him to stop, if he'd just leave me alone for one night. And he said okay, but he wanted me to initiate it. And he said if I didn't hold up my end of the bargain, he'd keep me out of Hogwarts, and I didn't know if he could or not, but that was the only safe place I had, so I couldn't risk it." Harry stopped and took a breath.

"Here, drink some water," Snape said. He released one of Harry's hands and grabbed the water, giving it to the boy. Harry drank some of its contents before setting it down. Snape took a sip after.

"And it was so terrible after," Harry continued. "I shouldn't have done it. I spent the whole day with my stomach in knots thinking about the next day. I didn't get any freedom. And then the next day..." Harry broke off, sobbing uncontrollably. Snape pulled him close, holding Harry under his arm. When he got control of himself again, "And then the next day, I followed through, just like I promised, because I wanted to go back to Hogwarts." Harry glanced up at Snape. "You don't want to hear about this, do you?" Harry asked. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't...it'll bring up bad memories for you."

"No, Harry, continue as long as you want," Snape replied without hesitation. "I will be here for you. I've wanted you to explain for a long time now. The fact that it took half a fifth of firewhiskey to do it is regrettable, but if you want to talk, I'm not going to object."

"It's not rape when I consented. I sold my body for a few hours. I'm no better than a common whore. Malfoy was right." Harry's tears flowed freely. Snape ran his hands up and down Harry's back.

"You didn't consent," Snape murmured. "You were under duress. You're not a whore."

"You keep saying I didn't consent, but I did," Harry argued. "I just let him have his way after that. All the rest of the nights, like three or something, I don't really remember, I just lay there and took it. I did whatever he said, and I didn't even ask him not to."

"You hated it, and he knew it," Snape said. "It doesn't matter what the other circumstances were."

"I hate it, I hate him, I hate me," Harry sobbed. "So much hate."

"Harry, uh..." Snape began, the pause very unusual in his delivery, "have you ever had a good experience?"

"What?

"I mean..." Snape paused again. "Was there ever anyone in your life...who..."

"You mean did I have voluntary sex? What's so hard about just asking?"

"I'm not the one who is...buzzed," Snape drawled.

"And no," Harry answered. "Not unless you count that time I just told you about or the time with Nott."

"I most certainly don't," Snape answered, sounding a bit affronted.

"Then no," Harry concluded. "Do you honestly think I was getting laid when I was fourteen?"

"Well, I mean, you are the Boy-Who-Lived..."

"I couldn't even getting a bloody date for the ball," Harry sobbed. "How do you think I was going to get laid? Being the Boy-Who-Lived doesn't mean shit."

"I see," Snape sighed. He seemed a bit sad.

"You wanted a different answer?" Harry guessed.

"I was hoping," Snape answered.

"But why? Wouldn't that make me even more slutty?"

"If you had had a good experience," Snape began, "then maybe you could draw on that for your future to overcome your bad experiences. Given that you have never had a good experience, you have no reason to want to experience anything sexual again, do you?"

"Absolutely not!" Harry exclaimed, recoiling a bit from Snape's grasp. "I know I should want to, but I don't."

"That's alright," Snape soothed him. "I was just wondering. You'll probably remember nothing of this conversation in the morning."

"I might," Harry replied. "It doesn't seem to be working like the last time."

"Last time?" Snape questioned, suddenly going alert. "When did you have a last time? I wasn't aware of it."

"Last time at the Dursleys," Harry answered. "Vernon wanted to throw a party, commemorate the last time I'd be there for awhile, probably till Easter, he figured. He brought home a bunch of booze and I started drinking like there was no tomorrow. After a few shots and a couple beers, I just stopped remembering. We were still in the kitchen when it just goes blank."

"When did you come to?"

"Next morning. I was lying with him, and I was happy because that meant I could go home."

"So you've no idea what happened that night?"

"None, whatsoever, and it's better that way," Harry answered. "That's one night I don't have to feel guilty for."

"You don't have to feel guilty for any of them," Snape whispered, drawing Harry close again.

"But this doesn't feel like last time," Harry continued. "It took way more, and I still feel more coherent than last time."

"You get one blackout before it becomes very hard," Snape explained. "You probably used yours wisely, all things considered, but we still need to talk about alcohol use. I won't have you becoming an alcoholic." He shuddered.

"I'm going to have a hangover, aren't I?" Harry asked.

"Of course," Snape replied calmly. "You should drink all the water you can stomach, and then you should go to bed."

"I'll go get ready for bed," Harry volunteered, breaking contact with Snape and trying to stand on his own. That didn't go well. He began to sink towards the floor. Between the still high alcohol levels in his system and the emotional exhaustion, it was hopeless for Harry to get to bed on his own. Snape caught him, and began to guide him towards the bedroom.

"I'll transfigure your clothes into something more appropriate for bed," Snape volunteered, and without waiting for a response, he did as he said. Harry was wearing a nice pair of red and gold pajamas.

"Gryffindor," Harry commented sleepily. "You're thoughtful."

"I just know you like those garish colors," Snape justified. Then he summoned a bucket and placed it next to Harry's bed. "In case you feel like throwing up tonight and can't make it to the bathroom in time."

"Thanks," Harry said. "I am feeling a little queasy."

"You're welcome," Snape replied, stepping into the adjoining bathroom while he got ready for bed. When he returned, Harry glanced over at him.

"I'm glad I moved my bed in here," Harry commented. "I'm safe here. It's nice being with you."

"It's nice being with you too, Harry," Snape replied after a moment, resting a hand on his shoulder momentarily.

"I love you," Harry muttered before he drifted into an alcohol induced slumber. Severus smiled.

"I love you too," he whispered, but Harry couldn't hear.