Being trapped in the dungeons for fifteen years tended to put a damper on any dreams one may have had. After a time, skin takes on the same consistency as the walls. Constantly damp, grey and cold. Given even more time, the brain is affected. The mind will take on the dark aspects, like a forgotten corner cobweb covered, with a persistent drip. This is especially true when your personality wasn't exactly known for its shining qualities to begin with.

He'd nearly forgotten now, but Severus Snape once had dreams. He dreamed of opening his own centre for Potions research, learning about the very essence of magic through fluids and bits of skin and plant. When he developed new concoctions, he would write papers for journals few people understood and then later, would write books that would sit on shelves and grow dusty until someone with a real thirst for learning discovered his work. He'd be known as the innovator of their time. There would be love, money and fame. It’d all be his for the taking.

But the Snape family money had run out. Potter and his cronies happened. The Dark Lord happened. And soon, Severus Snape was in a tailspin, landing himself headfirst in the dungeons. He was grateful for the Headmaster's assistance, but his dreams lay cold and unmoving, buried deep below the surface. He'd never be known as anything other than the greasy git with sallow skin that always looked like it never saw sunlight.

Ten years after his sentence was pronounced, Harry Potter came to Hogwarts. The very moment he laid eyes on the boy, it was pure hatred. The boy looked just like his wretched father, same impudent grin and disrespect for the authority. The angels on high graced him with their beauty with every pampered, famous step. He rescued the Philosopher's Stone, while breaking every school rule put in place (and defeating Lord Voldemort again). The boy was given an Award for Special Service to the School for stealing Potions ingredients and going on a dicey, dim rescue mission (and saving a student's life). Helped Black escape (innocent or not). Chosen for the Triwizards Tournament (though the boy hadn't put in his own name), running off to the Ministry instead of just waiting (exposing the public to the Dark Lord's return). Dropping headfirst into his own Pensieve and look - no. He didn't want to think about that.

Harry Potter was the Golden Child and everyone worshipped at his feet. He'd lost his precious godfather and now moped constantly, which only increased the coddling hundred-fold. The insolent, awful b--

Knock, Knock, Knock, Knock, Knock, Knockknockknockknockknock.

Exasperated, Snape hauled himself to his feet, determined to throttle anyone who would disturb him in his private office at such a late hour. The insolent, awful boy stood behind it. Snape thanked the gods that he'd have an excuse for murdering the miserable wretch.

"Potter, I would ask what would possess you to disturb me at such a late hour, but that would mean I'd need a reasonable expectation of a coherent answer."

"I-I, uh. I...," stammered Potter.

"Thank you for proving my point so thoroughly. Good night." Severus moved to slam the door in Potter's face, but Potter stuck his foot in the door.

"Ow!" screamed Potter, as Severus kept pushing. "Please. Just...can I come in? I just need to talk to someone."

"I'm sure the Headmaster would be happy to recommend a good therapist."

"Yes and then there would be another person in my life trying to coddle me and make me cry out my pain over Sirius and blame my problems on my fame! I don't need that. I need someone to make me feel normal."

"And you've elected me for this dubious honour?"

"Yes." Potter's voice contained no indication that Severus should be anything less than thrilled by this response. Horrible boy. "Please, sir. I just want to come in. Just for a few minutes."

Severus sighed audibly and opened his door. "Very well. But ten points from Gryffindor." He was pleased when Potter's jaw hung open. "You're out in the halls after curfew and bothering a professor. Did you expect me to order you tea and crumpets?" He returned to his desk.

"I suppose not." Potter sat in the chair opposite Severus, though he hadn't been invited to do so. After a few moments, he blurted, "What are you working on?"

Slowly, Severus looked up and fixed Potter with a stare, waiting until the boy uncomfortably looked away. Severus returned to his work.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, taptaptaptaptap.

"I suggest you cease that right this second, Potter."

"What?" The tapping stopped. "Oh. Sorry. I was just thinking."

Against his better judgment, Severus asked, "Thinking? That must be a novel concept."

Potter briefly glared at Severus, but unfortunately continued to speak. "I was just thinking," he stressed, "that you probably wouldn't have hated me if my father hadn't been so awful to you back in school."

Severus's eyes flashed with anger. How dare the boy bring up something that he learned when violating Severus's own memories? "Potter, my feelings for you are entirely my own. You've certainly done enough your time here to more than make me despise you on your own merits. My small amount of goodwill is spent. Get out."

Potter stood up, but didn't leave. Instead, he walked around to Severus's side of the desk. "You don't hate me, do you?" he challenged.

Severus stood, rising to the challenge and looked down. He was pleased that he was still several inches taller than the boy. "That is quite a different story than the one I heard but five seconds ago. I assure you, I hate your blatant disregard for the rules, I hate the way fame goes to your already thick skull and I hate how every person that surrounds you supports and encourages your varied neuroses."

"Yes," said Harry, tipping his face upwards, "but you don't hate me. Go on. Say it. I dare you."

"I ha-"

But before Severus could reply, he felt a warm pair of lips covering his own. His eyes, still open stared into Potter's green ones. Surprising himself, he did not pull away, but relaxed into the action, feeling Potter's lips, his tongue tracing small patterns on Severus's own. When Potter encircled his arms around Severus's waist, Severus was shocked to feel a warmth he hadn't felt in many years. After a few moments, Potter pulled away, flashed him a wicked grin and started to leave.

"Told you you didn't hate me!" he called over his shoulder as he rushed out.

Dreams, long frozen and pushed away, floated to the surface in the spring thaw.