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Sadness of Eros	By : LoupGarou1750 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 7628 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: JK Rowling and her business associates own the world of Harry Potter. I make no money from this, nor anything else. The words 'The open palm of desire wants everything' are from the Paul Simon song 'Further to Fly'. He owns those.

Chapter List
- 7
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- 9
8

"Hi, Harry. You were a bit late and the waitress was starting to give me nasty looks, so I went ahead and ordered. Hope you like lamb." Neville stood as Harry approached the table then politely waited for him to sit before taking his own seat again. "And I've ordered wine, but I can call her back if you'd like something else."

He seems nervous, Harry thought. Why? Not like it's the first time we've had lunch. "No, wine's great and I love lamb. Thanks, Nev."

"It's the season for new peas, so I ordered those as well."

"That's fine. Peas are good." Harry was starting to feel uncomfortable himself. Perhaps it was best to get whatever it was on the table right away. "So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

Neville gave him a look and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. That look was much more like the old Neville – well, the new old Neville, the war had changed him even more than most people – than his apparent nervousness had been.

"Cut to the chase, eh? Fine. No small talk." Taking a deep breath, Neville went on. "Are you gay?"

"What?" Harry nearly sprayed a mouthful of wine over the white tablecloth. "Are you daft?" He only just managed to hold back the angry, ugly epithet that rose to his tongue.

"Not at all. It's a legitimate question, I think."

"I'm married. Wife? Three kids? Stop me if this sounds familiar." A horrifying thought struck Harry. "Uh, you're not, I mean, you don't think–"

"This isn't a proposition," Neville said with only a hint of rolling eyes. "Look, I've known you for a very, very long time. And I notice things other people don't. Always have, although no one ever seems to credit it. It's ridiculous how hard it's been to live down people's childhood perceptions of me." He held up a hand to stop Harry's interruption. "I knew I liked boys long before I ever went to Hogwarts. I think that's why, you know? Always watching other people, hoping I'd meet someone who had the same feelings I did. There were a few of us at Hogwarts."

"There were?" This was news to Harry. He'd always assumed Neville was the only one.

Grinning, Neville relaxed back into his chair. "That's right, you're not the only one." He laughed.

Harry saw red. "Fuck you!" he spat, not even trying to keep his voice down. "I'm not fucking queer. I don't know where you get off!"

"Usually in my bedroom," Neville responded mildly. "Although I have been known to make the occasional foray out into public. And you might want to keep your voice down. I'd like to at least sniff the lamb before we're thrown out."

The panic that had become all too familiar in recent days rose up bitter and strong in Harry's throat; he thought he might be sick. Neville's comment about venturing out in public was a little too pointed, he thought. Had Neville seen him? Did he know, or was it just a stab in the dark?

"I don't want to know about your sex life, you prat." Harry tried to make it sound friendly, but knew his fear had coloured his tone.

"Don't you?" Neville asked softly. "Most people are fascinated, if repulsed, by what two men get up to in bed."

"Yeah, well, I'm not one of them. I mean, no offence, Neville. I don't care that you're gay, but thinking about the mechanics is a bit sick-making." Casting about for something else to say, something that would move them away from the dangerous territory of Harry's own experiences with public sex, he asked, "So, who else then? At Hogwarts I mean."

An engaging, easy grin wiped at least ten years from Neville's face. Harry had the feeling that there was more than a love of gossip in that smile. Neville obviously had recognised Harry's gambit for exactly what it was. At least he seemed willing to go along with it.

"Why don't you try to guess?" Neville suggested easily.

"Um, Draco Malfoy always seemed like a fucking little ponce," Harry said and then mentally kicked himself for his choice of words.

If Neville was offended, he didn't show it. "I think Malfoy's demeanour can be written down to too much inbreeding. No, his relationship with Pansy was quite genuine. Guess again."

Harry thought, running down the list of his old cohort. "Oliver Wood?"

"Oh, don't I wish," Neville said, then frowned. "Not that he would've had anything to do with me even if he had been. No, Oliver's just wishful thinking on your part."

"Fuck you," Harry said again, although he was more amused than irritated, "I'm not gay. I'll admit that Oliver was attractive, but only in a sort of abstract way. Now, stop being coy. Tell me who else at Hogwarts."

"No, I don't think I shall. I was willing to answer in the affirmative if you guessed someone correctly, but a loose tongue can destroy a life, and I won't do that. I shouldn't have started the topic."

"Millicent Bulstrode and Susan Bones," Harry said.

Raising an eyebrow, Neville smiled and gave a very short nod. "So, you can peg the girls but display no knowledge of any boy queers. Typical denial."

"Have I said 'fuck you' recently?" Harry asked. "Because if I haven't, I've been remiss."

