"I'll take it under consideration," he said.
"I'll see you at lunch," Hermione said and then finally left.
As his students began to file into the classroom, he stared at the little white card on his desk. He was tempted to do precisely as she'd thought he would and ignite the damn thing with a thought. Those do-gooder Gryffindors thought they could fix everything.
Only . . . after what he'd told her this morning, he'd expected her to be gone, not offering to accompany him to doctor appointments. That she would not only remain, but be so supportive, was more than he could comprehend. Although he didn't understand her reasons, he was ridiculously grateful not to have lost the only platonic friend he'd made since Albus' death.
He reached out to pick the card up and place it in his robe pocket. He could always toss it into the hearth when he got home.
*~*~*
Nights were the worst, Harry decided. During the day, it was hard to sit at the teachers' table with Severus, pretending that the mere sight of the man wasn't ripping his heart to shreds, but he could do it. His classes kept him occupied during most of the rest of the day, and Hermione and Ron were turning handstands to try to cheer him up. In daylight, he was pretty much able to deal.
However, once Ron and Hermione retired for the night, Harry felt like he was being haunted by a man who wasn't even dead. Sleep was a thing of the past. Even with Severus' Dreamless Sleep potion, he only got a couple of hours in before the cold on the other side of the bed where Severus was supposed to be sleeping would wake him. He was beginning to feel like a bloody house ghost; he was spending so much time walking the school halls after dark.
Well, tonight he'd actually gone outside. The sleet had finally let up. It might be nearly the end of February, but the gales were still blowing down out of the mountains fierce as if spring would never come. He wasn't going to complain. The wind had cleared the clouds. The sky overhead was black as velvet, glittering with millions of stars.
Harry took his Firebolt up into the night sky and sought one of the few pleasures left to him. He'd been neglecting his flying while with Severus, he realized. He waited for his optimistic side to point out that at least now he'd be able to practice regularly again, but even the eternal optimist in him was hurting too badly to even try to suggest that there was anything the least bit good about Severus breaking it off with him.
The weird part was he couldn't even blame Severus. Hermione had told him about the talk, well talks, she'd had with Severus. It only confirmed what he'd known all along, that Severus was hurting so badly from what Burke had done to him that he couldn't cope with intimacy on any level. Though he wished he could have been the one in whom Severus had confided, he was glad Severus had Hermione to talk to. It was hard, though, so hard to be cut off cold like this. He'd never felt so lost in his life.
Working out his frustrations in the only way that had ever truly helped, he swooped through the sky fast as a Muggle fighter jet. The winds were so strong that he normally wouldn't have gone up for fun in weather like this, but fighting the air currents gave him something to think about other than his broken heart.
He found himself falling into the practice routine he'd used to fly when playing for the Cannons. Crisscrossing the quidditch field, he covered every inch of territory from the ground to half a mile up. The winds were merciless that high, intent on ripping his robes right off him, but he kept flying.
His favourite moves, the ones that had won him more games than he could count, were the ones where he'd used his courage against the other team. Muggles called it playing chicken. He'd learned in first year that if he veered straight at a spectator tower or some other immobile object while chasing the snitch, his opponent would bail out long before absolutely necessary. Of course, knowing when 'absolutely necessary' arrived took a bit of skill, but he had those last minute turns down to an art form. He knew the exact moment he had to shift his broom to prevent a lethal accident. The high winds made those moves a bit chancier, but the concentration it was taking to keep from splattering on the stands and announcer's tower was finally clearing his troubled mind.
Three weeks. It had been three full weeks since Severus dumped him. No. He wasn't supposed to be thinking about that.
Narrowly avoiding becoming part of the spire on the announcer's tower, he aimed his broom towards the ground, realizing it was a lost cause. Not even flying was going to get his mind off Severus.
He swooped down as if he were hot on a snitch's tail, speeding straight towards the slushy earth so fast that stopping would take every bit of his concentration.
