crossing01

CROSSING THE LINE
CHAPTER 1: CHOOSE YOUR BATTLES

"Bloody hell!" Severus cursed softly, forced to use the wall as support as another violent pain ran through his stomach. For 52 years he'd put up with this damned consequence of his genealogy and he'd loathed every minute of it. It wasn't so bad on regular days, but every fucking time the new moon rolled around, he was left almost too weak with cramps to leave his bed. He felt like a bloody woman, which he certainly was not. He had doubt about his great grandfather though; if portraits were anything to go by.

With a forcibly drawn breath, he forced his vision to focus and continued stalking down the hall. These once a month fits were what had originally caused him to be overly snaky, and when he had become a spy the attitude just kind of stuck. Not that he wasn't naturally a bastard; this 'problem' just exacerbated the effects. For all the work nature and magic had put into making the biting very pleasurable, it had slacked just as much when it came to having instincts to feed. He would've been perfectly happy if the only thing he ever suffered from was overly large incisors; a glamour spell could fix that.

But of course fate was never really that kind to Severus, and thus he was left with extremely painful fits once a month, something all of his descendants would experience if he ever had any children. 52 years may have been old for a muggle, but it was about prime for wizards. They even aged slower after 30. Severus really didn't look much older than his mid thirties to early forties and probably would continue to do so for a long time. Provided, wizards' hair often turned regardless of how slowly they aged, but Severus wouldn't have to worry about that either.

Walking calculatingly into the library, he made for one of his favorite stalking grounds when the pain was particularly bad, a couch in the back corner of the library, in front of a fireplace. It was easier to relax there for some reason, and given that no potions could really help this state, Severus wasn't going to argue. However, he was unhappily met by the sight of his long time thorn-in-the-side Harry Potter, lounging on *his* couch. Okay, so they weren't in his quarters, but damnit! Severus was in pain and not in a good mood to begin with. "Isn't it a little past your bed time, Potter?" He snarled at the Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher.

~*~*~

Staring into the flames, Harry sighed and laid his head down on the plush black of the sofa's back. Every bone in his body ached, he was so damn tired... but he couldn't get to sleep. It was usually pretty late before Harry was able to fall asleep. Although it never helped him in the end, at the most, he got six hours sleep, since he always woke up at 5, a habit he'd never been able to break after retiring from being an Auror for 9 years (remarkably long, considering the average life expectancy for Aurors was 3 at the most). They always forced him to get up early to start his training and exercising. Then after a few hours, he'd be given a Pepper Up potion and sent on a mission.

Today had been particularly tiring. For a change of pace for his students, he had combined his classes with Hagrid's: Defense against the dark creatures. Well, Hagrid just *had* to pick a Bicorn for the lesson. Harry sighed, running a hand through his ebony, waist length hair, fiddling with the two thick strands of white framing his face (an early sign of stress, and also a result of a few too many curses thrown at him). He shifted in the comfy chair, lying down further until his head rested on the arm furthest from the couch, and his ankles rested on the arm closet to the fire. His black dragonskin boots were carefully resting beside the couch, the thin, yet deadly (as it was poison tipped) dagger rested in its' specially made sheath inside the boot. By placing a spell on it, he was able to walk around freely, without feeling the press of the handle or blade against his ankle.

Thinking back on the Bicorn, Harry vowed to never have his classes joined up with Hagrid's. Unless of course, the lesson plan was left to *him.* Harry had had a hell of a time stopping the Bicorn from eating the flesh of the children. While it was a beautiful creature, similar to a unicorn, only black and with two horns, well, it also had extremely sharp teeth. The Bicorn was extremely dangerous, and definitely *not* something you should show to the kids. Considering its' favorite diet consisted of human flesh, or flesh in general; it was not something you wanted to be anywhere near.

In the end, Harry had no other choice than to stop the Bicorn by force, even the spells that were close to being Unforgivables hadn`t worked on it. Harry had wanted to use his stun gun, but Hagrid had forbidden it, thinking that it would harm the beast. So, not wanting to anger Hagrid, or get him over emotional in front of the children, Harry had ended up having to wrestle the creature down to the ground long enough for the children to get back to the school safely. When it was just him and Hagrid left, the giant transfigured the crate that was supposed to hold the Bicorn long enough for them to apparate it safely to its' natural habitat, and Harry had been forced to struggle with the large animal until it was locked up in the enclosure.

