How the mighty fall

Oh, how the mighty fall

In love

The castle was silent, torchlight put out hours ago; ghosts didn't linger around, the portraits were asleep and even Peeves had found a dark corner to rest in. Mrs. Norris and Filch were curled up in his warm office, trying to keep an ear out for anything suspicious in the hallway, but falling into a drowsy light sleep.

In the dungeons, one portrait opened slightly, stilled for a minute, then gently closed again with no sight of anyone coming out. There were no Slytherin students out and about, otherwise they might be a little surprised to see these happenings from Professor Snape's private quarters. Typically the doors don't just open and close by themselves, after all.

On soft feet, one Harry Potter made his way back up to Gryffindor Tower, as quickly and quietly as a cat. He kept his shoulders hunched underneath his Invisibility Cloak, making sure the bottom didn't let his shoes show. Had anyone seen his face, they may have been worried about the darkness of his eyes and the fine trembling of his bottom lip, the angry crease in his forehead and how his fist were clench so tight his knuckles were white.

But he was invisible. And Harry was starting to feel like that was all he was going to be. He repressed an amused snort-right, him, invisible. He was Harry Bloody Potter, the Boy Who Lived, he was only invisible under his cloak.

And in the dark, his mind murmured. Yes, he reckoned, he was invisible in the dark. See through. An illusion. Bitterness lanced him, but he pushed it away to whisper the password to the Tower and get in quickly. He needed sleep.

Up in the dormitories, the teen folded up his cloak and put it in his trunk, then crawled into bed and pulled the curtains shut, sealing and muting them with a spell. Laying down, he snuggled under his covers and stared at the canopy, thoughts swirling in his mind.

So, his mind muttered, Severus Snape. Yes, Harry thought, Severus Snape; the greasy git, the Bat of the Dungeons, resident Potions Master, the spy. Severus Snape.

"I'm such an idiot." He growled, turning swiftly and punching his pillow. He flopped his face down in the cushion, suddenly exhausted and heavy.

Three months-it had been three months since the war ended. Since Harry took a trip to the afterworld and came back, since he killed Voldemort, since he found Snape in the Shrieking Shack and took him to Pomfrey. Three months since he was given the vial of tears and saw the truth. Harry had no doubt that Snape hated him even more now; he was given sensitive information and then the man had to wake up knowing that those things would never been unknown again. He had wanted to die.

"Why couldn't you have left me to meet Lily?"

Harry closed his eyes against the memory of the broken, pain filled question; the misery in those black orbs.

And yet, he thought, here were are.

Here he was, sneaking down to the dungeons at midnight and into the private rooms of his most hated professor, stripping and falling into bed with him. Enjoying him. Then getting up and leaving without a backwards glance, like a business transaction at Gringotts.

If he were honest, Harry had no idea how this arrangement started. He just knew that since seeing those memories, something inside him was stirred. When Snape took up Potions again and he had decided to finish Hogwarts, the classes were tense with something dark between them, and not the usual hatred. He knew that it sparked in detention one night when, after an intense spell fight, Harry had lunged at Snape and tackled him to the floor, falling atop him, straddling.

He remembered the swirl of rage, pain and shock in those eyes, the wicked lust on the edges that the man tried to conceal.

"Get off me, you insolent fool." Snape had hissed out, thin lips pulled back in a snarl. Harry couldn't help but look at him. Hair skewed around his head in inky tendrils, skin milky against the flagstone floor, a flush of enraged battle fading from his cheeks, and deep, dark eyes. He blinked in confusion, wondering when Snape became attractive. He would never be a beautiful man, the teen realized, but he was proud, striking, and elegant in ways the younger never considered before.

"Make me," he had muttered, legs tightening around the older man's slim hips as if he were a broom to ride. The thought had him pausing. Oh.

Snape had bucked, startling him and causing him to fling forward, hands on either side of the professor's face while his lips had crashed into the ones below him.

A smile flickered over Harry's lips when he thought of the resulting spell damage of that kiss. Somehow after that, though, they ended up in this arrangement. The teen was fairly certain Snape only did it to spite his father, and to have the part of Lily Evans he never had a chance to get. It didn't bother him much, which bothered him a lot. He blamed it on the war; with all that death and destruction, he felt he deserved to experience something like this.

Wicked, torrid , perverse, forbidden, wrong on so many levels…Harry scoffed. Yeah, but what could he do? Stop it? Maybe, but he wouldn't.

He had fallen in love with the bastard.

I know I'm bad news

I saved it all for you

Oh I'd trade all of my tomorrows

For just one yesterday

Snape stared at the ceiling above his fireplace chair, a tumbler of scotch held loosely in his hand. His body ached in the best places, and there was a mark on his collarbone that throbbed when he breathed. He closed his eyes, trying to relax, to sort his mind, but finding it was almost impossible. Just like it always was after their little meetings.

The older man downed the rest of the liquor, wishing for the umpteenth time the brat had let him die in that shack. I wouldn't be dealing with this, he thought bitterly. Potter always had to cause him problems, didn't he? Miserable little twit. Snape lumbered up and refilled his glass, all but falling back into the chair. He watched the fire flicker through the amber liquid as he drank it, thoughts blanking out after a minute.

He didn't know what he was doing. It had been two months since Potter starting sharing his bed, and while he would admit the adventures in that bed were indeed pleasuring, and riveting, he was still twenty years older than the brat and his professor. Although, these facts didn't seem to bother Potter.

"You do realize I'm as old as your father would be?" Emerald eyes blinked at him while young fingers paused in unbuttoning the tunic he wore.

"Yes. And?"

