The rainy weather that followed Valentine's Day persisted through the next few weeks. There was hardly a break in the drenching rain, except to lighten for moments. Every few days, as if the sky itself was taunting the students of Hogwarts, the clouds would break, letting the sun shine through in spotted blue. It only ever lasted long enough to let the students, especially the younger Years, gather hesitantly on the grounds. And then the clouds would reform their ranks and the rain would begin anew.

This left much of Hogwarts feeling the dagger's edge of claustrophobia. Gryffindor, in particular, the undisputedly rowdiest House of the four, had taken to communing in the Common Room for rambunctious, out-of-control gatherings that fell just short of parties. After the most recent, which had almost ended with a Fourth Year catching fire thanks to a mis-thrown, contraband Fanged Frisbee, Head Girl Hermione Granger was finally forced to put her foot down. After a few days of taking points that soon began to show clearly in the hourglasses in the Great Hall, Gryffindor as a whole soon took to heart her warnings, and the rabble-rousers either settled down or escaped to Merlin-knew-where.

Harry Potter, Seventh Year Savior of the Wizarding World, barely noticed any of this, and could hardly be bothered to participate. He spent the majority of his rainy days not in class either in the Library or hidden away in his dorm. Most Seventh Years, by this point, were drowning in homework to prepare them for their NEWTs, and he was no exception. Combined with the difficult research assignments he still received almost weekly from Achesan, he hadn't the time to waste on frivolity. Had he been able to see himself now as a (mostly) carefree First Year, he would never have guessed how studious he would one day become, or how much he would enjoy the challenge.

It was on one such dark and stormy afternoon that he was studying on his bed, in his dorm, with his boyfriend sighing and groaning in boredom beside him. When the larger Seventh Year gave his third long-suffering sigh in the same ten minute span, Harry looked up at him in annoyance. He was half-finished with his Transfiguration essay, and might've been done already if Neville didn't keep interrupting with idle chatter and obnoxious sighs.

"Neville, if you're really that bored, why don't you go find Dean or Seamus, see if they want to play Exploding Snap or something?"

The other boy shook his head. "N-no, I'm fine. I like that I get this time alone with you." He smiled and put a hand on Harry's.

The Wizarding Savior rolled his eyes. "Then could you-" He was cut off by a swift, unexpected kiss. "Neville, I'm trying to do my homework."

"Take a break," Neville answered smoothly, shifting onto his knees.

With a sigh of his own, Harry allowed his boyfriend to instigate a second, more insistent kiss. He closed his book on his homework and set it aside on the bed as Neville practically crawled into his lap. The kissing had become slightly more enjoyable from that first awkward kiss in Hogsmeade, but Harry still didn't really see the point in it. He got no more than the most base burn of desire, a small flame that flickered weakly in the lowest region of his stomach.

When Neville tried to push him back against his pillows while conspicuously gliding a sweaty palm down Harry's front, the Wizarding Savior straightened and pushed the other boy away.

"No."

Neville gave what Harry thought was meant to be a sultry smirk, but came off as being a crooked grin.

"Come on, Harry, it's what they all think we're up here doing anyway," The larger boy coaxed, leaning in to resume their kiss.

Harry pushed him away again. "I don't care what they think, I don't want to. If you really have feelings for me, you'll respect my decision."

Neville slumped, hurt. "Of course I have feelings for you, Harry. I love you."

The Wizarding Savior failed to hide a wince at the term, over used and underappreciated by his peers. He frowned seriously at his boyfriend. "It's too soon to know something like that. And it's still not an excuse to try and pressure me."

"So…you don't feel the same?" Neville queried in a husky voice. His hand slid over Harry's thigh in an attempt at sensuality.

Harry scowled, shoving the hand away. "Right now, all I feel is angry, going on pissed," He growled. The smaller Seventh Year slid off of his bed and began putting on his shoes. "Get Hermione to help you with your homework. Maybe you can work with her without trying to feel her up against her will."

"But, Harry…I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"If you were sorry you wouldn't have kept pushing after I said 'no'," Harry interrupted sharply. "I need some time to cool off…and so do you."

Neville slumped into a deep sulk, and Harry left the dorm. He begged off when Hermione tried to stop him in the Common Room to talk about one essay or another, and was soon out in the Seventh Floor corridor. From there, he watched to be sure no one was around who might follow him before disappearing into what should have been a disused classroom. He followed the staircase the door actually hid to where it let out on the Fifth Floor, then traversed the corridors until he found the one he wanted.

It was a much disused corridor, with no classrooms, disused or otherwise, and a wall of dusty windows that looked out on the Black Lake. Halfway down the dark passage, there was a window alcove he'd cleared of dust and cobwebs. Still angry with his boyfriend, Harry sat down on the wide sill and tucked his knees against his chest as he slammed back against the stone wall. He thought briefly of slamming his head back as well, but decided Neville Longbottom was not worth a concussion.

After several minutes where his anger had yet to fade, his mind still replaying his boyfriend's pushy behavior, Harry drew his wand. One of the research papers he'd done for Achesan had been about projection spells that you could use to distract your opponent, be they creature or human. He decided now was as good a time as any to practice them. Starting with the smallest image he could think of, he conjured a gossamer, barely visible fairy that danced and flitted around in a circle on the stone in front of his feet.

"You're getting better," A dark, rumbling voice commented lightly.

Harry scowled, canceling the spell, and shoved his wand back up his sleeve. He hugged his knees as Severus moved to the other side of the alcove and sat facing him, his own knees bent. Slim, pale wrists rested laxly on black-clad knees as they simply stared at one another. Finally, Harry sighed, looking out the rain-washed window.

"I don't want to talk about it."

He saw out of the corner of his eye as obscenely long fingers rose and spread in a mockery of surrender, and black eyes turned to watch out the window as well. They sat there in silent repose, simply watching the rain as it pelted the glass and the lake beyond. After a time, Harry's anger faded under the coolly reticent intimacy of someone who actually understood his need to be alone without actually needing to be alone. When it came time for dinner, Severus still didn't speak, simply stood and held out his hand to the Seventh Year. Harry let himself be helped to his feet, and, after a moment of silent questioning and grateful reassurance passing between ebony and emerald, they parted ways down separate ends of the corridor.