Title: Sine Qua Non
Author: dracofiend
Team: Team Cauldron: stirring up the win since 2009.
Genre(s): Alive and Kicking
Prompt(s): Hold My Hand; Odyssey
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~13,600
Summary: He passes a hand over his face and takes a few
seconds to silently, pointlessly curse the Dark Lord, himself, and the
wretchedness of magic for burdening him with something so fantastic and absurd
as true love for Harry Potter.
A/N: Thanks to all my fabulous teammates and the mods, who
always put on a terrific show!
Severus loves him.
The scales of academic
probability fall from Severus' eyes and it becomes incontrovertible fact, the
moment Potter finally gets to his bloody point and asks if Severus might
consider teaching him Legilimency.
"No," he answers Potter
curtly.
Potter is silent. Severus doesn't
look up from the parchment on his desk. It is an agenda, for tomorrow's
quarterly meeting with the board of governors.
"Headmaster," Potter
begins again, more determinedly. "I understand it's a lot to ask and as I
said, I wouldn't have dreamed of asking it because you've got so much to do as
it is, but I thought—well, in light of the war and everything we've been
through, that, er, I could—"
"You saved my life,
once," Severus interrupts, fixing a hard eye on the boy. "Once. That
does not entitle you to my time and attention whenever you choose, for whatever
purpose you name."
"Of course not!" Potter
shakes his head with such vigor it's odd that his glasses don't come loose. His
vehemence surprises Severus, a little. "That's totally ridiculous!"
Potter makes a small laugh at the back of his throat and moves uneasily in his
seat. The smile on his face is anxious, but a smile nonetheless. Severus' head
throbs.
"No one knows better than me
how much I owe you—er, except you, of course, you'd know better—best,
really," Potter says in a rush. "What I meant to say was, I thought I
could—since we've been getting on much better than when I was in school—I
figured I'd just ask and see what you thought of the idea, because there's no
one else I could ask—"
Severus' brows are high; his
mouth is firmly down. "I believe the Auror Division provided you with
options for a qualified Legilimens. My name was not among them." He'd made
sure of that, when they'd asked, after scrubbing his record clean with all the
readiness of a child ordered to finish chores.
"No," the boy responds
with another shake of his head, "I mean, yes, they did give me a list, but
I'd—I'd rather not go to any of them because I don't—I'm not comfortable with
them training me in Legilimency, because it's so—it's just—"
"Invasive," Severus
says. Potter creases his mouth in acknowledgement and twists slightly in his
seat.
Severus looks back down at his
agenda. "That is the nature of Legilimency. If you intend to acquire the
skill I suggest you get used to it—it's unlikely you'll suffer it at the hands
of anyone with whom you are comfortable."
There's a brief silence during
which Severus pretends to continue his review, ended by the scrape of a chair.
Potter is getting up, his expression one of forced stoicism. He opens his mouth
as if trying to form a word, then says, "I'm sorry I—thanks for meeting
with me." He moves around the chair and pushes it into place. Severus can
see the small shift of his throat. "Maybe if you could—who do you think I
should request as my first choice—August Watts-Chorley or Roberta MacGinty? I
thought those two seemed the best off the list they gave me—do you know
them?"
Potter is standing behind the
chair and forgetting to think about his hands, which are gripping the top—not
that it matters, as his disappointment is palpable. To Severus, it fills the
entire room.
"MacGinty is the superior
Legilimens, without question," Severus says, focusing on the text before
him without an atom of comprehension, "although you might find
Watts-Chorley to be more suited to teaching it, particularly at an introductory
level. Such is often the case—masters of the art can't be bothered to explain
it." He pinches his mouth shut before this can develop into a bona fide
conversation.
Potter makes a hm that
has Severus raising his eyes. "Not always, though," Potter mumbles,
with a tilt of his head. "MacGinty it is." He releases the chair with
an awkward pat. "I guess I'll see you later? Good luck at that meeting
tomorrow—and with the rest of term and everything."
He's nearly at the arched door
when Severus crumbles. "You're obviously not in the habit of asking any
favors—but I suppose it's to be expected of one whose desires have simply
fallen at his feet," Severus snaps, bringing Potter's face around sharply.
"Why should I teach you when I've a school to run?" Severus is well
aware of the reason he will teach Potter, but Potter, thankfully, is
not so enlightened. Yet.
Potter's face works for a moment.
"To be honest I haven't come up with an especially good answer to that—but
I asked you because it's hard to learn Legilimency from someone you don't know
or trust."
Severus presses his mouth
together. This expression of faith is not conducive to orderly thought, or any
thought save the kind Severus would prefer to avoid. He hears Potter step down
the series of stairs leading to the exit.
"One lesson," Severus
barks. The words burst from him like an overlong-held breath. "One lesson
to judge whether you're worth the trouble. My office tomorrow morning, eleven
o'clock. You are to revise."
The pause that follows smacks of
surprise. "Yes sir," comes the clipped response at last. "Is
there any particular text I ought to be—"
"I'm afraid I'm due
elsewhere, do show yourself out." Severus rises abruptly, agenda in hand,
and sweeps from the room to the adjacent chamber. He waves the door shut behind
him with a satisfying clang and stands for a moment, willing himself to
acknowledge the reality of his position. He passes a hand over his face and
takes a few seconds to silently, pointlessly curse the Dark Lord, himself, and
the wretchedness of magic for burdening him with something so fantastic and
absurd as true love for Harry Potter.
"Ah, Mr. Potter,"
Severus murmurs at Potter's arrival, with an air of pre-occupation that he
doesn't entirely feel. Or rather, he does—but it's hardly the curriculum he's
in the midst of approving that pre-occupies him. "I mentioned revision
yesterday—let us assess what you've absorbed." He finishes skimming the last
lines of the parchment and scrawls his initials on the page, without bothering
to look up. "Go on and cast."
Potter does nothing—then asks,
"Er, you want me to cast Legilimens on you?"
Severus turns to the next sheaf
of papers on his desk. "Unless you'd rather be expelled from my office
without the benefit of the door, yes, that would be the spell to cast," he
says briskly.
He can picture Potter blinking;
he hears Potter's robes rustle as he fishes out his wand. "Um, okay."
There's another moment's hesitation, then the sound of decisive trainers
crossing the carpeted floor. In the next instant the monthly budget report that
Severus is reading is suddenly obscured by outspread fingers—Severus whips his
head up with a frown and is met by Potter's eyes. They are not green in this
light, but dark, fixated on Severus' within unmoving lids. Potter looks as if
he's attempting to liberate them from his face by expanding the sockets that
house them. Legilimens, Potter whispers. Severus' mouth twitches—he
just manages not to laugh.
"What in blazes are you
doing?" he asks, with a crispness devoid of the last trace of humor.
Potter's lashes flick and he takes a step back from Severus' desk, disarraying
a few quills in the quill-stand as he withdraws his wrist.
"Oh, sorry," he says as
he tries to set them right again, knocking over more quills in the process.
"I was casting Legilimens…which I'm assuming didn't work."
His brow furrows as he stuffs the quills back in place. "I mean, I didn't
see anything—were you Occluding me, or…?"
"'Or' would be quite
right," Severus replies. "As far as I can tell you've done nothing
more than jumble my quills and papers and thrust yourself rudely onto my
desk." Severus catches his wince—it's wording that might, to his humiliation,
pass for wishful thinking.
"I thought you had to make
eye contact…" Potter begins.
"Rubbish," Severus
snaps, and proceeds to prove his point by dropping his gaze to the budget
report and plowing into the boy's mind.
He hears Potter's quick exhale
and sees panic—the Dark Lord—himself in a classroom, his hand closed round
Potter's neck—he permits Potter's belated and flimsy efforts to push him back
out.
"Bloody—"
"I said you would need to
get used to it," Severus cuts in, still skimming the figures. "Given
the laughable state of your Occlumency, there's no question that you are well
beyond my help. Good day." He turns the page with a twist of his wrist.
"Wait—that wasn't—I'm not
here to learn Occlumency again!" Potter sputters. "And that wasn't
fair—I know what you're going to say but this isn't a war, this is supposed to
be a lesson so you can bloody well stop attacking me and start teaching me how
to do it back!"
Severus answers this tirade by
casting his mind at the boy. When he meets a decent—not a particularly
noteworthy, but decent—mental blockade he initials the last page of the report,
sets it aside, and raises his eyes to Potter's, withdrawing the spell. Potter's
posture remains tensed.
"Sit down," he says to
Potter's mutinous face.
After several weeks and several
lessons, for which there are no set plans—only Severus' brisk indication at the
conclusion of each that there will be one more, at a time suited to his own
schedule—Potter inquires as to his progress. Severus tells him frankly that he
meets expectations.
