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Vices	By : BurningNebula Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 8682 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any related characters. I do not make any money from the writing of this story

Chapter List
- 5
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- 7
I apologize for how long it's been since I've updated. I've had lots of stressful and mind-consuming real life issues. I hope the people who expressed a desire for me to light a fire under my ass forgive me for the delay, and leave me some reviews. Anyway, I'll try harder to stay on top of it from here on, and the next chapter should be coming along soon.

                Severus never dreamed; he had nightmares, plenty of them. Not dreams. After the Dark Lord’s demise, it was difficult to overcome nightmares of fangs and curses and incessant evil attached to his very being; difficult, but not impossible. He was not a master Occlumens for nothing. That was why, as he slipped into unconsciousness with his face resting against the back of Harry’s shoulder, much later it would become a mystery to him how vividly he dreamed that night.
                It happened quickly, almost as soon as his eyelids slid closed, and for a moment he thought he hadn’t fallen asleep at all, but that he’d somehow Apparated somewhere accidentally, as stupid as the idea seemed. He experienced a strange sensation, as though he knew he was dreaming but that everything here was still very much real. It was dim where he stood, and though he couldn’t see distinctly, the closeness of the air around him and the faint rustling sound he heard told him he stood amongst trees. There was no smell, an unsettling lack of sensation that seemed immediately noticeable and somehow suspicious. Severus looked down and realized he was naked, and that he held his wand in his right hand.
  He wanted to walk around, to find some hint of where he was. He attempted to light his wand, but nothing happened. This seemed unimportant, though he knew it should be. He disregarded the thought and began to move forward, holding his left hand out in front of him to avoid colliding with anything. The ground below had a curious lack of texture, and after a moment Severus realized it was not the texture of the ground but the coldness of the air making his feet numb. With the suddenness of being struck in the face, he felt the cold so intensely he thought his bones might shatter like untempered glass.
                With the cold, came a sense of alarm that caused him to halt and tense into a defensive stance, his wand held high as he peered about fruitlessly. In the way of a dream, the feeling prickling at his mind became a point of focus somewhere to the left and a little behind him. As he felt it, he spun on the spot and pointed his wand in that direction. A gentle gust of wind whispered from the direction he faced, and the air around him was filled with scent and sound. The scent was all too familiar to Severus; it was Harry’s smell, but Severus was confused as to why Harry would be here of all places. The sound, at first, was the now-familiar rustling of leaves becoming louder with the disturbance in the air. As the wind died, however, the sound only intensified and became like a tangible thing that danced fluidly across his skin and turned to words that whispered in his mind instead of the space around him.
                “Open our eyes,” Over and over and he strained to hear them, knew he was hearing them, but he never felt certain it wasn’t only ever the sound of the trees.
                He had long since given up trying to see, but suddenly he could see nothing besides a growing glow, silhouetting trunks of trees and a level, undisturbed mist upon the ground. The light grew and consumed his attention. At some point, he realized all he could hear was the sound of a heavy animal breathing and he realized he’d closed his eyes and that the light had been shining through his eyelids. He opened them slowly and was momentarily blinded by the glow of an incorporeal beast. He realized it was somewhat like a Patronus, but the thing was a soft golden colour and seemed somehow more solid. It carried something smaller in its mouth. He looked more closely and realized it was a large wolf with a younger wolf clutched by the scruff in its jaws.
                He had thought the thing was large for a wolf, but it began to move closer and he realized how far away it had been to begin with. In the way dreams are wont to do, his sense of depth was distorted in a manner that still seemed logical. The great wolf sat before him and he was awed in a sort of unsurprised way at the size of it. He tried to liken it to the height of a horse, but was too distracted to try to contemplate what size that actually was. It set the small wolf at Severus’ feet, and even as the little one rolled over onto its back and kicked its legs playfully, the massive beast before him leaned forward and pressed its nose to Severus’ forehead.
                “Open our eyes,” The wolf said, in a voice like a lightning bolt running down Severus’ spine, the sort of voice that is not a voice, or even a sound reproducible in waking life.
***
  That the bed was cold and that his mouth felt like a dry sponge were the first things Severus was aware of upon waking up. He shifted a bit under the blanket, feeling a dull throbbing in his head, a pain like a rising tsunami that had yet to be realized in its approach. When he opened his eyes, it crashed to land. He clutched at his stomach, which was not at all nauseous, but felt rather like it might’ve ceased functioning entirely. He slowly turned his head to the side, to where Harry had lain the night before. Harry’s smell was all around him like a comforting aura, but his absence left Severus wanting.
