Opening Authors Note: Hi everyone! Welcome back! It was pointed out to me recently that I'd promised a sequal & its been a ridiculously long time since then - so... here's the 1st installation! I hope it lives up to the sequal - I've enlisted 2 betas - just to make sure the spelling & whatnot is up to par! I'm also currently searching for a beta for content & conversations! Anyway - I hope everyone enjoys & takes the time to leave a review - (It only takes a second!) - Thanks for checking it out!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything HP affiliated. Snape is not mine - nor are any of the other characters or items from the HP world that you may recognize!
Slept So Long
Chapter 1
Her breath on his neck. Gentle kisses, just under his jaw line with those soft, pouty lips, making his pulse race like the beating of some hollow, savage drum, echoing in his ears. Primal. Relentless. Slowly driving him insane, like Chinese water torture.
Perfectly manicured fingernails dragging gently, seductively through his hair, winding around the silky, coal black strands as though trying to hold onto something. She smelled of jasmine, sandalwood and somehow… chocolate.
She touched his face, gently, tenderly… lovingly? No one had ever touched him that way before. Would anyone ever touch him that way again? Her fingers ran slowly from his temple to his jaw, then down his neck and came to rest on his chest.
He wanted to speak, but found himself lost for words. She was just looking at him, content with the silence.
He never figured out how he knew it, but she seemed to say, "I'm OK now… I'm safe."
But then she was slipping away. He wanted to grab onto her, force her to stay. Force her… as was so characteristic of him. But he couldn't… His hands grabbed for hers, but it was like trying to cup water in your hands; the more you try to hold onto it, the faster it seems to slip through your fingers.
And just as suddenly as she'd appeared, she was gone.
…
Snape jerked awake. He'd fallen asleep at his desk again. "That's the third time that week." He muttered to himself, his baritone voice rumbling like low thunder in his chest.
He smashed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and rubbed vigorously, trying to rub the image of Alexandra Bane out of his head.
This wasn't the first time she'd appeared in his dreams, and he was sure it wouldn't be the last. Each dream that he had of her seemed to become more vivid… more real.
He looked around his office. His shelves, jam-packed with tattered, old, leather-bound books of all sorts; potions, dark magic and history. Each one had been read and re-read for content more than once. Some were leisure; others were mostly for research purposes. All of them were arranged neatly on the shelf, placed just so… each like an old friend. Looking at them used to bring him some sort of comfort… but not anymore. No longer were their pages so rich with knowledge and tales so enthralling that they provided an escape from the everyday monotony. Nothing gave him refuge anymore.
There were other things on the shelves as well; large, heavy, antique glass jars containing specimens of strange things used in potions making; all suspended in different, acidic, poisonous looking liquids which ranged from blues, several shades of green to red and even one that was almost black. Their contents and purpose unknown to all, save Hogwarts resident Potionsmaster.
The candle on his desk that had been his light source while grading essays before he'd dozed off, had melted down to it's rusted, brass holder. Guttering, choking… dying. He watched it as it struggled to remain alight.
He wondered if that was what Alexandra's death had been like… struggling, forcing her lungs to continue to breathe, frothy blood gurgling in her windpipe, all the while her heart failing, as her blood ran stubbornly from the ultimately fatal wound.
He ran his hand over his face, took a deep breath, and tried to refrain from throwing something. They should have let him take her to Hogwarts. He wanted more than anything to blame her death on the obstinance of the Aurors and their insistence that she was to be taken to St. Mungo's rather than the school. It was easier than the alternative… blaming himself.
He dug in his pocket and pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. It was just after midnight. He kept the watch in his callused hand for much longer than necessary. He'd never been a sentimental man. Far from it, in fact. But staring at the freshly polished, gold pocket watch with its sparkling, new, gold chain, he couldn't help but remember where it had come from. As if it wasn't bad enough that her face haunted his hours, sleeping and waking, even now, nearly a month after her gruesome death… it was worse that everything that surrounded him reminded him of her.
His mind drifted back to three weeks prior. Dumbledore had come to him in his office, late in the evening. Three short days after Alexandra's body had lost the battle to live.
"Severus… I know these past few days have been especially difficult for you." The older man said, looking sympathetically over the top of his half-moon spectacles. After letting himself in, he conjured up a cushy, chintz armchair which dropped down across from Snape and settled himself down in it.
Snape sniffed cynically and avoided the headmaster's eyes. He'd been sitting in his desk chair and had refused to even get up to answer the door.
Dumbledore seemed to take note of his every move. "I think you should know…" he said, with exceptional kindness and sympathy in his voice, "That there is going to be a memorial service for Alexandra Bane tomorrow evening."
He paused, gauging Snape's reaction. There was none. At least not outwardly. "I think it would do you good to attend. It would provide an opportunity for you to grieve and to find some closure."
