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Acceptable losses	By : SweetJerry Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1028 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-In the years that passed
- 2-Running through my veins
- 1
- 2
Chapter 2

Running through my
veins

�Did you find anything?� Hermione asked.
Her anxious brown eyes, her pale forehead and her riot of brown hair were the
only things visible above the thick volume she was reading. Realising after the
war that she had been without education for a whole year, she had � of course �
panicked. At least until Ron mildly pointed out that the Ministry had
decided to declare the last year at Hogwarts invalid due to the circumstances,
so she hadn�t really missed anything, nor was she likely to be expelled.
And sure
enough, their Hogwarts letters arrived with owlpost like they always had, and
Hermione had set to work with learning everything she needed to know before the
year had even started.

Not that she needed it,
of course. She had been declared a hero along with Harry and received the Order
of Merlin, first class; there was no place in the whole Wizarding World where
she would be turned down if she came looking for a job, no university or
college that would frown upon her lack of grades. But what did that matter to
Hermione? She would never feel qualified enough if she hadn�t left
school with straight O�s for her NEWTs. She had explained this with such
earnestness in her voice that Ron had laughed fondly and tickled her, calling her
nitpicky and obsessive, but Harry could understand what she meant.

Nonetheless, he wasn�t
sure he wanted to go back. How was he supposed to cope, walking the corridors
again, remembering the people who died there� Reliving over and over again
those few, brutal seconds when Fred was blasted out of their lives forever�
Seeing the shadows of the dead on the floors that could never be washed clean
of the faint scent of blood�

And how could he ever
walk into the Potion�s classroom without seeing the empty space that Severus
Snape had left behind? How was he supposed to ever be able to walk past the
door to the Headmaster�s office without that surge of frustration, that bitter
and desperate longing for more time?

There was always so
little time, it seemed.

No time for him to
remember with his parents. No time with Sirius before he too was swept away. No
time for Tonks and Remus and their son to be a family. No time for Fred to ever
become more than a youth. No time for Harry to get to know Albus Dumbledore as
he felt he ought to have done. No time to tell Snape� something. Anything.
Whatever it took for him not to hate Harry, or rather the bitter loneliness of
his that Harry personified by being the ultimate testimony of that it was
James, and not him; always and for ever James, and not him�

Harry shook his head;
he was tired, wanted to sleep.

�Nothing?� Hermione
said, looking sympathetic. Harry jumped, remembering where he was.

�What? Oh, yes, some
things. Letters. From� my mother. Letters from her.�

�Well, that�s nice,
isn�t it? What were they like?�

Harry smiled bleakly
and sat down. �Badly spelled, for starters. She wrote most of them during a
winter holiday, when she was at home with her parents and Snape was staying at
Hogwarts. She was fourteen then. I don�t think she was very fond of writing,
for except those written that winter there weren�t very many letters. I
suppose, since they lived quite close to each other, there wasn�t any real need
to write.�

Hermione had closed her
book while he was speaking, and now tilted her head gently as she watched him
attentively. �Anything else?�

�A sketch of her face.
And one of the books that were confiscated was from her.� Harry tried to sound
offhand, but didn�t fully manage. However small, these were still traces of his
mother�s life, and the life of a man that loved her. The excitement that came
with these findings was however somewhat dampened by the largest of his finds.
He wished he hadn�t opened Alice in Wonderland in the first place, and
still he was somehow glad he had. And that didn�t make sense at all, but then,
neither did what he had read in those letters so far. The only way of finding
out what he felt about them was to read more.

�So, what aren�t you
telling me, Harry Potter?� Hermione was giving him a shrewd look and drumming
her fingers against the table.

�What?� Harry had a
feeling that his attempt to look innocent wouldn�t win any awards, for Hermione
only sighed and shook her head.

�It�s fine if you don�t
want to tell me, Harry,� she said patiently, �but you should know better than
trying to trick me that there is nothing troubling you. I�ve spent far too many
years trying to figure out when something is upsetting you to be fooled, you
know.�

Harry pulled a sour
face and rested his head in his hands. �Yes, thank you, a pair of less
perceptive best friends would be nice� he muttered to the world in general.

�You�d really choose to
call Ronald �perceptive�?� Hermione asked, amused.