He was just about to put the breaks on, quidditchly speaking, when a magic as strong and fierce as the winds ripping at him plucked him out of his dive and held him frozen in place a safe four feet above the snowy field. He was strong enough to break that magical hold, but he was curious to see who had been powerful enough to halt his plunge. Even Professor Dumbledore had experienced difficulty in stopping him from falling when those dementors had knocked him from his broom in third year.
"Are you attempting to kill yourself?" Severus' familiar deep voice demanded from somewhere in the shadows beside the Hufflepuff stand. "I had thought you above such melodrama."
A stranger probably wouldn't have noticed a thing off in Severus' voice, but Harry could hear how genuinely frightened Severus was.
"I wasn't going to kill myself," he protested, finally picking Severus' tall silhouette out of the inky darkness beside the stands.
"That wasn't what it looked like from here," Severus said. "What the Devil were you thinking? Taking a broom up on a night like this!"
Harry supposed he should be grateful Severus was angry with him. If his former lover truly hadn't cared, Severus wouldn't have been upset if he chose to splatter himself on the side of the wall.
"I was just practicing," Harry insisted.
"Potter, it's not worth this. I know you're still . . . upset, but you'll -"
"Don't you dare tell me I'll get over it!" Harry cut him off. "What the hell do you care if I smear myself against the wall? You've made it plain you want nothing to do with me."
"I don't want you dead," Severus answered.
Hearing the genuine fear in Severus' voice, Harry took a deep breath and tried to calm down. He knew how this must look to Severus.
If he'd come out here and seen Severus using himself as a living bullet for target practice with the walls, he might have been similarly freaked out. Severus had never seen him fly professionally, or even watched him practice, for that matter. His lover had no way of knowing how routine his moves had been.
"Look, I wasn't trying to kill myself. I promise. I used to fly like this all the time with the Cannons. I was just about to break the dive when you grabbed hold of me. Speaking of which, would you let me down now?"
That mighty force holding him motionless as a fly in amber cut off like a Muggle light switch had been thrown. Harry righted his broom automatically and coasted over to where Severus was standing and hovered before him so that they were at eye level.
The starlight wasn't as bright as moonlight, but it was good enough to see by. Looking into that lean, strong-boned face, he thought Severus appeared as haunted as he felt. It was two in the morning. Obviously, Severus wasn't sleeping any better than he was these days.
All he wanted to do was take that long, slender figure into his arms and hug Severus until everything was all right. Knowing how utterly juvenile and useless the impulse was, he took a deep breath of the icy night air and said, "I'm sorry I alarmed you."
"It isn't just this," Severus said. "You've . . . ."
"Yes?" Harry prompted, ready to let Severus vent in whatever way he needed to. He realized that with everything Severus was dealing with, it wasn't fair of him to make the man think he was trying to commit suicide with a broom.
"You haven't been yourself lately. You're not eating properly. You're not sleeping. The Weasleys are beside themselves with worry."
It was clear Hermione and Ron weren't the only ones beside themselves, Harry realized. He wanted to say whatever was necessary to make Severus feel better, but the part of him that was still reeling from Severus' rejection couldn't play nice. "I had my world knocked out from under me three weeks ago. I'm sorry if I can't carry on like nothing happened." Part of him wanted to yell 'This is all your fault!', but he managed to restrain the childish impulse.
"It's not worth this. Nothing is worth this," Severus said.
"I already told you I wasn't trying to kill myself. Look, I'm sorry you had to see me practice. I'll fly over the woods next time. Only . . . don't expect me to act like everything's normal. I'm doing my best to be adult about this, but I'm not Superman. I love you, and it hurts that you don't want anything to do with me anymore. It hurts so much, Severus." Realizing that he was on the verge of disgracing himself entirely, he swallowed hard and looked off towards the Forbidden Forest's dark fringe in the distance.
"I didn't do this to hurt you," Severus said in a voice that sounded lost and vulnerable.
