Well, don't accuse me of not giving in to my readers. Sakurazukamori (Sweet Jesus Christ, btw, what a name to write:-) wanted to have Snape's POV about it all. Well and I wanted that, too, suddenly. See, I'm really easy. Wiggle a bar of chocolate in front of my nose, or nice wine, or a Snape – see how I can outdo myself:-)

Hemhem – furthermore, I have begun a sequel, but am not as yet too pleased with it.

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(Kind of) Epilogue

Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies

Severus Snape stared at the ceiling trying to ignore the soft snoring at his side. It irritated him. And it irritated him even more that he was actively trying to ignore it. He should ...

He sighed inwardly. Well, that was the point, wasn't it? He shouldn't, and he knew it. He simply shouldn't have, however tempting the prospect and however inebriated he had been.

But he had. Undoubtedly. And numerous times. So numerous, in fact, that he would have been quite awed by himself, had he been inclined to do so. He wouldn't have thought that possible at his age. Well, of course he hadn't had it in a long time, the rumours were sadly true in that respect, but that didn't explain his eagerness in the least. At least shouldn't.

The snore raised in pitch. Snape couldn't help an irritated glare at the affront. He couldn't help that his glare melted, if only slightly, at the sight of the offender. Oh, Merlin, what had he done? Harry Potter, in all his youthful rosy glory, puffing away faithfully as if he didn't have a worry in his life. Harry Potter, lying in the bed of Severus Snape, sleeping like a baby, a baby who trusted his parent to wake and guard its sleep. Hrmpf. And of course he hadn't. Harry Potter was free of thoughts. He had gotten himself – and rather convincingly so, Snape had to admit - what he had come here for. Even if he couldn't admit to his wish from the beginning, he had been rather eager, some youthful histrionics which had been only too understandable, given their mutual relationship – Snape snorted, but took care to do it silently, as to not wake up the person who didn't belong into his bed at all – aside, when Snape had insisted on getting things spelled out.

Well, and now here he was. They were, some insipid part of his mind insisted, but he denied it. He was, the other offender was sleeping. And would be gone tomorrow, to Merlin knew where, but no doubt to rising up to the high expectations everybody had for the Boy Who Lived Still. Famous Quidditch player, no doubt, or famous Auror, something invigorating and shallow, and foolish, of course, something on the bright side of life. Which would undoubtedly include a wife and children in some time, after he had played around a bit. The war hero, Harry Potter, would lead the glorious if a bit shallow life the world expected. Now that he had given in to his darker desires and got them fulfilled. Everything was as transparent as glass. Things happened like that. A boy, youthful curiosity, a kiss that led to more, a feeling that had been hatred for years, transforming into something less dark but also less clear – Snape suppressed a hollow laugh. Snaped, he had called it. Foolish boy, speaking the truth without knowing it.

That was how the world would see it. Judge it. No matter that the boy had come to him, naked, he was the grown-up. The one who should act accordingly. Throw the boy out, make a scathing remark that would bring him on track again, and leave him to his own devices. But no. He hadn't. He had become entangled in the game and he had, he might as well admit it, enjoyed it.

The world. Snape glanced at the boy who was so much part of the world, again. Deep in sleep. Well. He allowed himself a snort. The world. Still called him a death eater, a former, if he was lucky, and behind his back only, if he was luckier, but would no doubt expect of him to do the right thing. And he hadn't. He knew it. And had enjoyed it – tremendously.

And not just the bodily part. That was bad enough, but there was more. He had enjoyed making Potter admit to what he felt. Had enjoyed that he was the one, of all people, to make Potter think. A small reward for all the years the boy had stared at him dumbfounded. And stubborn.

He had enjoyed it, damn the boy. Had even enjoyed his awkward tries at manipulating him. Manipulating Snape – the boy had guts, he had to give him that. Come here naked, make a pass at him, and turn tail, so to speak, in the very last moment, was a game he wouldn't enjoy with any other person. Snape's eyes turned wide. Merlin's beard. That was not true, was it?

Lucius – no, Lucius enjoyed games, but Severus had had enough of that. More than enough. Even if Lucius hadn't been in Azkaban. But he was. Snape shut the door to that special room, torture chamber more like. Plus, Lucius playing hard to get would have been ridiculous, to say the very least.