When the boy's face appears
inclined to light up, Severus clarifies, "You're abysmal. I've never seen
anyone remain impervious to improvement for such a length of time."
Potter's expression blanks,
causing an odd twinge in Severus' chest that he conscientiously ignores.
"Then why bother to give me all these lessons?" Potter asks stiffly.
It's an unfortunately sensible
question. "It's my eternal optimism—I'm sure your next effort will bear
some fruit," Severus snaps. "Now pay attention—Legilimency is a
difficult and complex process, but at its core it is simply the desire to share
in what your object knows. You mustn't treat it as an attempt to read his mind
or extract his memories or any of that nonsense—don't interrupt, a true
Legilimens is certainly capable of those things but that is not the essential
aim of the spell. Which you would understand, if you had read the chapters as I
had instructed some days ago."
"I did read
them," Potter grumbles, flexing his shoulders. Severus raises a skeptical
brow and Potter adds, "Well, I looked at them anyway. I barely have any
time, what with the regular training and this on top—"
"Mr. Potter." Severus
puts away his wand and swivels back to his desk. "Apologies for imposing
on your overtaxed life—would you care to reschedule? Or better yet, why not
just drop in at any time, as I really haven't much else to do?"
Severus sits down with a flourish
of robes, pulls a sheaf of papers to him, and begins reading. Potter's sorry,
when he says it, is delivered with a pained sigh, and under different
conditions, Severus would've hexed him and thrown him out.
"Professor," Potter
says, "I didn't mean it like that—I appreciate all the time you spend
teaching me, very much. I understand you're doing me a huge favor and you're
right, I haven't been keeping up my end of the bargain; I should've done the
reading. I'll do it tonight, I promise."
Severus takes up a quill and
begins writing, audibly, with his head bent toward the list of proposed
supplemental course books. Potter appears to be waiting for a response; Severus
doesn't oblige until Potter shuffles nearer.
"Headmaster—" Potter
starts, his tone slanted toward apology now.
Severus despises the sensation of
giving in to—this and cuts Potter short. "Legilimency is not a
requirement for Aurors."
Potter shuffles yet nearer.
"I know." He's staring again—Severus can feel it. "But all the
best Aurors can do it, so I have to learn how to, too. From the best."
Severus purses his mouth with a
snort and glances up to berate Potter for his disgusting show of bootlicking,
only to find himself unmanned by the boy's gaze.
"You expect me to be moved
by your honeyed words," he says after a moment, managing a sufficient
degree of dryness.
Potter blinks. "I—well I
think 'expect' is putting it a bit strongly but I—" He pauses, and the
side of his mouth cocks up just slightly. "Are you?"
Severus looks back at Potter's
half-crooked smile and his unkempt hair; at the hint of his own dim reflection
scowling from the round lenses.
He fixes the scowl firmly in
place as he rises from his chair, ordering the boy to get his bloody wand at
the ready and his bloody mind prepared.
Despite his best efforts (at this
stage, Severus can grudgingly acknowledge to himself that they are, indeed, the
boy's best efforts), Potter is so thoroughly inept at Legilimency of any
fashion that the revelation of Severus' condition, when it comes, stops
Severus' inhale in the midst of his throat. Severus had known this would
happen—and yet the lack of any promise in Potter's previous attempts must have
softened Severus' vigilance. The shock immobilizes him for a fraction of a
second.
Potter, too, is immobilized. His
bright eyes (so beautiful) are wide.
"Um," is the first
sound to emerge from his mouth. Severus steels himself for whatever may come.
"I think I did…something
wrong," Potter says slowly, in almost a whisper. His eyes do not leave
Severus'—and Severus can't bear to tear himself away.
"Why is that?" Severus
asks, rationing his breath between perfectly even words. Potter's mind had
retracted as if on a spring; Severus' barricades, restored, are worthy of a
host of Dark Lords.
Potter swallows, shifting his
weight. He's unsure—poised to challenge—a little horrified, Severus observes.
Severus dutifully ignores the awful sting of this knowledge.
"Because I—" Potter
starts automatically. He shakes his head, shutting his eyes. "I must've
bollocksed it up, I know I did—it's just too weird—"
Severus lets him mumble. If the
boy will craft himself a convincing explanation, it will save Severus the
trouble of doing the same.
"It's just—" Potter is
looking dazed and yet he offers a weak laugh. "I thought it worked, for a
second—it felt like I was in your mind, like I had done it properly and it was
exactly as you said, I wasn't breaking in or forcing my way through or
anything, but, you know, sharing…except I know it didn't work, really,
because—" He huffs the sickly laugh once more and gives a prominent shrug
of his shoulders, shaking his head. "Anyway, it doesn't matter.
Sorry." He closes his eyes and breathes deeply. Severus' gaze remains
level; he has become well-accustomed to disregarding the peculiar prickings in
his chest.
Potter's eyes open and he pushes
out his chin with determination. "Let's give it another go. I think I must
be close."
Severus nods shortly. He ensures
that (this time) Potter won't succeed.
"You are trying too
hard!" Severus bellows, his head aching to distraction.
"Five minutes ago I wasn't
trying hard enough!" Potter bellows back, his narrow wrists swinging
sharply down to his sides. "And now I'm trying too hard? What in
bloody hell do you want from me you miserable wanker?"
Potter's mouth pinches together
sharply—he takes a quick step back but he doesn't apologize and the flush on
his skin remains, an unsettling stain. Severus gathers himself and grinds out
the words.
"I want you to do
exactly as I say," he growls, at the end of his tolerance for Potter's
frustration and his own. "Shut your eyes and focus!" he barks, the
abrupt increase in volume startling the boy from his slouch. "You have but
one desire!" he barks. Severus has but one desire.
"Well?" he demands when
Potter stands, silent, with his fool eyes clamped closed behind his fool
glasses, and nothing at all happens. Potter's forehead rises slightly; his
closed eyes crease. Severus senses his approach and bats him away.
"Clumsy!" he shouts. "You may as well use a hammer and tongs for
all you'll get that way!" Potter adjusts his concentration, soundlessly
mouthing the spell, and Severus feels the touch lighten, drifting at him in the
manner of a fog.
"Too diffuse, Potter—where's
your intent?" Severus thunders. "And now it is an unpleasant knuckle,
digging away obtrusively—and now, like so much porridge—do you mean to smother
my knowledge or to draw it out for your benefit? Use direction but not
reins—instinct with deliberation—you aren't to grasp at the knowledge
but merely to—ah, and it seems we are back to the hammer—"
"If you would just shut up
for a fucking minute—"
"Potter, I will not because
you are not exerting yourself to the fullest—which is to say that you're not
applying what you've learned, not that you aren't grunting loudly enough!
You've done it before—there's no reason you should—"
Potter's eyes have flashed open.
Severus had expected this, but his stomach recoils nevertheless.
"I've—what?" Potter
says with his face still angry from the moment before.
Severus speaks as if his mouth
weren't running dry. "There's no reason you should find this as impossible
as you seem to be finding it," Severus replies with great impatience.
"You've already demonstrated that you are, in fact, capable of Legilimency—in
at least rudimentary form—and as I know for a fact that Legilimency cannot be
performed accidentally I'm left to ponder what the devil is keeping you from
doing it again."
The boy simply stares at him, the
lines easing from his face. The color on him that Severus so regrettably
admired has gone. It is this, and not the despair of teaching Potter, that
forces Severus' mouth open.
"Yes, it was on that
occasion which you are now no doubt recalling," he spits out. He must keep
his speech intelligible, but he can do no more. "Before our first lesson I
thought you might manage some semblance of Legilimency. I abandoned that vain
hope quickly enough but as you have since shown me the error of my ways I will
insist that you cast a successful Legilimens again, immediately, without
further foot-dragging or trepidation at the distasteful facts you will unearth!
NOW! LEGILIMENS!"
The boy's cheeks flush in panic
as Severus' spell strikes, plunging into Potter's mind—Severus feels the terror
there for a heartbeat, then is sent reeling back, shoved out by the sweep of
Potter's mental wall. It's fierce but would be fleeting, were it not for the
heft of the Legilimens that follows.
There's a moment in which Severus
cannot push away, too small for a sound or a full swallow of air, and before
the next breath has flowed from his lungs Severus is aware that Potter is here.
Severus breaks the boy's work
with a half-formed thought but he already knows—Potter already knows. Potter
can have no doubt that he has cast it correctly. Severus stares hard at
Potter's unnaturally round eyes.
"You astonish me, Mr.
Potter!" he declares sarcastically. "Two-tenths of a second of
genuine Legilimency—significant progress! I daresay my work here is
through."
Potter's lips part noiselessly.
