The morning moved with an unusual degree of snail-like haste, with the minutes stretching interminably into hours, but the hours slipping past almost unnoticed. It was an odd quirk of time that the components of it could seem to last forever while the larger part zipped past. Rather like all those long days adding up to years that moved in a blur.

After a brief discussion between Poppy and that bat McGonagall, a discussion to which Severus was privy but not included, Minerva had left him sitting alone in Poppy's office, and the mediwitch had moved around to lean against her desk, facing him thoughtfully in much the same manner he had often faced miscreant students. After a long, agonizingly thorough perusal of him, she finally straightened and spoke softly.

"Well, Severus," she said softly. "How do you feel?"

He snorted. "Like a misbehaving schoolboy," he muttered under his breath. She looked confused and he forced a tight smile. "I'm fine, Poppy."

"Minerva seems to think that..."

"I am well aware of what Minerva thinks, having been subjected to it at length this morning."

Poppy pulled a chair around so she could sit facing him. "And you think that her concerns are unfounded." It was not a question, but a statement of fact.

For a long moment, Severus looked at the nurse, his black eyes searching her for a hint of her intentions. He found no hint. "It hardly matters what I think," he replied, averting his eyes to her bookcase.

"It matters a great deal, Severus, but only if you will tell me," she said, her voice soft and yet firm. "You are my single most important source of information about you," she pointed out, "and if you will help me, I will be in a better position to help you."

Turning that over in his head for a moment, Severus finally pulled his eyes back to Poppy's face. "Do you believe I would hurt one of the students?" he asked softly, his voice betraying more than he would have desired.

"I don't believe you would hurt anyone intentionally," she replied with a slight smile. "I don't even think you would hurt an enemy intentionally. Although, you certainly put forth a good enough bluff that no one else likely realizes that."

He snorted softly, not sure how to take what she'd said. He was no coward, and no weakling, but there was truth to her statement; he'd seen enough and done enough that he'd little desire to be through all of it again. No, he most likely would not hurt anyone he could avoid hurting. "Then why am I here?" he asked pointedly.

"Because Minerva is of the opinion that you are not in complete control of yourself just now," Poppy replied simply. "And she fears that loss of control could be damaging."

"I told you," he said quietly, "I am well aware of what Minerva thinks. I want to know what you think."

She considered him carefully, then responded with chosen words. "I think that you have been under a great deal of pressure and stress for the last two years," she replied. "And I know that pressure and stress can cause damage, both physical and emotional, that will not be repaired with a vial of Pepper-up."

"You think I'm incapable of managing my affairs anymore."

"I hope that isn't the case, Severus, and I have no reason to believe it is," she assured him. "But I am not at all unconvinced that the strain of the last two years hasn't left you in need of a... a healing period."

His eyes narrowed. "What are you suggesting, Poppy?"

She reached forward and patted his arm gently. "Only that I am taking Minerva's concerns very seriously," she replied. "But I am not going to write you off as incompetent unless I have considerably more evidence than a second-hand rumor that you lost your temper with an old rival."

The corners of his mouth twitched into a small, appreciative smile. "Thank you," he said sincerely.

"I will, however, have to insist on a thorough examination. While I am not willing to jump to conclusions, I am also unwilling to blindly ignore the possibility that Minerva's concerns are not unfounded."

He nodded. "Of course," he replied.

She pulled him into a firm embrace, and for a moment, he leaned against her, grateful for her presence as he had been when he was a child and she was nursing an injury or an illness. Poppy Pomfrey had that comforting, unthreatening presence that anyone could appreciate, and it never seemed condescending. When he straightened, she let go. Perhaps that was why he was more capable of letting her offer him comfort than he was others; she never forced the issue, and it always came on his terms. "Now," she said briskly, walking behind her desk and sitting for a moment, peering into a drawer. "There are, of course, papers for you to sign. And, you do have the right to have someone else here with you, if you are concerned about my intentions. If you like, we can send for Professor Flitwick or..."

"I don't need supervision," he said evenly, folding his arms again.

Poppy's eyes twinkled slightly. "It is your right to request that a male faculty member be present," she said with a half-hidden smile. "To supervise me."

