Temptation Once Defied

Something woke Severus up in the middle of the night. He listened for it, but the house was quiet. The rain had died down and an eerie silence filled the darkness. He donned his faded, flannel robe and shuffled out of the bedroom, wand in hand. The hallway was deserted. He proceeded past Harry's room, and that was when he heard it again: a strangled cry, like someone being choked. Severus threw the door open and found the young man in what he concluded must be the throes of a nightmare. Body taut, fists clenched, Harry fought against an invisible assailant.

"Potter, wake up!" he ordered, rushing to the side of the bed, but Harry was oblivious to his command.

One fist grazed Snape's cheek when he leaned forward to try to still Harry's thrashing. The next blow caught him square on the jaw.

"Potter, wake up or I will hex you!" Severus threatened.

Harry's flailing limbs went limp, and Severus used the reprise to light a candle. The young man's eyes were closed, he looked pale, his breathing was shallow, but the lines on his forehead had relaxed. On impulse, Severus ran his fingers over Harry's forehead, pushing back strands of damp hair. His hand rested against Harry's hairline, and he stared at the faded scar that marred the pale brow. He had his share of scars, too...larger, deeper, inside and out...but none as terrible as this one. Pain surfaced anew, as fresh and raw as that fateful night so many years ago when the Dark Lord had cursed them both.

"I was a young man then, younger than you are now," Snape whispered. "I didn't know what I was doing. I was filled with hatred...I'm tired now; I don't want to hate anymore." And it was all right to say it because no one was listening.

Slim fingers gripped Snape's hand, and Harry's eyes fluttered open.

"Then don't." The words were a breathy whisper.

Snape tried to pull back, but the hold on his wrist tightened, and Harry brought the trembling hand to his lips. He placed a soft kiss on the palm of Snape's hand.

Snape snatched his hand away and fled the room.

He awoke early the following morning. Not eager to join Harry just yet, he took an extra long shower and dawdled around the bedroom. He meticulously made his bed and took extra care when combing his hair. He tried on a jumper and pair of trousers before he discarded them in favour of black robes. It was a good hour before he exited the room.

Music greeted him when he descended the stairs, and Snape paused. He followed the familiar notes to the study, where he found Harry sitting at the piano. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of Snape's stomach, and for a moment he was uncertain how to proceed.

"Good morning," he finally said.

The music stopped, and Harry smiled up at him. "I hope you don't mind. I saw the piano and..."

Severus waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "It belonged to my Muggle grandmother; I keep it only for sentimental reasons, and I'm sure she won't mind, as she's been dead going on three decades now."

"Is there something you would like me to play? I'm not very good, but... I'm sorry; I seem to have forgotten your name."

"Severus. Severus Snape," he whispered.

The young man still sitting on the piano bench smiled in a way that Harry Potter had never smiled at him and stretched out his hand. "My name is Richard, but I guess you know that already."

Snape ignored the proffered hand and stared at Harry's face instead. "Do you remember how you got here?" he asked.

"Not really, but that happens to me sometimes."

An irrational anger flared inside Snape. "And you're not concerned to find yourself in a strange place, in the company of a stranger?"

Harry, or rather Richard, shrugged. "You're not a stranger...you're Lucius' friend."

Severus took a sharp intake of breath in an effort to control his temper. "Whatever gave you that idea?" he hissed.

"You were at his home. And your books," Harry pointed at the bookshelves, "they're all about magic. You must be a wizard like Lucius."

Snape caught Harry's gaze and held it for a moment; the young man did not try to look away. There was no hint of deception or trickery there...the green orbs were as clear and bright as the pages of a brand new scroll, and just as easy to read.

Snape was going to be ill. How could the others have missed something like this: something so disturbing and dangerous?

"Mr Po...Richard, would you care for some breakfast?"

Harry accepted the offer politely and followed Snape.

"Can you cook?" Snape asked when they reached the kitchen.

Harry grinned. "Better than I play the piano."

Snape noted that while Richard and Harry each had their own distinct personality, they did share some skills.

"Severus... may I call you Severus?" Harry asked between mouthfuls of egg.

Snape nodded.

"Did we...? How...? What I mean is...we were sleeping in different rooms when I awoke."

"Of course we have separate bedrooms. You're not an infant..." Understanding dawned.

"Oh. No!" Severus snapped, a tad more forcefully than he intended.

Harry blinked slowly at him and shovelled another spoonful of food into his mouth.

"Sorry. I'm starving; feels like I haven't eaten in days," Harry apologised while he dabbed his lips with a napkin.

Snape was relieved by the change of topic. "It's obvious by your appearance you haven't been eating enough. Do you mind if I ask you some personal questions?" Snape added.

Harry shook his head. "Go ahead, ask."

"Tell me, Richard, is Malfoy Manor your place of residence?"