                Rising from the bed, despite the fact that his head felt as though it weighed ten stone, Severus made his way to Harry’s little bathroom to rinse out his mouth and clean his face. He looked into his own eyes in the mirror. He’d had a dream, hadn’t he? What was it? It left the lingering afterimages of fleeting memory, like the shadow of someone in another room. Or lightning. Especially lightning, but why? His mind was flowing with the consistency of cold molasses, and even as he struggled to recall, he swept the concerns away.
  Wanting to check the time, he felt for his wand only to find it was not anywhere on his person. He made a quick surface search of the bedroom before shuffling out to the kitchen. There he found Harry gingerly sipping a glass of water, Severus’ wand and two small bottles on the table in front of him. One bottle contained a pale blue potion and the other was empty. Harry smiled when he saw Severus and motioned to him to take a seat at the table. Severus sat and eyed the potion bottle through squinting eyes, and Harry pushed the bottle over to him.
                “It’s for the vicious hangover,” Harry said, still grinning. Severus wondered at the blueness of the colour, as most of the hangover remedies he’d seen tended to be more aqua, but ignored the thought as he’d come to have quite a bit of faith in Harry’s knowledge of potions. After he’d downed the small amount of liquid, it was as if the headache-tsunami was crashing up in reverse and his stomach began to feel less like a raisin. Severus ran a hand through his hair, feeling like he had wretched bed-hair, and noticed that it still smelled enticingly of Harry’s bed. Caring not for formality, Severus reached over and took the glass of water from Harry and drank a steady gulp before handing it back and picking up his wand.
                There was something unnerving in the way that Harry looked at him. He seemed amused that Severus had taken his water, but tiredness and lingering hangover effects were apparent, as well as something else not so obvious. He was dressed in what Severus had come to think of in his mind as Harry’s “work clothes”. Upon close inspection, he could see that the leather garment was indeed armour, made of segmented plates sewn to a dark brown leather material, with copper rivets and fastenings.
                “What time is it?” Severus asked.
                “About half nine,” Harry told him, his eyes lowering to his glass. “I have some business to attend to, but it shouldn’t take me long. You’re welcome to use the shower or catch some more sleep if you like. If you choose to make breakfast by the time I’m back, you’ll be my favourite person in the world. But if you need to head home, I understand.”
                Severus looked at him blearily. Harry was much more awake than he was, and Severus couldn’t be bothered to insist he head home, which he supposed was what he should do, but breakfast and lazing about for a while sounded grand as well.
                “Yeah, I can make some breakfast,” Severus replied as he inhaled deeply and rubbed his face. “Do you know how long you should be?” He asked as he cast a charm on himself to take the wrinkles and the smell of wear out of his clothes.
                “Hour and a half, or two,” Harry said shrugging one shoulder. Severus nodded in acknowledgment.
                Harry rose from the table and smiled tiredly at Severus. He moved towards the door, and as he did Severus felt Harry’s hand brush along his upper arm just up to the shoulder. It was a very familiar contact, and it made Severus shiver a little. He looked up at Harry who was already at the door, wondering if he’d only done it to get his attention, or for another reason.
                “I’ll see you soon then,” Harry said with a little smile and left the room, the sound of the front door opening and closing meeting Severus’ ears a moment later.
***
                An hour and forty minutes later found Severus showered, only to be recovered with flour as he attempted breakfast. He whirled away from the stove to face the kitchen door as he heard the front door open and close, heralding Harry’s arrival. Harry stepped into the kitchen and paused, seeming stunned as he absorbed the sight of the mess Severus had made. Severus straightened his back and his chin gave a defensive lift.
                “I… made scones,” Severus said smoothly, lifting an eyebrow and trying for offhandedness. Harry continued to look dumbstruck and peered around Severus at the smoldering ruins that were the scones. Severus knew he was doomed to humiliation the moment Harry’s eyes acquired a certain twinkling that reminded him ominously of one late Headmaster of Hogwarts.
                “And those—“
                “Are the scones, yes,” Severus cut him off, glaring at a spot over Harry’s shoulder. Harry seemed to be trying to keep the smile off his face, but was doing a piss poor job of it. Suddenly, his demeanor changed; he stood straight with his arms crossed over his chest and sneered disgustedly at Severus through narrowed eyes.
                “And here I thought even belligerent social pariahs could follow a simple scone recipe. It seems you’ve set the record straight, Mr. Snape. Five hundred points from Slytherin,” Harry said in a dangerous voice, or what would’ve sounded dangerous if Severus could not see the twitch of amusement playing at the corners of Harry’s mouth.
                “You’re mocking me,” Severus stated. Harry’s cruel expression finally crumbled and his face spilt into a wide grin.
                “Imitating,” Harry clarified, “there’s a difference. Besides, you deserve some teasing after all the times you humiliated me in front of my peers in school. Just because I don’t hold it against you doesn’t mean that I’ve forgotten all about it.” Harry stepped around Severus, prodding at a charred scone with his wand, causing it to shatter.
