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Tuesday, September 1, 1998 ---- 7:05 p.m.
The first-years looked so small, thought Harry as they filed in behind McGonagall. Small and excited. Practically bubbling over with it . . . though some of them also looked quite worried. One blonde girl in particular was almost in tears, and a brown-haired boy was shifting nervously from one foot to another.
Harry tensed, remembering his own first night at Hogwarts. McGonagall had explained the Sorting Ceremony, briefly, but he'd hardly felt reassured. Everything had just been so strange and new.
Well, at least this year Hogwarts would have one teacher who realised that Muggleborns might need a bit of extra support as they adjusted to the wizarding world. Harry glanced down the length of the table to the far end where Bryerson was sitting. A shame they couldn't sit next to each other, he thought. Harry could just imagine it . . . going over Defence plans each morning, and then every night, discussing how the lessons had played out . . .
Instead, he was seated next to Severus. That wasn't terrible, of course. They got on well enough, these days. Or at least they did when Harry could remember to rein in his resentment about . . . well, about everything. Sometimes Harry even thought that the two of them were friends, now. Of a sort. But friends or no, Harry didn't feel comfortable sitting here next to Severus, not with everyone looking on. Chatting with the man was out of the question. People would notice. The students, in particular. Didn't Harry use to hate his guts? They'd ask each other that, definitely. Although yeah, probably Severus was right that they wouldn't make too much of it, considering that both of them were on staff, now.
But still, Harry couldn't imagine letting people realise that he was on fairly good terms with Severus, these days.
Maybe Dumbledore had known that. It couldn't be a coincidence that Hagrid was sitting on Harry's other side, could it? This way, Harry had someone to talk with.
Harry forgot about himself as the Sorting Hat began its song, complete with the usual theme of house unity and strength in diversity. He perked up a little, though, when one verse seemed to stand out from all the rest.
Though challenge lurks 'hind every wall,
The valiant man shall give his all.
The more we ask the more he gives,
So we must seek to see he lives.
Harry shivered all over, that last line clanging inside him. It seemed pretty clear, to him at least, that it referred to him. He didn't think of himself as valiant all that often, but he was definitely giving his all. And it was also true that the wizarding world--or maybe just Dumbledore--kept asking more and more of him.
But what was that last bit supposed to mean? We must seek to see he lives . . Weren't his crossed powers supposed to make sure he came out of the final battle not just victorious but alive? He'd never really considered that he might have gone through all this only to die defeating Voldemort.
Harry shook his head slightly. He remembered almost wanting to die, back around his birthday. In fact, if he thought too much about how awful he'd felt then, it was like a whirlpool opened inside him and tried to suck him in. And Harry didn't want to go there again, to that horrible dark place where thoughts of slave, slave, slaveovershadowed everything else.
He couldn't let himself be sucked in, not again.
Of course not, he thought, his lips twisting. He had to be this "valiant man" the Hat had just mentioned. And wasn't that creepy, really? Even the Sorting Hat knew about his predicament. Harry didn't like that. Not one bit.
But there was nothing to be done about it. Well, at least the other teachers didn't have any idea. Apart from Severus and Albus, only Binns knew the truth. Harry didn't know how he'd deal with McGonagall finding out.
Someday, though, he'd have to face it. He'd known that even before he'd heard the Hat's new song.
Or rather, he'd have to face it if he lived long enough.
"All right?" asked Severus, sounding like he was speaking out of the side of his mouth.
"Yeah," said Harry shortly. He shifted over in his chair, just a little, moving more toward Hagrid. But then he froze, wondering if Cambiare Podentes would punish him for wanting to get away from Severus. He wasn't supposed to want a thing like that, he knew.
Severus must have realised how uncomfortable Harry was feeling. He didn't say another word as the sorting progressed, not even when McGonagall's strident voice called out a name Harry definitely wasn't expecting to hear.
"Charles Bole!"
Bole? For a moment that seemed to stretch out, Harry was filled with a blinding rage so hot he actually felt scorched. When his vision cleared, he saw that the stool was occupied by the brown-haired boy he'd noticed before. The boy didn't look worried now, though, Harry thought, his fists clenching. So what if the boy's upper lip was quivering, just a bit? He was probably smirking. Slytherins did that, and Charles Bole had just been sorted into Slytherin.