His face darkened slightly from embarrassment. "I don't think that is necessary," he replied stiffly.

"Very well," she replied, pulling out a stack of parchment and a thick folder of pages. His records, he knew. Record of his years at Hogwarts: seven as a student and another fifteen as a teacher. For a moment, he wondered what he would do if they declared him unfit to continue teaching, and it made his chest constrict to think about it.

The examination went smoothly, and Severus found most of his apprehensions eased by Poppy's combination of professionalism and concern. He found himself answering questions he'd never have believed he would answer for anyone, least of all one of his colleagues, but she assured him that the matters they discussed would remain private, that only Dumbledore would be privy to her notes, and those only if he had a 'damn good reason' (her words, not his.) He could not, of course, tell her everything, and she seemed to accept that, and did not pry, but did not stop him if he volunteered information. In fact, she'd even coaxed most of the story of what had happened last night out of him, but he noticed that she only wrote a single line on her page. When she caught him looking at it, she offered to show him what she'd written. He shook his head.

"Perhaps when this is over?" he asked, and she nodded, agreeing to share her notes at the end of their 'discussion'.

The only time that professionalism wavered was when he admitted that he'd eaten only a bowl of soup since dinnertime Sunday. Her voice had been tight when she asked him why he hadn't been eating, and his answer (which was a perfectly logical one-- that he wasn't hungry) seemed to touch off fireworks in her.

"SEVERUS SNAPE!" she screeched, slamming her hand on her desk. "You miss one meal because you 'aren't hungry'. Not three of the last four! I'm sending down for breakfast, what do you want?"

"Really," he insisted, "I'm not hungry..."

"Then you'd best tell me what you'd like to eat because you aren't moving from that chair until you've had a decent meal," she retorted. "So you might as well tell me what you'd like that meal to be." When he stubbornly refused again, she sent down, true to her word, and a few moments later a house elf appeared with a tray laden with pancakes, sausages, fruit and tea. He scowled slightly, but Poppy's face was unwavering, and he decided it in his best interest not to argue over something so trivial. She watched him for several minutes before seeming satisfied that he was obeying her orders, and then went on with the questions. His sleeping habits, his drinking habits, what he did in his spare time... there was no part of his life she didn't seem interested in prying into. And, invariably, the conversation steered towards his love life.

He'd snorted at that phrase. "No one loves me, Poppy," he told her firmly, without a trace of self-pity. "And that is for the best. Makes many things less complicated."

For a moment, she looked at him like she was going to tell him he was wrong, and, despite himself, he realized he was holding his breath. Was he hoping she would argue the point? She did not, though, and instead brought up Aislinn.

By lunchtime, he felt as though he'd been dragged naked through broken glass and deposited unceremoniously into a pit of alcohol. He was raw and aching from some of the questions she'd asked him, though he hid it well, behind one of his characteristic sneers and sarcastic quips. She presented him with another tray of food, and he obediently ate half a sandwich and half a bowl of soup before even her threats couldn't coax anything else down him; he thought that if he ate another bite he was going to be sick.

Finally, she led him to a bed at the back of the ward and drew the curtain, ordering him sternly to lie down and sleep. He protested, of course, but she withdrew a vial of Dreamless Sleep potion from her pocket and held it up, making sure the light caught the deep purple liquid. Her eyes clearly said that she knew he knew what was in that bottle, and that she knew he preferred not to drink it. "It is your choice, Severus," she said firmly, and, with a sigh of defeat, he'd settled onto the bed and allowed her to pull a blanket over him. "Just rest," she said softly. "It will do you more good than anything you could swallow right now."

Despite himself, he drifted to sleep.

"Severus." A soft voice accompanied by a gentle hand on his shoulder. Severus turned in the direction of the voice, fighting away the tattered remnants of sleep.

"Headmaster," he replied distantly, starting to sit up. Dumbledore pressed him gently back to the bed.

"How are you feeling?"

The concern in those blue eyes was genuine, but not enough to assuage Severus' irritation. "I'm fine," he insisted. He was beginning to sound like a bloody parrot.