Severus whirls back to his desk,
slipping his wand into his sleeve. "Now that you have a firm command of
the spell, please be so good as to remove yourself from my sight." He
regains his chair and flings a hand to a quill, and from the corner of his eye
he glimpses the pallor in the rigid set of Harry's face, before the boy turns
and fairly flies from the room.
"You're in love with me. But
you don't want to be."
Severus considers airing his
adamant view on bribing passwords from house-elfs and barging into a
headmaster's office in the middle of the day, but Potter's terse words match
his slope-shouldered stance. He looks smaller than usual with his chin lowered
that way, standing before Severus' outsized desk.
Severus' mouth presses in; he
waits mutely for Potter to continue, the ink from his quill blotting blackly on
the letter to the Minister for Education.
"That's what I saw—last
time—was I right? Did I do it right?" Potter asks the question with a note
of savagery. Severus has no kind thought for the sudden pang in his chest. He
inhales deliberately and resumes writing his letter, banishing the blotch with
a clipped motion of his quill.
"Tell me if I did it
right," Potter says in a careful non-shout, the syllables running
together.
"No faith in your own spellwork?
Tsk," Severus answers calmly. "The Auror Division can't look upon
that very well."
"No, it's just—I can't
believe it!" Potter's voice pitches slightly at the end, and Severus
doesn't need a single glance to hear his distress. It exacerbates the disquiet
Severus endures in Potter's presence—he stifles the urge to soothe the boy.
"That was my sentiment
exactly," he replies. "Legilimency requires an aptitude for
concentration you've rarely exhibited."
"So I did do it
right!" Potter shoots back with a bizarre aha! gesture. Severus
raises his head to see the brief triumph in Potter's face waver into
apprehension. "I did it…and you're really, you're really…why didn't you
tell me?"
Severus responds with a grunt of
disbelief. He's doubly irritated because the damned letter isn't getting done.
"That hardly merits an
answer," he sneers, writing as neatly as can be expected under this sort
of duress. "Now if you'll kindly leave—"
"How'd it happen?"
Potter presses. "I could tell it wasn't—it wasn't natural—"
Severus chokes off an incredulous
noise. Natural, indeed!—but boy is reeling off questions at him with a piercing
insistence. "—was it a spell or something? An accident? When did it
happen? How long have you—has it been like this? And how come you didn't say
anything—"
"I don't have time for this
ridiculous interrogation," Severus cuts in brusquely. "Get out."
"Was it amortentia? Why were
you brewing—but it probably wasn't you, you wouldn't have fouled it up—"
"Out of my office,
Potter!" Severus lunges to his feet. "NOW!"
Potter falls silent with a flinch
and stares up at Severus—and mutters Legilimens under his breath.
Severus throws up his shields as
Potter crashes in—he is momentarily aghast at the boy's temerity but it has no
effect on the strength of his defense. Potter jerks a step back, cleanly
rebuffed.
"How dare you," Severus
snarls, leaning forward on closed fists. "How dare you attempt such an
intrusion!" He lets the rage boil as high and wildly as it will go, so
that it may eclipse all other emotions. It is pure relief.
"I want to know what's going
on," Potter says, undeterred.
Severus is aware this is
Potter—but he cannot believe his ears. He whips around the edge of the desk,
nearly cuffing his thigh against a corner, and stalks toward the child.
"Get out of my office in the
next instant or I shall see to it that you are removed from the Auror program
for your abuse of Legilimency," Severus tells him, very quietly. He
doesn't stutter with the fury but he can feel it pulsating violently in his wand
hand. Potter recedes another step as Severus approaches.
"Give me another
lesson," Potter answers, nearly too low to hear. Severus' eyes can barely
take the strain.
"You stumble in here
uninvited for no purpose other than to waste my time and to speak out of
turn," Severus hisses, "then force your incompetent mental probing on
me in violation of all decency, not to mention the law—and you have the gall to
demand that I give you another lesson so that you may satisfy your
curiosity as to a certain unnatural state of affairs?" His head
is whirling—Potter is utterly beyond the pale. Severus drives a hand into his
robes and clutches at his wand.
The boy is looking at him.
"No," he mutters, as if it hurts his jaw. "Not to satisfy my
curiosity—to learn Legilimency." Potter stops, then continues grindingly,
"I shouldn't have tried to—I'm sorry for that—but maybe I can help—"
"Enough," Severus says
roughly. It's more than enough, for to his despair, Severus feels the heat of
his anger begin to trickle away. "I've letters to write," he says,
turning his back on Potter to march back to his desk. It's difficult to talk
with his throat so tight. "Day after tomorrow. Eight o'clock in the
evening. I expect a far better showing than your abominable display today."
He sits down and jams his quill into the inkpot with an unbecoming viciousness
and he does not risk lifting his eyes from the parchment until he hears Potter
has gone.
Potter arrives two minutes early
to the next lesson, and two minutes early to the one following that. A month
passes with the lessons, and two, and by the time the end of term is in sight,
Potter, remarkably, has acquired a working familiarity with Legilimency. It's
nothing approaching fluency with or mastery of the skill, as Severus reminds
him bluntly one afternoon, pushing aside an attempt that was intended to be
covert. Severus has allowed this, as a challenge for the boy—Potter is free to
use Legilimency in any manner during lessons, to cull whatever information he
can from Severus' brain. Thus far he has discovered the essential facts behind
the Dark Lord's love malediction and has pledged to undo it, despite Severus'
jeers. He is, however, abiding by his promise to Severus to focus on
Legilimency first, and quixotic follies second.
"No," Potter agrees
with a loose shrug. "But I think I'm getting there—just needed the right
motivation, I guess." He tilts his mouth at Severus in a grin.
Severus compresses his lips. He
insists to himself that this is flagrant arrogance, that Potter is fully
cognizant of their respective positions and that Potter is using his
own to his advantage, to draw from Severus some loathsome concession, some slip
of sentiment…It is fist-gnawingly maddening, and it will not work.
"It seems the Dark Lord fell
short in that respect, or you would've learned Occlumency and started in on
this years ago," Severus responds acidly.
Harry has learned to remain
unruffled by such jibes. "I don't think so," he replies, pretending
at nonchalance while making another pass at Severus' mind. "I was
motivated by Voldemort because of fear and hate, whereas now I'm being
motivated by love. And love is far more powerful, remember?" He meets
Severus' eyes with that wretched quirk of his mouth.
Severus grimaces, caught for an
instant between choking, laughing, and a furious shout. Potter's brazenness
verges on farcical—it nearly distracts Severus from the task at hand.
"Indeed," Severus says,
swiping at Potter's mental thrust.
"What made you first
interested in Legilimency, sir?" Potter asks, dashing at Severus' mind
once more.
Severus frowns. "Too
much," he instructs. "You can't allow your Occlumency to slip in your
eagerness to read your target."
"Sorry," Potter says,
and Severus is gratified by Potter's renewed efforts.
"You know, you're no
Quasimodo," Potter unexpectedly blurts.
"What?" Severus asks
sharply. He pushes his own mind at Potter's.
"I mean," Potter starts
wildly, mustering his defense.
"Never mind," Severus
snaps. "Remember Legilimency is not to be used as a crude tool of
theft—"
"You're really
striking," Potter goes on. He's obviously trying to put Severus off-guard
again. "On my first day at Hogwarts I noticed you straight off—at the head
table—though it's hard not to notice someone like you—"
"Mr. Potter I have no idea
what you're raving about but I'm quite past caring," Severus interrupts,
"and these pitiful diversionary attempts will not aid you if your opponent
is intent on concealing his thoughts. Legilimens."
Potter scrunches his face as he
battles back. "I wasn't trying to distract you," he grits out.
"I just wanted…to tell you…"
Stern-faced, Severus crushes the
reach of Potter's questing mind, but just a hair too late. Potter lets out a
yelp, breaking off his latest mental foray.
"You know the cure!"
"What?" Severus snaps.
"I saw! Just now! There's
a—a book with an incantation—why haven't you used it? You can't actually want
to be under this curse still? Unless the curse forces you to—"
"The malediction replicates
true love, Potter, it does not compel me to do anything!" Severus hisses.
"And of course I'd gladly have it dispensed with—"
"Then what's keeping
you—"
"—however, in keeping with
the typical vagaries of magic, such a task requires assistance from those least
likely to assist!"
"What? Who? I'm sure we
could get—"
"You, you halfwit!"
Severus half-shouts it, then damns himself for doing so. Yes, he is having a
rather trying day—but no more so than the rest of them. Perhaps it is his
proximity to the boy. He sighs tiredly and shuts his treacherous mouth.
Potter is silent, until he says,
"Why didn't you ask me?"
Severus turns toward his desk.
"Lesson's over."
"No, Professor—why didn't
you just ask me?" Potter is coming closer; the question is a demand.
Severus ignores it and pulls out
his chair; he sits down. He considers the various stacks of waiting paperwork
on his desk.
