Two days had gone by, and Severus's rage had been slowly stewing all the while.

It had all been planned, from the start. A prank meant to humiliate him in front of everyone, including James Potter the Second. When had Black and the wolf planned it? How had they known he was to take care of the boy? Or had that only been a bonus—an excuse to get close to him? The two were likely laughing themselves sick, chuckling over a bottle of Odgen's and regaling the rest of the Order with descriptions of his house, his personal items, the…kiss…

"I hope this isn't a bad time to ask, but I think I'd like to—kiss you, if that would be all right."

It was a prank. There was no other explanation. Severus would not allow himself to entertain thoughts of any other possibilities, because it was a prank, and that was all there was to it.

So he'd thrown himself into teaching Potter Occlumency. (If the boy weren't in on the prank, and of course he was this was Potter —only this Potter had never played 'pranks.' This Potter had never…It was a prank. It was a prank.) They'd set their focus to breathing exercises for the time being, to relax the boy's jittery feet and shaky hands. Whatever anxiety overtook the boy during their lessons and beyond would need to be at least somewhat remedied before they could move on to attempting proper Occlumency again. The breathing exercises might even help Potter keep focused during lessons. And, further, could potentially benefit him during his hearing tomorrow.

Severus was dreading the next Order meeting, when he would have to see Black and Lupin and have to ignore the smirks, the subtle jabs…But, most of all, he was dreading Arthur Weasley's arrival at his house.

Albus had nearly disregarded his concerns until Severus had threatened to send the boy back to his relatives and wash his hands of the entire affair. He wouldn't have, he supposed, in reality—Potter was a closed book, for all that his mind was open far and wide, and he wanted to know where, exactly, the boy's anxiety was sourcing from. It was impeding his learning ability; and if he couldn't learn Occlumency, Severus would never be rid of him. Seven days had already passed and they were no closer to reaching an acceptable level of shielding than Molly Weasley was at producing spawn that didn't exist to give him migraines.

"You've lost tempo, Potter," Severus said dully, sparing the boy only a brief glance as he continued reading the last few chapters of his new book. "Deep breaths."

"I know," the boy said irritably. "I'm trying."

"What is the problem?" He had a headache, and he knew it was only going to become worse as the hours went by. He'd been agonizing over Friday's arrival since the night Albus had switched his inspector to Arthur Weasley. His only consolation was that it was a weekday. Arthur would come during his lunch break, stay only for ten to fifteen minutes, and be out the door and off to the Ministry in time to remove a hex on a blender or a deck of Muggle playing cards. Severus was willing to provide food if it meant getting the man out of his house sooner. "Potter," he repeated, "what is the problem?"

"I dunno. I just start—thinking, and…" With a heavy sigh, the boy stood up and stretched, and then settled himself back on the couch, worrying a loose thread between his thumb and forefinger. "Could I go for a walk? Sir?"

Severus finally looked up from his book, blinking hard in an attempt to shake off his daze a little. "Deep breathing exercises aren't meant to be something you need to relax from ." He eyed Potter's nervous movements. "They're meant to be relaxing."

"Well, I'm not relaxed. I want to take a walk. Maybe cook something. Are you hungry?" Potter asked, already on his feet and halfway to the kitchen by the time Severus barked, "Potter!"

The boy stopped in his tracks and craned his neck to look at him. Fighting to urge to bury his face in his hands, Severus snapped, "Get back here. You've only been sitting there for ten minutes. That is nowhere near enough time to clear your mind. Were you focusing on relaxing thoughts and images?"

There was no response other than a sullen shuffle of feet. He gave into the impulse to put his face in his hands, exhaling long and low as if to drain the rage that had been slow cooking in him since Wednesday night. Rubbing his temples, Severus eventually looked up again and wordlessly pointed to the sofa. Potter sat down and scowled at his knobby kneecaps.