Of course. Where else would he belong?
Harry felt his own lips beginning to twist. Bole there even looked quite a bit like his older . . . brother, cousin? He hadn't noticed at first since the boy had been so far away. But now, with Bole just feet away from the head table, the resemblance was unmistakable. The same hair, the same eyes, the same basic features . . .
Harry wanted to lunge from his seat and pummel him. He was probably just like the rest of his family. Cruel, brutal, headed toward being a Death Eater. Proud of it, probably.
Harry hated him at first sight, and the fact that he wasn't the man who had hurt him made no difference at all. Not even the fact that Severus had killed that man helped. So what if the older Bole was dead? This little version of him was alive, and here, and Harry couldn't stand the sight of him.
He barely heard Dumbledore's opening-of-term remarks. Didn't even realise he'd just been introduced as a new staff member, not until Hagrid jostled him rather roughly and said, "Go on, then, Harry."
Harry turned at stared at him blankly. Go on and do what?
Severus' hand, surreptitiously tugging on his robe under the table, told him what to do. It was an upward motion. And everybody was looking at him, though not because they could see Severus being so familiar. Their faces were more . . . expectant.
Oh, stand up. That was probably what Severus was trying to tell him. Harry rose to his feet, feeling completely stupid. It must be obvious that he hadn't been listening to a word the headmaster had said.
Several students near the far end of the Gryffindor table were holding their hands over their mouths, like they were trying not to laugh. Seventh-years. His friends.
Ginny was with them, but she wasn't laughing. Her expression as she stared across the distance at Harry looked more stricken than anything else. Ron must have told her, Harry thought. About me liking blokes.
Well, he was sorry if she was hurt by that. He knew how it felt to have a dream snatched away. Not that he thought he ought to be anybody's dream, but Ginny had always seemed to look at him that way. Harry sighed a little as he took his seat again. He wished she wouldn't be so unhappy about the way things had turned out.
No sense in them both being miserable, after all.
He tried paying attention then, to the rest of Dumbledore's speech. Good thing, too. Bryerson was being introduced. Harry perked up a bit, eager for more details about the man. Unfortunately, the headmaster didn't say much beyond what Harry already knew.
And then the headmaster was through at last. Great heaps of food appeared in front of Harry. Portions in the Great Hall were always generous, of course. Harry was grateful for that. But these platters were truly gargantuan.
Oh, for Hagrid. Harry helped himself to a plump portion of roast chicken, leaving most of it for the giant at his side.
As students and staff began to eat, the hall grew ever noisier.
"I should have warned you," Severus said in a low voice.
Harry flinched and glanced left and right. Nobody was paying them any mind, though. Students would occasionally glance up at him, but they weren't staring or anything.
No need to ask what Severus should have warned him about. Harry felt the anger rise within him again. He clenched his teeth as his eyes sought out the horrible boy at the near end of the Slytherin table. "You knew."
"Only his name. I saw the roster of letters being sent out, a few weeks back."
"Yeah, well thanks for letting me know," muttered Harry.
"I had no idea he would resemble his brother."
"I don't want to talk about it," said Harry. Turning in his chair, he faced Hagrid more and asked him if he'd seen any interesting creatures lately.
Severus made a clicking noise with his teeth, but didn't say anything more about Charles Bole. Not then, and not later that night, either. They left the Welcoming Feast separately, of course. Harry went to the upstairs rooms and paced, his fingers curling into claws every time he saw Bole's face in his mind's eye. Either Bole. It didn't matter.
Eventually, though, he knew he had to go to bed. He changed into pyjama bottoms, hanging up the robe Severus had given him. He'd felt so grown up and capable when he'd put it on earlier that evening. Now, he just felt flayed. He didn't want to be a teaching assistant, not if it meant seeing Charles Bole every time the first-years had Defence.
Well, at least he wasn't too likely to be on the Slytherin Quidditch team. First-years really weren't supposed to play.
Sighing, Harry stepped through the magic doorway and into Severus' bedroom.
"I don't want to talk about it," he said again, before the other man could get a word in.
Severus just nodded and pulled the covers back in invitation. Harry crawled in on his usual side and faced the wall, his whole body tense with anger. And not just at Charles Bole. Severus should have told him this was coming. Brimming with anger, Harry knew then that he didn't want to sit with Severus for meals any longer.