Lupin? No, Lupin wouldn't have done something like that either. Plus, he wouldn't have been intrigued by it. Like he was, when Harry did it. Yes. Black? Oh no. Someone of his fellow former death eaters, one of the poor creatures who had been under an Imperio so strong they couldn't think for themselves once in twenty years? Nope.

He could as well admit it. Part of the – unholy fascination - which didn't let him sleep now, was the fact that Potter was so young. Forbidden fruit, and all that nonsense. Just on the verge of becoming ripe, all the uncertainties that would wilt with age, all the charming incongruities, all that youthful eagerness, all those uninhibited feelings once he had overcome his natural timidness, had been quite intriguing for a creature who was used to the dark. Used to hiding feelings, used to mask everything, used to not trust anybody enough to let them get to him. It had been amusing. Quite. And very satisfying. Not that that was saying much. After all, he hadn't had a night like this for more years than he was going to admit, even to himself. Part of why the students' relentless teasing was so annoying was that it rang true.

Snape moved uncomfortably in his bed. He was annoyed that he couldn't stretch as far as he was used to on the frequent occasions of sleep evading him. He was used to living alone, sleeping alone, and generally doing what he wanted at any given moment – well, apart from teaching ungrateful brats and only after the dark lord had fallen and he was not needed as a spy anymore. He could do what he wanted, lie as much across his bed as he wanted. He couldn't now. He had half a mind to wake the brat and throw him out. Back to his peace and the whole of his bed. But only half a mind. Which annoyed him even more.

Well, he could always roam the halls. Was no great point in doing so as it was the last night of term and students would most probably be lying in all corners, drunk as monks, and he couldn't take points, as most of them would be gone forever as of tomorrow. And he hadn't yet been successful in convincing Albus that it would be advisable to take points already from the next generation. That would really be something.

Nonetheless, he had to do something. He itched to do something, anything. He couldn't lie here, still, and listen to the soft wheezing of a person who showed him how easy sleeping was. It wouldn't do if he strangled Potter in his sleep. That would be difficult to explain. And it would render all his admirable control of seven years useless, if he now killed him after all, for – breathing. The boy had done far more annoying things. It wouldn't be right somehow.

Snape sighed and got up. He hated himself for doing it carefully, and hit the bed deliberately with some force when he noticed. If the brat woke up, he could throw him out and would have the bed to himself again. No good-byes, no messy scenes, up, and away. But no. Snape glared at the boy who only huddled deeper into his cushion, gave a soft sigh and had a smile blossoming on his face which wilted with deeper sleep claiming the boy again. Snape shook himself out of the reverie with the next snore. That would be the day! Severus Snape standing in the cold damp dark watching the sleep of Harry Potter in his own bed, the bed that was rightfully his – and ... He got dressed and out of his chambers, locking them ferociously. Should the brat wake up after all, he would have to stay. Served him right.

Severus stalked the halls of Hogwarts and was quite successful. Not only the seventh years, over whom he had no say any more, were out of bounds, he was meeting 6th, 5th, and even 4th years on his way. They would have something to think, when their brains had cleared enough to their usual befuddled state, he thought maliciously.

Yes, this was his world, he thought, as happily as was in his nature to be. It was dark, and the only people he met he could drive the fear of the lord into. Bliss. No one dared talk back, no one dared to get under his skin or into his pants. That only ever always came with the end of their school career. Which brought him back to – Potter. And why the hell was he standing in front of the fat lady who for all he knew was the ward to Gryffindor tower? How did he get here?

The lady looked at him with her head inclined and her eyebrow matching his at his height. "Do you want to enter, dear? I don't think I ever saw you before?" "No", Snape snapped. "But if I want to enter, it is no business of yours." Well, why would he? Embarrass Finnigan some more? Snape smirked. Not very likely. Every seventh year in Gryffindor tower would be either comatose or - not there at all. Where was the fun in that?

Snape looked dumbfounded at the portrait who happened to gawk at him like a fish. "What?", he asked irritably but not waiting for an answer. Fun? Had he thought about – fun? What was the matter with him? He had never thought in categories like that. It was his duty to make the students behave and the means to that goal were always a matter of debate between him and Albus, but he had never thought about it as fun. Annoying, irritating, brainless twits to teach and to torture – it was an ordeal, a nightmare, a tragedy. Not fun.