"Now. Let's try this again, shall we? In…and out. In…and out. Your leg is bouncing. In…and out. In…and out. In…"

It took nearly an hour of instructive breathing exercises for Severus to feel as though they'd made progress. After the twenty minute mark, he'd slowly tapered off on speaking, until the room was silent and Potter was fully relaxed against the back of the couch instead of rigid and angry. It was gratifying to see. For the life of him, Severus couldn't recall whether he'd ever seen Potter in a state of relaxation before. Had all the times he'd been Crucio'd poked holes in his memory? Or was the boy always anxious? Why?

"Don't lock me in!"

A chill overtook him. Severus attributed it to the cooling of the temperature outside. He pressed his palms to his eyes and leaned back against his chair, falling into the rhythm of Potter's deep, steady breathing and allowing himself to drop down into a light doze.

A knock at the door startled them both out of the peaceful trance they'd slipped into. Jolting upright, Severus cut a sharp glance at the boy, who'd rolled off the sofa and dropped into a crouch beside it, eyes fixed on the door to the stairs like he was prepared to bolt up them at a moment's notice. "Calm yourself," he told Potter, swallowing down a yawn and hauling himself to his feet. "It's Arthur Weasley."

"Mr. Weasley is here? Really? Has he brought Ron or Hermione with him?" Potter demanded, standing up straight to try and peer through the spyhole as Severus tried to shove him aside without actually touching him. "Wait-why not Professor Lupin? Was last night a full moon?"

"Yes," he said truthfully, wrenching the door open to meet Arthur Weasley. "Inside, quickly, before somebody sees you."

"I didn't come Polyjuiced. I hope that's not an issue," Arthur said quietly, hurrying to enter the house and taking a quick look around. "Bit nippy out there today, isn't it? Hello, Harry, how have you been?"

The comment about his neighbors thinking he was hiring prostitutes nearly escaped his lips, but Severus squashed the words before he could royally fuck up today's visit before it could even begin. This wasn't Lupin. He couldn't say such things around this inspector. He also couldn't down two Calming Draughts at once in front of him. Or say 'fuck.' "Yes, I suppose it is cold," he said after a moment's pause, unsure if Arthur was expecting a reply. "Do you need food?"

"Pardon?" Weasley asked, spelling himself dry from the torrential rain outside. "Harry, I'll be picking you up tomorrow for your hearing. Have you any clothes? Or do I need to bring you something of Fred or George's?"

"Food," Severus repeated, trying not to get angry. "Are you or are you not here on your lunch break?"

"So you didn't bring Ron? Or Hermione?" Potter mumbled from close by, shoulders hunched inwards and eyes cast downwards. "I have clothes. Thanks, though."

"Perhaps we should move to the kitchen, if that's all right," Arthur said somewhat distractedly, still looking around like he was ashamed to be doing so. "Lunch sounds excellent, Severus, thank you…You'll be needing to wake up early tomorrow, Harry, seeing as how your hearing is scheduled for nine…"

The two continued talking as Severus led the way to the kitchen, waving an impatient hand at the table and eavesdropping on their conversation as he opened the fridge and pulled out whatever odds and ends he could find. "Do you eat egg?" he asked, interrupting them. He'd hardboiled the last of the carton the night before, knowing the remaining few wouldn't last the next week. He and Potter would need to make another trip to Tesco.

"Egg? Yes, I do, thank you for asking. Harry, Remus tells me you've nearly completed your summer assignments…"

Severus washed a generous handful of spinach, paused, and then added in two more handfuls; Potter hadn't yet eaten lunch. A meal would do him well. He'd been tightly strung like a rope ready to snap for the past day or so. It had always been the same-Potter became irritable and prone to moody outbursts when he moved off a proper eating schedule. And…if his memory served correct…Potter was always moody and sullen when returning to school each September. He was no longer the rail thin child that had originally arrived to Hogwarts in the autumn of '91, but there had been a pinched, underfed quality to him a week ago that had only somewhat eased after a full seven days of regular meals.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!"

