Written for a Myriad of Challenges: 20) Write a fic where someone has an abstract phobia. That means not arachnophobia (spiders), Acrophobia (heights), claustrophobia, etc. Fun ones include:
-Paraskavedekatriaphobia, fear of Friday the 13th. and Triskaidekaphobia, fear of the number 13
-Trichopathophobia, fear of hair
-Anuptaphobia, fear of being single
-Arachibutyrophobia, Fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of the mouth
-Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia, Fear of long words
-Geniophobia, fear of chins
-Ephebiphobia, fear of teenagers
-Wicca phobia - Fear of witches and witchcraft

Issued by zylaxidia.

Thirteen

By Catty-the-spy

1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…

Severus counted the number of essays from his seventh year class.

He was hoping to have an even number, preferably divisible by six, seeing as some of the students were out sick.

…11…12…13…

He hurriedly stuffed the stack aside, reaching for the next seventh year essay…

…nothing.

Severus whimpered softly, digging through the papers on his desk almost desperately, nearly screaming when he couldn't find one.

13…13…13…He shook his head, as if the action would make the number disappear from his thoughts and cease to exist.

Dammit! Where was another seventh year essay. There just had to be one…there were twelve students in class today, and some of them had carted in papers for their missing friends. Where was that damn essay?!?! He had sworn he'd seen it! He knew he had more…knew he had more than…than that despicable number. There had to be more…had to be more to grade…or wait! Maybe one of them wasn't a seventh year essay. Maybe he'd mixed in one of the others by mistake.

1…2…3...4…5…6…7…8…

He ignored the flashing panic button hidden under his desk, paying more attention to the essays. He had to have mixed them up!

…11…12…13…

All seventh year. He swallowed a barely restrained screech and turned back to his now messy desk, tearing through the papers. Where was it? Where was the next? There had to be a next!! Dammit!!!

He ignored the knocking on his door, the sound of his name being called. Where was that blasted essay?!

His door banged open and he didn't pay it any attention, opting to scramble through his desk drawers in the hopes that he'd put the other essay there by mistake.

13…13…13…

Hands grabbed him, pining his arms to his side and pulling him back against a familiar chest.

"Calm down Severus."

But he couldn't calm down! He had to find that essay! He had the find the essay! There had to be more, at least one more that he hadn't seen…

"Severus breathe!"

He was too afraid to breathe, and his wonderful mind turned against him and kept repeating that one number, cloaking him in an irrational fear he normally didn't experience.

A sigh that he didn't hear, and a spell. His arms were pinned to his sides and his eyes were covered.

"Severus, listen to me. We're going to remodel your classroom soon, but we need to know how many desks are in it right now."

The voice spoke, and the wand worked, multiplying the desks in the potions classroom.

"Everyone else is either too busy or too lazy to do it, and I thought since you were such a good counter that you would be the perfect one."

Severus was lifted by an old man with surprising strength, his eyes still covered, his breathing still erratic. His face was pressed into a neck, and Severus felt himself carried from one room to another.

"But Severus, before I can let you count, you have to start breathing normally, otherwise I'll have to take you to the Hospital wing."

Severus made himself listen to the calming voice.

Eventually he was counting desks, with a shaky voice and puffy red eyes, looked paler than usual.

Dumbledore left Severus' office to hug the still tearful man. "It seems someone forgot to take his special calming potion, mmm? We can't be forgetting that anymore, now can we?"

Severus clung tightly to the headmaster, shaken and upset with himself.

Albus sat in the teacher's chair and pulled Severus into his lap. "How about we take the rest of the day off, just you and me."

Severus didn't reply.

Coward.

Thirteen.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Fin