'Addiction is a terrible thing,' thought Harry as he raised the bottle of firewiskey for another sip. His gaze never wavering from the roaring fire as he took another gulp of liquid; he sought the comfort of the alcohol that poisoned his veins more than ever. The safety and solitude of his chair and the hot presence of the fiery grate did much to calm his nerves; the alcohol did even more. He tore his haunted eyes from the fire and he looked around the Gryffindor common room; it was his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It had been almost exactly a year to the day that he'd destroyed Voldemort.

He remembered that day quite clearly. It began like all extraordinary events on a normal day, three weeks from Christmas. The holidays had already started. He was content to shop alone for gifts to give his friends. Even with the extra training he had received he could not have stopped them. From the safety of the shadows, the Death Eaters had stunned him and brought him to their half-blooded Lord.

Unsurprisingly it was on Christmas Day itself that what the wizarding world considered a miracle happened. The Boy Who Lived knew it was nothing but a streak of luck that he managed to beat the Dark Lord. The monster had summoned him for a Yule surprise-extra torture, oh the joy of it. Harry had thanked him accordingly, sarcasm dripping from every word that left his mouth. It was a rude enough thank you that the monarch of the Weasley family, Molly, would have crucioed him herself. After three rounds, Voldemort had come close, kneeling beside him, taunting the so-called saviour. The boy in question was not so far lost in the pain that he didn't see a chance when it presented itself so nicely. He grabbed the bone wand and he muttered the soul destroying spell that he had found out about one day while doing research. Hermione would be proud.

With their Lord dead and his murderer the-boy-who-lived in possession of a powerful wand, the cowardly Death Eaters began to panic. They attempted to apparate away, but Harry had smartly raised an anti-disapparition ward, so rendering their attempts in vain. They were screwed and they knew it.

Harry had taken his bloody revenge, no longer the good little Gryffindor. He killed them all and each time remembered what they had done to him during his stay, the pain lingering in his bones made it easy to remember. His anger and energy fuelled the dark curses and doubled them unbearably. The caverns they used as a base echoed with their screams; the sounds resonated for days. It was only when the last Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy, had his thread of life waver and snap that Harry broke the wards and went to the Ministry. They shattered Voldemort's wand and proclaimed Harry Potter a hero once again. Everyone celebrated for weeks after, everyone that is except the Boy Saviour.

Although he smiled and laughed and attended the parties as was expected of him, he did not feel the glee and happiness and nor did he have the will to smile in contentment as he should have done. He was dirty and tainted and he knew this; no other did. People constantly asked him for the story of what happened on the glorious day, for his story of Voldemort defeat. They wanted to know the victory as if their own, but Harry never told them; he only said that the monster was destroyed and they need not worry any longer.

After being treated in St Mungo's for his injuries (he obliviated the medi-wizards afterwards), Harry returned to Hogwarts. He wanted nothing more then to return and get on with his life. He knew he could never have the innocence and happiness that he had had before; he would never have the same innocence that his friends still possessed. He tried to fake it though and it worked-mostly. For seconds strung together he forgot all about the events of Christmas, but a sideways glance from someone always reminded him.

Though he was being hounded by the press, he had not given any interviews; it gave him a reason to stay inside and he was happy to have that to hide behind. It was more often then not though he sneaked up to the Room of Requirement and got soundly drunk, and always to the point of unconsciousness. He would wake up shortly before his classes would begin and arrive precisely on time. He saw no point in going anymore though. The spell he'd used to defeat the evil bastard would smoulder the soul of the victim into nothingness and the caster would in turn absorb their knowledge and magic. This being so, Harry found his lessons to be extremely easy. He cast new spells on his first try and even in Potions he found an improvement.

As Snape had been found out as a spy months before the capture of Harry Potter, Harry had not killed him in what was now commonly called the HP slaughter. Harry was fond of the name, although he told no one as he feared that they would lock him away if they knew he enjoyed himself. He was the only one left alive that knew about the events in the caverns; or at least, that was what he believed.

The Potions Master had taken to looking at him oddly; it was an almost knowing look.

'But that is not possible' Harry reasoned to himself in his own mind.

He came back to himself in the present and he heard footsteps on the landing. He turned his head minimally to see his friends there. Ron and Hermione had realised their stupidity at the end of fourth year and had started going out after they had proclaimed their undying adoration for each other. They had been going strong ever since and Harry knew that at the end of their seventh year Ron was likely to propose.

They spotted Harry in the chair and they blushed, embarrassed, as they removed their hands from the inappropriate places they had been at.

