CHAPTER 13

A/N: Impatient mental patient: practice (noun): British spelling. practise (verb) British spelling. practice (verb AND noun): American spelling...

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It was two o'clock in the morning when Severus returned to Hogwarts via Floo, tired and paler than usual. He had a bath, taking time to wash his hair. He had bought another hair care set after finding out that Dumbledore's gift had been very helpful indeed. Of course, it was something he refused to acknowledge, and when he got the second set, he had done so with a vague feeling of chagrin. Now, as he rinsed the delicately scented foam out of his hair, he was reminded of Dumbledore's disappointment. A mixture of rancour and shame flooded him. He had been mortified when Dumbledore had caught him vandalising the church. He hated churches. His father had been the embodiment of the distorted and contradictory aspects of religion. He had shouted at his wife and son, had drunk alcohol in such copious amounts that he had finally died of cirrhosis of the liver and had still managed to attend Mass every Sunday, listening to sermons on mercy and modesty while he abused his family at home. He had dragged Severus with him to church until Severus's magical powers had become too obvious to ignore. From then on, Severus had undergone the treatment of having the magic "beaten" out of him. Severus raised his hands, covering his ears for a moment, as if trying to shut out the voices of those memories…

"Cursed be thy name," Severus muttered, struggling to drive out the image of Tobias Snape.

He brushed his teeth hard enough to make his gums protest, pulled on his pyjama pants and draped the matching top over his arm; he sometimes slept in only pyjama bottoms. He slipped into his bed, sheets around his waist, one arm cushioning his head, his long hair rippling over the pillow. He felt terribly lonely. He changed his position, turning onto his side, raising his knees to his chest and embracing them with his arms. He nearly wanted to cry. He did not, of course. He had not shed tears for goodness knows how long. Tears, for him, were a waste of time.

The next evening, he sought temporary alleviation from the crushing loneliness by revisiting the Muggle bar. Leaning against the wall, he watched potential bedmates, finally catching the eye of a young man. The latter walked over to the former, and they negotiated business in a few discreet sentences. When they lay on the bed upstairs, Severus pulled out his box of condoms. The other man took it from him – Severus raised an eyebrow – and checked the date.

"Date's fine, but I prefer using mine."

"And why?" Severus asked coldly.

"Because I don't know where yours have been. Temperature and stuff. Mine are always here."

He opened the drawer of a bedside table and handed the box to Severus. Severus read the date and shrugged.

"Whatever," he said. He couldn't very well inform this Muggle that the box and contents had protective charms on them. It was possible that the other man had sensed or felt the magic which radiated off the box and had instinctively reacted negatively to the alien sensation. At the same time, he was relieved that the man was careful and responsible. Still…He Obliviated the man, used a condom from his own box and proceeded to fuck him emotionlessly. As usual, there was no satisfaction afterwards.

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"Come in," Severus said tonelessly, not bothering to open his office door via magic when a hand knocked on it. The door opened, and Harry Potter stepped inside, looking extremely cautious. Green eyes locked with black eyes. Severus tried to stare the youth down, but Harry held his gaze with surprising steadiness.

"I apologise for inadvertently making a mess of your office, sir," he said tensely.

"Making a mess? Potter, your temper tantrum was worse than a hurricane."

"You – I mean, I felt provoked."

Ah, Severus thought with grim satisfaction, he won't dare accuse me directly.

"My dear Potter, you yourself are a constant source of provocation," Severus stated, breaking Dumbledore's order that he was to treat Harry with respect.

Harry looked tired, lost and hopeless.

"Is there really no way for us to get along, sir?" he asked.

Severus uttered a cold mirthless laugh.

"Potter, I am amazed at your audacity."

"Sir. Please."

"What! Is James Potter's ungrateful spawn actually begging?"

"I am not my father, for the umpteenth time!" Harry interrupted him fiercely, green eyes blazing, "And I am not begging. I am asking. Asking!"

"Careful, Potter. I don't want my office destroyed again," Severus said, his voice soft and threatening, "and you are the exact replica of your father, except for…" Severus approached the young man, not caring about Dumbledore's lecture, "I seem to recall a speculative article in The Daily Prophet, Potter…about certain…preferences…"

Harry flushed. He remembered. Remembered only too well. Once he had been sure about his sexual orientation, he had told Hermione and Ron in their sixth year. They had not been at all shocked; Ron knew a gay friend of his brother Bill, and Hermione, with her open-mindedness towards those who suffered unjust discrimination, had laughed and said that she had simply been waiting for Harry to "come out of the closet" to her and Ron.