"Can't I sit with Bryerson when I eat in the Great Hall?" he asked, hating the fact that he had to ask. "I might need to, you know, talk with him about how class is going, that sort of thing."
Severus didn't answer for a moment, and then finally said in a low tone, "If you're so worried about people gossiping that you can't bring yourself to talk to me in front of others, then I hardly think it will help to have your post obviously coming to my place at the table. You need to be next to me so that it seems it's being delivered to you."
"Oh." Harry had forgotten about the mail. Though how he could have was a good question, wasn't it? He couldn't even get things owled to him. Owls, and now the Sorting Hat . . . probably every kind of magical being knew that he wasn't his own person any longer. Knew that he was a slave.
The elves probably knew, too . . . but Dumbledore had done something to keep them from talking to anyone about it. Even students, Harry presumed.
He sighed, and resigned himself to sitting with Severus for everyone to see. And then he started thinking about the morning, the start of classes. The start of his new job. A job he'd had no training for, really. Sure, he was a fair hand at Defence, but that didn't mean he was in any way prepared to help teach it. What if he disappointed Bryerson? What if the students wouldn't listen to him? What if that horrible child was in class? Wait, no . . . the first-years didn't have Defence on Wednesdays. But they did have it. Twice a week.
That night, it was a long, long time before Harry managed to sleep.
Wednesday, September 2, 1998 ---- 8:55 a.m.
No post had come for him at breakfast, Harry thought as he made his way to the Defence classroom. Letters didn't usually come that early in the morning, and Severus knew it. So there was no harm in Harry sitting by someone else.
There was also no point in bringing it up again, Harry knew.
Oh, well. At least the fact that Harry was sitting next to Severus didn't seem to mean anything to anyone. He wasn't getting strange looks from the students, not even the ones who knew how much he hated Severus.
How much he had hated Severus. He didn't hate him any longer. Just as well. The spell would probably punish him if he did, thought Harry sourly. Though the contract didn't say anything about his feelings, Harry knew. Only his actions. Or inactions, like failing to hand his investment income over to Severus the minute he found out about it.
In the circumstances, Harry supposed he was pretty lucky that Severus wasn't being demanding in bed. Because Harry really couldn't refuse, could he? That was in the fucking contract, too. To be not just slave but body-slave, subject to the master wizard's every desire.
A horrible chill passed over his spine. Oh, God. If Severus were a different kind of man . . . actually, if he were the kind of man Harry had assumed at first, life would be just unbearable, wouldn't it?
Definitely, he didn't hate Severus. Not even over the Bole thing any longer, because really, the other things Severus had done were more important. Severus had been good to him, again and again. Really good. And he could be good company. Severus was a friend, Harry thought. Well, if someone that old could be called a friend.
But yes, Severus was. And Harry hadn't been very good company himself, lately, had he? Maybe he should do something to make amends. Buy the man another present, maybe. He could get something the next time he went into Hogsmeade . . .
A line of second-years were milling about in the hall when Harry reached Defence. Old habits almost had him joining them, but then he realised that he would look stupid, waiting there as if he needed permission to go into the classroom. Definitely not the way to begin his new duties.
Harry strode past the children, pushed open the door, and walked to the front of the classroom.
"Ah, Potter," said Bryerson as he emerged from his adjoining office. "That time already, is it?"
He sounded like he was bracing himself for something. It took Harry a minute to understand that the man was trying to get his nerve up to face his students. Somehow, it made Harry less nervous to know he wasn't the only one almost dreading the start of class.
"It'll be all right, Professor," he said quietly. Usually he didn't use Bryerson's title, but it seemed a good time to start. "So I'll let them in, then?"
Bryerson checked his watch and sighed. "I suppose we must, yes."
Later, Harry decided that his first day teaching--or assisting, rather--had gone fairly well. Of course, there was the usual problem that happened whenever people got close enough to see his scar. A lot of staring, and gasps, and murmured repetitions of his name. He was surprised, a bit, to get that from the second-years, since he'd been at school with them the year before. But then again, they hadn't really seen too much of him. Only during Quidditch matches, really.
In general, though, he had a good enough day. The look on the students' faces when they were told they'd have a test straight away! Harry was less amused when Bryerson handed him the stacks of parchment at the end of class, and told him to mark the exams.
"Just spelling, grammar, and punctuation?"