"I'll give you one name, because he's dead and it can't hurt him now."

"Don't tell me you bought into that utter crap about George and Fred. It isn't true. I know that for a fact."

"No, not Fred and George. That was a hateful rumour. Makes me angry just thinking about it." Neville took a sip of wine, looking at Harry consideringly over the rim of his glass. He put the glass down and wiped his mouth with his napkin.

Harry waited. Something constricted his breathing and he had the sudden urge to tell Neville not to say anything else, but he hesitated a moment too long.

"Professor Snape." The two words seemed to cast a pall on the entire room.

Looking around wildly, Harry realised no one at all was paying any attention to them. Once again he struggled to find something to say, and was given a reprieve when their waitress arrived with their plates.

"Lamb and spring peas for both. Enjoy your lunch, gentlemen. Can I get you anything else?"

"Looks lovely," Harry said, giving the waitress a wink.

The waitress beamed at him in return. She leant over – giving Harry a nice glimpse of the tops of her breasts – to slip a scrap of paper under his plate before quickly moving away. Harry picked up the scrap, grinned, and showed it to Neville.

I get off at 6:00 was written in a florid hand.

"She obviously recognises a straight man when she sees one, even if you don't," Harry said. All his fear and worry seemed to have vanished.

"Obviously a fag hag," Neville responded with a disparaging look. The look reminded Harry of what Neville had said before the waitress arrived. The sick feeling returned.

Giving Harry a sympathetic and apologetic look, Neville returned to his topic. "I know how you felt about him when we were in school, Harry, although even then I wondered. Because the tension between the two of you was so thick."

"You're the one who's thick," Harry snapped. "Don't be disgusting." He wadded up his napkin and threw it on the table. "Thank you for lunch. I think I should leave."

As Harry stood, Neville rose as well and put his hand on Harry's arm. "Don't go. Please. This is important. It took me a lot of work to get up the nerve. Hear me out. Please, Harry."

Not knowing why he did, Harry sat down again. The tightness in his chest had not abated at all, and he suspected whatever Neville said next would seal some kind of inevitable fate.

"The way you talk about Snape, the way you can't let go of him, it means something."

"God, what is it with people? First Ginny, now you? I am not obsessed with Severus Snape. You want to know what it means? It means we all treated him like shit when he was alive and he didn't deserve it. It means he was a hero and no one wants to accept that. It means I owe him, we all do. And that's all it means. I want some kind of justice for him, even if he's dead." And now that you know he's not dead? an annoying little voice said in Harry's inner ear. What do you want now?

The thought was so disturbing, so unwanted, that Harry had almost forgotten he was sitting at the table with someone else. Neville's voice startled him.

"He treated you like shit. He treated all of us that way. It wasn't wrong to hate him for that. Just because he died is no reason to rewrite history."

"He didn't...OK, he did, but Christ, Neville, can you imagine what kind of stress he was under? You don't know what his life was like. How he was treated by people who should have known better. Dumbledore!" Harry spat the word out. "Dumbledore fucking used him shamelessly. And Voldemort? Think about what it would be like to toady to that fucking monster! He was a kid when he joined the Death Eaters. You can hardly hold him responsible for that! And then my mother! And when Lucius Malfoy–" Harry caught himself and clamped his teeth together. Some things he'd seen in the Pensieve were private. He'd almost said too much.

"We were kids, too, when the Dark Lord came back. We didn't join him. You didn't."

"It's not the same!" Harry struggled to keep his voice down. "We had people who loved us, who guided us. What did Snape ever have?"

"I don't know, Harry. I never saw his memories, remember? I never saw anything but what he showed us, which was scorn and derision. Why don't you tell me?"

So Harry did. He told Neville everything he'd ever told Ron and Hermione, and just as carefully as he had with them, he omitted the details he thought Snape would never have shared had he not been near death.

When he had finished, Neville was quiet. They ate in silence until Neville finally pushed away his plate and refilled both their glasses. The wine reminded Harry of the great gouts of Snape's blood that had darkened the floor of the Shrieking Shack, and he pushed his glass away.

"What does Lucius Malfoy have to do with any of that?" Neville asked finally, breaking the awkward silence.

Oh, what the hell? Harry thought. If Neville already knows Snape was queer, where's the harm? It dawned on him that he'd wanted to talk to somebody about this for years. And who better than steady, sturdy, compassionate, gay Neville?

"Malfoy," Harry paused, his entire being suffused with hatred. "Malfoy seduced Snape his first year. Snape thought...well, actually he was flattered. Malfoy was everything Snape thought he wanted to be. He had money, breeding, looks. My mother tried to warn him, but Snape was desperate to believe. He was only what? Eleven? Twelve maybe. Poor and ugly. Malfoy said it was because of his wit and his intelligence, and, like I said, Snape wanted to believe. Malfoy'd humiliate him in front of other people and then apologise and Snape always forgave him."