"Was Cho that bad, mate?" Ron had joked.

"I just didn't feel that it was the…right thing, you know. Not only because of Cedric. Took me a little while to figure out what it was exactly that I was feeling," Harry had answered. Ron was not the type to keep his voice lowered, or to think before speaking. Thus, when Hermione had pointed out to Harry that a Ravenclaw girl was eyeing him appreciatively in the corridor, Ron had exclaimed loudly:

"Thank goodness you're gay, Harry – you don't have to invent excuses for avoiding clingy girls anymore!"

"Ron, that's private!" Hermione had snapped, and Harry had simply shrugged inwardly.

The news had travelled around the school and beyond it, thanks to letters students wrote home to their parents, and some of the parents had connections with the local newspapers…

Harry stared into the dark eyes of the Potions Master, realising that the embittered wizard was willing to actually hit below the belt.

"What has my being gay got to do with our situation?" he asked calmly.

"Ah, so it wasn't merely speculation."

"Professor Dumbledore told me that you would treat me with more respect. My sexual orientation has no place in this conversation," Harry said very sharply.

"It is simply a criterion to distinguish you from your progenitor, Potter."

His mouth curved into a cynical smile.

"The male body, Potter, certainly has its charms. Whether you will survive long enough to ever enjoy those charms or revel in the sensual lines of the male physique is, however, uncertain."

Harry had gone pale, and his green eyes were sparkling with angry tears.

"Stop it!" he said hoarsely, "stop doing this to me!"

"It hurts, doesn't it, Potter?"

"And how much hurt did you experience that you have perfected the art of hurting others?" Harry said fiercely. He tried blinking back his distress, but a tear nevertheless escaped and fled swiftly down his cheek.

"I detest fits of weeping," Severus commented.

"Why? Have you forgotten how to cry? Sir?" Harry nearly shouted back. Severus's face stiffened, and Harry knew that he had touched upon the truth.

"Tears are for those who are weak!" Severus hissed.

"You are weak because you are incapable of feeling or crying. You are even incapable of listening to Professor Dumbledore. He told me that you would treat me with more respect. I have not noticed any change."

"I – am – not – weak!" Severus snarled savagely, moving so close to Harry that their bodies nearly touched.

"You are," Harry said, the Gryffindor in him refusing to back down.

Severus grabbed Harry's shoulder; Harry's eyes flashed behind the round glasses, and his hands shot out, thrusting against Severus's chest with such strength that the tall wizard stumbled and hit his desk. Harry drew out his wand.

"Do not touch me," he said steadily, "and now you can't tell me that you don't know what it feels like to be provoked."

No matter how I touch someone – it is never with the other person's true consent. My own parents treated me like a leper, and if I was touched, then it was to be beaten; and I have to pay men to touch me and to be able to touch them, Severus thought with self-loathing. He straightened his posture but kept to his desk, simply staring at Harry, confronted with the realisation that he was insanely jealous of the young man for all the wrong reasons. James Potter and Sirus Black seemed feeble excuses compared to the envy he felt. Harry was brave, smart, handsome and had friends. People fawned over him. How easy it was to envy him because of those superficial impressions! And how much easier it was to turn such impressions into reasons for hating him. Severus wanted to hate him. He refused to acknowledge what Dumbledore and his subconscious said: that Harry James Potter and he shared things in common, and that Harry was a kind person. If he thought that hating Harry would gradually assuage his own self-hatred over the years, then he was badly mistaken.

Heavy silence lay between the two wizards. Harry lowered his wand. Severus slowly walked around the room, head bowed as he brooded over the whole mess, hands clasped behind his back. He had to teach Harry and push his own issues into the background. Teaching Occlumency would never work unless he established a relationship of trust with Harry – every handbook emphasised the importance of trust between teacher and pupil; seeing each other's thoughts was, after all, very intimate. Severus's teacher had been none other than Albus Dumbledore. Mental magic always required a bond of trust and respect. Severus was extremely reluctant to teach Harry, knowing that he would have to stop feeding his reasons to hate Harry with the fuel drawn from absurd reasons. He turned around abruptly, meeting those green eyes.

He does not belong here in this dull place, he reflected. At length, he sighed. Establishing the bond which was necessary for a quick and solid mastery of Occlumency seemed impossible; but Dumbledore had left him no choice in this matter.

"You will have to learn how to clear your mind properly," he said finally.

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