Chapter 1

This is the first chapter of what I hope will turn out to be a reasonably lengthy Harry/Snape fanfiction story. This is my attempt at dissecting what I've found to be a ridiculously fascinating relationship: that of two men (or one man and one boy who is close to manhood, anyways) who hate each other in a way that is at best unreasonable. Snape hates Harry because of things done by the boy's father, and Harry hates him purely because of the treatment he's received. Therefore, watching them come together to form a relationship is something that is, to me, very curious. I hope that you'll all be intrigued by it as well.

I hope to have a chapter loaded every week or so, though I have the first five already done. I should warn you all that it's rated M for graphic sexual content, which should cause some of you to either turn away in disgust or read on in excitement! Either way, you all know yourselves best, and I trust you'll take full responsibility for what you view. Feedback and constructive criticism is always greatly appreciated.

Before reading the story, you might all perhaps be interested in viewing the trailer. It contains a summary that is far more in-depth. It's also a link that will lead you to my account, which is filled with my own Snarry videos and a list of my favourite videos. This list contains many Snarry films, along with creations dealing with other ships. The trailer can be found here: http: / w w w .youtube . com /watch?vmbduChlX6Z0 (Please remove all of the spaces).

Having reduced the pain in his scar to a mere prickling sensation, Harry flung the empty flask into one of his vanity's broken drawers. He crossed the cramped bedroom and sank back into his bed, ignoring the piles of clothes and books littering the floor. Time passed slowly as he rubbed his eyes, attempting to remember the dream that he had just woken from. It was the same nightmare that he had been suffering from for the past three weeks, and yet all that he could remember of it was the irrational fear that he felt upon waking. Whenever he rose from his blankets, his breathing shallow and his hair slick with sweat, he would immediately press his palms into his eyes and attempt to focus his mind onto remembering what he had dreamt of. There were times when the ghost of a voice trickled through to him, and for a few fleeting moments he saw cloaked figures and burning torches in his mind's eye. But the images dripped away as though they were water and he was cupping them in his hands, and so he remained frustratingly unaware of anything other than the sensation of horror that had gripped him nightly since his summer had began.

As he turned onto his side and sighed in defeat, he became aware of a feeling of anticipation growing within him. As was the norm of late, Harry felt a peculiar emotion before understanding why. And yet it was not long before he remembered with satisfaction that he was leaving the Dursleys around noontime the next day to live at Hogwarts. Though he had begged Dumbledore to let him stay with the Weasleys, the Headmaster had refused on the principle that Harry was currently being hunted by Lord Voldemort and that he could not risk his life nor the Weasleys'. Forced to accept this undeniable truth, he had instead decided to spend the majority of his summer vacation at the castle. According to popular opinion, there was no safer place than Hogwarts, what with the school's large number of protective spells and the formidable presence of Albus Dumbledore. And so the Floo Network had been tampered with to allow Harry to travel there safely.

Squinting in the darkness to read the bold, glowing red numbers on his alarm clock, Harry understood it to be nearing one in the morning. He was not tired, and he had a large pile of homework into which he had barely delved; but the chance of perhaps having the same dream (which he certainly would), and perhaps of remembering it (which he certainly would not) proved seductive enough to have him close his eyes and fall into a state of uneasy sleep.

He did not wake, as he expected, due to his dream, but rather to the sound of breaking china below. He heard Aunt Petunia's heels click across the floor as she let out a terrified shriek. As he expected, Uncle Vernon's roar, sounding like a bull, soon followed. Harry shot up from his bed, shoved his glasses onto his face and sped downstairs. He burst into the kitchen and the sight before him caused his mouth to drop.

Professor Snape stood before him, wrapped in layers of black cloaks, an unpleasant look on his face.

"Potter," he said, "go get your things at once."

Harry hesitated, then, seeing the vein throbbing in his uncle's temple, hurried back upstairs to pack.

"What's the meaning of this?" he heard Uncle Vernon shout before shutting his door. He made quick work of the clothes and books on the floor, stuffing them haphazardly into his woebegone trunk. He pushed around a few dirty socks and cloaks to make room for the rest of his school supplies and just managed to close the lid shut. Hedwig's cage in hand, he dragged the trunk downstairs.

Though Snape's nose wrinkled at the sight and smell of Hedwig's dirty cage, he refrained from comment. Instead, he continued what Harry supposed was a well-rehearsed explanation to the Dursleys.

"And I can therefore assure you that Mr. Potter will be in good care until the starting of term," he concluded. "If there are any questions, I suggest that you pose them now."

Harry would have told him that there was no point in explaining, for the Dursleys would be perfectly content in seeing him leave. In fact, a sly grin plastered itself onto Uncle Vernon's face.