"Erm…sorry, mate," said Ron, flushed. "I thought you'd gone up to bed earlier. Couldn't sleep?"

The hangings on Harry's bed were always closed and they gave the constant impression that he was in bed and sleeping. The truth was that had just not bothered opening them since the end of his fifth year.

"Yeah, couldn't sleep," muttered the insomniac raising the half empty bottle to his lips. The liquid burned him but he was grateful. His friends did not understand his need for the alcohol yet they no longer questioned him about it; they just knew he needed it.

His friends, never ones to desert him even when he wanted them to, came to sit on the battered couch that was beside his arm chair. They watched him as he lifted the bottle and he was unsure if they realised or even knew the full truth about his addiction; they knew he drank but to what extent they were unknowing. The slow burn that travelled down his throat was a pleasure and he sighed; however, it could equally have been pain, he thought on reflection. Although fire whiskey was most certainly not the most intoxicating drink he could get his hands on, it was his favourite by far and it burned the most.

The three friends stayed in the common room for most of the night. The sun rose and splashed the room in its colourful rays; Ron and Hermione were still cuddled up on the couch as Harry stared into the fireplace avidly. The dawn made the two love birds stir and leave to catch a couple hours more rest and Harry promised to do the same; he had no intent of honouring his words.

The Christmas Holidays passed in much celebration as wizards were more then happy to celebrate two grand occasions on one single day. Harry was only happy because it meant one less party to attend. He found that a combination of Yule and the celebration of the defeat of Voldemort party was much better then having two separate ones. He still couldn't stand the one party though; he was always eager for the party to end as he wanted to get back to his addiction. His only consolation was being able to indulge in his public addiction, not that they classified it as that, but it was not the same. Heroes do not have addictions. Heroes were perfect little angels that were mounted on pedestals for all to see. Heroes were not tainted or dirty. Heroes were not like Harry Potter.

He had taken up smoking after one particularly stressful party; he had gone outside for some fresh air to discover that others had had the same idea. They however, had wanted polluted air instead of clean. He was offered a smoke by someone unknown and he had taken it. He cosseted himself of it soon after every party. It was one of his very first addictions, but several parties later a reporter had caught him in the act and had exposed his secret happiness. It was no longer his secret habit yet he continued to smoke anyway; firstly because he liked it and secondly so that no-one would delve deeper to find something else amiss with him.

He smiled and nodded to everyone in turn before he quickly left the festivities. He instantly lost his content air when the doors were firmly shut behind him. He trudged up to his haven; the Room of Requirement knew to expect him and to wait with its door wide open for his gloomy presence. He looked inside and was pleased with the open and inviting scene he found. Everything was done in shades of grey or black. There was a fire place with flames licking the side of it. An armchair much like the one in the Gryffindor common room was facing directly in front of it, a table beside it. It held one of the most wonderful sights the saviour had ever seen, a bottle of firewhiskey with an ash tray beside it, a new pack of New Ports awaiting him. He collapsed lightly, not weighing much, into the lounger, immediately lighting up a fag. The click of an open bottle and the sound of drinking could be heard with the occasional inhale, over the crackling of the f lames.

It was only on the third bottle and second fag that Harry relaxed and let his glamour charms drop. He did not want anyone to worry about him so he had placed various illusions upon himself to make him look fit and healthy and to and hide the unpleasant side effects of his insomnia. The scars he had received in the three weeks of his imprisonment and subsequent torture from the Dark Lord also became visible. Their presence relaxed Harry even more and reminded him that not all the pain was mental and emotional but that it was also there physically. That the pain he did suffer had indeed happen. He did not know why but the thoughts seemed to comfort him. The most noticeable scar was an up side down cross that bisected his left eye lid and went down his cheek. It made him look truly satanic, giving off the impression of being malicious and overall not a very nice person. Voldemort had cackled himself silly at the irony; Harry Potter, the Boy Who L ived, dangerous? Now who would have thought that?

Harry was captivated by the blaze, so much so that he was unaware of the door opening. He heard the gasps though as the people caught sight of him. He threw the glamour charms back up quickly and hoped they would think the scars tricks of the light. He looked to see who had interrupted his peace.

A drunken Sirius Black was with an apparently equally drunk Severus Snape. They were standing in the doorway and it was Sirius who had been the one to gasp; it made the act more dramatic in his influenced state as he had clapped hand over his mouth. Snape however just stood there and gaped like a fish as the Saviour stood up slowly.

