Chapter 7

Prudent, cautious self-control is wisdom's root.

-Robert Burns

Winter term blustered on. There were occasional puppet shows. The four school Houses were getting along splendidly. The only thing students fought over these days, as far as Severus could see, was whose turn it was to play with the snake puppet.

Severus felt pathetic, and endured.

Finally the Easter holidays arrived. Severus had thought he could not last another day, forced as he was to watch the object of his bloody-minded affections strolling casually through the corridors, or working earnestly at his potions bench, or worst of all eating in the Great Hall, his lips sliding along his fork, throat muscles working … And the infuriating boy took every opportunity to smile at Severus, always very prettily and unselfconsciously, making it clear that he had no idea what that smile was doing to Severus' insides.

Potter took himself off to visit various Weasley households again this holiday. Severus, thinking perhaps he needed another change of scenery, took himself back to the seaside cottage where he'd spent the previous August, begging its use again from Minerva. She was delighted to send him back to it, agreeing with him that he did seem over-tired and under strain recently. "Crisp salt air, that's what you need," she'd said brightly as she handed him the key.

"Quite," he'd muttered, taking the key and wishing that any sort of air was, in fact, all that he needed.

The crisp salt air did turn out to be bracing. It also turned out to be devastatingly hard on Severus' aching muscles, since at this time of the year it was not only wet and salty but cold, nearly as cold as the highland region around Hogwarts. But at least the cottage was isolated, and there Severus didn't have to endure a moment of unavoidable gazing at Harry Potter, during which he had to remember to keep his mouth from hanging open, and to will away the arousal that always accompanied too long a gaze.

Severus spent the holiday thinking. He pondered and brooded on long, hobbling walks down the grey sand beach, while trying to ignore the throbbing in his leg. He ate simply and in solitude, with only a book for company. He slept long hours, under all the blankets he could find throughout the cottage, and occasionally was even warm. Only once was he awakened by the consequences of an erotic dream, though it was such a vivid one that he wasn't immediately sure it hadn't been real. Trying desperately to awaken fully, he had stumbled from the cottage out into the black starlit night, his chest heaving in the cold air and his sweaty nightclothes chilling him instantly. Finally alert, freezing and aching, he staggered back inside and curled up with a single heavy blanket in front of the fire, feeling wretched, too cold and too discouraged even to wash up. He woke in the morning agonizingly stiff and sore but feeling that he had properly chastened himself.

By the end of the holiday fortnight, he had formulated a plan. It wasn't much of a plan, really, but it was all he could manage, and it was this: to survive, by whatever means necessary, the remaining school term. After that Potter would leave, and though Severus was sure he would still be breathless for the sodding idiot boy, once he was gone at least there would be less chance of humiliating himself due to the boy's simple presence.

He devised a list of tactics to employ in accomplishing his goal of surviving. First, he would begin to take his meals privately, in his rooms. No more watching Harry Potter lick his silverware. And no more morning coffee. He would work in his personal sitting room rather than his office before class, where Potter—he hoped—could not get to him. If it seemed necessary, he would find his own source for decent coffee.

Second, he would pointedly not attend any quidditch matches, or for that matter, any all-school functions. Potter, always a social animal, could reliably be counted on to attend all such events; therefore Severus would not.

Third, he would establish a new practice of encouraging—or rather, forcing—his most senior classes to work with greater independence, fostered by Severus leaving the room entirely as they brewed. He would retreat to his office, in which he could do his own work in privacy; he would be close enough to hear any major disturbances but would be unable to see Potter, who likewise would be unable to see or smile at him.

It was, he admitted to himself, not much of a plan. But there were only a few months left to the school year. All he had to do was get through them without losing either his sanity or his dignity. He owed it to Dumbledore, he told himself, not to disgrace himself, and not to do anything foolish that might get him sacked. If that happened, there would be no way for him to continue teaching so as to eventually settle up the old man's accounts, whatever the hell they turned out to be.

He returned to Hogwarts for the spring term with muscle aches worse than he'd had when he left. He carried inside him a new resolve, however, to survive.

X X X X X

Spring term began, still dressed in the ratty, threadbare remnants of winter. It was cold, damnably cold, and the wind blew itself hoarse at all hours. Then the snow changed almost overnight to rain, and though the sky was still the color of dirty gravel the air warmed considerably. The pain in Severus' leg persisted, but the general achiness of his body was muted a bit. He tried to be grateful for the slight improvement.

Severus kept himself almost entirely to his private rooms and, except for early in the morning when he carefully avoided it, his office. He remained in the classroom with the younger students, but for the oldest ones he gave very brief lectures and instructions—mostly with his back turned, directing a magicked stick of chalk on a self-cleaning chalkboard—and then disappeared, leaving them to work out on their own what to do next. He found, to his surprise, that most of the older students performed better while working this way, and he wondered why he hadn't thought to try it before.

He discovered that the house-elves were, on request, capable of making decent coffee.

He managed to avoid all but the briefest of peripheral glances at Potter in this way, though he was dimly aware of the boy's eyes on him, as if trying to get his attention, like soft, persistent wings beating at the edges of his awareness. As long as he escaped to his office quickly, however, he found he was able to fend all this off and stay in control of himself, more or less satisfactorily. Every day the pressure of the boy's gaze seemed a little more intense, but Severus had his hands full; Potter would have to take care of himself.