"I know. I know you were hurt so bad that it messed everything up for us." Harry took another gulp of the icy air. "None of this is your fault, so . . . don't feel bad about it, okay?"
Something seemed to snap in Severus, for he all but shouted, "Must you always be so bloody noble? Can't you rail at me like you should? You should be hating me, not . . . . You need to move on, Potter. Pull yourself out of this funk and find some handsome young man. I'm not worth all this."
Landing his broom, Harry grabbed hold of Severus' arms. The man was trembling like a Jelly-leg jinx had been cast on his entire body.
"Ssssh," Harry tried to sooth. "It's all right."
"It's not all right!" Severus protested. "You're young and beautiful. You should be out sowing your wild oats, not trying to kill yourself over the likes of me."
Harry was so distracted by how warm Severus felt against his wind-chilled hands that it took him a minute to interpret what Severus was saying. Young and beautiful? Hermione had told him that she thought Severus was leaving him for his own good, but he hadn't believed her. Now, he was beginning to wonder if maybe she wasn't right about that, too.
Recognizing how close Severus was to some kind of breakdown, he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around his perhaps-former lover. Severus was so thin he could feel his bones through his heavy winter robes. And Severus had the nerve to talk about him not eating properly!
Harry was worried that his move might precipitate an explosion, but Severus responded the same as he had to every one of his tentative openings while in infirmary. Instead of pulling back and demanding that Harry unhand him, Severus melted against him. Those long arms closed around him and squeezed as if holding on for dear life.
It was sheer heaven. Harry gulped in breath after breath of the Severus-scented air.
"You're okay. I'm okay. We're both okay," Harry murmured into Severus' neck as the taller man wrapped himself around him.
For what felt like an eternity, they clung to each other. Harry couldn't really tell who was comforting whom, all he knew was that they'd both obviously been hungering for this for weeks.
It broke his heart when Severus stiffened in his arms and pulled away as if he'd suddenly realized what he was doing.
"Forgive me. That was . . . unpardonable," Severus said in a shaky voice.
"That was wonderful," Harry corrected.
The starlight had turned the whites of Severus' eyes to silver and cast a strange bluish tint over the rest of his features.
Harry could feel those glittering eyes regarding him as though he were completely mental.
"Can I ask you something?" Harry asked, his heart pounding as he was struck with the kind of sudden inspiration that had pulled his friends and him out of the proverbial fire many a time in their harrowing younger days.
"Yes," Severus said, adding a guarded, "I can't promise I'll answer."
"Did you lie to me that night we broke up three weeks ago?"
"Lie about what?" Severus responded.
"When you said that the reason we couldn't be together anymore was because of the things Burke told me when I rescued you," Harry said, holding his breath because he wasn't sure how Severus would react to his mentioning Burke's revelation, not to mention questioning his probity. "Was that the truth?"
Severus gave a stiff, "It was."
"So, if Burke had never said those things, you would still let me share your life?" Harry asked.
"What ifs are rarely satisfying," Severus said.
"Just answer the question. If Burke hadn't said anything, would we still be together?" Harry pressed.
"I . . . ." Severus paused, and then whispered, "Yes."
"I want to be with you, Severus, and I'm not talking about just sex here. I want to have the right to hold you like we just did, and to talk you through the shakes when the nightmares wake you up. And I think you want that, too."
"Unfortunately, what I want is immaterial. What he told you that night changed things between us forever -"
Before Severus could go any further, Harry interrupted with a calm, "So take it away."
Severus was staring at him again as if he'd gone daft. "What?"
"You're the strongest wizard alive when it comes to the mental arts. You're saying that the only thing standing between us and happiness are the things that bastard said to me – things that don't make any difference to me. So go into my mind and take the memories away. I know you have the skill to do it. I'll never know the difference. Just go in and erase everything you don't want me to remember, and then we can be together again," Harry pleaded.