�Okay, okay. Point
taken. One less perceptive friend, then.�

She laughed, but it was
a kind sort of laugh, and her eyes were warm and concerned. �I hope you�ll tell
me what�s bothering you, Harry,� she said solemnly. �Not now, perhaps, but
later. Whenever you feel up to it.�

Harry nodded. �I will.
It�s just� I want to know everything, before� I wouldn�t want� Knowing only
parts of it would give an unjust view on� a lot of things. I think. I�m sorry,
I�m rambling, but��

�No, it�s alright
Harry, I understand. You don�t want me to draw the wrong conclusions, right?�

�Something like that.�

�You mean� like you did
with Dumbledore?�

�That wasn�t
necessary.�

�Wasn�t it?�

Harry tried to scowl,
but it turned into a resigned grin. �I suppose it might�ve been. A little.�

�Well, whenever you
feel ready, as I said. I wouldn�t want to have my prior view of Snape
re-established unless he really deserves it.�

She meant it as a joke,
he could see that. A way to cheer him up. So he smiled at her because that was
what she expected, and wondered how he was ever going find a good way to
explain what he had read so far. �Oh, incidentally, Snape was also shagging
Pettigrew,� didn�t sound like a good way of putting it.

Unfortunately, it was
still true.

Later
that night, Harry was sprawled on his bed in Ron�s room. Mr and Mrs Weasley
were talking about adding some rooms to the house, so that Harry�d have a room
of his own while he stayed there. Harry, not wanting to put them to
inconvenience, had pointed out that he had tons of gold in his vault, even more
now after all the ceremonial gifts he had received for �Services to the
Wizarding Society�. He could afford to find a place of his own. But they had
flatly refused to listen, and Harry realised that they actually wanted him
there.

He wondered what they
were going to do with the boarded-up room. If they were just going to keep it
the way it was. Nobody liked going in there, seeing the two empty beds. George
wouldn�t even go up the stairs; he slept in the sitting-room. He wouldn�t go
back to the shop either. He wouldn�t do anything at all. He spent the days wandering
the countryside, and everyone tried as much as possible to avoid him. Nobody
knew what to say, because there wasn�t anything you could say.

Still, as it was, Harry
slept in Ron�s room. This might�ve presented a problem at the moment, but
thankfully enough Ron was a heavy sleeper, and it didn�t take long from that he
put his head on the pillow until soft snores started to issue from his bed. As
soon as he was sure that Ron was sound asleep, Harry rummaged through a pile of
dirty laundry where he had hidden the letters. He stared at them for a while,
reluctant to start reading. So far, what he had found in those letters had been
very unpleasant, even rather disturbing. He imagined that it wasn�t going to
get any better.

Nonetheless�

Sighing, he extracted a
new piece of parchment and unfolded it. Then he spent some minutes meticulously
smoothing out every single crease in the paper, before he finally dared to read
it.

The writing was in
another kind of ink now; this had probably been written on another occasion.
But it was the same flowing handwriting, and it picked up the story more or
less where it had been left�

As you know, I didn�t tell my friends about what had happened
during the winter holiday. How could I? They didn�t even know about my inclinations
towards men, and they certainly didn�t know about my crush on you. I kept
things like that to myself even in normal cases, and what had happened with you
was special. I couldn�t tell a living soul.

Don�t imagine it was
easy. Whatever you might�ve thought about them, I loved my friends, I trusted
them, and I was sure they trusted me. I suppose this was the first betrayal of
trust you inspired in me.

What I did wasn�t
lying; it was worse than that. Lying would have been better than not saying
anything at all. And at the beginning, that was all I could think about.
Slowly, as the days went by, I learnt to cope with it, little by little, but
right then you decided to enter my life once more.

You have to understand
that up to that moment I was convinced that whatever we had that night ended
the following morning. When I came back to Hogwarts, you didn�t even look at me
once. Thus I assumed that you didn�t want to have anything to do with me; you
probably regretted that night and wanted to forget about it. And while that
hurt me, it didn�t surprise me. Nothing had really changed. Or so I thought.

It
was rather late in the evening, and Peter was returning from two humiliating
hours of Remedial Transfiguration. The only reason he had managed to scrape an
E at the OWLs was that there had been so many questions concerning morphing of
the own body on the theoretical exams. That was the only part of
Transfiguration that he had even the vaguest grasp on. He began to wish that he
hadn�t signed up for the NEWT class, but in a small attack of misdirected pride
he had decided that he would stand yet another year of the hated subject rather
than being the only one of the four of them to give it up.