"Well then, boy," he said loudly, "you have a nice summer. Be seeing you soon, I reckon."

Harry looked at Snape expectantly.

"If there are no questions, we will be leaving," said Snape. "Good day." And with that he marched out of the kitchen, leaving Harry in his wake.

"Er...see you," he mumbled to the Dursleys before following his professor out onto the lawn. It was noontime on a Tuesday, which meant that most people on Privet Drive were at work. The vast majority of the driveways surrounding them were empty, save those that occupied a few children passing a ball tiredly or lazing around. Snape ignored them until they reached the end of the street.

"I suppose that you haven't learned how to Apparate," he said.

Harry shook his head. Snape then looked around suspiciously before stepping behind an immaculately kept hedgerow. Without warning, he gripped Harry's arm. Green eyes widening in surprise, he could not help but feel a sudden burst of emotion as the Potions professor held his limb firmly. Frowning, he shook himself mentally as Snape hissed, "Stay here." With that, the professor scanned the empty lawn before them. Seemingly satisfied, he procured from within his many layers of clothing a small object.

"A button," Harry said before he could stop himself.

Snape sneered. "Again, Potter, you prove to be completely inept at any type of magic. I am comforted that it is not only at Potions that you fail—I was beginning to doubt my own ability at putting anything into my students' heads, however thick."

Harry felt himself growing hot. "A portkey," he growled.

"Indeed," he said sarcastically. "Take hold of the button, Mr Potter: I expect it will activate shortly."

Harry touched the portkey, and within seconds, he felt an invisible hook grab him by the navel. Though he had travelled by portkey before, he was unused to the sensation, and felt rather sick by the time they came to settle in a deep forest.

"I thought we were travelling by Floo," said Harry.

"We are," Snape said shortly. He began to walk briskly into the woods with Harry at his heels. After perhaps twenty minutes of blistering heat, Harry was about to remove his jumper when a log cabin came into view.

"My house," said Snape before Harry could ask.

As they stepped inside, Harry could not help but be surprised: it was a beautiful home. He had expected Snape to live in a dark, cold home, filled with bottles of unidentifiable slimy substances lining the walls and boiling cauldrons. What he found instead were plain but seemingly comfortable chintz chairs, a roaring fireplace and the faint smell of vanilla.

"Hurry," the older man snapped. Into Harry's hands a black pot filled with Floo Powder was thrust. He took a handful, and returning the pot to Snape, neared the fireplace.

"Hogwarts," Harry said before casting his Floo Powder into the flames. These turned bright green, and, as he stepped into the fire, his last sight was Snape's sour face before he began to spin rapidly. This was perhaps a worse way of travelling than even Apparition; he was indeed very relieved when he stopped spinning. Sooty and sneezing, he stumbled into Dumbledore's office as Snape followed, perfectly clean and composed.

"Excellent," came Dumbledore's voice. Happiness filled Harry immediately: however little he liked Snape, he enjoyed the Headmaster's company immensely.

"Hello, professor," he said. Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, his long grey beard twinkling in the light of the candles surrounding him.

"Harry," he beamed. With a flick of his wand, the soot was removed from Harry's clothes and glasses. "How are you? Come, have a biscuit."

He offered a tin filled with sweets as Harry took a seat by his desk.

"Were there any problems?" Dumbledore addressed the question to Snape.

"None," was the reply. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have a number of things to attend to."

"You work far too much, Severus," Dumbledore said, smiling sadly.

"The Hospital Wing must have its stock replenished before the start of term," he answered. Bowing his head, he left the room with a swish of his cloak.

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, gazing at the place where Snape once stood, before smiling again and turning to Harry.

"My dear boy, how wonderful it is to see you at the castle," he said. "Have you been having an enjoyable summer?"

"Not really," Harry admitted.

"Then I hope that your stay here at Hogwarts shall be as restful as it shall be pleasurable," he said. "If you would like to take your things to your dormitory, your bed has been prepared already. Meals are at regular times, and every part of the castle that is usually available to you still is."

"Are many of the teachers still here?"

"No: the majority go home during summer," he answered. "However, I believe you will find Professor Snape, Professor Trelawney and Professor Sprout here most days."

"And Hagrid?" The question was a hopeful one.

"He is away on business." His tone was gentle, yet there was an edge to it that told Harry that he was not to question further.

He said his goodbyes and left, wondering all the while where Hagrid was.

As he crawled into his bed that night, he felt sleep wash over his body immediately. It was the first day in three weeks that he had done something other than lay around his room, counting the days until summer was over. Before he fell asleep, he wondered absently why it had been Snape, of all people, who had been sent to fetch him at the Dursleys'.