The young man shook his head. "I live with Harry, but my home is on Privet Drive."

Snape was surprised by this answer. He waited a moment; then proceeded.

"And who is Harry?

Richard seemed amused by the question. "He's the other, of course."

"Is your home with the Dursleys?" Snape ventured.

"NO! I told you; I live with Harry." The anger that fleeted across Harry's features dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Snape confused.

After a few more minutes of conversation, Snape felt he had enough information to formulate a new plan of action. Harry was not aware of the other personality states, but at least one...Richard...seemed to be aware of Harry's existence. This was something Snape could use to his advantage. The young man seemed comfortable enough to be left alone for a few hours.

"I have some work to do in my study, Richard: do you mind staying alone for a while?"

Harry smiled. "Do you mind if I look at some of your books?" he asked.

"Not at all. You may peruse any book in the living room, but steer clear of the ones in the bedroom, and do not enter my study," Snape instructed.

When Snape joined him in the living room several hours later, Harry was curled up on the couch; three slim books rested by his feet, and a fourth laid open on his lap.

"Did you find anything interesting to read?" Snape asked.

Harry looked up, and Snape recognized by his smile that he was still in his 'Richard' personae.

"Lots!" Harry exclaimed. "This here, it talks about something called Golpalott's Third Law, but I don't understand it."

"It's one of two-thousand-three-hundred accepted principles that govern the making of all potions...one of my areas of expertise." Snape took a seat and launched into a lengthy explanation of the properties of potion ingredients and the alchemical processes that serve to amalgamate them into a product that is ultimately equal to more than the sum of its initial parts. "Golpalott's Third Law applies specifically to antidotes for combined poisons. Golpalott's theory is, however, incomplete, since the reverse is also true: the nature of some ingredients is such that they can act as substitutes for just about any ingredient regardless of its properties," Snape concluded, expecting to see the same dazed expression that had so often graced the faces of his students.

Harry's eyes narrowed for a moment. "So it's not enough to know what each ingredient does individually, it is also important to know how each ingredient will affect the others," he offered hesitantly.

"Correct," Snape conceded.

After that, they discussed theoretical Arithmacy, and the Laws of Transfiguration...this aspect of Harry's personality seemed particularly intrigued by the exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration...a topic that had frustrated Snape for decades.

Tea gave way to scotch, and sunlight to candlelight. A dinner of sandwiches and a game of Muggle chess later, Severus had decided he must have spent way too much time in isolation because he found himself actually enjoying the company of Harry Potter.

Well, not exactly Harry. The Muggle who called himself Richard shared little with Harry other than his physical appearance. Despite others' opinions, Snape knew that Harry's short comings were not all in his imagination; he had always found Harry to be impulsive, reckless and a bit uncouth. In contrast, Richard was restrained, thoughtful and polite. Each man's mannerisms were also distinct. Richard's movements were more fluid and graceful than Harry's, his manner more relaxed, even though there always seemed to be a hint of mischievousness hidden behind his ready smiles. Snape could not help but wonder if this was the man that Harry would have become had Voldemort not intervened.

"What?" Harry asked from where he was reclined on the couch.

Snape realised he had been staring. "Excuse me. I'm a bit tired; I think it would be best if I retire." Snape rose. "You may stay up and read if you wish, but please don't try to leave the house; there are wards in place. You remember what I told you about wards?"

Harry nodded slowly. There was a glimmer to the green of his eyes that Snape attributed to the alcohol the young man had consumed. Snape decided he should remember in the future that Harry's body was weakened and frail, and could not metabolize alcohol as effectively as the body of a man his age normally would.

Snape started to leave, but a soft touch on his sleeve stopped him.

"Wait. I had a really good time today." The young man stood up and was moving closer.

"As did I," Snape responded.

"I don't want it to end."

He was standing close now...too close.

"Mr Po...Richard," Snape started to say, but his words were cut short when Harry took his hand and brought it to his lips in a replay of the previous night.

His eyes met Snape's, and there was a forlorn longing there, so keen that Snape wondered how he could have missed it before.

"You don't like men?" Harry asked innocently.

Snape thought of another young man with tousled black hair and a mischievous grin many years earlier; a man who had made Snape feel things he had never felt before, or since. Snape swallowed hard and dismissed the though: Harry was nothing like Regulus Black.

"It's not that," he answered.

Snape had fended off curses and werewolves; had stared down Dark Lords and First-Year students alike, but he now stood petrified, rooted to the spot, uncertain about what to say or do.

"I'll let you do anything you want to me...anything," Harry breathed.

Desire tugged at Severus' groin. Horrified, he shoved the young man away. Harry lost his balance and tumbled unceremoniously to the floor. He stared wide-eyed up at Snape.

"Stay away from me!" Severus hissed before fleeing to his room.