Chapter Thirteen
… and hear the sighing years
Re-sighing on my lips renunciative,
Severus didn't appear in the Great Hall for meals at any point during that day. Although Harry didn't have a Potions lesson that day, he managed to gather from eavesdropping on other pupils' conversations at dinner that Severus also hadn't taken any of his lessons. Instead, the Headmaster had been covering the classes for him.
Harry assumed, therefore, that the professor had thus far been unable to free himself from Madam Pomfrey's protective clutches. So, rather than going down to the dungeons after dinner – after excusing himself to his friends once more - he made for the hospital wing.
The moment he entered, he realised that he had been correct about Severus' situation. He heard the two of them talking, quietly but intensely, before he caught sight of them. As he approached Madam Pomfrey's office, he saw Severus, apparently in the middle of vehemently defending his right to look after himself. The man was wearing only his shirtsleeves and trousers, appearing to Harry to be almost undressed without his robes. Madam Pomfrey, however, was insistent that Severus needed to remain under her care for at least another day, if not three. Severus, naturally, was indignant at the mere suggestion.
"Poppy, I have to return to my rooms," he said in a firm tone that would have left no room for argument in a conversation with most other people. "I have things to do, to prepare, that cannot wait. I must talk to Harry as well. I am going to leave, and you have no right whatsoever to stop me." He gave her a glare that had been known to reduce first years to the brink of tears.
Madam Pomfrey proved that she was made of sterner stuff than Severus' normal victims usually were. "I think you'll find that I do. If not for the sake of your health, then because Albus asked me to make sure that you were well. You can carry out all of your plans tomorrow," she said, voice equally implacable. "I'm certain that a day's delay will do no harm, Severus. You always insist on making things seem more urgent than they really are."
"It can't wait." He sighed, clearly realising that he wasn't going to win this argument outright no matter what he said. "Will you let me go for a while if I give you my word to come back and sleep here?"
"I suppose it's the most I'll get out of you." Her satisfaction at this concession was evident, and equally plainly, she hadn't expected even that much from him, certainly not without more of a fight. Harry could almost see the wheels turning in her head, wondering if she had perhaps underestimated Severus' tiredness, if he was willing to give in that much.
"I don't approve, but I will let you go," she said eventually, frowning slightly as her initial gratification at the victory faded. "If you don't come back, though," she warned, looking Severus straight in the eyes, "I will ask Albus to have a word with you."
"Very well," the man sighed resignedly. He turned, making it a sweeping motion even without his customary robes to aid him, and noticed Harry for the first time. "Ah, I see you found me."
"Yes," Harry replied, offering a tentative smile, which was returned – barely, but the twitch of lips was there. He tried not to make it obvious that he was very definitely noticing Severus as the man walked over to his bed, where the rest of his clothes were lying. He picked up his coat and robes, shrugging them on with a fluid motion.
"Well, shall we go?" he asked, returning to where Harry stood silently watching him, and looked down at him with a slight frown. Harry looked up at his face, startled out of his reverie, and nodded.
They made their way down to the dungeons in near-complete silence. Harry noted that while Severus appeared at first glance to be moving with all of his usual grace, a closer examination revealed that he was walking more slowly than usual, particularly when they had to climb any stairs. He refrained from commenting on this however, knowing that Severus would deny any change if it was mentioned. And then he would probably try to push himself too much in an attempt to prove that he was completely well when, to anyone who cared to look, he obviously wasn't. So he simply matched the pace the man set, and sighed, very quietly, to himself.
When they got to the door to Severus' rooms, the man muttered the password – after a quick look at Harry that Harry suspected he hadn't been supposed to see. Almost before it was properly open, the man walked in and made straight for his chair as if it was the only safe refuge left in the world.
Severus winced slightly as he sat down, and shifted uncomfortably. Once he was more comfortably settled, presumably in a position that didn't irritate any of the injuries that Harry now knew far too much about, he turned to Harry, looking at him expectantly.
Harry followed him in. The house-elves had already been in here, if the fire blazing in the hearth was any indication. He paused for a moment just inside the doorway, looking around for any changes since the last time he'd been in there. It felt much longer ago than it had actually been. As his eyes swept the room, he didn't note anything strikingly different. It smelled the same too – he suspected that different wood was used in Severus' fire than in the rest of the castle, though he'd never asked – and the same warmth caressed his skin. Severus had told him before that he felt the cold a great deal, and the dungeon required a great deal of effort to keep warm. The lack of change was perhaps to be expected, but something did feel subtly changed, though Harry couldn't immediately tell what it was.
When his eyes fell on the desk, he realised the origin of the feeling. The paperweight he'd given Severus at the beginning of the last term, which had been given a fairly prominent place on his desk since that day, was no longer there. He touched the bracelet he wore without making a conscious decision to do so. Severus' eyes flicked to the same place. He had noticed the gesture, subtle as it was, and knew what must be there although of course he could not see it. As if reflected from Harry's wrist, his eyes went to the place on his desk where the snake used to reside.
Neither of them commented on it, however, not feeling comfortable enough yet to bring up the events of that evening, and face all of the issues that it would bring up. Instead, Harry moved to the chair he had always taken during the few months he had been a regular visitor to these rooms, settling into it as if he had been there sitting there every day since that first time, after one of their tutoring sessions.
Then they stared at each other for a while in silence. Eventually Severus lowered his eyes from his intent contemplation of Harry's face, and said softly, with a hint of a self-deprecating smile, "This is ridiculous."
"It is rather, isn't it?" Harry offered another tentative smile of his own.