"Let me in", he demanded. "Why would I?", the lady answered with some wounded pride. "You have no business to be here, in the middle of the night." Snape snorted. "I happen to think otherwise", he said haughtily. "It has come to my attention that a student you should have been guarding as it is your duty, has been out after curfew and managed to loose all his clothes. I happen to be in a festive mood and do not want to add to the confusion of the leaving day by having a naked student run around the halls." The lady looked not very convinced. Severus began to believe his own story. After all, a naked Potter, under the cloak or not, would be something to talk about for years, if caught. Which was highly likely even unintentionally, when so many people jumped around. Yes, would be much better if Potter had his own clothes. He could just blend into the picture of general confusion. Shouldn't be too hard for him.

He felt a new and strange urge to get into Potter's room and was highly annoyed with it. And the fat lady who wouldn't let him enter. Just when he was about to do something unforgivable like curse her to oblivion or even beg her, she opened and the door behind the portrait swung open. Ah, at last.

He had never been here. Cosy little room, just as had to be expected. He sniffed suspiciously. They had been smoking here, precious little Gryffindors. Potter wasn't the only one for whom the rules didn't apply, it seemed.

Boys to the left, girls to the right, Snape saw it before his inner eye. Yes, he knew the plans of Hogwarts, how could he not? He had no map as the marauders had been rumoured to do, but he had been living in this castle for ages. He spared a thought on just how he would react if he met someone. He shook his head slightly. What an exceedingly weird situation, and all on a moment's whim. Well, his whole life had been like that – one moment could change the world. And did.

This must be it. Potter's bed. An unruly mess, like his hair, his clothes, his everything. Yes, the clothes he must have worn the day before were lying crumpled on the half-packed trunk. A white owl looked at him with a gaze that seemed reproachful. Snape gazed back and around. No living being here beside himself and the owl, and the full moon, if that counted.

He shook his head again, very nearly loosing patience with his own mind, grabbed the clothes without paying too much attention on what exactly they were and in which state and fled the room. He couldn't help gazing back before descending on the stairs. Here he had been, for all those years, sleeping or not sleeping, his nemesis. His sleeping beauty. Severus' throat gave a peculiar sound. His feet ran.

Back into the dungeon, back on safe Slytherin ground. The brat still slept like a baby. Severus Snape threw the child's clothes on the end of the bed, gazing at the young sleeping face. He sighed deeply. Sleep was still nowhere in sight. He waved his wand and assembled his table and chair again. He sat down on the chair. And then he could do nothing more than watch the brat sleep.

Oh, he could have read, perhaps. But that was somehow not appealing. He quite liked the stupor he felt he was in. Everything was dark and faded into the wall, everything besides one young white face with rosy cheeks, rosy mouth and that annoying scar.

He didn't know how much time had elapsed when the face suddenly contorted as if in pain. The boy looked older, very much older, and he screamed, once, and went on muttering. Snape was out of his chair and on the bed in one second flat. He couldn't understand what the boy was saying, and felt quite helpless. This was not his business, never had been. Even the students of his own house knew better than to come to him for comfort.

How those lips moved. And this creamy-white forehead – so torn in pain. Snape's hand reached for it before he could call it back. His hand stroked the forehead, his fingers pushed away some damp locks that clung to it. Suddenly the green eyes opened, looked around, blinking. Snape was taken aback, feeling very embarrassed. A wide smile rose on the pretty face and then the boy fell asleep again, as if nothing on earth could harm him. Snape felt dumbstruck and took away his hand as if in fear he would burn it.

He sat back on his chair, scowling wildly. How could the boy be like that? So – trusting? And how could he himself feel so – strange? As if it was the right thing, that Harry Potter was lying in his bed, sleeping, and looking at him as if he trusted him with his life and would never leave him. Snape shook his head. What a mess.

He was disgusted with himself. How could he bring the boy in such a situation? Granted, the boy had brought himself in here, but he was the adult here. He hadn't given in to all the advances before, had he? Even if they had been in jest, as ravenous as he must have been – even if he hadn't realized until one Harry Potter entered his chambers, naked – he should have felt some hint of an urge before. If it wasn't just – oh Merlin, sweet Merlin, no. If it wasn't – Snape gasped – if it hadn't been, and for some time now – Harry Potter. Himself. The Boy Who Lived. The living nightmare. The war hero. The annoying brat. The too good to be true kid. Gods, no.