"You thought I'd botch
it."
Severus settles on a draft
article for The Journal of Theoretical and Applied Potions; his
comments are due tomorrow and an initial glance had indicated that the paper is
worlds—and possibly solar systems—away from publication standards. Well, what
could one expect from a hack like DeLancie—the man is notorious for rushing his
papers to press—
"Professor," Harry
says, his frustration evident. "I know you don't have a lot of confidence
in me but there are some things that I can do right, and this would've been one
of them—I would've taken every precaution, I would've practiced that
incantation over and over—"
"That's all quite reassuring
and quite beside the point," Severus breaks in harshly. "The
incantation is part of a rite that calls for acts beyond either of our
capabilities to perform. This lesson is over and you will leave this
room—"
"What acts?" Harry
asks. He is sitting in one of the chairs across from the desk.
"I won't discuss it
further—I've other things to attend to—"
"Just tell me where I can
find—"
"You are not to waste your
time with hare-brained schemes to rescue me from the malediction—you are to
focus on Legilimency—"
"I'd do anything for you—why
don't you want my help?"
Severus jerks his head up. It's
been many years since cruelty by mockery has disabled his fortitude but he is
worn thin, thin to the point of transparency, and he is ready to curse Potter's
mouth clean. He nearly coughs on the invective when he meets the boy's eyes,
and he reads the real plea in the boy's stubborn chin.
He stares at Harry, to give himself
a breath, then tells him slowly, "The rite involves, among other things,
a…certain intimacy."
Potter's jaw shifts slightly.
When Severus doesn't continue, he finally asks, "Meaning…?"
"It isn't entirely
clear," Severus says, gauging Potter's discomfort. This is only to appease
the boy's idle curiosity—Severus won't allow Potter to chance the nullification
rite. "What is clear, however, is that you must be made to
recognize the—depth of my feeling for you, and you must choose not to accept
it."
Potter frowns, looking serious
and quizzical. "I have to—reject you?"
"If only it were so easy as
that," Severus says dryly. "No, Potter—you must reject love. Genuine
love—the sort that appears too frequently in verse and too rarely in
life."
"But I thought it wasn't
real—you can't tell me you'd be, you know, towards me, if it weren't for the
malediction."
"It replicates love;
re-creates it as only the dark arts can, so that in all respects the emotion
harbored by the bearer is authentic," Severus says with precision.
"The only material difference lies in the circumstances giving rise to its
existence—which is why some have speculated that, absent the nullification
rite, the emotion will not completely fade with the passage of time. However,
others have argued that this is simply another aspect of love as it operates in
its usual course."
Harry is nodding slowly, taking
his cue from Severus and adopting an air of scholarly interest, much to
Severus' relief. "So—if we don't do this nullification rite, you'd be stuck
with the, er, these emotions, for good. But the nullification rite is
difficult, because I'd have to turn down what seems to be true love. But
afterwards, you'd be back to your normal self again. Right?"
Severus creases his forehead and
does his best to set aside his incredulity at this entire exchange. "As an
initial matter, I'm entirely my normal self in all respects save one," he
answers crisply, "but from the few accounts I've come across, yes, the
nullification rite would remove the malediction's effects, over a period of
time, provided there is nothing between the parties enabling the effects to
linger on."
"How much time? Days?
Years?"
Severus merely shrugs.
"Years, in all likelihood—love is no passing fancy. Historical records
have been remarkably quiet on this particular brand of curse."
"Oh," Harry says. He
pauses and just as Severus is about to demand his departure, Harry asks,
"So when should we do it? Have you got the book here—the one describing
the nullific—"
"You appear to have leapt to
the outlandish conclusion that I've agreed to take part in such a rite,"
Severus says icily.
"It's not outlandish,"
Harry retorts. "You're under a curse, but there's a remedy, and my
involvement is needed. So I'm going to be involved. What's wrong with
that?"
"You've no idea of the
enormity of the potential dangers—"
"I know it probably won't be
easy and that there isn't a lot written about what happens if you get it
wrong—but I reckon they can't be worse than what we've been through
before." He stands up and begins hovering over the books on Severus' desk,
scanning the bindings for titles. "You said we had to be intimate—I assume
we're to have sex, which seems reasonable given—"
"It does not, Mr.
Potter, and you will cease rifling through my things at once!" Severus
thunders. The presumption of the boy nearly has Severus shaking. He
refuses—utterly refuses—to dwell on Harry's suggestion.
"Well then, what?"
Harry is at one of the bookshelves, pushing and pulling at books. His demeanor
makes it clear that he has decided upon a course of action and will not be
swayed. Severus suddenly cannot bear the boy's presence further—not today. He
stalks over to the shelf.
"As refreshing as it is to
see you charging to my aid for once, I will ask you not to disarray my
books—and my day's obligations—any further," Severus says, in a tone as
terse as Harry's. "If you insist, I will owl you the volume."
"Please do," Harry
answers. "And when should I come back so we can get the rite done?"
"I have disgruntled parents
to placate, who will be arriving here shortly. You will not be here."
Severus responds through the acute desolation that has abruptly possessed him.
He turns to his desk and jerks an arm toward the door, gathering the dregs of
his composure when Potter finally leaves.
"You're determined to forge
ahead, then," Severus says. He keeps his countenance grim because it has
been several weeks since his last sight of the boy, and the absence has
rendered Severus' heart ill. In the interim he has nearly summoned Harry half a
dozen times, on half a dozen pretenses. On each occasion, his self-restraint
was victor—yet if Harry hadn't appeared at his door this afternoon,
unannounced—Severus cannot say whether he would've found himself in the school
owlery, looking after the messenger as it soared into the night. As it is he
cannot help but note the flutter of the boy's eyes, the movement of his mouth,
the flex of his hands as he gestures and talks animatedly about something
Severus can't fully follow. He frowns and exerts himself.
"…probably our best bet,
especially now that I've passed my Legilimency exam!" Harry finishes by
sitting back in his chair with an expectant look at Severus.
Severus avoids changing
expression as he mentally scrambles for a recovery. What had the boy been
saying? Severus hasn't the faintest and stabs in the dark.
"How completely
asinine," he replies with a grunt.
"What?" Harry protests,
his hair quavering with indignation. "What could be more intimate than
Legilimency—other than, you know—the option you won't consider? You said
yourself the nullification rite doesn't require any specific medium as long as
it's intimate!"
"I said the description of
the rite didn't appear to call for an exact procedure," Severus
corrects acerbically, "and I hardly think you're prepared for the type of
Legilimency that would be necessary in this case, your Auror achievements
notwithstanding. Furthermore it's too risky—this is no silly jinx—"
"Why's that?" Harry
shoots back. "You know I'm decent at Legilimency now. Maybe even
good."
"I wouldn't go that
far," Severus says.
"Fine," Harry goes on
impatiently, "whatever—you could make it work, though, you're the best
Legilimens in the world. And the intimacy bit is the hardest part. I know this
rite isn't something people do every day but it's worth the risk if it means
you'll be curse-free!"
"I live amongst children—I
shall never be curse-free," Severus mutters. "And you are sadly
mistaken—the most challenging part of attempting the rite—assuming you're fool
enough to remain wedded to the idea and I'm fool enough to be persuaded—does
not relate to the requisite closeness between us." Severus fixes an
impassive and teacherly gaze on Harry. "The most challenging part of the
whole ludicrous rite will be down to you. It is an uncommon soul who can resist
the promise of love. Were our situations reversed, there is no guarantee that I
would manage it myself. If we begin the rite and you are unable to successfully
deny the malediction, there is no clear indication of what you or I shall
suffer."
"No one's ever died from it,
as far as we know," Harry points out, "or lost any limbs or anything.
And it doesn't seem like the rite could make things much worse for you—from
what I can tell you're doomed to permanent high-functioning misery if we don't
do something—"
"A fate to which I
am accustomed but one which you can be spared!" Severus lashes
out. "I have devoted much of my life to ensuring that yours flourishes but
until the malediction, I had never done it for your sake—now I do it for your
sake alone. I do it willingly, gladly—nothing gives me greater joy. I have full
possession of my faculties and I'm quite sensible that dark magic has brought
this about but there is no one, there is nothing, on the face of this earth
that I value above you. I would go to any lengths for your—" Severus is
forced to pause. Something burns in his throat—the word he wants will not come.
"—your happiness," he finishes. The torrent of confession has slowed
now, and Severus can feel the beginnings of humiliation. He strives not to
avert his eyes. "I say this to you even though it makes my already
untenable circumstances absolutely unbearable, and I say also that I do not,
and will not, have any misgivings, because you will have been warned as to what
the consequences may be."
