Hurt

Warning: The below contains explicit sexual content. Please do not read if this offends you or you are underage.

I hurt myself today

To see if I still feel

I focus on the pain

The only thing that's real

The needle tears a hole

The old familiar sting

Try to kill it all away

But I remember everything

--Nine Inch Nails, Hurt

Severus stepped inside and let the door swing shut behind him. The music in this particular establishment was louder than many of the others; the room was dark and clouded with smoke, drugs and potions fumes mixed into the air. The bar was already full. He managed to squeeze into a seat at the end, too far from the bartender to get any actual service. For a moment, it seemed as if his presence would be overlooked.

The moment didn't last long.

"Hey, I recognize you!" someone said behind him. A scrape of chairs, and the clink of glasses being set down.

Severus turned his head just in time to hear someone say his name, "Severus bloody Snape," in tones of disgust.

"No," another voice broke in, dangerously low, "traitor."

***

He lit his cigarette with fingers that only slightly trembled and assessed the night's spoils. Bruised cheekbone; several cracked ribs on the side that he'd left exposed when he fell over from the punch to his gut; split lip; a cut just on the edge of his hairline. His nose was most definitely broken. There were trials and penalties for unforgivable curses, and nothing rivaled the satisfaction of feeling a person's bones crunch beneath one's feet.

The smoke hurt when he inhaled, tightness in his chest that made him feel like he was being choked. It wasn't comforting. Not really. But it was certainly something to do, to keep himself from thinking too much, or from being sick on his living room floor.

Potter arrived just as he was smashing the butt of his fifth cigarette into the ashtray, appearing in a crack of apparition, as if he owned the place.

"What is this?" Severus said, sneering, "Do you have me on watch now?"

Potter looked as if he hadn't slept in days. His voice dripped with weariness--but possibly it was just for the situation and not for lack of rest. "Shouldn't I?" He stepped over to where Severus sat in the armchair. Sighed. "I heard about a disturbance from the ground patrol. Call it a hunch."

Severus flicked open the lighter that Dumbledore had merrily given him one Christmas morning and touched another cigarette to the flame. Maintained his silence. So Potter had come running to his house on the off-chance that Severus was in some kind of trouble. Potter really took gratitude too far. It did not mean Severus owed him an explanation.

"That's the third time this month," Potter said. The quiet reproach in his words made Severus want to hit him. He settled for blowing smoke into Potter's face, smirked as Potter frowned and wrinkled his nose.

"Your concern is touching, but need I remind you that I can take care of myself?"

"Yes, says the man who's bleeding in his own living room!" Potter's voice was sharp, higher in decibel than it had been before, his real frustration showing.