"I'd also appreciate it if you'd note any glaring errors of fact. Though of course I'll give each a thorough read, as well."
Harry had nodded, though privately he felt a bit dismayed. That faded when the next class got underway, and Bryerson gestured for him to use the time to start marking. So it looked like Harry's evening wouldn't be completely given over to his work. He thought that was very good of Bryerson.
Harry ended up with only one set of tests left to be marked. It was too bad that by then, his brain felt mushy from reading too many idiotic answers. Maybe Severus wasn't so wrong to call it drivel, Harry thought, frowning. He could hardly believe the things the students wrote! You'd think it had been years since they'd taken Defence, not the few weeks that made up a summer holiday. One fourth-year had actually filled her parchment with a running series of jokes. What was worse was that they were really funny jokes. Harry had a hard time not laughing out loud. He actually bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep a straight face in front of the students.
Harry could hardly wait to see what Bryerson would do about Flora Fartheringdale's test. She must have thought that Bryerson wouldn't really read it. Either that, or she'd noticed that the professor was rather good looking, and this was her strange way of trying to get him to notice her.
Suddenly the jokes weren't funny at all. Harry clenched his jaw and read through them again, marking even the tiniest errors in spelling or grammar. There, that was better. Flora Fartheringdale's test didn't look impressive at all now, did it?
"I think Hogwarts might have a supply budget, Potter," said Bryerson under his breath as he paused by Harry's table near the front of the room. "Don't use all the red ink, eh?"
Harry felt his face heating, and wasn't sure if it was because that was close to a rebuke, or because he'd just realised that Bryerson actually smelled pretty good. It wasn't a cologne spell, either. More a clean, masculine scent. The man himself.
Harry hurriedly moved on to the next test, nodding to show that he'd understood.
Thursday, September 10, 1998 ---- 7:02 a.m.
Harry shifted in the bed, vague images chasing across his mind as he began to wake up. Dreams, that was it. He couldn't remember anything about them, not quite, but it seemed like they'd been pleasant.
Or more than pleasant, perhaps, because Harry's first real thought as the veil of sleep parted was to realise that he was hard. Really hard. He blinked, thinking at first that he must be imagining it. It seemed like forever since he'd woken up with an erection. Or since he'd been able to get rock-hard all on his own, without the help of one of Severus' potions.
He pushed up on his elbows to look, his mouth dropping open at the sight of the covers tenting out.
His next thought was relief. There'd been a lot of times in the past few months when he'd wondered if he was ever going to get back to normal. Actually, he'd been convinced, more or less, that that part of him had just . . . died, really. Like it was attached, but useless. Sometimes he'd even thought maybe it was better that way, because after London, and then what he'd gone through on his birthday, he couldn't imagine wanting anything sexual, ever again.
But clearly, his body could.
Beside him in the large bed, Severus rolled over. Toward him, like most mornings.
This wasn't most mornings, though. Harry knew the exact moment when the other man opened his eyes and saw the condition Harry was in. Severus' whole body stiffened slightly.
Stiffened. Wrong word to think. It only made Harry even more aware of his cock.
"Good morning," said Severus, his deep voice sounding pleased. Very pleased.
"Morning," replied Harry, rushing the word out as he sat up completely and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He felt better now that his back was to Severus. It wasn't like he thought the other man would see his erection and immediately leap on him or anything, but he suddenly couldn't bear to lie there in their bed. It was too . . . suggestive, maybe. And Harry didn't care what his cock was saying--ha, saying loud and clear--he wasn't ready for anything.
Harry couldn't face it. Didn't even want to think about it.
If Severus picked up on his mood, he sure didn't show it. "Perhaps a shower," the man said slowly, sounding like he was savouring the words. "Together?"
It was a suggestion Harry was used to, given that he heard it nearly every morning. He'd decided a long time ago that Severus must have a shower fantasy. And Harry could understand that, actually. It would be difficult not to, since he remembered everything that had happened in the ritual bath.
Remembering didn't help, though. "No, no," he refused, his palms going damp. And not in a good way. Panic was racing along his veins, his heart pounding, feeling like it was working twice as hard as usual. At the same moment, his cock began to go limp. Proof, as if Harry needed any, that he wasn't ready to actually do anything about his arousal. Maybe he would never be ready.