"I'm a good bit older than you, Potter." The teen gave him a flat look, wandlessly and nonverbally undid the rest of his buttons and pushed him back on the bed.

"You can worry about my judgment later."

His judgment, Snape thought, was skewed and distorted apparently. Potter had saved him, got him out of Akzaban, got him back into Hogwarts, and now was sleeping with him. Obviously the child needed a Mind Healer. The Slytherin would happily recommend one if he weren't wary of the teen coming back at him with another spell fight.

Snape winced at the memory. He didn't know what happened when Potter came back from defeating Voldemort (although he'd been told the boy died), or what exactly changed between then and the Shrieking Shack, but once school started again, things were different between them. This wasn't hatred, but something fiercer, darker and uncontrollable.

Perhaps, he thought, that's why they always ended up in bed. They never spoke after the second time, and once they were done, Potter slipped back into his clothes, under his Cloak and out of his rooms; silent like a ghost, invisible to him. He always felt the urge to reach out to him and tell him to stay, but the action always remained inside and never expressed. This was purely physical, he reminded himself every time. That was all it could be. They weren't compatible in any other way.

The older man sighed and downed more amber, tilting his head back on the chair, his hair falling over his shoulders. He knew he needed sleep, he had classes early in the morning, but he found himself unable to go to that bed. Instead, he summoned a blanket and wrapped it around him while in the chair. This would do, he thought.

When did I become so different? The question plagued him, but he found no answer. Closing his eyes, he remembered three months ago and fell into a sleep haunted by emerald eyes and pale pink lips.

I don't have the right name

Or the right looks

but I have twice the heart

Hermione was considered the smartest witch of her generation for many reasons, and it wasn't just because she was great at spell work. She knew there was something wrong with Harry, but after traveling together for so long, she knew not to ask. She didn't have to, really. The evidence was right before her eyes in the form of Severus Snape. The way he and Harry looked at each other, the hand that kept fluttering up at his collarbone and the flicker of a smirk on Harry's face. She realized, but didn't confront. It wasn't her business, as long as her best friend wasn't doing anything stupid.

It was ironic, she thought, that she didn't consider what was going between them as stupid. Harry had proven he could take care of himself, that he had some Slytherin qualities. She didn't feel the need to interfere with them.

Despite this, what bothered her was the way Harry's eyes changed when the older man was around. Emerald became darker, deeper, and around the edges was a curious emotion.

The young witch sat by the fire, reading a book while her friend played chess with Ron. The redhead could tell something was up, too, but like her, he chose not to comment. They had made a pact to stand by Harry's side, and they wouldn't question where he went at midnight since he always came back.

"…the git didn't take any points away today," Ron said conversationally, moving a pawn that cursed at him. Harry paused, thinking, then shrugged.

"He hasn't been as nasty lately," the redhead continued. "I wonder what got into him."

Hermione bit her lip from saying something perversely not her that may shock them. She didn't want to make Harry uncomfortable, either.

"It doesn't matter," Harry said, muttering as he moved a knight. "As long as he's being nice."

The brunette glanced at her friend, wondering. Then she saw it, the emotion on the edge taking over the rest of his eyes, mixed with a spark of self-loathing. Oh. She gasped, drawing his attention. He gave her a self-deprecating smile, knowing. Her own expression was sympathy, causing him to shrug again. Ron either didn't notice, or ignored them, caught up in his strategy.

Oh how the mighty fall

The mighty fall

The mighty fall in love

He was dressing again. Severus was sitting up in bed, the covers pooled at his waist as he watched the teen look for his missing sock. It had been a week since they'd been together, and he found himself reluctantly missing the younger man. They had come to his quarters, overwhelmed with passion and need. To say it was a quick coupling would be an understatement, but the next was much slower, and the next was much better.

Severus was exhausted, and was feeling all of his years. His bones ached, his muscles were sore, and he knew there were welts on his back. He didn't mind much, no one would see them.

He watched as Potter found his sock and was pulling it on. The urge to grab him was strong, to tell him to stay. But they didn't talk, and Potter always became invisible.

You let him, his mind whispered. The older man closed his eyes. Yes, because invisible was easier. He had been through two wars, a spy for over twenty years, killed one master and helped destroy the other. He wanted easy. He deserved easy.

Easy doesn't get you what you want. Bitter amusement flickered in him; James Potter had once said that to Sirius Black when the dog had told him to give up on Lily since she was too hard to get. James didn't give up though - because taking the easy route didn't get you what you wanted.

What did he want though? He wondered.

Him. I want him, he thought, staring at Potter. The teen had his shoes on, and was reaching for his cloak, to become invisible again. To become an illusion that Severus tried to forget. But he didn't want to forget anymore. He didn't want the other to be invisible to him anymore.

Without him realizing, he got out of bed, covers slipping away and revealing the body he had always hated. A slender hand reached out and took the cloak from Potter, who started in surprise. Emerald eyes stared at him, confusion swirling inside as he refolded it and put it on the chair in the corner. He came back to the teen and leaned down, kissing him softly. Potter's hands immediately clung to his shoulders, fingernails scraping his flesh lightly.

Pulling away, he took a breath and leant his forehead against the Gryffindor's. Opening dark eyes, he wrapped his arms around the teen's waist.

"Stay," he whispered softly. Things he dared not give words to filled him, and he wanted to choke them back, but they still revealed themselves in his eyes. Potter went wide-eyed, then a small smile settled on his face.

"Okay," he said. "I'll stay."

Fin

This is unbeta'd, and was inspired by Fall Out Boy's 'The Mighty Fall' and 'Just One Yesterday'.

I hope it isn't too flightly and easily understandable.

Thanks for reading,

hearts

XIII