Of course, he hadn't been totally lucky. The sharp teeth that he'd tried his hardest to avoid had unfortunately sunk into his arm before he'd pushed the beast into the crate. It had taken a good chunk out of his arm, but besides the pain (which he was used to by now); a potion could easily help to grow back the flesh quicker. He'd have to wait for the pain in his arm to subside until he could actually hold a stirring stick to make the necessary potion (yes, he had improved. Auror training acquired him to be able to make healing potions for on the road), but otherwise, he could live with the throbbing in his left arm (thank Merlin it hadn't been his wand arm) which was wrapped tightly in bandages soaked with ointment.

Sighing again, the young man stared into the bright flames, trying to relax. It was already midnight... he really should go to his chambers (located in the dungeons, since he was a light sleeper and he could never fall asleep with the noise that the children made. In the dungeons, only the Potions class, Severus' chambers and Harry's own rooms were located there. The hall way wasn't all that long, but Harry's rooms were fairly large).

Hearing someone behind him, Harry tensed, hand going to the wand resting inside the special sheath that all wizards had in their clothes, inside his long sleeved, dark green cotton shirt (he still mostly preferred muggle clothing to that of wizard's materials). Hearing Severus' voice, he relaxed and tried to look nonchalant by resting his head on his crossed arms against the sofa's arm.

Looking up at the tall man (even at 28, he was still a head shorter than him,) Harry attempted a grin, masking the new stabs of pain he felt with the wound squashed between his head and the couch's arm. "I think that line stopped applying to me after I graduated, professor. May I ask why you're up so late?" He said, wanting to draw the attention away from himself, and also to make the man stay a bit longer. While his snarky words sometimes hurt, he was still good company when he was relaxed (mainly, when he was brewing a potion and was otherwise silent).

His lashes fluttered as he let his gaze skim over the lean figure. While the man was in his fifties, he was still looking good. He had no gray hairs, strangely enough, and he was just as muscular as he had been when Harry had been a student. Hell, he didn't even have one of those small pot bellies that most wizards got at that age. Harry was almost tempted to ask how he did it. Sighing, Harry returned his gaze to meet ebony eyes, which were scowling down at him from their favorite looming position.

~*~*~

"That," Severus snarled, as per usual, "is none of your business, Potter." As if he wasn't frustrated enough having Potter's rooms in the dungeons with him. They were *his* dungeons for Merlin's sake and he really didn't care if he was being unreasonable. If everyone suffered his bad luck in parents, no jury in the world would ever convict him of any crime. What frustrated him all the more was that his insults and stabs seemed to have stopped affecting the insolent brat...

Okay, if he was very honest with himself, Potter had become an accomplished wizard over the years. He'd shown more maturity than Severus was willing to admit, but that never stopped their fighting. Not to mention old habits were hard to break, and did he mention it was the godforsaken bloody new moon?

Seeing that Potter was not inclined to move at this current moment, Severus mumbled a frustrated sigh of, "Infuriating Gryffindor!" and forcibly dragged his feet off the end of the couch; not really noticing the wince that appeared on Potter's face at the act of being moved. Sitting as far way from the insolent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher as possible, he muttered harshly, "Why don't you just go to bed, Potter? I'm sure there are many women who'd distract the poor boy who lived if his fame is simply too overwhelming for him to get his beauty rest."

~*~*~

Trying not to cry out when a new stab of pain shot up his arm at the quick movement, Harry resisted the urge to curse at the other man. If anyone was 'infuriating', it was Severus! He was sick and tired of the whole 'boy who lived' bull shit. For one, he hadn't been a boy for a long time. For another, he absolutely hated the fame that came with the damned name. And when the hell would Severus ever grow up? The man was 52 for Merlin's sake!

Sighing, Harry clenched his teeth closed; counting down from five, he opened his eyes to look over at the incredibly tense man, who was sitting in the otherwise comfortable chair with his back ram-rod straight. Now that *had* to be uncomfortable.