The feeling that he was dead down there, that he was never going to get better, seemed to fill his whole head, then. God, was he even a man, still? Well, yes, obviously he was, but sometimes it seemed like those bastards in London had taken that away from him, too.
"I can't," whispered Harry, feeling like he had to say something more. Explain, somehow. But he didn't know what to say, especially not after the things he'd been thinking about the day before, about how lucky he was that Severus had turned out to be a decent man. Or more than decent, really. A good man.
Harry felt his throat tighten. He almost wanted to apologise for being so bloody pathetic, but that was stupid. It wasn't like he owed Severus. Well, maybe he did, considering that damned sex clause in the slavery contract, but he didn't want to owe him. That was no good reason to be in bed with someone. Even if it was the reason Harry was sleeping in Severus' bed every night.
For one blinding moment, Harry was suddenly sure that the spell was going to punish him for even thinking that. His mouth went dry with panic. He was supposed to owe Severus, after all. And believe he owed him, or something like that. Definitely, he wasn't supposed to be thinking that he didn't want to be in this position at all.
Harry braced himself for those awful convulsions to start, but nothing happened. Not even a tremor.
So maybe there was something important about the idea that the spell had been designed for lovers, he thought with relief. Maybe the spell just assumed that if you could invoke it successfully, desire was already there.
And so what if it wasn't? Even men who were lovers couldn't be in the mood all the time. So that made sense, then.
That conclusion made him feel a bit better, but only in one sense. Just because he didn't want to owe Severus didn't mean he wanted to make things difficult for him. It had been a long time since Severus had got any, and he hadn't exactly made a secret of how much he wanted some, had he? With Harry. If Harry turned around now, he'd see Severus' morning erection. No doubt about it. And here was Harry, unable to really hide the fact that the mere mention of a shared shower had killed his own erection. Severus wouldn't take it personally, would he? Harry didn't want to hurt him, or anything.
The minute he thought that, Harry wanted to whack himself in the forehead. God, what a complete joke. He didn't want to hurt Severus . . . As if he could. As if he evercould. Decent man or no, this was still Severus Snape. Sure, he had feelings. That much was obvious. But he was hardly going to care much what Harry thought of him, one way or another.
"We'd better get up," said Severus, his voice rough. Rasping, almost. Or maybe curt. "I'll go shower, then."
Harry nodded as he sat there, a blanket bunched around his hips.
Thursday, September 10, 1998 ---- 12:23 p.m.
Breakfast and lunch had seemed strained to Harry, which was odd, wasn't it? It wasn't like he wanted Severus to talk to him in front of everyone. The old saying about being careful what you wished for came to mind. Sure enough, ever since term had started, Severus hadn't spoken to him during meals in the Great Hall. Not one word.
And somehow, that had been worse than worrying that the students would notice them talking.
It had been a relief when, half-way through lunch, the owls had sailed in to deliver the day's post. A letter had fallen to the table, approximately in front of Severus, who had reached forward as if to grasp hold of the salt cellar. The flowing sleeve of his robe had pushed the letter towards Harry, the manoeuvre executed so naturally that nobody could have noticed him passing the post.
Harry had snatched the letter up, grateful for something else to do besides sit there listening to how . . . silent Severus could be. But not even Hermione's chatty comments could really distract him from the man beside him. The angry man. Not seething or anything, but obviously not happy, either.
Well, at least it doesn't look like we're getting on, then, thought Harry, surprised at how glum the idea made him. He decided then that living with an annoyed Severus would be a lot worse than having students give them a few odd looks during meals.
He'd actually turned in his chair to say something to Severus, only to see a billowing of black robes as the man strode to the far end of the dais and marched out through the hall to the doors at the far end. Severus looked to be in a hurry, Harry thought, a bit puzzled. But not too much of a hurry, since he had time to stop alongside the Gryffindor table and say something. Something cutting, judging from the way faces paled.
Points, Harry thought. He's angry at me because of this morning, and he's taking points.
And sure enough, when Harry walked out to check the counters before heading toward Defence, Gryffindor was down fifteen points.
That night, when Severus read out loud to him after dinner, Harry was the one who sat stiff and silent. Usually he enjoyed the habit they'd fallen into, both of them sitting on the settee, Harry leaning his head back and closing his eyes as Severus' deep, expressive voice washed over him. But tonight he couldn't hear the story through his irritation.