"Mmmm." Severus was looking at his hands now, sitting back in the shadows, and Harry couldn't tell what expression he wore. The bond was shut down as tight as it ever was on the man's side, and it was the same on his own.
"It's not as if I have the time to waste either. I'm convinced that Poppy will be down here with an army if I don't go back to her at a reasonable hour," Severus continued.
Harry smiled again, more sincerely. "I never thought you'd be the type to be pushed around by Madam Pomfrey."
"I fear there is no one in this world who can avoid it, once they have got into her clutches." The man looked up briefly, smiling slightly at him once more, even if it was with considerable irony.
"Oh," said Harry. He contemplated all of the things he could say.
I still think I love you, you know.
I think we need to talk about the woman you killed.
I don't know if I can do this.
Why did you get rid of it? What did you do with it?
What does it actually mean to you, that you're a Death
Eater?
(Because I don't like what I saw, a bit, and I'd really like you to tell me
that it's not like that at all.)
I don't think I can do this.
What do you want to say to me?
What are you thinking now, that you can't look at me?
What do you actually think, or feel, about me?
There were a thousand or more other possibilities, and not one of them would be of any use.
The other man seemed content to sit there and stare at his hands folded neatly in his lap, letting Harry come up with something to say next. He was leaning slightly forward now, the firelight flickering against the left side of his face like a caress, highlighting and shadowing strategically. It concealed lines, flushed usually sallow skin, softened angles. Harry's breath caught, and he found it suddenly hard to think. He shook himself mentally, reminding himself once more of appropriate times.
In the end, he chose none of the options his mind had thrown at him, knowing that they would simply complicate the situation again. If there was one thing they didn't need, it was that, now when their friendship was so newly mended, so very fragile and uncertain.
"Anyway, I thought we were going to arrange times for the lessons?" he asked. It was an innocuous enough question – inane, perhaps, but safe - and it had the advantage of having something to do with the alleged reason they were down here in the first place.
Harry caught the flicker of eyelashes, and thought Severus had blinked. "Yes. Originally I thought perhaps the same timetable as before." The man flicked a look at him, perhaps trying to gauge his reaction. "However, I think that perhaps we should not spend so much time together."
Harry knew what he was thinking without even having to reach for the bond. He struggled not to show his disappointment, or the edge of irritation he felt, on his face.
I don't want to expose myself to your childish infatuation any more than I need to. He could almost hear it, in the voice Severus used when a student had suggested something particularly stupid.
Perhaps he was being unjust to him, though. After all, the man had made all the advances this time.
"Well, OK. Is there any time you'd prefer then?" Harry replied, with as much grace as he could muster.
"Tuesday and Thursday afternoons would be best for me. However I can also offer you the option of Wednesday afternoons and Saturday mornings," he added quickly, looking up again. He was trying, in his own way, Harry realised. Severus had mentioned before that those were the times that he preferred to use to work on his personal research projects.
"Can I take Tuesday and Saturday, then? Team Quidditch practice is on Thursday afternoon," Harry reminded, giving him as warm a smile as he could muster in thanks.
"Ah, I'd forgotten that. Certainly you may." Harry was relieved to note that he didn't seem annoyed to have lost that time.
There was a faintly uncomfortable pause. The faint frown on Severus' face suggested that was considering whether to say something, but wasn't sure if it was a wise choice. After a couple of moments he came out with, "God forbid I deprive the Gryffindors of the one player who allows them half a chance at the Quidditch Cup."
A retort that seemed strangely familiar, like a leftover from the last few times they'd sat like this, sprung to Harry's lips. He let it free after a moment's hesitation, hoping that it would move them away from the tentative feeling of the evening so far. He could feel the shields on the bond being involuntarily loosened – on both sides - as they relaxed.
"You might want to be careful – that was almost a compliment," he said, with as bright a grin as he could manage.
Severus smirked back at him, and Harry's heart gave an unexpected flutter, born from a strange mixture of hope, gratitude and desire.
"Rather you should consider it rather a testament to the ineptitude of your team-mates," Severus said, a real smile threatening.
Harry sneered slightly at him, and for a few moments it was almost as if he had never kissed the man opposite him, as if their friendship had been a constant thing. He could almost forget that he had been made to see what it meant to be a Death Eater.
Then Severus shifted slightly, the shadow of a pained grimace flickering across his face, and Harry was sharply reminded of why exactly he had given that reaction. His heart sank slightly. The illusion of ease was shattered, and he stood, feeling suddenly uncomfortable again. "I should be getting back," he said awkwardly, hoping that Severus wouldn't object.
"As should I," the man replied, seeming satisfied to let the meeting end, perhaps because of Harry's obvious discomfort or for his own reasons. Maybe Madam Pomfrey really was that scary.
Perhaps he ought to offer something, thought Harry. It couldn't hurt anything, and he felt the sudden desire to have the feeling of a few minutes ago back. "I suppose we could walk up to the first floor together?"
"Yes."
They walked up the stairs out of the dungeon in a slightly more comfortable silence than the one they had walked down in. On the first floor they parted ways, as they had to take different staircases, Harry towards Gryffindor Tower, Severus to the hospital wing.
"Good night, Severus. Sleep well," Harry said quietly, meaning it with every fibre of his being.
"Good night, Harry. Sweet dreams." That wish, he could tell, was just as sincere as his own had been.
//Perhaps, if I'm lucky,// he said, seized by some imp of mischief or memory. He smiled as he walked away, and could feel that Severus was doing the same, if only internally.