Of course, they
didn�t understand that. James would just roll his eyes and mutter that it was
his own fault, so stop whining about it; Sirius teased him about it and said
that he must be the first Animagus ever to flunk on a Transfiguration test;
Remus looked faintly bemused, and tried to help him the best he could, even though
it was obvious that he thought it was rather pointless. Peter couldn�t blame
him. McGonagall was obviously convinced that he was a hopeless case, and rather
stupid too. At least Remus didn�t question his intelligence � or if he did, he
hid it well.

Peter knew he wasn�t
stupid. He might be ugly, awkward and fumbling � he knew he was that
� but he wasn�t stupid. And he wasn�t completely incompetent at every subject.
It was just that compared to James and Sirius, who were naturally good at
everything they did, and Remus, who studied until he was at least as good�
well, he came up rather short. Literally. And unfortunately for Peter, being
their friend meant that you were constantly being compared to them.

And there his train of
thought was interrupted, as he was suddenly slammed with incredible force into
the wall. Blue-black flowers danced across his eyes and he felt someone holding
him in a vice-grip, strong, hard fingers pushing him against the cold stone of
the walls. He struggled against whoever it was holding him, but he might as
well have tried to wrestle Time itself, so instead he opened his mouth to
scream. And was shocked into absolute stillness as a warm, greedy mouth was
closed over his, a clever tongue darting in to touch his.

When the kiss ended he
stared in silence up at Snape, who in turn smirked at him. The dark eyes were
dancing, no doubt laughing at the strange mixture of admiration, surprise and
terror that Peter couldn�t keep from his gaze.

�We meet again, little
mouse,� he mumbled softly, and against his will a small smile made Peter�s lips
twitch.

�Little mouse,� indeed!

�S-so it would seem.�
He wished he had just half of Snape�s self-control! But he might as well wish
that he was tall and handsome; it amounted to about the same thing. He swallowed
hard. �I� I thought�� But he didn�t know how to explain that he had been sure
that Snape would never look at him, except to curse him, ever again.

�Did you?� Snape asked
loftily. �Was it very painful?� He was staring down at Peter with a strange,
predatory expression carved upon the rough features of his face, and Peter felt
himself blushing. But he could not turn his gaze away.

Peter knew that most
people considered Snape ugly, and he could see what they meant. But Snape went
right through the definitions of ugliness and came out on the other side,
earning some strange kind of beauty from the forbidding harshness of his
exterior. There was a sort of dark attraction in his skeletal body, his deathly
paleness, the neglected black hair, the chilling darkness of his eyes. He
appealed to the eye as did a wild and dangerous thing; like a wolf, or a range
of rugged, sharp cliffs; like the edge of a knife, or the blinding light that
followed a curse.

�I� Why?� Peter hated
himself for asking that question, but he had to know. �I mean� you hate me,
don�t you?� And even if you didn�t� Why me? Look at me. When there�s
everyone else, why me?

Snape shrugged. �Well,
you�re one of them aren�t you? I might as well ask why you kissed
me.�

Because I love you, you
idiot. And I�m sure as hell that you don�t love me. �I� wanted it,� was all
he could manage.

�All of it?� Snape
breathed, leaning closer, and Peter both winced and pulled closer, at the same
time drawn and repelled.

��yes. All of it.� He
blushed, amazed at what he was saying, or rather that he dared to say it.
Snape�s hot breath over his face made him shiver and his body to react
violently. He tried to squirm away, so Snape wouldn�t notice. But the other boy
smirked cruelly at him, and Peter stiffened in shock as he felt a hand grip
roughly at his crotch.

�And you still want it,
I see.�

Peter couldn�t answer,
only gasp and squirm, and as the last strength went out of his limbs he sagged
against the wall, his eyes fluttering close.

�I can do anything I
want to you right now,� Snape mused, and there was a cruel edge to his voice.
�I could hex you so badly that you�d have to stay here all night. And when they
ask me why you didn�t run away� I could tell the truth��

Peter forced his eyes
open, forced himself to stare into the wall of inscrutable darkness that was
all he could see in the other boy�s eyes. �You won�t,� he whispered.