Monday, September 14, 1998 ---- 7:14 a.m.
Harry's early morning dreams were taking stronger shape every day, it seemed. Now, when he woke up, he was aware that they'd been more than merely pleasant. They were intense. Arousing.
Sexual.
He still didn't clearly remember them. Just images, that was all he had. Or snatches of images, really, but he knew he wasn't alone in the dreams. He was with someone. A man, his outline hazy. Nobody in particular, Harry thought, though the man was definitely taller than he was.
He remembered kissing, the two of them standing up against a wall, Harry pressing the other man into it. Hands everywhere. Stroking.
Mmmm . . .
Realising suddenly that his cock was in fact being stroked, Harry's eyes snapped open.
Oh. It was his own hand down there. His own sleepy yet urgent hand, moving back and forth across his bare cock. Harry hurriedly yanked his hand out of his pyjama bottoms, but Severus had already seen. He was propped up on an elbow as he lay on his side, studying Harry, his dark eyes narrowed. He looked like he was calculating something.
Oh, God.
It wasn't that Harry was embarrassed. Though granted, he wasn't used to people watching him as he touched himself, either. It was the fact that he hadn't been touching himself. Not as Severus obviously thought.
Harry gulped. "Sorry," he said, but the moment he'd apologised, he started feeling angry. Not liking the way he was just lying there, flat on his back, Severus hovering over him like he might start yelling, Harry sat up and scooted backwards to lean against the headboard. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared. "You can stop looking at me like you're considering hexes, you know," he said, growing more angry by the second. "In the first place, I was fucking well asleep and couldn't help it, all right? Not like I planned to wake up doing that. And in the second place, I haven't, all right? Not once. Just like you said." He almost added a sarcastic oh, lord and master but decided at the last second that Severus didn't deserve that.
Black eyebrows rose. Both of them. "Not once?"
Harry's lips twisted. "Your rules."
Severus sat up as well, finally taking his eyes off the way Harry was tenting out the sheets. Harry stared straight ahead, determined not to look to see if they both were.
"My rules," repeated Severus slowly, just as if he didn't know what Harry was talking about.
And that steamed Harry, it really did. He'd been waking up hard--damned hard--every morning for days now. And now, not even Severus' suggestion that they shower together was enough to kill his erection. Though of course Harry always shook his head when Severus invited him to share. But it wasn't any fun waiting for his cock to stop throbbing every morning. And it certainly wasn't any fun having it stiffen up again on its own, at irritating points throughout the day. Good thing his trousers were snug and his robes loose. Otherwise, he couldn't even do his job!
And it was all Severus' fault.
"Yeah, your rules," Harry repeated, practically spitting the words. "Don't even touch yourself, you said! And I haven't, except today in my sleep, and if you can't understand that, then--"
"Are you trying to tell me you haven't been masturbating?"
Harry almost hit Severus, then. The question was asked like it was the most obvious thing in the world that Harry should be doing that, when it was Severus himself who had forbidden it!
"You know damned well I haven't!"
"I know your ability to reason is clearly limited!"
Severus sounded as angry as Harry, which was kind of strange considering what he got up to in the shower every day. Every single day, Harry had a feeling. "Yeah, make fun of how stupid I am--"
"Oh, for Merlin's sake," muttered Severus, suddenly turning to grab Harry by both shoulders. He shook him, just one sharp jolt. And then he stilled, staring straight into Harry's eyes. "Don't change the subject. At least I know now why your mood has been so foul the past few days. Let's be clear, Harry. It's good to see you're starting to recover. As far as I'm concerned, the more you touch yourself, the better."
Harry's eyes widened as Severus let go of his shoulders. Part of him couldn't even believe what he'd just heard. He'd lived by the don't even pleasure yourself rule for so long that he hadn't ever expected it to be lifted. "You mean you don't mind? You used to. A lot."
Severus' teeth appeared to clench for an instant. "I'd rather you were inclined toward something mutual. Obviously. But if you aren't, you aren't. Masturbation would at least be a step in the right direction."
Harry still couldn't quite believe it. "And I can come, you mean?"
Now Severus was the one looking like he'd just love to do something violent. "Yes. Unless you think my goal here is to make you be even more bad-tempered?"