"Are you?" he asked mildly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Minerva has spoken with me and..."

"...and you've come to make official what she was only able to begin." It was a blandly spoken statement, the emotionless tone carefully constructed to cover the pain he felt. The pain of betrayal.

"I've come to talk to you, my boy," Dumbledore said softly. "But perhaps this discussion will be better in my office."

Severus nodded numbly, trying to steel himself. Dumbledore was about to fire him. He could feel it. He had trusted the Headmaster for years, even when he trusted no one else. He'd thought Albus trusted him, when no one else did. It was painful to admit how important that mutual trust was, and he closed his eyes briefly.

"Can you walk?" Dumbledore asked softly, and Severus snorted derisively.

"Of course," he bit off his bitter reply. "There is nothing wrong with me."

Dumbledore nodded and stood, then backed away, drawing the curtains again. "I'll be waiting for you outside the door," the Headmaster assured him.

Severus sat up, and scrubbed a hand over his face, wondering how long he'd been asleep. Long enough, apparently, that he wasn't sure if the sleep had helped or made him feel worse. He pulled on his socks and shoes, and the billowing black robe for which he was so well-known, but for once, he felt as though it were swallowing him. As he slipped out from behind the curtain, Poppy smiled in his direction from across the room. It was a reassuring smile, but not enough to soothe his doubts. He held his head high, though, and set a brisk pace out of the infirmary, blatantly ignoring the surprised looks of students who had obviously not known he was there.

The walk to Dumbledore's office passed in silence, both men lost in their own thoughts. Severus knew what was coming, and was preparing his defenses, wondering if he would actually beg the Headmaster to allow him to stay if it came to it. He had never begged anything of anyone, but nothing had ever been so important to him as this, either.

When they reached the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's study, Dumbledore spoke the password (toffee crisp) and the spiraling staircase began to move. The ascent was as silent as the journey had been, and it was only after they were seated in a pair of wingback chairs before Dumbledore's desk that the silence was broken.

"Do you wish to tell me what has happened?" Dumbledore asked softly.

Severus shrugged. "There's little to tell, and I doubt little that you haven't heard."

"I haven't heard it from you."

That took Severus aback for a moment, but he shook his head firmly. "I am not going to offer inane explanations," he insisted, his mouth seemingly operating independently of his brain. You're supposed to be convincing him to let you stay, not angering him, came a voice from within his head.

"I don't need an explanation, Severus," Dumbledore said softly. "I need to know whether you have regained control over yourself."

"I have a greater degree of control than most of the people around here."

Dumbledore nodded. "I know, my boy. But Minerva tells me that you threw Remus from your rooms last night. That you threatened him."

"I'd still like to know how she knows about that," Severus muttered. "Or perhaps he isn't so hesitant to tell her when it is his own skin in danger."

Dumbledore's look was stern, and his eyes held none of the customary twinkle. "As I understand it, she met him in the corridor and invited him for a drink. He was of the impression that your anger was more than justified."

"Oh."

"Minerva also tells me that you lost your temper with her this morning."

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS SO WRONG WITH MY LOSING MY TEMPER?" Severus yelled suddenly. "AND WHY AM I THE ONE BEING SUBJECTED TO THIS TRIAL WHEN SHE WAS JUST AS HOT-HEADED AS SHE ALWAYS IS?"

Dumbledore rested a calming hand on Severus' arm. "Calm down, Severus," he murmured. "You are exactly right, Minerva's temper was inexcusable as well, and she told me she lost it with you."

"And yet," Severus hissed, still struggling for control, "I am the one who is sitting here, and I am the one who was relieved of my classroom duties."

"Minerva loses her temper daily, if not hourly," Dumbledore said softly. "It is not unusual. You, on the other hand, have a most uncanny degree of self control, as you said earlier."

"So," he spat, "the fact that I do not normally lose my temper makes it more detestable when I do."

"The fact that you seldom lose your temper makes it a point of concern when you lose it twice in twenty-four hours. Three times, now. And, coupled with the displays at Headquarters this weekend..."

"I can't believe this," Severus murmured, lowering his head into his hand. "This is priceless. You're going to sack me because I told Minerva where to shove it and because I told Lupin to sod off."