Severus stops speaking and simply
looks at Harry. He is lovely to behold. A pale flush has stolen beneath his
darkly green eyes and he is still, perfect, unmoving as if rapt. The room is
silent, and only Severus' exhaustion prevents him from reaching across the desk
to lay a hand upon the boy, to set him breathing again.
On the day they have arranged to
perform the rite, Severus is markedly irritable. He has docked countless House
points and openly criticized most of the teachers, even letting loose a snide
remark when Minerva offers to lead the staff meeting that afternoon. Later he
apologizes by way of a curt nod and a passing mention of term-end preparations,
which apology is accepted with a sniff and a questioning eye. After dinner
Severus locks himself in his office, ignoring his Floo and owls while he
hunches over his work, breaking quill nibs with shocking frequency until he
hears Harry's knock.
"Hi," Harry says with a
small smile. Severus senses his nervousness the instant he steps in.
"We should not do
this," Severus answers, rising from his chair.
"I brought the book
back," Harry says, ducking his head as he removes the bag from his
shoulder. He lifts out the volume and looks at Severus. "Where should I
put it?"
"I was wrong to concede to
your reckless whims," Severus says, unable to stop himself from
approaching the boy. "I won't jeopardize your well-being."
"Is it all right if we use
your desk?" Harry asks as if Severus hadn't spoken. He starts going over,
holding the book in his arms.
"Give that to me. We won't
be doing the rite."
Harry nudges aside some parchment
and discarded quills with his elbows and gently places the book down.
"There." He opens it to a marked place and says, "Don't
worry—I've got it memorized, but I thought it'd be good to have it here, just
in case." He smoothes out the yellow pages bearing the incantation; they
rustle softly in the stiff air of the room.
"Listen to me," Severus
says sharply, moving to Harry's side, reaching for the book and pushing it shut
with a thump. "We are not doing this. Your concern for me is wholly
unnecessary—"
"You've said that before and
I wish you'd stop!" Harry bursts out, turning to Severus suddenly.
"This is the only way to lift the malediction!"
"There's no need,"
Severus returns, bristling. "I'm perfectly capable of suppressing its
effects, as I have done, and we will leave it well enough alone—"
"You said you'd go to any
lengths for my happiness!" Harry's face contorts as he hesitates. "Or
weren't you serious?"
For an instant Severus is
frozen—the anguish of that little speech has hardly lessened. "I
was," he smiles tightly.
"Then do the rite with
me," Harry says, his frown easing into—it looks like worry. "Please.
I can't stand the thought of you being under this curse—of, of," he
falters as Severus stares at him, "of someone else suffering because of me
when they don't have to. Please."
Harry's face is very near and
Severus looks down upon it for as long as he dares before he must shut his eyes
to preserve his reason.
"Then as you wish," he
murmurs, and opens his eyes.
Relief and hope bring Harry's
mouth curving up—Severus nearly reaches out—Harry straightens and faces Severus
fully.
"I'm ready," he says.
Severus inhales. He prays to all
the gods that this will go rightly.
"Clear your mind," he
says lowly, and waits for Harry's nod. Harry's eyes are focused. "Take my
hand."
Harry takes them both without
hesitation, fitting his fingers between Severus' as if he's done it a thousand
times.
"As we discussed,"
Severus says through the lurching of his belly. "I will cast Legilimens
first—you are not to Occlude me. I'll recite my part of the incantation. When I
tell you to, you must do the same. When you've finished the incantation, you
must close yourself to me. Not just your thoughts, but the whole of
yourself—you must sever yourself from me. Don't hesitate, despite what the rite
may provoke you to feel—focus on distancing yourself from me. Do you
understand?"
Harry's jaw is determined—his
eyes are wide as he nods.
Severus squeezes the boy's hands
on instinct, barely noticing what he does. "Good. Once I've begun
reciting, we must not stop until the nullification rite is complete. No matter
what—we must not stop until it is complete." He stops and gazes at the
boy, keeping his features deliberately steady though his lungs ache badly,
straining against his ribs. "I must ask one more time—do you truly wish to
go through with this?"
Harry's fingers curl more closely
around his. "Yeah," he whispers.
Severus' lips compress. He casts Legilimens.
The boy does as instructed—he
doesn't resist; he remains motionless as Severus flows into his mind, into the
customary chaotic swirl of mental flotsam. Severus doesn't try to make sense of
Harry's thoughts—he is not here to examine—and begins speaking. The words he
utters were penned by a long-dead wizard, seeking to fasten love to flimsy
dialect. They are tender, and plain, not of slavish devotion or grandiose
exaltation, and Severus gives them to Harry in low and even tones, feeling each
sound course from his heart to his hands. It is all true, all of it, and as
Severus speaks aloud the ancient gentle-fervent words the longing in him rises
in a fearsome swell, making breath superfluous when Severus finishes at last.
Cast, he tells Harry, tightening small
fingertips in the hutch of his palms. Cast Legilimens.
Harry does it and passes into
Severus' mind.
The suddenness of understanding
is overwhelming, a flood—Harry's wrists jerk as if to pull away but Severus
holds firm. He cannot let the boy go.
The incantation, he tells Harry silently, in love. Another
moment—another moment in which Severus does not bridle his care—and with a
tenuous voice Harry begins to recite.
Severus' fingers seize around the
boy's as his heart is dismantled, methodically, one syllable at a time, and it
is all he can do to remain upright and conscious—the malediction, it seems,
takes offense at its removal. If he could think, Severus might liken the
sensation to being repeatedly kicked in the gut with a steel-toed boot, perhaps
worn by a Dementor who has also somehow acquired the ability to wield a wand
and the Cruciatus. Severus' jaw locks but abruptly—it stops. Severus gasps for
air.
I can't, he hears despite the woozy spinning of
his head. I can't do it…
Harry is whispering, aloud or not
Severus can't tell but he can hear the fright in the boy's voice and at once he
acts to dispel Harry's panic.
It's all right, Severus thinks quietly, caressing the
backs of Harry's hands with each of his thumbs. It's all right. The
boy is trembling—Severus pulls him closer and wills himself to fill his own
mind with calm. Harry's presence in Severus seems to enlarge—his clutching
fingers relax—his agitation ebbs slightly.
I stopped the incantation—
You must resume where you
stopped—
Have I ruined it?
No—but you must resume where
you stopped—
I don't want to—
I know—
I can't do it—
Harry—
I didn't know it was like
this, I didn't know it was so—
I understand but you must
continue it now—
No—
You must, my heart; I'll help
you—
No—
Harry's hands pinch around
Severus' fingers; Severus welcomes the touch for it strengthens his intent to
bring forth the memories. He is in the Shrieking Shack with his wand pointed at
Lupin, with his wand pointed at Black; he is in Grimmauld Place sneering in
Black's apoplectic face; he is screaming at Potter in a classroom, in a
corridor, on a black hill lit by flames devouring the groundskeeper's hut.
"Don't," Harry
whispers, and Severus sees the movement of his mouth. Harry's eyes are glassy
behind the lenses he wears—his fingers have gone cold from gripping Severus too
hard.
"Repeat what I say,"
Severus says in a deliberate rasp, for he would speak with love to the boy but
he cannot. He cannot. "Ego reprobo vos."
Harry stumbles nearer until their
forms collide and Severus finds his wrists being drawn to Harry's sides. Harry
gropes for him, inside his head and out. Severus squeezes shut his eyes—he is
killing Dumbledore. Avada Kedavra! he cries and the flash of green is
bright, obscuring the silver beard, tipping to the air as the headmaster falls.
Severus also falls—he falls to his knees in worship before a rough-hewn throne.
The prophecy, my Lord. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord
approaches…
"DON'T!" Harry shouts.
The sound grieves Severus but he quickly loses cognizance of everything save
Harry's voice, calling out the remnants of the incantation that will cleanse
Severus of the malediction, and of the vestiges of his soul. Severus suffers,
he suffers, pressed to death by eternal lack and when the fitful chanting ends
and Harry finishes the incantation he knows it will be torment, but also mercy,
when Harry breaks from him.
Harry does not. He holds Severus'
mind; he holds Severus' hands. Severus sees Harry's thoughts begin to find a
single thought and he sees Harry's heart begin to bear that thought up and
before Severus allows himself to see any more he shouts "Occlumens!"
hoarsely, disengaging their hands and cutting Harry away.
Of the varied sorts of fear that
Severus has had occasion to contemplate, it seems to him that apprehension in
connection with a social meeting must be the very worst. Too trivial to justify
as genuine fear, it is nevertheless troubling—a concern that cannot
simply be overlooked. It causes Severus to frown clear into the afternoon, and
to ensure that he's in the midst of a critical task with a looming deadline
when the knocking commences at his door.
"Come," he barks out,
not raising his head until he feels Potter's presence, hovering at the far end
of his study.
"It's wonderful to see you
again, Professor."