"I haven't been out of sorts--"
"The hell you haven't." Severus' eyes glinted. "Any man would be, I suppose. I'm astonished you've kept to that so-called rule."
"So-called! It's exactly what you said"
"For before the invocation. I never intended it to apply afterwards." Severus' voice became a sardonic drawl. "And to think, you denied yourself on my say-so. I never took you for the obedient type, particularly."
Harry saw red. He might be a slave, but it sure as hell didn't make him the obedient type. Not the way Severus meant. "I didn't want the spell to punish me again, you arse!"
Severus stopped looking so amused, then. "Obviously that was a horrible experience. Frightening for--"
"You think?"
"Frightening for both of us," snapped Severus.
Hmm, it probably had been. Harry felt a bit bad, then. He nodded.
"But you can't live this way," continued Severus, his voice still hard. "Ever since your birthday, you've been seeing disaster around every corner. It has to stop."
"You weren't the one who couldn't breathe."
"I know." Severus paused as if frustrated. "Don't you see, though? Even if I had ordered you never to masturbate, and you'd disobeyed me, the spell wouldn't have punished you. It wouldn't have been a violation of the contract. I thought you understood. It's up to me to enforce obedience in . . . lesser matters. And Harry . . . Iwon't."
Hearing it laid out like that, so bluntly . . . well, it was probably what he really needed to hear, Harry thought. He'd known before, of course, that Severus wasn't going to misuse his power and punish Harry or treat him the way his family might have. He'd known since before the invocation that Severus was better than that. But still, it was good to hear. Particularly after the spell itself had been so vicious.
Harry laughed, a bit nervously. "Um . . . so I can just do whatever I want, as long as it won't break the contract? I can just ignore you . . . I mean, ignore whatever you tell me to do, completely?"
"How much have I told you to do?"
"Not much," admitted Harry. Another reason he had to be grateful to Severus, he knew. "But you didn't really answer my question."
Severus' gaze on him was steady. Serious. He didn't answer straight away, which Harry took to mean that the man was really considering the matter. "You aren't a child to be chastised. You're a grown man with responsibilities, and crossing powers, I'm afraid, will require that you obey and please me. I know you aren't about to ignore that."
Huh, that sounded a lot like Severus trusted him, too. To do the right thing, no matter how hard it might be. For the first time in a long time, Harry started to feel like there might be some hope for them. Maybe it was the fact that he so obviously wasn't alone. He'd felt like he was, after his birthday. But it wasn't really true. He'd known that earlier, but he'd lost track of it.
Or maybe things looked hopeful because now, Harry wouldn't have to keep ignoring the fact that he was waking up hard. He could do something about it.
His erection had faded a bit as they'd talked, of course, but Harry thought it wouldn't take much to bring it back. Actually, just thinking that made him harder.
Getting up out of bed, he vaguely gestured toward the door which led upstairs. "I . . . yeah, you're right about crossing powers and all that. Er . . . so I think I'll have a shower and do what you suggested, then. See you at breakfast. Um, about meals . . . I shouldn't have acted like I didn't know you, I guess. It's all right if we talk a bit--"
"Go and have your shower."
Something about the way he said it made Harry feel terrible. Or maybe it wasn't the tone of voice at all, but just the fact that Harry knew how much Severus wanted them to shower together. "I'd join you in yours if I . . . er . . ."
"Could bear it," finished Severus, a little impatiently. He abruptly stood up and wrapped a dressing gown around himself, moving stiffly. "But you can't. I don't like it, but for the moment, that's the way things are. We'll get through it. And in the meantime, the best thing you can probably do is indulge yourself. Perhaps I should be clearer, considering what you thought until this morning. I mean that you should--"
"Masturbate, yeah. I knew what you meant."
Severus waved for Harry to go.
Tuesday, September 14, 1998 ---- 2:29 p.m.
The past couple of days had been his best in a long, long time, thought Harry as he stood in front of the Defence class and watched the students file in. Getting up in the morning and being allowed to--encouraged to, really--pleasure himself made a huge difference to his mood.
He'd actually wanked twice that first morning, and had slid into his seat at breakfast with barely any time left to eat. Severus had given him a knowing look, but after that had more or less started ignoring him. Like Harry had asked . . . except that Harry had already admitted that he'd changed his mind about that.
