Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

"Snape?" Severus cringed, but at least the teen drinking his Firewhiskey had stopped calling him "professor".

"Yes, Harry." His voice was gentle, despite the strain this interaction was making him feel. He should have taken the bottle from Harry and put it away, then holed up in his room for the rest of the night. He cursed his own weakness. The eyes had done him in, just like they always did. He was addicted to the feeling that came with staring into the intricately twined strands of color, the jade, the emerald, the dark, the light. In the dim kitchen he remembered nights he would lay awake talking to Lily.

"You… you knew my parents, right?"

Severus groaned. Did the child now read minds? "I knew your mother."

Harry looked confused. "But my parents were in the same year. Didn't you-"

"Not like I knew her. James was… suffice it to say I wasn't close with your father. I met Lily when we were both children. She was quite possibly the kindest person I've ever known. Her heart was like nothing I'd ever encountered, and her mind was even more incredible."

Harry listened intently, face tightening as though struggling to comprehend a particularly difficult equation. Suddenly, understanding sparked behind his eyes and Severus knew what was going to come next.

"Were you-"

Not now! Severus thought, I need a diversion, a distraction, anything…

"I like men." FUCK! Anything but that!

Harry sputtered. "Professor?"

Severus struggled to maintain an impassive mask. "I presume I don't have to obliviate you to ensure your discretion in the matter? My preferences are in no way appropriate knowledge for my students."

"Of course, sir."

"Severus."

"Right." The boy's eyes were like saucers.

"I suspect you won't remember this in the morning, which is fortunate, as I've had a fair amount to drink and it would truly be a shame if an attempt to erase the memory of our discussion were to go awry and leave you completely and utterly useless."

Harry shuddered.

"Oh, lighten up."

"Sir, I think you just threatened to destroy my mind."

"For the love of god, don't call me Sir!"

"Severus." The name still felt weird in Harry's mouth. "Can I ask you something?"

The older man pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to wince away from the headache blossoming behind his temples. "If I said you couldn't, would it stop you?"

"When did you first… That is, I mean, how old were you when you knew you liked-other-guys?" The last three words tumbled out of Harry's mouth tangled together, almost impossible to understand. But Severus knew what Harry was asking.

"I think I always knew, always suspected, on some level. The feelings, despite what many insist on believing, are perfectly normal, completely natural." Harry looked as if he were about to say something, but Severus interrupted with a heavy "However, this isn't a conversation a teacher should have with a student."

"I thought you wanted to dismiss that formality for tonight."

"It would still be crossing a line, Harry, to go into much more detail than I already have."

Harry hated himself for wondering exactly which line that was, and whether crossing it would be all that bad. He stared at the table and took another drink.

"You should go to bed, Harry."

"Why bother? It's not like I'll go to sleep. I'd rather be down here. At least it's marginally less lonely."

"You have trouble sleeping?"

"Dreams."

Severus quirked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I don't wanna talk about it." Harry mumbled.

"Very well. Perhaps I should retreat to my room and get some rest.

Harry's eyes were pleading for him to stay.

"Please, don't make me ask." Harry muttered.

"You don't want to be alone."

Both knew, though neither would ever speak of it aloud, that nothing was lonelier than those inky, languid hours between dusk and dawn when everyone else was deeply asleep. Harry would often look out the barred window at the Dursleys' and whisper to the stars, knowing there was no one to hear him, even if he could find the right words to talk to another person. Severus had spent many a night walking along the lake at Hogwarts, watching the sparkling reflection of the flawless sky and remembering, remembering the few things in his life that had touched him deeply enough to leave a lasting impression. He could count these things on one hand. His mother had shown him what love could be, before he had watched her perish. His father had shown him the cost of weakness, that he was never to let his emotions rise to the surface. Lily had shown him beauty and light and kindness, that there were things worth living for, worth fighting for. She had also shown him that while there was beauty and perfection in this world, it could never be captured, and would always cause as much pain as it ever had joy. That's what had sent him reeling, until he crashed into the penultimate person (though using that term was rather generous) who would leave a mark on his soul.

Voldemort had shown him the artificial side of the supposedly deep affection people lavished on each other, taught him to be jaded and reserved, taught him the importance of survival, even though surviving was only living to hurt another day. Voldemort had shown him the flaws in the world that might eat him alive.

And then there was Dumbledore. The man had trusted him without question, had recognized the look in his eyes and known, with no shadow of a doubt, that Severus was a man who had made a terrible, terrible mistake. The man had taught him kindness, and that much like the night sky, the all-consuming darkness of reality was punctuated with tiny points of light, enough to guide him, to warm him, enough to make staying alive a worthwhile endeavor.

He stared at the disheveled, inebriated teen sitting across the table from him, glad those sparkling green eyes weren't focused on him in this moment.

And he wondered, could Harry be one of those rare people who altered him deeply, fully, irrevocably?

He brushed the thought away as drunken rambling, but still it lingered in the back of his mind, unwilling to be banished completely.