                “Naturally,” Severus muttered out of the side of his mouth. He knew he had apologised briefly for seven years of belittling and picking on Harry, but was hoping that he wouldn’t be taken to task for how insufficient that apology was. In the years since he’d secluded himself from the public after the war ended, he had had plenty of time to reflect on the petulance and pointlessness of his treatment of Harry and others (Lupin, for instance, had never deserved to have a grudge held against him, and now Severus could never make amends for his behavior).
   Suddenly, he didn’t feel the irritation of Harry’s jest or the hunger for breakfast, only a low-simmering and bitter self-loathing. The recently forgotten compulsion to numb his memories returned, lurking insidiously in the back of his mind. The thought that he needed to punish himself for all of the wrongs he’d committed came unbidden into his mind, and so different was it from the days when he’d thought that the way to atone for his sins was endless self-sacrifice for others. He felt as though he deserved to suffer, and that allowing himself the pleasure of happiness and Harry’s company was tantamount to a criminal act.
                “…but don’t worry about it, because I passed a place that does great croissants, so I bought us some,” Harry was saying, Severus only just realizing that he’d been speaking for about a minute while Severus was lost in thought. He turned to look at Harry blankly and Harry gazed expectantly back in turn. Harry seemed to realize that he hadn’t been listening, and pulled a brown paper bag from his messenger bag, holding it out to Severus. Still, he only stood and stared, wondering what expression Harry could see in his once well-trained features.
                “Severus?” Harry said, his brow furrowing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
                Severus shook his head as though to clear away his thoughts as well as placate Harry’s feeling of unease.
                “Not at all. As it turns out, I was more than capable of making fruit salad and eggs,” He said, turning to retrieve the food from where he’d placed it on the counter. Harry seemed willing to continue as though nothing happened, but Severus supposed that was because, for Harry, nothing had. He had no way of knowing what thoughts plagued Severus’ mind at that moment.
                As they ate breakfast and cleared everything away, Severus found himself falling deeper into thoughts of depression, remorse, and wanting to be alone. He wondered at how he had felt so peaceful and clear-minded the night before, even while drunk, passing the time playing carefree games with Harry and burying his face into the other man’s dark hair as he fell into sleep. Now, he felt as though his sanity was being poured down a drain, impossible to pull back and salvage as it slipped between his fingers.
                As he remembered lying in bed next to Harry, he remembered having a dream that had tugged at the edges of his memory that morning. He grasped at the shadowy images, desperately glad to have something to dwell on for the moment. He remembered a forest, and seemed to have a distant sense memory of mingling fog and wind. He thought there might have been lightning, or was that something he’d thought up as he’d awoken? As he thought, he looked up and caught sight of the legendary lightning scar on Harry’s forehead. It could have been coincidence, but there was some vague whisper in his mind that told him the similarity between the dream and the scar was symbolic.
                “I think I dreamt about you last night,” Severus said, uncertain. “But I can’t remember most of it.”
                Harry startled slightly, as he had been gazing distractedly at the kitchen fire.
                “Oh? Nothing bad I hope,” He said with the lopsided grin that so often occupied his face.
                “No… no, there was a forest. And animals, I think,” Severus murmured, closing his eyes in the effort to recall. “I think you told me something important—but— it’s frustrating, I feel like I should remember it but I can’t.”
                “Well, I’m surprised you dreamt at all. I knocked out and didn’t wake up until right before you did,” Harry said with a chuckle, and then a thought seemed to occur to him. “I think I remember you getting up in the middle of the night, though.”
                “Indeed,” Severus confirmed, “and you were not on your side as promised, I might add.”
                “From how reluctant you were to let me go when I got up, I’d say you didn’t mind,” Harry said with a sly smile. Severus only raised his eyebrow coolly, pleased that his control of the blush that threatened to colour his face did not fail him. Harry’s smile widened. “Anyway, it’ll be another twelve hours before we can continue with our project. I’ve brewed the Wolfsbane plenty of times on my own, but you are welcome to help if you want.”
                Severus gazed into Harry’s eyes as he considered. He couldn’t really tell if Harry was saying he wanted or needed his assistance, or if he was kindly telling Severus to bugger off. He decided it must be the latter.
                “Actually I do have some things I need to take care of in the next few days,” Severus lied. “I’m sure you can manage without me.”
                Harry’s expression became curiously blank, leaving Severus wondering if he’d been correct in interpreting Harry’s words.
                “Of course,” Harry said, and Severus wasn’t sure if he imagined the stiltedly polite tone in the words. “Would you mind doing a bit more research on the idea you presented while I finish the work on this potion? I reckon we can use all the head start we can get on that.”
