In the end, you return to the house. The party is still going on; no one has noticed your absence, and your father has obviously discounted Uncle Henry's accusations, for he is smiling and talking to Snape's mother.

His hand brushes her lower back, and you sense Snape's silent fury.

"Come on," you say. "There's no point hanging around down here."

You make your unsteady way up to your room. Snape sneers at the photos on your desk, most of which sneer back at him, but he sinks into your couch. When you remove your glasses, he becomes a morose, black and white blur.

The sounds of the party are muted; you lie back on your bed and close your eyes in relief.

"I hate these affairs," you mutter. "Wanted to go to Peter's house, but Dad made me stay..."

Snape says nothing.

"Bloody Proper Families... can't stand any of them. Don't want to be like them."

"What would you be like, then?"

"I dunno. Like Sirius's family, I think. They have fun together. Or Lily's family. Her sister's a real bitch, but no one's killed her, yet." You open one eye and squint at him. "What about you?"

"What about me, Potter?"

"What would you be like?"

Snape doesn't answer.

"Sirius reckons you're already a Death Eater," you persist.

"He would."

You find the brandy, take a swig. Your father would be appalled if you knew how you were treating his best alcohol. You don't really care. "Are you?" you ask.

"No."

"Would you be?"

Snape doesn't answer. Instead, he says, "What will it take, to get your father to help my family?"

You say nothing.

He wanders over to examine the bookshelves beside your bed; you notice with irritation that he doesn't seem nearly as intoxicated as you. You squint up at him, and notice odd things: the way the enchanted lights emphasise his cheekbones and cast his eyes into shadow, and the way his dress robes make him look older, more elegant than the messy schoolboy you are accustomed to seeing.

"Well?" he asks.

"Dunno. Twelve dancing bears and a small elephant." A nasty thought occurs to you. "Don't try blackmail, though. He has a really bad attitude towards blackmail."

It's hard to tell without your glasses, but you think he might be disappointed at this.

"The truth is," you say, rising to pace, "your family's no help to him at the moment. They're too far into the Dark, and everyone knows it. The Minister doesn't care, but Crouch is a power-crazed fuck, and he's on the wrong side for your family. You're liabilities, all of you."

"Shit."

"Sorry."

"Fuck you."

This amuses you, and you laugh until the alcohol finally gets to be too much, and you slide to the floor.

"Still conscious, Potter?"

"Fuck off, Snape. Just having trouble standing."

"Pity. I was looking forward to a bit of silence."

He stands over you and sneers, and you look up at him, wondering what it means to be attracted to Snape.

Most Slytherins are bisexual. Your father refuses to be embarrassed by this.

You carefully get to your feet, take a cautious step, and kiss him. He stiffens, and you wait for the inevitable curse or punch, but all he has to do is push you away, and you collapse again.  >> next chapter >>