Stubborn git, Harry had thought, but without any real anger. Hard to be irritated with Severus. Or with anything, really, after such a long and satisfying shower. And anyway, Harry had been a bit of a git himself, about the meals thing. But he was done with that. By then, he'd decided it had been stupid and more than a little paranoid. So he got on with Severus and people knew it. The most it would say to anyone, students included, was probably that Harry was an adult now and mature enough to let go of the resentments he'd had as a student. Or pretend to, perhaps.
"I can't stand rye," he said in a bright tone as he took the initiative and turned to Severus. "And rye with pumpkin butter is even worse."
Severus' tea sloshed a little as he set his cup down, the motion abrupt. Harry thought surprise was written all over the uncharacteristic clumsiness, but the other man recovered quickly enough. "Don't eat it that way, then. You'll notice that I don't."
"You're eating yours almost burnt."
"Dark," corrected Severus. "Work here long enough, Potter, and the elves will note your preferences, as well."
Potter. For one second only, Harry was taken aback. Then he remembered the students. Strange how he'd forgotten them for a little while.
Before he could reply, Severus was saying that he had to prepare for his first class. He stood to leave. The same swirl of robes, the same determined stride through the length of the hall. But this time, he didn't stop by the Gryffindor table to take points.
It's all going to work out, Harry had thought.
The mood had lasted throughout that day and right on through the next, Harry getting up early, he was so eager to hurry off to the upstairs shower. Good thing, too. He didn't think he should be late to breakfast every day. That was bound to look a bit odd, when people started noticing.
Now, though, watching the Defence classroom fill with students, his good mood started to fade. And no wonder. This wasn't just another class where he'd stand politely off to the side until it was time to roam the class, helping students to practise the spells Bryerson had just discussed and demonstrated. This was the class Charles Bole was in. And Harry had to be in it with him, every Tuesday and Thursday for the rest of the year. If he'd known--if Severus had warned him that Bole's nasty little brother was enrolling at Hogwarts--Harry would have told Bryerson that he'd skip the first-years' class. Awkward as it would have been, he thought he'd rather be assisting in Ginny's class than this one. As soon as Quidditch season got underway, he'd have to be near her anyway. So what did it matter?
Harry gritted his teeth when he saw the small boy walking to the same desk he'd chosen the first day of class. Back row, all the way to the left. Right up against the side of the classroom, actually. Like a criminal, thought Harry. Back to the wall.
During previous sessions, Bole hadn't said much. He hadn't said anything at all, not even on the first day of class, when Bryerson's case studies had gone over brilliantly with everyone else. More than brilliantly. Gryffindors and Slytherins had so eagerly joined in the discussion that they'd seemed to forget house rivalries completely. But not Bole. He'd obviously thought he was better than everybody else. Too good to contribute. He was probably only interested in learning what could help him be a better Death Eater. Or maybe he thought he knew it all, already.
Harry's fists clenched as he remembered how angry he'd been.
But he'd managed to keep his feelings to himself all through that class and the ones that had followed. That first day, he'd avoided Bole when it was time for the students to work in small groups, creating a case study of their own. Bryerson had asked Harry to roam, supervising and commenting as needed to keep the groups focussed on their task. It had been simple enough to walk in a meandering path among the desks, looking as though he was helping everyone, when in reality he kept veering away from Bole's group.
Bole, of course, had sat there with his arms crossed, staring down at his own desk as conversations swirled around him. Every time Harry glanced that way, he got angrier. Good thing he was avoiding Bole. The temptation to yell at him instead was roiling within Harry, growing stronger the longer the class went on. Yell, or something worse. Bole deserved worse. He was just like his brother; Harry could tell. Mean and cruel. It was all there in the way he wasn't talking to anyone, again. He was acting like his house mates didn't even exist.
Harry gritted his teeth and moved away from that side of the room. Farther away, that was.
Avoiding Charles Bole was even easier the next week, since both class sessions had consisted mainly of lecture and note-taking. Harry really just observed, his admiration for Bryerson growing by leaps and bounds the longer he watched. It would have been wonderful to have a teacher like him first year, instead of Quirrell.
Harry glanced away from Bole and fixed his gaze on the other side of the room, nodding at the students as they entered and took their seats. He didn't look at Bole again. If Harry had his way, he'd ignore him for the next seven years.
It was either that, or let the nasty little child know just what Harry thought of him.