The first month of the term went quietly enough, and he began to relax minutely. Without the constant stimulation of Harry Potter in his line of sight, he was able to cautiously resume the normal routines he'd lost interest in over the previous several highly distracted weeks. He caught up on his professional journals, and even read a book or two just for pleasure. He graded papers in a timely manner. He slept better, and at least in this first month—he drew a hasty rune in the air with his hand as he thought about this, so as not to curse himself unintentionally—he'd had no more dreams of himself and Potter rutting shamelessly together. Things, he told himself, were improving.

The weather turned distinctly better. The students' moods perked up, and with them Severus' own. He began to consider whether he might release himself from his self-imposed exile. Potter will be looking forward to the end of the school year, he told himself, he will have forgotten all about aggravating me. Or smiling at me. Damn him. He shuddered, and had to cut off that train of thought quickly, as he could feel it tugging him down a familiar path on which he knew he'd end up hot and aroused, imagining what the boy's skin would feel like, what his naked body would look like, oh, it would no doubt be so smooth and lovely … He shook his head and cursed silently. Clearly it would not be safe for him to venture back outside his private spaces, not until Potter was entirely gone.

So as April blew past, with its weather sometimes rainy and windy, sometimes mild and sunny, Severus kept to his strict isolation routine. His leg throbbed frequently, his entire body ached intermittently, and he was still cold all the time. Dungeons, he noticed for the first time, are slow to warm up in the spring. Only a few more weeks, he told himself.

He was in the process of enduring one evening, doing prep work alone in the laboratory, when there was a tentative knock at the great wooden door. "You may enter," he called out, though in a voice that was anything but inviting.

The door opened slowly, as if the person on the other side thought something might jump out from behind it. "Severus?" he heard in the distinctive brogue of Minerva McGonagall, just before her stern grey-haired head leaned around the door and into view. She gave him a disingenuous smile. "Ah, good. You are here."

"Where else would I be?" he asked testily.

"Now, now. No need to get temperamental. We've seen little to none of you lately, and I thought I'd best take a look for myself, to make sure you're all right."

"I'm perfectly fine." I am surviving, and that's enough, he thought grimly.

"I'm very glad to see that. But you might put in an appearance at meals, say, now and then, don't you think? At least pretend to tolerate our company? It would keep people from asking questions, you know, which I'd think you would prefer." She looked at him sternly, her eyes narrowed.

He gave a scoffing snort. "I can't imagine many people are asking after me, and I'm sure you can take care of any idiots who are."

"Well, ordinarily I would say yes, that is true, but you see, I'm having rather a difficult time with Mister Potter. He seems to have acquired the notion that you are quite ill. Even, perhaps, that you are suffering some long-term effects from your, ah, injuries last year."

"Potter thinks I'm ill?"

"He's convinced of it. He's asked after you every day for the past week now, and he acts extremely concerned, Severus, really. Perhaps you could just speak to him, set his mind at ease? I'm afraid I can't continue putting him off. At least, not without knowing for sure that you are all right."

"My personal health or lack of it is no concern of Potter's," Severus said curtly, hoping this tone would cover any panic that might creep into his voice. "And neither is it his business where and how I spend my time."

"Of course not, but those things are to some extent my business, as Headmistress. I don't wish to intrude upon your privacy, but … surely you understand Harry's concern, don't you? He does take a bit of a special interest in you now, and you can't blame him … "

"I do not wish to be the subject of Potter's interest, Minerva. I do not wish, truth be told, to deal with him at all. As far as I'm concerned he should have left me where he found me and gotten on with his life. We would all have been better off."

She looked horrified. "You don't mean that."

"I do mean it. I didn't ask the boy to drag my body home," though of course he didn't drag me, did he; he had to carry me in his arms where I could smell him and feel the warmth of him, and hear his heart beating, "and I do not welcome his concern for me now. You can tell him that the next time he asks after me."

"I will not. You can tell him yourself, if you're so determined." She gave him a hard look. "If you didn't want him to change his opinion of you, you shouldn't have shown him so much of the truth, in your memories."

"You know I didn't expect either of us to live when I gave them to him. If I'd had any idea that I'd still be dealing with the consequences, I would never …"

"Yes, well, it's too late to take them back, isn't it? You've just got to cope."

"Coping is what I've been doing, Minerva, and it's all I can manage. I will not deal with the boy any further."

"Oh, but you will, Severus. I don't know when, but Harry is going to come to you himself before long, I'm sure, and when he does, I expect you to be civil to him. He saved your life, and if he wants to worry about you now, you're going to bloody well let him."

She spun sharply and walked to the door, then turned back to him before exiting. "And Severus. Be aware that the staff as well have noticed your absence, and we are all concerned about you." Her voice softened. "It's been a difficult year for us all, you know. So many losses. Let's not make it any harder on each other than we have to, hmm?"

She was halfway out the door when she spoke to him once more, her voice at its gentlest, though he had not answered her. "Perhaps I'll see you tomorrow, then? Think about what I've said, please. Good-night, Severus."

Then she was gone, and he sat down heavily at his desk and closed his eyes. He stayed that way for a long time, considering what to do next. He could not defy her or put her off indefinitely, that much he was sure of. And if she was correct about Potter, and the boy would be knocking on his door personally before long … and that would be a problem. It would not do to have him in here alone, especially if he came in the evening as Minerva had, when there was no press of students moving in and out of the room.

It was not that Severus didn't trust himself, not exactly. He simply dreaded all the emotional twisting and wrenching he would go through if he had to actually speak to the boy again at close quarters. It would be even worse if Potter looked worried about him, if those lovely eyes turned to him in concern, if it looked like the little fool might be thinking of doing something completely ridiculous. Snakes need hugs, too, you know, he could hear Potter's voice saying.

He could not leave things to happen by chance, or at Potter's whim. He would have to take preemptive action.