Best Served Cold

Chapter
15

Severus could say, beyond any doubt, being Headmaster was the hardest
thing he had ever had to do. It wasn't the students rebelling with
everything they had – they were right to do it. It wasn't the
constant presence of other Death Eaters, which left him very little
peace. It wasn't even running back and forth between classes and
trying to keep students alive while making it appear as if
he'd just as soon be rid of them. Being one way and behaving another
was something he'd turned into a fine art over the hard years his
life had seen fit to serve him. Life wasn't fair – he'd always
known that. His life often felt like a deck of cards stacked in his
opponent's favor.

No, what bothered him most was that he was sitting here, on the wrong
side of Albus's desk, knowing that they were losing and there
was very little he could do about it but have faith in Potter, while
both faith and Potter had never given him anything but
trouble. He had the very distinct feeling the boy was hopeless, but
Albus had seemed to believe in him, so Severus would try to...in
honor of the man's memory. It was the least he owed, or so he told
himself, even though the more sensible part of his brain often
reminded him that over the years he had given more than his fair
share to Dumbledore's causes. His inner voice often asked when it
would be his turn to have a cause, his turn to have a life.
He told it that he would have all the time in the world when he
was dead; that generally shut the voice up.

In the meanwhile, just on the chance that Dumbledore's hopes were
woefully misplaced, he had to devise some manner of contingency plan.
So far the best he'd come up with was to make the students at
Hogwarts loathe himself and the Death Eaters so completely that they
would take it upon themselves to work harder, learn more, enough to
protect themselves, and possibly fight back when the need arose.
They would, of course, think it was all their idea. No one would
ever guess that a carefully dropped snide remark about Dumbledore's
Army, or a comment about Gryffindors being 'pathetic, weak, bleeding
hearts' might have inspired them to be more diligent. That is the
way it had to be. He was not a man suited for the spotlight anyway.
It was just that lately he felt as though he might never see the
light of day again. The only thing worse was the way his mind
kept straying back to the evenings he had so briefly shared sipping
tea with Sirius Black...and the tea wasn't where it had been straying
to. His love life, if you could even call it that, was becoming even
more exhausting than the rest of his life. 'Conveniently, the
only words he'll have for you now will be words enough to cast a good
curse.'

Life wasn't fair. Severus had figured that out before he knew his
ABC's, but did it have to be so complicated? Why did what he
wanted and what he wanted to want have to be so different? And why
did what he had to be, and who he really was, also, have to be so
different? He hated to admit it, but these last few years, the lines
between the two were beginning to blur. Even he wasn't sure who he
was anymore, and yet, there was Sirius Black feeding him cakes and
needling him into kisses and claiming to want something real
between them. He truly did want to know just what sort of man he was
in Black's eyes.

'This is no time to be dwelling on Sirius,'
he reminded himself. There were things to do, plans to make. If
Potter failed, then what? Who else could he rely on to stand in the
light while he manipulated things from the shadows? There was no
one, and he hated that. 'Then you have to make sure Potter
succeeds, don't you, Severus? At any cost. You will have to, very
subtly, point him in the right direction if he begins to stray.' He
sighed aloud and ran his hand tiredly over his face. “Phineas,
where are they now?”

“Severus, my portrait is in
a bag.”

“I know that,” Severus
snapped. “You still have ears, don't
you?” Phineas Nigellus Black was, by a lucky coincidence,
brought along by Miss Granger. He hated to praise the bossy little
know-it-all for anything, but having a spy of his own on hand helped
quite a bit. It meant he didn't have to risk magic, which could be
detected, to keep an eye on the trio. And the convenient half-truth
that they kept the portrait that could have, theoretically, provided
much useful information, inside the girl's purse with all other
manner of nonsense, kept Lord Voldemort's inquiries at bay.

Phineas Nigellus made a disgruntled sound. “There was
something said about a forest in muggle territory.”

*

“What do you mean Weasley has left?” Severus
demanded of the portrait.

“I rather think he means he left, Severus, do calm down,”
Dumbledore's portrait chided. “Your temper...”

“...is bound to be at its height given the situation you've
pushed me into. Tell me, Albus, that the only of those twits with
even an inkling of ability to think strategically abandoning
them, is a good thing. You know you can't without lying. What
happened to Gryffindor bravery, huh?”

Dumbledore's portrait shrugged. “It can sometimes be
overshadowed by anger. You know all about anger, don't you, Severus?
It is rather your Achilles Heel, is it not?”

Severus grunted his annoyance and disappeared into the Headmaster's
personal quarters with a flourish and a door slammed so loudly that
the former Headmasters and Headmistresses issued a series of
complaints at being so roughly rattled on the wall. Armando Dippet's
portrait actually clattered to the floor. “That was uncalled
for,” Dippet protested from where he now leaned precariously
against the wastebasket.

“Oh, I don't know,” Dumbledore said. “I've always
found his passionate side the most endearing.”

To
Be Continued...