With deliberate reluctance and
his frown intact, Severus looks up—and feels his breath catch.
The warmth in Harry's greeting
also shines in his face, which is longer and more angular than Severus
remembers. In fact Harry is longer and more angular as a general matter,
Severus quickly notes, though his eyes are still peering and hemmed in by
glasses, his hair is still a multi-directional affair, and he is entirely as
captivating as the day he fled from Severus' sight, never to return. Until now.
"Potter," Severus says,
observing niceties and nothing more. Harry's smile is undimmed as he strides
toward Severus' desk. "I understand you've become quite a magnificent
Auror, praised in all quarters without reserve."
Harry chuckles. "And I
understand you've become quite a magnificent headmaster, drawing comparisons to
the founders themselves. "
Against his very best intentions
Severus is charmed by the throaty sound of Harry's laugh, and the air of
unassuming likeability he has mysteriously acquired. "You run in circles
rather different to mine," he replies, arching a brow. "I've long ago
learned that all the good in the world is to be attributed to the board of
governors, while all the fault lies squarely with this office. Do sit
down."
Harry laughs again and sits, in
the chair he used to prefer, tucking the tails of his robes (a flattering
crimson) aside.
"May I offer you tea,"
Severus says, marking his progress before shuffling parchment and books away.
"Are you busy just now? I
can keep this short," Harry says quickly.
Severus looks at Harry's earnest
face—yes, more angular than in the newspaper photographs. "I think I can
tolerate more than a moment," he answers, dropping his gaze. "It's
been some time since I've had to deal with a Potter; I've built up some
reserves."
Harry's smile is a tinge abashed.
"Seven years, sir, almost to the day. I think term had just ended when I
finished my training and was sent off on my first assignment."
"That was overseas, was it
not?" Severus asks. He knows it was in Ireland, because Potter had written
him a letter about it. Potter had taken up the habit of writing, for the first
year or so, but the letters had slowed, then stopped—likely in part due to Severus'
terse and infrequent responses. Severus had found it to be—a trial, choosing
the words to write to Harry.
"Well, Ireland first, for a
bit," Harry says, and nods when Severus summons the tea kettle and lifts
it toward Harry questioningly. "Thank you. I went to India after
that."
"Yes, of course, it was
India I was thinking of," Severus replies, extending a small plate of
biscuits to his guest. Harry had not liked India at the beginning—the letters
from there had been weighed with homesickness, until he had settled in for a
few months. "You were sent to…Thailand following that, I believe?"
Harry's wide smile makes Severus'
lungs compress in a way they have not done in many years. "That's
right," he beams, obviously pleased that Severus remembers. He takes a
biscuit from the plate, nodding his thanks, and continues, "Then I went to
Vietnam and Malaysia, and then to just about everywhere else, it feels
like."
"Ah, I had not heard of your
travels in Malaysia." Severus sips his tea.
Harry shrugs and swallows a bite
of biscuit. "It's bloody hot there and the mosquitoes are about the size
of my face. And they're fearless!" he declares. "I can't tell you how
many times I wished I had some kind of anti-mosquito potion or something,
because repelling charms were totally useless. So was the Muggle stuff."
"You should've mentioned it;
I'm sure it's a simple brew," Severus says.
"Oh, well, I got used to it
eventually, and I knew you were busy," Harry answers with a smile.
"How have things been, anyway? The castle's still standing so the students
clearly haven't driven you to any seriously drastic measures." Harry grins
when Severus casts doubt on this assessment by lifting his brow.
"Actually," Harry says, "I passed a few of them on my way up here—I
saw Professor McGonagall and Professor Vector too—and everyone looked quite
happy and well." He pauses, as if about to say something, then adds,
"You look very well yourself." He takes a quick sip of tea.
Severus smiles wryly. "It's
the end of term—the students have nothing to do but frolic and Professors
McGonagall and Vector are blessed with teaching assistants, who are undoubtedly
shut away in the darkest corners of the castle, weeping and cursing and marking
exam papers." He takes in Harry's grin over the rim of his teacup.
"What about you?" Harry
asks. "How's the end of term treating you?"
Severus shakes his head
dismissively. "It doesn't bear thinking about. Aside from the usual
nonsense with O.W.L.s and N.E.W.Ts, I'm working on several
publications—including one on the wizarding educational system"—he snorts
in disbelief—"and will be installing a new Defence professor—"
Harry looks up eagerly. "I'd
heard about that—and actually I wanted to talk you about it. Professor
McGonagall said you were still taking applications?"
Severus stiffens. He should've
known there was cause for alarm; there always is, with Potter, unfailingly…but
Potter had never shown any interest in teaching—
"If the position's been
filled, of course I understand," Potter is saying, clearly doing his best
not to sound as disappointed as he looks. "Hermione first told me about it
months ago and Professor McGonagall said you might've narrowed it down
already—I thought it was probably too late but I—there were things—I should've
put my name in earlier…oh well, I'm sure I'll live…"
Severus concludes he must be
rusty at dealing with Potter, for he hears himself answering in a slow voice,
"That is not a guarantee I make to those who become teachers here…but as
to your question, the position has not, as of yet, been filled."
Harry brightens immediately.
"Would you mind if I—that is, could I send my CV and references and all
that to Professor Tate? Hermione said applications were to be directed
to—"
"If you truly wish to be
considered, send everything to me tonight," Severus says briskly, having
gathered himself. "We have a meeting tomorrow morning to review the final
list of applicants. You're aware that new teachers are hired on a provisional
basis for the first year and are asked to stay on permanently subject to a
satisfactory evaluation?"
Harry nods. "Yes; I got all
the details from Professor McGonagall—it all sounds in order."
Severus scrutinizes him for a
moment, then continues, "I should say—teaching children is dull and
infuriating and routine—it bears no resemblance to traveling the world,
engaging with new people and new experiences on a regular basis. Are you really
prepared to give up your illustrious career as an Auror for the humdrum
existence of a school teacher? I trust you have given this application
sufficient thought and are not merely—"
"I have," Potter
interrupts, then repeats in a more respectful tone, "I honestly have.
You've no idea how hard I've thought about it." He looks at Severus and
his mouth curves in a small smile that Severus will not dissect. "I've
been going round the houses doing Auror business for seven years and don't
mention it to the Auror Division, but I've always meant to come back—it was
just a matter of when. It's been a long time to be away—enough, I hope."
He cocks his head slightly and leans forward, opening his mouth—then his eyes
fall to his teacup. A faint flush begins to show underneath his eyes; Severus
keeps still despite the sudden discomfort in his chest.
"I've—really missed this,
being here. At Hogwarts," Harry says, looking up again with an embarrassed
smile, though Severus can think of no reason on earth for embarrassment at such
a thing.
The next day, after the morning
faculty meeting, Severus sits down at his desk and unrolls a blank sheet of
parchment. He pauses with his hand upon the quill, distracted by the erratic
and ludicrous thoughts in his head and the tumbling in his stomach that no
concoction of peppermint or ginger can soothe. It is not altogether unpleasant,
and not unlike the malediction.
Congratulations, Professor
Potter. Severus writes
with a frown. Then he sends it off, before he can make his situation any more
difficult than it is wont to be.
It develops that Potter is not
bad at teaching. He isn't innately gifted at it either, which is (presumably)
why he uses Legilimency on his students, as Severus comes to learn. He remarks
on this at dinner one evening, when Harry takes his customary seat at Severus'
left.
"Who told you that?"
Harry asks mildly.
"If one waits to be told,
one will never hear anything of interest in this school," Severus returns.
"It's a persistent topic of conversation in corridors, not to mention
during detentions—the way Professor Potter has an uncanny knack for knowing
what one is thinking at any given time. There are some conjectures that it's
actually a dark art that you might be persuaded to teach."
"You supervise
detentions?" Harry asks, with a gleam of hope in his eye.
Severus spears a potato.
"Occasionally, as a favor to the senior faculty such as Minerva. Not for
the likes of the unproven, such as yourself."
"What's that?" Minerva
looks round, breaking off her conversation with Pomona.
"I was simply commenting on
Potter's use of Legilimency in his classes," Severus begins, but Minerva
leans forward to look past Severus.
"Oh yes," she
interrupts, fixing Potter with a stern eye, "Severus finds it terribly
amusing but I'm sure the parents would be less than pleased if they knew."
"You have to admit it's
effective, Professor McGonagall—and as for the parents, they won't hear it from
me!" Harry answers. Somehow, even as a fully grown adult, his grin carries
a certain boyish cheek that puts Severus in mind of—
"Don't smirk, Severus,
you'll only encourage poor teaching habits in him," Minerva admonishes,
turning her stern eye to Severus.
"My dear woman,"
Severus protests. "I've hardly—"
"A fine example you make!