"Merlin, you almost have me feeling sorry for him."

"Almost? Christ, Nev! He didn't stand a chance."

"You're right. It's awful."

"Even after he left school, Malfoy kept using him. I don't know why. I can tell you I hate that bastard more now than I ever did when I was a kid." Harry sighed, thinking about all the things he'd seen in Snape's memories, all the secrets that hadn't been shown but which he'd teased out, reading between the lines.

"Then there was Dumbledore. Snape worshipped him and, I think, was more than a little bit in love. Father figure, maybe. His own was as much a bastard as Malfoy, although in a completely different way, of course. And Dumbledore treated him horribly. Used him, kept him dangling. Held out the promise of forgiveness, redemption, then yanked it back again. Then there was something about Regulus Black, Sirius' brother, you know? And maybe even Sirius himself. I can only guess at a lot of it. I don't think Snape intended to leave those kinds of memories, but so many of them were hooked onto the memories he did intend to leave. I think he was too weak at the end to censor himself as he would've liked."

Harry stopped, Snape's memories overlaid his own until it was like all the hurt and humiliation was his. His fingers toyed with the stem of his wine glass as he looked bleakly at Neville. "Snape fucked things up with my mother. She was his only friend, really. Fucking sad. So, when Malfoy crooked his finger and invited him to meet Voldemort, Snape went. You've got to remember that back then, before Voldie disappeared and returned, he was a very good-looking son of a bitch, and um, what's the word? Charismatic. Stands to reason, all the people he attracted to his side. And he made Snape feel special. Gave him the kind of appreciation Dumbledore should've shown. It's a fucking tragedy. Change any one thing and everything would have been different."

"It's more than pity you feel for him."

"What? No. I don't actually pity him. Not exactly. It's just–" Harry groaned and covered his face with his hands. "I don't know what it is. He had so much potential, and everything he wanted, everything that would have set his feet on the right path, was snatched away from him. And in spite of that, he gave his life to set things right."

"You–" Neville cut himself off.

"What?"

"No. I was going to attempt a completely inappropriate witticism."

Desperate for anything that might relieve the way he was feeling, Harry said, "You might as well say it. It's not like you've been pussyfooting around things up to this point." He gave Neville a crooked grin.

Smiling in return, Neville said, "OK, but I did warn you. I was just going to say you've gone gay for Snape."

There was a long moment of shocked silence, long enough for Neville to start looking worried, before Harry gave him a pained smile. "You know, I think you may be right. Oh god. Somebody Obliviate me now. I'd better go. Ginny'll be wondering where I've got to."

"Oh no you don't," Neville said, raising a hand and gesturing to their waitress. "We've gotten past the worst bit, but there's still more to reveal. Dessert menu?" he asked as the waitress approached the table.

She smiled at Harry, who averted his eyes, suddenly ashamed. He didn't look up again until she was gone.

"So," Neville began, but Harry interrupted him.

"There's something else." The need to talk about Snape was almost overwhelming, exciting and scary at the same time, but he thought now that if anyone would understand, it would be Neville.

Neville looked at him expectantly.

"He's alive."

Under different circumstances, Neville's blank look would have been amusing; in the aftermath of Ginny thinking he was having some sort of breakdown, it was anything but. "No. I'm not crazy. I don't need to check into St Mungo's. It isn't an hallucination, nor anything else that's running through your mind. It's the truth."

"OK. I'm listening."

Harry appreciated Neville's attempt to look unconcerned. "Fuck. Where do I start?" Just tell him the truth, you idiot. After all, he's gay. He's not going to judge you.

Fat lot you know. A familiar worm of guilt ate at Harry's insides as he thought about once again telling someone something he hadn't told Ginny. But how could he tell her this? And after nearly two decades of silence, it would be such a relief to tell someone.

"OK. Fuck. OK." Harry took a deep breath and plunged. "Before you get the wrong idea, I'm not gay, no matter what you think, but I may be, um, bisexual, or something. It's just that it's not men, actually. I mean it is men, of course, or at least it has been, but that's just circumstantial. I mean, I'd rather it were women, but they just don't seem to do that sort of thing. Unless you pay for it, you know, but that's hardly the same. And Ginny would never. And guys will. It's just a...kink, I guess you'd call it. You know what I mean?"

Neville grinned. "Actually, I have no idea what you're babbling about, nor what it has to do with Snape being alive. But it does sound intriguing."

~*~*~*~*~
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- 9
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Sadness of Eros