                Severus nodded, and they made plans to meet back in a week and a half, when Harry would just be finishing their latest attempt at an improved Wolfsbane potion. As he gathered his things and collected the books he’d gotten from the library, Severus fought the urge to request to stay and help. He couldn’t be sure if his desire to be alone was simply because he genuinely needed some time to himself, or if he was running from something. Running from what, he wasn’t sure. He’d always felt fairly astute when it came to dissecting other people’s motives for their actions, but anymore he was in the dark when it came to his own.
                As he left Harry’s little apartment and strode quickly to the back of the Leaky Cauldron to Apparate back to his own neighborhood, he felt as though he was doing something markedly foolish.
***
                The first day alone in his small house, Severus was a whirlwind of cleaning, organising, re-cleaning, rearranging furniture, and disposing of potions ingredients which had gone south. He didn’t know what he was distracting himself from.
                The second to fifth days, he brewed some potions which had been ordered through owl post. Most he had been putting off for at least three weeks. In the pile of letters on the kitchen table were a few cancellations of orders, due to his procrastination, but most of the other customers were glad to finally receive their potions. Truth be told, he didn’t get too many orders these days, but somehow he’d managed to maintain a faithful following. He spent all of the time between brewing on getting work done on his research for his and Harry’s project.
                The sixth and seventh days, Severus got blind drunk by himself and ended up smashing a very pricey goblin-made glass alembic against the wall of his basement laboratory, as well as catching fire to a bookshelf. He didn’t remember what had inspired either action when he found their remains on the eighth day, but luckily the books on the case weren’t so damaged as to be rendered unusable. He spent the rest of the eighth day sleeping.
                On the ninth day, he felt that he would tear his skin off if he didn’t get out of the bloody house, so he got cleaned up and dressed and made his way out onto the street. He happened to be staying in a section of Muggle London that was located nearby Diagon Alley, as well as other Wizarding establishments such as the hospital and the library. However, he deliberately aimed his feet to carry him away from them and farther into the Muggle part of town. He stopped and bought a pack of cigarettes, though he hadn’t smoked a Muggle cigarette in years, and smoked one now and then as he wandered. It occurred to him that one could never truly wander until lost as a wizard, because home was one short Apparation away. For some reason this thought made him bitter, and he stalked with more purpose, mindlessly leading himself to the shadier parts of town.
  On a particularly sludgy and trash-strewn corner, he stopped to light another smoke, standing for a moment as he held the toxins in his lungs before exhaling into what he now realized was the night air. When had the street lamps lit? He couldn’t recall. There was a whispered psst from somewhere behind him, and he turned to see an emaciated Muggle wearing over-large denims and a black hoodie.
                “You lookin’ for somethin’?” The man asked in a low voice, the sound of it not-quite obscured by the sound of a lorry sputtering down the street. Severus knew he shouldn’t. He knew he should simply shake his head and turn and walk away. Nearly two and a half weeks he’d done nothing but drink alcohol, why should he ruin that now? But it seemed as though he had lost control over his speech and motor skills as the Muggle currency and several small, plastic bags exchanged hands. Perhaps this was how he was doomed to fulfill his self-imposed punishment. Or perhaps he could just do it this one, final time. The last nine days had felt like torture, alone in his dark home, with his mind closing in on itself.
                As he Apparated home after making sure he’d found a deserted alley, it felt like he’d passed a point of no return, though he’d not even actually done the drugs yet. However, when he impatiently sniffed a small line of the off-white powder, and after regaining some of his mind enough to put a bit more into his veins, he realized he didn’t know if there was a “point of no return” to cross anymore. He may have passed that point long ago, and there was no salvation for him left in this world.
                These thoughts faded quickly as his head nodded and he slumped over against the arm of his sofa, slowly losing consciousness.
***
                The tenth to fourteenth days were spent much like the ninth, a blurred cycle of buying, and doing, and forgetting. On the evening of the twelfth day, he thought he heard a knocking on his door, and the thought crossed his mind that he’d forgotten something important due to the haze his mind and his days had become. However, he only retreated to his basement to ignore it. The thirteenth evening brought a similar, but far more insistent knocking, and he responded the same way. On the last day, the fourteenth, however, he was shocked to feel the wards and protective enchantments surrounding his home crack, and more shocked still as his front door was blasted inward in a shower of wood splinters and red sparks.
                All of those did not compare, however, to the sight which greeted him on the other side of the door. For there stood Harry, fairly glowing with incensed fury and pointing his wand directly at Severus. Severus, though, saw only a brief moment of this. Having injected a rather large dose only minutes prior, he collapsed onto the floor. He was vaguely aware of shouting as he sank into darkness.
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