Never mind; Pomona, apologies for the interruption—you were saying…?"
Severus glances sideways at
Potter, who is apparently intent on cutting his roast chicken.
"No worries, Professor
Snape—I know you're the real headmaster," Potter says without
looking over.
"What a comfort,"
Severus answers dryly. He can't help but smile, though, when Harry does.
"Severus?" Potter calls
out. Severus is startled by the intersection of that voice and his given
name—it's the first time Potter has taken the liberty and it's strange
to Severus' ear. "Severus?" Potter asks again. "Do you mind
coming over here for a minute?" If Severus is honest with himself (which
he tries to avoid these days in respect of certain particulars), it's rather
agreeable, upon a second hearing.
Severus puts down his journal and
crosses the staffroom to where Potter leans against the couch where Filius
sits, looking over Filius' shoulder.
"Oh, Severus," says
Filius, "here's a fascinating article on a new sort of experimental
charm—it's currently being tested as a defense against subtropical mosquitoes,
believe it or not. Harry mentioned to me before that he's had a horrid time
with the creatures during his adventures as an Auror, and I was just pointing
it out to him so he can pass it on to his friends still in the forces, in case
it might be helpful." Severus leans in to follow Filius' tiny gesturing
fingers, skimming along the text. "But see here," Filius continues
excitedly, "it cites to one of your papers!"
Severus looks on in some
surprise. "Ah. One of my earliest—only tangentially related, I'm
sure—"
"Harry spotted your name
there straightaway—my word the print gets smaller every year but I suppose
you've got to have sharp eyes in Defence!—and said the two of you had discussed
a repellent potion at some point?" Filius looks from Harry to Severus
enthusiastically. "In any case, Severus, I was wondering if you're aware
of any further progress in that direction, forthcoming papers, ongoing
research, work of that nature—you see I think it might be worth a letter to the
author…"
"I'll leave the two of you
to it then, shall I?" Harry grins, slipping off the armrest while Filius
patters on. "All this academia may be too much for me."
"That's not a sentiment you
should be sharing—" Severus starts, but Harry squeezes his shoulder with a
smile and saunters off. Severus is silenced. His heart, however, is not.
It's outright deafening, his
heart, whenever Harry touches him. It seems absurd he should do it as often as
he does—yet it's never awkward or out of place, whether at a meal, during a
staff meeting, or during a chance encounter in the hall. Harry seems to enjoy
his company too—there is always a friendly word on his tongue—and he seems to
seek Severus out for conversation, serious and idle. In one instance Severus
witnesses him giving detention to a couple of second-years for disparaging
remarks regarding Severus' appearance. You are to show Professor Snape
every respect, Harry had warned them, with a severity he hadn't thought
Harry possessed. Every respect, is that clear?
If Severus were a lesser man,
he'd be flattered by Harry's sincere admiration and be tempted to interpret the
attentions to his own liking. As it is, he is too sensible for self-delusion of
this kind.
"Severus!" Harry is
rushing up the corridor, stuffing student papers into his bag. "Oh good, I
can't be late to the meeting if you're not there yet—got caught up with
Williamson again, good lord, he's a bottomless pit full of questions—sometimes
I just want to tell him to shut it and figure it out himself!" Harry
catches up, breathing fast, faintly flushed. "But I have to listen to him
at least—I mean I'm his Defence professor; I'd feel guilty otherwise."
"That's ridiculous,"
Severus replies, his walk slowing somewhat. "I almost never listened to
students and look where I am now."
Harry laughs next to him,
clapping a hand to his shoulder with a "Fair point!"
When they reach the staff room,
Severus' heart still pounds.
It's a Sunday this year and
Severus should be preparing for his Monday morning with the staff. Or answering
owls from the N.E.W.T. and O.W.L. examiners. Or reviewing the classroom
arrangements for additional revision and study sessions. Instead he stands in
his office, between an end table and a bookshelf, and gazes up at the wall.
"Another year, Albus,"
he says to himself. The portrait's figure is sleeping now but Severus has no
doubt he'll be awake later, ready to liven Severus' spirits with cryptic
platitudes and painted sherbet lemons. Severus watches the peaceful rise and
fall of his beard, draped over resplendent glittering purple robes, and wishes
his own mind could be so at ease.
A light knock at the door jars
the silence; the portrait stirs and blinks open blue eyes.
"What's that? Oh, hullo,
Severus!"
Severus gives the painting a
faint smile in return as another knock sounds.
"Severus? It's Harry,"
comes a muffled voice.
Severus' smile fades into
irritation. Albus sits up in his squashy armchair and says, "The door, my
boy. It sounds like Harry."
"Yes, thank you,"
Severus replies impatiently, whirling for the door. He is in no mood for
Potter's antics at the moment. He crosses the room swiftly, swings the door
wide enough to thrust his face out, and tells his visitor in no uncertain terms
to piss off.
"Severus—"
"Disturb me any other night
but not tonight!" Severus snarls before withdrawing his head and beginning
to shove the door closed.
"Wait a sec—"
"Harry?" asks Albus
from where he hangs on the wall. His voice is unexpectedly robust for an old
man done in oils. "Is that you? Come in, come in!"
"Professor Dumbledore,
hi!" Harry calls through the still-open door. Severus can't see him but he
can hear him perfectly. Apparently the headmaster can as well.
"Ah, Harry, it is
you! Severus, let him in, won't you? Professor Snape and I were just having a
little chat—or rather, we were about to—please, join us!"
Harry pushes at the door and
peeps his head through. "Can I come in now?" he asks quietly. His
eyes search Severus.
Severus grips the iron handle
hard in his hand—then because he doesn't see pity, he pulls the door open.
"Thanks," Harry murmurs
as he comes into the room and makes his way over to Albus, who is beaming down.
Severus takes care not to slam the door shut.
"How are your classes?"
Albus is asking when Severus approaches. "I hope everything is coming
along in the final stretch?"
"It's coming along,"
Harry says, smiling warmly. It deepens Severus scowl. "I'm nearly finished
with putting together the final exams—I'll be handing those in to Professor
Snape soon." He nods over at Severus.
"They're due tomorrow,"
Severus says coldly.
"Of course," Harry
answers quickly, just as Albus makes an approving noise.
"It's hard to believe you've
nearly completed your first year as a Hogwarts professor," Albus rumbles
in a distinctly nostalgic tone of voice. "I know it's not without its
challenges, particularly at the beginning, but you seem to be carrying it off
with grace, isn't that so, Severus?"
Severus' lips thin. He directs a
stiff nod at Albus' ornate frame with a muttered, "Just so."
"Severus isn't so generous
with his praise as he might be," Albus says amiably to Harry, "but
the end of the year is the most harrowing time for headmasters the world
over—and for Severus it can be even more burdensome for reasons I'm sure you
under—"
"Headmaster," Severus
cuts in smoothly, "I'm certain Potter is just as pleased to see you as I,
but I believe he came to discuss pressing end-of-term issues…if you'd like,
perhaps we can resume this conversation later?"
Albus pauses and looks over his
spectacles at Severus, his painted eyes twinkling. "A fine
suggestion," he says. "I might just pop over to the little deathday
party being given in my honor—Dilys was so gracious as to organize it again—but
do send for me when you're through, Severus. And Harry, if you could make some
effort to cheer him up, I'd appreciate it very much." With a twitch of his
beard in Potter's direction, Albus pushes himself from his armchair and ambles
out of view.
Severus stares at the empty
canvas and says, "Potter. What is it." Severus will not broach the
subject of Harry's increasingly frequent visits to his office during Severus'
rare hours to himself. He knows he should put an end to them before they draw
notice, or worse—but as disconcerting as they are, Severus cannot bring himself
to say a word.
Harry rustles beside him. "I
suppose I'm to cheer you up." Severus senses him looking. "The top
students in all my classes are Slytherins," Harry offers. "And,
er—the least disciplined ones are all Gryffindors—"
Severus snorts and turns away.
"Not surprising, but not encouraging—favoritism among the houses is
unbecoming in the headmaster."
"That didn't stop Professor
Dumbledore," Harry says. Severus glances over sharply—Harry wears a wry
grin. "Remember my first year he gave the House Cup to Gryffindor at the
leaving banquet when it should've gone to Slytherin?"
The memory brings a sudden twist
to Severus' chest and a quirk to his mouth. "You and your friends
attempted to prevent me from getting to the Philosopher's Stone."
Harry groans and closes his eyes
in an exaggerated grimace. "God. How awful was that—I'm sorry I was such a
shit of a child." His eyes open again. "It's horribly obvious in
retrospect that you were only trying to save me all those years—picking on me
in class, insulting me at every turn."