Had there ever been a home inspection of the boy's relatives? he wondered, as the realization hit for the first time. Had no one ever thought to check up on him? Or had that been strangely overlooked in the grand scheme of things? Did they really all find him so untrustworthy, so blinded by the hatred that had attached itself and rooted deep into his soul, that they believed him to be the worst possible caregiver for the boy?

Did Albus find him so untrustworthy? After all this time?

"Here." Severus set the salads down a tad too hard, enough that he felt the reverberation of the dishes hitting the table in his wrists. "Has there been any word of the next meeting? In an hour's time, I'll have a freshly made batch of Veritaserum ready for the Order, and I would like to deliver it as soon as possible."

He'd made three batches this time. One for the Dark Lord, one for the Headmaster, and one for his…personal usage. (His gas bill was bound to be obscene.)

"Yes, there should be one the day after tomorrow. I'm sure Albus will appreciate the potions. Have you been, ah, Summoned lately?"

"Not as of yet." Severus took his own plate and retreated to the corner of the kitchen, easing his back against the edge of the counter. He took a bite of his salad and crunched down on a cashew. Struggling for something to say that wouldn't put him in the metaphorical doghouse, he eventually snapped out, "Is it good?"

Arthur looked up from his own plate with a wan smile. He and his wife had seemed vaguely colorless lately, like someone had wrung them out and left them to dry in the cold. "It's excellent, thank you."

"Can I come to the meeting? It's where everyone else is, right?" Potter asked, pushing a small pile of diced onion about on his plate. "Or is that not allowed?"

"I'm afraid not. Harry, I'm sorry. I can assure you, you'll be there soon. Remus tells me you've been working hard on learning Occlumency. If you keep it up, you'll be with us before you know it. Ron and Hermione have been asking about you. They're quite anxious to see you again." Arthur put a firm hand on the boy's shoulder, squeezing gently before retreating back to his meal. Severus watched the interaction with a feeling he couldn't quite identify.

There was a level of awkwardness to this entire affair that Severus hadn't felt with Lupin. There had been no need to filter himself entirely while the wolf was here. He'd been able to make inappropriate comments when it was only the two of them in a room together; he and Lupin knew what each other were. Arthur, for all of his experiences with Death Eaters and his vague knowledge of Severus's own involvement with them, had never lived amongst the lowest dregs of society like he and Lupin had. There had been, for better or for worse, some semblance of understanding between them. That didn't exist here.

Now if only Lupin hadn't gone and fucked it all up, like always. Why was nothing ever good enough for anybody? Hadn't he been satisfied with a mutual understanding? Why couldn't he have just left it at that? Why had he had to go and-and ki-

Severus had to take a second to try very hard not to sick up everything he'd just eaten. A prank was all it had been. That was all. Nothing more. Entertaining thoughts of anything otherwise would only make him upset.

He tried not to feel angry. He failed, as he always did at anything to do with being a good person. Pushing away from the counter, he gathered up the empty plates on the table without a word and did his best to curb the impulse to hurl them all into the sink. Weasley was here, he reminded himself, spelling them to wash themselves. He couldn't act out. He had an audience now that wouldn't lie to Albus for him.

"Is that all, then?" he muttered, glaring at the dishes cleaning themselves in the sink. "You've spoken to Potter. We are making progress with Occlumency and his summer assignments are nearly complete. Are you satisfied?"

"Actually, Severus…" Weasley frowned a little, and glanced around at the kitchen once more, eyes lingering on the broken drawer handle and the dirty, smoggy window. A screaming match erupted in the Richardson's house next door, as if on cue. "It's not that I distrust Remus's testimony, but I'd rather like to see the house myself."

The entire situation was fucked, Severus thought bitterly, as he grabbed hold of Arthur Weasley's shirt and hauled him up the stairs by the light of a Lumos, and Potter lingered at the bottom in a way he likely thought was discreet. The entire situation was fucked, and it was all Remus Lupin's fault.