�Won�t I? Indeed. And
why is that?�

�Because then,� he
swallowed, his mouth dry, �you would lose the power you have over me now.�
Although still pleasurable, Snape�s grip was tightening and becoming
increasingly painful; yet he stood still, seduced by the fierceness in the
other boy�s expression. The black eyes were roving over his face, searching for
something, and for a short second Peter imagined that he could actually see an
ever so faint shadow of bewilderment. But a second later, there was yet again
nothing but blackness, empty as the sky, deep as a grave. Thin, white lips
curled into a smirk.

�My, my. It actually
thinks,� Snape whispered and though his voice was mocking, his countenance was
more relaxed. His fingers loosened their grip and slid upward to rest against
Peter�s neck, lifting his face to be examined. �Who would�ve guessed? But a
lack of spine obviously does not mean that there is a lack of brain.�

Peter blushed, yet he
would not avert his gaze, but tried through it to throw all the defiance he
could muster back at Snape. This one thinks, he thought, but does the
other one feel?

And then, suddenly,
Snape let go of him. Peter immediately lost his balance, stumbling to his hands
and knees. He heard footsteps echo in the corridor, as Snape strode away.

�Wait.� He had meant it
to be a shout, but it came out as a whisper. Nonetheless, the footfalls
stopped, and as Peter looked up he saw Snape standing a bit down the corridor,
his back still to him.

�There will be time
later,� he said, his voice so soft that Peter had to strain his ears to hear
it. �I have to go now.�

He continued down the
corridor, looking impossibly graceful for someone who usually moved with all
the awkwardness of an overgrown bug. Peter didn�t dare call after him again, or
try to catch up with him. So he got slowly to his feet and set off in the
opposite direction, even if that meant going the long way round.

And as he felt his
bruised body ache, his heart lifted with joy.

He came back to me!

You came back to me.
Why? Maybe it really was the power you had over me. I know you liked to think
so. But there was another intention, another reason, wasn�t there? And I don�t
think you ever let go of it with your mind, not even for one second. It was
always there, just barely hidden beneath the surface. If I had looked for the
signs, they would�ve been painfully obvious.

I didn�t. I trusted
you, because I wanted to trust you. I wanted so badly for you to feel what I
felt, and so I imagined that you did. I spun frail dreams around us to make the
person that was me more appealing, more likeable, more like an idea of me than
an actual human being. You were supposed to lift me up, to take me out of the
person I was. And it is true that I was a fool to believe that you would fulfil
my every expectation, but it would take long for me to find out just how
foolish.

Right then, right
there, I saw how the impossibility of love was suddenly made possible, and the
air around me positively shimmered with the castles that my dreams built.

Harry
swallowed hard, stuffing the letter back in the envelope. This just couldn�t be
right. It had to be a lie. He had seen Severus Snape�s last thoughts, and there
was no doubt in his mind that the man had always loved his mother.

On the other hand, it
hardly made sense that Pettigrew would be lying about this in a private letter
to Snape, the only one in the whole world that would logically know that it
wasn�t true.

And what was getting
even more on Harry�s nerves was that he remembered how awkward and helpless he
had been in the beginning with both Cho and Ginny, and how he had been
determined to hide from Ron what he felt about his little sister� And he was
beginning to wonder if the Pettigrew described in the letters � the teenage
Pettigrew, trying to keep from his friends that he fancied their worst enemy �
was much different from that.

But no, Harry reminded
himself. He would never cheer his friend on if they tried to bully someone, especially
if he happened to be in love with that person.

He just couldn�t avoid
the thought that there was a difference between a spineless bully and a traitor
and Death Eater. Despite himself, Harry wondered things had changed.

Stuffing the letters
under his mattress, he turned in bed, staring into the darkness outside the
window. He couldn�t let this rest. He was going back to the Ministry Storage of
Confiscated Artefacts tomorrow. And if he didn�t find anything there, he was
going to look through Spinners End for himself.

He wanted the truth.
That is, he wanted it all to be a lie. Somehow. How could it be anything else?
After what he had seen in Snape�s last thought�

But as he fell asleep,
it was almost like a voice was whispering in his ear, over and over again:

�If you died today, you
would not think of me, not even for a moment.�
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Acceptable losses