Severus feels himself warming to
Harry's tongue-in-cheek expressions—it would be unwise to continue in his
melancholy state. "Water under the bridge, Professor Potter," Severus
says briskly. He straightens and faces Harry. "I'm afraid I won't make
good company this evening. If there's nothing you needed, I'll wish you good
night." He eyes the door, briefly, then moves to a nearby bookshelf to
pull out a book.
Harry's grin eases; he nods and
steps toward the door, only to stop as he reaches to open it.
"Severus, do you mind if I
ask…?"
Severus is watching him but
pretends otherwise when Harry turns back.
"Out with it," Severus
says off-handedly, to all appearances absorbed in the index of his book.
"The nullification rite worked,
didn't it?"
The air leaves Severus' lungs—it
takes him a few beats to raise his head. Harry is running a hand through his
hair; his brow is thoroughly wrinkled as he lets out a thin laugh. "It's
stupid, I know, given how much time has gone by—"
"Why do you ask?"
Severus says, in a very careful voice. When Harry swallows but doesn't reply,
the fear creeping through Severus solidifies to ice. "Have you been
suffering—repercussions?" he asks, in the same low voice. Harry still
doesn't answer and Severus snaps his book shut—anger, now, is hot behind his
eyes. Anger, and great concern. "You promised to inform me,"
he hisses, sweeping toward Harry, who swivels his head up in surprise.
"What? No! No
repercussions—" Harry stutters. His eyes have gone wide—they flicker back
and forth between Severus' eyes. "I swear!" he insists, when Severus'
glare doesn't abate. "There's nothing wrong with me—that wasn't my
question! What I really meant to ask was—how did you manage before the
nullification rite?"
Severus stares at him. "I
see." He abruptly realizes he is standing too near and draws back.
"Restraint," he says without emotion, "is an invaluable
skill."
Harry's jaw shifts; it forms an
odd smile. "So it's like Legilimency then. I'll never be as good at it as
you are."
He grasps the door handle and
yanks it forward. "See you tomorrow," he murmurs as he leaves the
room. The door creaks and clicks closed; Severus waits for the seizure of his
throat to diminish.
That night's bizarre exchange
bothers Severus; even more so because Harry takes it to heart. In the final
weeks of the term, Harry is friendly and courteous—and distant. When he comes
to meals he takes his ordinary seat next to Severus; when they pass in the hall
he smiles and bids Severus a good day. He doesn't avoid Severus; he doesn't
engage him. He doesn't lay a hand on Severus' sleeve, or shoulder; he doesn't
bend near to speak anymore.
Severus observes this. He tells
himself he's too busy to afford it much thought. It's not far from the truth,
and when the last exam has been given and the students have gone (blessed
relief!), and the staff are fully occupied with marking, Severus' bone-deep
fatigue allows him to deliver Harry's end-of-year assessment without ado.
"So, to sum up," he
says wearily, leaning forward on his desk, "the staff and I are agreed
that this year, you've demonstrated the qualities and abilities required to
educate our students to the highest standards, and you are therefore welcome to
join us for an indefinite term. Should you choose to do so, you will be
evaluated every two years over the next ten years, and on a periodic basis, at
the headmaster's discretion, thereafter. Compensation, of course, will be
commensurate with seniority, as well as reflective of—"
"I'm in," Harry says,
with a faint smile.
Severus pauses, then nods.
"Very good. I've not had the chance to prepare the contract yet but I'll
send it to you by owl before the end of the month—if you could sign it and
return it at your earliest convenience, I'll send you a copy of the fully
executed contract and we can have this settled before the start of the next
term—which, I should caution you, always arrives much more quickly than one
expects."
Harry has been even more reserved
at this meeting than he has been of late, but now his smile widens.
"I can see how that would
be." His mouth remains parted for a moment, as if he would go on—but then
he rises from his chair. "Well, thank you very much—and to the rest of the
staff too," he says. "I'll go round and tell them myself, maybe when
we've all made good headway into the marking—for all your help and advice this
year. I never appreciated all that my professors had to go through to get me
through seven years of this."
Harry extends a hand and Severus,
who has also got to his feet, shakes it.
"Not quite so easy as it
looks, hm?" Severus replies. He still remembers those fingers, grasping at
his.
"It really isn't,"
Harry says. Then his hand stills around Severus'—his blandly pleasant smile
falters. "Can I…?" he asks, in a sudden whisper.
Before Severus can flinch or
react Harry is closing on him, leaning over bookends and quills with a palm to
the desk, his eyes large and green until their mouths touch and Severus' lids
fall. Harry presses softly to him and stays. Severus stops breathing; their
hands are still joined.
After some moments (infinite,
startling, rarefied, joy) Harry turns aside his head. His cheek and his glasses
are laid to Severus' face.
"You'll sack me for that but
I've tried—and I can't do restraint. I've wanted to do that for so long."
His fingers slip between Severus' fingers and tighten, then release. Slowly, he
eases back, not looking at Severus but at the bottles and papers on the desk.
"I'm—I'm really sorry about making you find someone else," he says
miserably.
"Someone else?" Severus
asks. The evenness of his voice surprises him, for his heart must burst at this
madness, this impossibility.
"Another Defence
professor," Harry says, with an abortive glance at Severus' face. "I
know how hard it is to—"
"Professor Potter, not two
minutes ago I offered you the position for the foreseeable future and you
happily accepted," Severus says, unable, at this instant, to soften the
harsh note in his voice. "Truth be told the board of governors would rake
me over the coals for failing to convince you to remain in your current post,
so I'd be grateful if you would return for the autumn term, as promised."
Harry is distraught; his
answering smile is wan. "Oh. Of course—I should've realized. Well, then.
Thank you, headmaster, for your leniency. I—I guess I'll see you next
term."
He turns and weaves around,
stumbling slightly and mumbling Sorry to his chair.
"Harry," Severus says.
"Hm?" Harry looks over
automatically, dazed.
"How long—" Severus
inhales and frowns. The furious hammering in his ribs is nauseating. "It
occurs to me that this—compulsion of yours may be a direct result of the
nullification—"
Harry's shaking his head, with
some vigor. "It was before the nullification rite. I don't think I quite
realized it until—later, though." He looks at Severus sadly, and
half-smiles. "Ironic, isn't it, that at some point we were actually in
love with one another? Although you never loved me the way I love you." He
laughs aloud then—it wrenches Severus' gut. "That might be the oddest
thing I've ever heard." His smile widens for a moment, then he resumes
toward the door.
Severus is hardly aware of what
his limbs do but all at once his hand is in the crook of Harry's elbow and
Harry is looking over in surprise, his mouth still curved in that wistful
smile. Severus knows precisely how it feels. He has no earthly idea what to
say.
"You're always wrong about
me," he hears a low voice utter. It's his, he thinks numbly as he tilts
his head down with his eyes on Harry's mouth, which is stiff. Then it gives
way, and Harry arcs up, and Severus hasn't thought what to make of his own
fingers and arms—unlike Harry, who's got a hand on Severus' chest and a hand at
Severus' neck. Severus cages Harry to him by crossing his arms round Harry's back,
but his hands—they curl into fists and hover, disbelieving, above Harry's
spine.
When Severus begins to pull away
Harry catches his waistcoat, tugging, and Severus sees that Harry has slipped
his fingers inside, between buttons. He lifts his eyes to Harry's darkly
flushed skin—and allows himself to be pulled forward again.
The next evening Severus is
reviewing and compiling N.E.W.T. exam results, with the O.W.L.s to follow. He
is surrounded by parchment, piles of scrolls, stacks of paper, quills snapped
and ruffled and thrown to the ground in frustration. Time is running short—the
marks must be published by the end of the week and Severus has vowed to quit
this mockery of a job if his bloody petition for more time isn't
finally taken up next year and what's more, it's bloody impossible to focus
when he's got other affairs on his mind which are unquestionably more urgent.
There's a knock at the door and
Severus shouts "What!" He just knows it's a house elf or Minerva or
blasted Filch again, come to feed or to criticize or to complain, respectively.
The door creaks open a bit—it's
Harry's hair. Harry's face comes after, with a tentative hi.
"I—was wondering if you
wanted company?" He slides himself the rest of the way through and leans
there, by the door. "No talking needed—I brought my marking." He
holds up a rumpled sheaf of papers and gives Severus a grin.
For a moment Severus cannot
speak. He's not certain when, if ever, he will grow accustomed to this.
Harry's grin turns uncertain.
"Or…maybe I'll just see you tomorrow…"
Severus leaps to action. Scrolls
cascade from his desk as he marches toward the door. He folds his arms over his
chest and gives Harry a hard look. "You do realize I'm very busy, that I
cannot brook distractions, that I need to concentrate?"
"Yes, of course," Harry
sputters, "sorry to bother you—"
"Good," Severus says.
He takes Harry's hand firmly and leads him in. Then he shuts the door.
THE END
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