"Close your mouth Snape, it isn't becoming," Harry suggested darkly; he hated being stared at. "What are you two doing here anyway? Drunk? And in each others arms…"

He noticed a bed appear in the newly enlarged room; it clued Potter in rather suddenly.

"Never mind." He muttered softly and looked down.

Then he started laughing and falling back into his chair with the force of his mirth. It felt good to be happy again and to be able to feel the sound coming from his heart instead of his vocal cords. He was still chortling slightly when he asked them a very obvious question.

"Do you two even know who you're holding?"

"'Course I do," slurred Sirius, "Harry, meet Steverus."

Harry rolled his eyes; he could not stop himself and really had no idea how his godfather had survived this long.

"And you, Steverus, do you know who you're groping?" he asked, using the name Black had used to address the Potions Master as he had not bothering to touch that subject quite yet.

"How could I not know who I am 'groping', as you so childishly put it," sneered Snape, loosing some of his malice as he almost fell over. He pointed in the general direction of Sirius who was still on his arm, yet still missing him by about two feet he said. "This is a pretty person." Severus looked very satisfied with his answer.

Harry couldn't hold it in any longer; he started laughing again until he slowly but surely got himself under control again.

"Sorry to disappoint, but Sirius you're holding on to Snape, Severus Snape. And Professor- you're groping Sirius Black."

"Preposterous!" Snape snapped as he stuck his large nose in the air, acting for all intents and purposes like an arrogant brat.

"Very well, turn and look at each other if you don't believe me."

Both men turned and as expected stepped back with a scream.

"Black!' Snape shouted, " What are you doing here? Where's my date?" The Potions Master looked from side to side and behind the ex-convict for his imaginary date, as if the other man was hiding him.

"What, me Snape? Where'd Steverus go?" he too started looking around, all the while leaving Harry in fits of laughing hysteria. He finally had the mercy to cast a Sobriety charm on the two wizards, so ending his amusement. As soon as the charm hit them, Severus got up off the floor where he was searching for his lost date and stood straight. Sirius just sat on the floor looking confused before he gathered his wits the fastest; he was well used to the effects of both alcohol and the charm.

"I… err… think I am going to go back down stairs," and without looking at Snape or Harry he fled. The Potions Master watched him go silently, but instead of leaving, the man walked up to be beside where Harry, who was occupying his beloved chair. A second materialised beside it and Snape sat down. The boy beside him was confused and he wondered why his teacher had not fled. However, before he could grab the firewiskey that was on the table, Snape snatched it and downed a couple of inches of the murky liquid. The man then turned and scowled at Harry.

"Did you have to do that?'" he growled, "I almost had him where I wanted him!"

If Harry had been drinking at that moment he would have spat out his mouthful of liquid.

"You knew who it was?" he choked, more then a little surprised and now intrigued.

"As if I would get drunk enough not to know-you can smell the mutt from fifty yards away anyway. The wet dog smell trails him everywhere. Alcohol does nothing but blur the edges."

"So you were actually trying to sleep with my godfather?"

"Yes and it could have been great blackmail for many years to come."

Severus sighed wistfully he was still clutching the bottle, and Harry, unwilling to summon another lest he expose his secret, took another fag from the packet on the table. He lit the white stick and he blew in softy before he exhaled. He revelled and loved what it was doing to his lungs and the smell. Some moments of silence followed before Snape felt the need to break it. Harry was annoyed that the man had destroyed his quiet peace.

"I would appreciate it, Mr. Potter, if you would keep that incident silent."

"Sure, not a problem. Who could I tell that would actually believe me anyway?" replied Harry teasingly.

"True enough."

The quiet was resumed, leaving both occupants to their thoughts.

"I trust you'll keep the glamour a secret as compensation for my word," said Harry after a quite moment.

"I shall tell no one," replied Severus, curiosity edging his voice, though he refrained from commenting.

He left soon after his forth bottle of alcohol as he had nothing more to say to Harry. The door shut and the Saviour of the wizarding world immediately picked up the bottle, gulping down near half of the remaining contents. The steady burn and the slow heat- he loved them both. The one thing wrong with Snape's presence was the fact that he didn't wish to give to much away about his new self, like his fondness for drink. He couldn't release the glamour either, even if the man knew about it. 'Blurring the lines', the man had said, of reality. It didn't matter who he was, not anymore, only what he was. And unlike popular belief these days, Harry was human.

A/n: hey hope you liked this; this is my new story as you can obviously tell seeing as it's the first chapter. I ask that you review and take a look at my other stories, and thank to my betas for checking this story over. REVIEW!