Dumbledore chuckled softly and stood, moving behind Severus and placing a hand on each of his shoulders. "I am not going to sack you at all, Severus," he said softly.

Severus' eyes widened and he turned to look at the Headmaster, who was smiling, his eyes twinkling again.

"I know that these past few weeks have been difficult for you," Dumbledore said softly, squeezing Severus' shoulders. "And I do not blame you, and I understand, and I think that a short temper is most excusable for the moment. I am, however, in agreement with Minerva about one thing-- this sudden lack of control is frightening, and I would not want to see a student hurt for inadvertently reminding you of something you preferred to forget."

Severus' shoulders drooped slightly. "I would not hurt a student," he insisted softly.

The headmaster pulled a chair directly in front of Severus and sat, taking his hands and leaning forward slightly. "I know you would not," he said resolutely. "Not intentionally. If I had even the slightest suspicion that you were a danger to students, you would not be here, Severus. But I am afraid that your control will waver and you will not see the danger until it has passed."

Severus shook his head. "I don't... I wouldn't..."

He found himself pulled into a tight embrace again, and Dumbledore whispered against his head, "Listen to me," he murmured. "I think that you need a few days. You were saying it all weekend, and I've come to decide that perhaps you were right. Perhaps what you do need is some time to yourself, to compose yourself. I am sorry I would not give it to you this weekend, but I give it to you now."

Severus pulled away suddenly, and scowled. "You made a promise," he hissed. "And..."

"And I have kept it. This was not my decision, Severus, though if it had been brought to my attention, I would have reached the same conclusion, promises be damned. Listen to me..."

"Why?"

"Because what I am saying makes sense. It pains me that you cannot trust me just now; I think that it is as important to me that you trust me as it is to you that I trust you. And I do trust you, Severus, and I think that you trust me, even if you are too hurt and angry right now to remember it. I do not want to see you hurt worse, though. Can you accept that?"

He laughed humorlessly. "Of course," he muttered. "A dead spy can pass no information."

"Another friend lost to this war would break my heart," Dumbledore rejoined. "And I count you among my friends. It is for your protection that I want you to take this time. For your protection and mine and the school's and our world's. In case you have forgotten, you have an important engagement in less than two weeks, and if you cannot control yourself then..." The Headmaster didn't have to finish the sentence. Severus knew the consequences. "I wish this burden did not fall on your shoulders, my boy," Dumbledore said quietly. "But there is little I can do about it. I wish I could afford to merely worry about you and your healing from the wounds you've sustained in the past years, but I haven't that luxury. I want you to be happy, Severus, because you are like a son to me, but I need you to be in possession of all your considerable skills when you meet with Voldemort next. I was a fool for trying to help you heal before, when there is no time for healing. I should have left you to bury yourself as you always have, and trusted that you knew best how to manage your pain, but in my meddling concern, I would not allow that. But now I must insist."

Severus nodded slowly, trying to take in everything the Headmaster had said. He bloody hated it when Dumbledore was right. "You're not firing me," he repeated, and instantly berated himself for foolishness. Out of everything Dumbledore had just said, was that really the one point most worthy of comment?

Dumbledore chuckled softly. "No, Severus. I believe that would be akin to cutting off my nose to spite my face. Have you any idea how difficult it is to find a competent wizard or witch to teach potions? You are an asset to this school that I could not afford to lose, and that is personal feelings aside. Just as you are an asset to the Order that I do not want to lose." Dumbledore took his face between bony-fingered hands and lifted it to look at him. "And as a friend, I would be heartbroken to lose you."

After a long, steadying breath, Severus nodded. "Very well," he said softly. "What do you want me to do?"

A/N: thank you, Average and Silverthreads... I found that writing the last chapter was... utterly beyond my control actually. I'd intended a scene in Potions class (not a violent scene, just a scene of irritation) and possibly another Occlumency lesson. I don't know where McGonagall came from, but she certainly was upset... It would seem that the characters have stopped consulting me. I certainly didn't give Snape the permission to lose his temper with such forceful language... ah well. Hope you liked this chapter too.