He needed something to drink, desperately, but just to spite himself, didn't get up to fix himself one. He needed what was left of his wits about him. Never had needed them more.

Could it be true? He was – and had been for some time – infatuated with Harry Potter? His student? Well, ex-student, but still. His nemesis? The son of James Potter? The boy who got everything? The boy who had accomplished what Severus himself couldn't in all the years? The boy who spoke Parseltongue as if it were nothing? The boy who wasted his talents like he had them in abundance and needn't do anything to keep and hone them like a normal person would? Oh gods, no.

Severus Snape buried his head in his hands. His life had always been a cruel joke, but this was beyond everything imaginable. Severus Snape – in love (he sneered at the notion and the word as such, even in his own head) – with – Harry Potter. He was a monster, after all. Albus might say what he wished, the people were right – he – was – a - monster.

In love with Harry Potter. If he admitted that to himself, if only for a moment, if he accepted it, in the middle of the night, as a given fact – what were the consequences? The boy would leave tomorrow. He had satisfied his curiosity and would leave. Would go into the world and wreak havoc in it as was the right of the young and foolish. And he would stay here, in Hogwarts, living on as before, trying to live day after day. He was not unhappy with it.

Severus snorted. The boy had to go, must go. He couldn't, wouldn't have him here. It would not be right. That was not only fear on his part, fear of having to work with feelings he didn't want to have, he noticed with some surprise, it was genuine care for the well-being of the boy. The boy couldn't afford staying here out of a misunderstanding. He had a feeling of duty, that much was clear, it would be all too easy to make him stay here, and make him believe he did so out of his own wishes and for his own best. But he wouldn't. For the boy's own good, he had to go.

But ...

But perhaps. Just perhaps. Perhaps it was wrong for the boy to go. Go outside and waste his life with playing the superhero. Playing the Gryffindor golden boy, the one everybody knew, or thought they knew to the core. The boy people admired without knowing him. Dumbledore hadn't been so wrong after all, putting the boy to the Dursleys. Hero worship never did a person any good, all the more if the person had some knowledge about his own darker nature, which had nothing to do with the things people thought they knew about him. Like that Creevey boy, they only worshipped Potter because they wanted to bathe in the reflection of fame, to make their silly useless lives a bit better. Let the boy make a mistake and they would all leave him, badmouth him and go on the search for a new hero.

Perhaps it was better for the boy to stay in Hogwarts and investigate his real nature.

Snape snorted. Or perhaps it would be best if he himself went to Albus Dumbledore to get thrown out of here. Not only had he molested a minor under his care, now he kept on lying to himself about the reasons to keep his little boy wonder. And a wonder he was, even if he admitted it only to himself.

A trusting fool, if ever there was one. One who gave himself willingly into the hands of his former most hated teacher. Yes, he knew it, it would be all too easy to make him stay. A little bit of this, a little bit of that, and he would have the boy here, for himself to devour. At leisure. The boy had tasted blood now, and it would only be too natural for him to want more. More more more. Not that he could blame him. He felt quite the same. He even sensed a small feeling of regret for having gone unfucked for all those years, while all the time there had been – possibilities.

Not the students, of course. Not Harry Potter. But still – possibilities. Even here at Hogwarts. That dude who pretended to have written all these books about his fighting against dark creatures. For example. Snape shuddered. Or rather not. That wouldn't have been half as pleasurable.

Which brought him back to – Potter. Who was still snoring softly in his bed. Oh well. Could as well go and have a lie-down himself. Wouldn't hurt, now, would it, if he got at least a handful of sleep?

No sleep. No damn sleep. Soft snoring, breathing against his cheek, playing with his hair. Abominable. He glared at Potter. With no success whatsoever. Oh, okay. He resigned himself to lying on his back and staring at the ceiling – again.

It felt strangely peaceful. His thoughts went flowing through the chamber, painting strange patterns on the walls, and leaving again. He would give the boy a chance. Either way.

Before dawn he rised again, showered and dressed. Then he woke the sleeping beauty. Who smiled at him in a way that made his knees go weak and his whole being, body and mind, wanted to throw itself into the bed, onto the boy and at his mercy. Of course, he didn't do any such thing.

The boy reached out to touch him, with that trusting smile of his. It was irresistible. "For once in your life, think", Snape barked.

He surely hoped, Potter would for once do as he was told.

The end