Shifting around until he was sitting Indian style on his end of the couch, Harry grinned pleasantly at the other man, albeit a bit strained, but no one said anything. "That's all well and good if I was actually into women. Besides, I'm too tired to even get it up at the moment," his grin widened at the wince the comment produced from Severus. "And really, when are you going to get some new insults? You've been using that whole 'boy who lived' insult for a good eighteen years now. I'd have thought *you* of all people, could think up something new. You are good with words after all," he added as an after thought. He tried not to laugh when Severus didn't even notice the compliment, instead focusing on the vague insult.

Glancing down, Harry frowned slightly at the sight of blood seeping through his sleeve. He would definitely have to get back to his chambers to change the bandage soon. Oh well, it wasn't like he was going to die from the flesh wound. It just hurt like a son of a bitch.

~*~*~

"When did you get so god damn pleasant?" Severus grumbled irritably. "There was a time I could have drawn a hex attempt from you by now." He glanced...well...more like glared over at the infuriating brat, prepared to dish out more insults, when he noticed the wound on his arm. Oh just great! Like he really needed to be in front of an open wound right now. The sight and smell of blood caused another lace of pain to race through his torso and he couldn't help from closing his eyes for a moment to stop from biting his tongue. That, after all, would be severally counter-productive.

This day was just quite possibly one of the worst he'd faired at Hogwarts. For the first time in twenty years he felt as though he may have to succumb to this weak link in his genealogy and cancel his classes tomorrow. Usually he was able to continue class by simply looming, but if he couldn't even stand, which it didn't look like he'd be able to do too well, no doubt problems would arise. It was his fault anyway for not feeding in over a year. He *had* been a Death Eater spy. He *should* be able to take care of his own complications.

Naturally, this train of thought was counter-productive as well and must be stopped; hence Severus fell back on his old habits. "You were a passable Auror once, Mr. Potter, haven't you learned not to bleed on the furniture?" He snapped, sneering down at the younger wizard.

~*~*~

Harry frowned and gripped the blood stained arm. He would have come back with his own cheerful comment, but he'd long since found out that being happy actually annoyed Severus more, but the fleeting look of pain on the man's face stopped that train of thought.

When the man unconsciously gripped his stomach, Harry sighed mentally. When would he learn to take care of himself? "And you're still a passable Potion Master, so shouldn't you be down in your dungeons making healing potions for the Infirmary? Last I heard they were low in stomach flu droughts." He finally settled on saying, not wanting to come right out and say what he meant. He knew the Slytherin's pride would be hurt if he commented on his present state of health. He wanted to reach out and touch the man, to somehow sooth whatever hurt he was experiencing enough to let himself show it, but he knew his touch wouldn't be welcomed.

~*~*~

When he was in better spirits, Severus would begrudgingly admire the brat's amount of tact in this situation, but as of now, Severus was not capable of such observations. All he saw now was a direct shot to his ability to handle his own responsibilities. "I assure you they are well stocked," he ground out through his teeth before hissing, "and I'll thank you *not* to tell me what to do. When potions are needed, I damn well am capable of supplying them!" With that, he stood and started to stalk off. It was obvious he wasn't going to get any satisfaction out of annoying Potter, and since sleep was hardly an option either, perhaps he'd try a blood sausage serum again.

~*~*~

Biting his lip to keep from yelling at the pure thick-headedness of the other man (really, he should have been in Gryffindor), Harry quickly stood, swaying slightly at a dizzy spell before righting himself, and followed the older man.

Resting a hand lightly on Severus' shoulder, which was enough to make him turn around just to snarl down at him, Harry frowned and held his chin up high. "If you can't tell the difference between ordering you around and showing some concern, then you're a damned fool!" He ignored the widening of obsidian eyes. "I did *not* tell you what to do. Incase you haven't heard of it, I was showing some bloody concern you ungrateful git! But if you want to be thick-headed and completely ignore my advice, then go right ahead. But there's no need to get all defensive about it! I'm sorry if you're not grown up enough to accept some help." His voice lowered at the last comment from his previous yelling.

Merlin, this man was so infuriating! Giving one last glare, Harry walked past the Potions Master and headed for the exit. He needed to change those bandages anyway, may as well do it now. If the amount of blood showing through his shirt was anything to go by, then the white bandage underneath it would obviously be soaked in the red liquid.