"I do not need to grieve." Snape spat, more harshly than he meant it to be.
The headmaster paused. "Forgive me… but I beg to differ… You cared for her. Despite the façade you might put on for the rest of the world to see… there are some things that simply refuse to escape me and my stubborn intuition." Dumbledore said, knowingly.
They sat in a tense silence for some time. Dumbledore looked around Snape's office, looking mildly content. Snape was ready to be through with playing host to company. It seemed that Dumbledore sensed this. And Snape was certainly not sorry when the headmaster stood up, indicating his departure.
"Consider it…" Dumbledore said simply, dropping a small piece of parchment on Snape's desk. He gave the younger man one last look, then turned and left Snape alone with the address of the place in which the memorial service was going to be held.
As soon as the door had clicked shut, Snape crumpled up the piece of parchment and threw it violently across the room. He put his head in his hands and refused to look at the little ball of parchment which was now laying conspicuously in the middle of his office floor as though staring at him, taunting him.
The temptation to go was unbearable. The guilt he felt was more than he could take. He didn't know if seeing her lifeless body would do more harm than good… but somewhere, beneath the guilt, beneath the betrayal, beneath the anger… he felt as though he owed it to her. He owed her this one last thing…
…
He arrived so early that he was never sure how long he stood outside the building. It was a Muggle funeral parlor. How cliché. Witches and wizards donning Muggle clothing were parading in and out of the building, arm-in-arm, some crying, some only shaking their heads and saying things like, 'What a shame.' And 'She was so young.' to each other as they strolled off down the street, returning to their everyday lives and probably never paying Alexandra Bane another thought.
More than a dozen times, he'd considered simply turning on the spot, apparating back to the castle and saying, 'To hell with it all.' But something stopped him each time. Finally, with a resounding groan, he climbed the stairs and went inside.
The colors of the wallpaper, carpet and overall décor of the place were meant to be soothing, comforting for all those there in mourning. To Snape, they turned his stomach and served as nothing more than a reminder of the reason why he was there.
He ignored the guest book, and bulletin with her name and picture on it. He lingered in the foyer for a few minutes before venturing inside. His hand clasped tightly around a small object in his cloak pocket. He, unlike the other guests, refused to conform to the Muggle attire, and had come clad in his typical black, billowy robes and traveling cloak.
Once properly inside, he saw Sophie Storms in her high-style Muggle apparel, standing close to an open casket next to a pretty dark haired girl who was expelling silent, streaming tears. Snape recognized her from the school, but couldn't place her name. Jessica McGrady, one of his students who was moonlighting as a Ministry of Magic Auror was also close by. They were deep in conversation and the young girl that he didn't know was nodding and wiping her dark eyes. Sophie and Jess both looked all-business, as usual. Though, admittedly, Jess appeared less vivacious than typical of her and her lively eyes looked exceptionally tired. Sophie on the other hand, never shed a tear. Never a quivering lip. Never so much as a sign that someone close to her had died at all.
Also close at hand were two more students, neither of which Snape was happy to see. The Gryffindor Keeper, Wood, who was about to graduate at the end of term, and his girlfriend, the Christie girl who looked as though she was trying hard not to let her emotions get the best of her as she clutched onto her boyfriends muscular forearm. Snape had seen her and Alexandra together many times over the course of the last year.
There were flowers of all colors and shades covering every inch of bare floor or shelf space. People were filtering through, shaking hands or hugging each other, speaking in undertones about, 'How sad… how sad it was…'
Snape waited until most of the people surrounding the casket had dispersed. He would have preferred to have done this alone. Without the watchful eyes of her friends, relatives and most especially co-workers, looking at him and wondering what he was doing there… wondering how he could possibly have the nerve to be there… after all… it had been his fault… in the end.
With one final breath, he moved forward. With each step, his view of the casket improved. His breath caught in his throat. Some foolish part of him wished that when he looked inside the plush box, made out of sturdy oak, it would be someone else… or no one at all. He had been disappointed.
There she was. She was so beautiful… exquisite, even in death… she was flawless. And at peace. The guilt that bubbled stubbornly into his consciousness was stabbing at him relentlessly. He pulled his hand slowly from his pocket and tried not to feel the scrutinizing stares of those who were still left in the room with him as he rested his hand on the coffin.
He draped a delicate silver chain inside and placed it next to her hand. It was a silver and black pendant, in the shape of a cross. It had been something he'd been meaning to give to her before her initiation. That is, until she'd summoned him to her that night to help her with her own locket. Out of pride, he'd refused to give her a piece of jewelry that he knew she would never wear. Anyway, it would have been sappy. (Even though the purpose wasn't strictly superficial.) It had been a family heirloom. A sort of amulet, designed to protect the wearer from nasty dark jinxes and spells. His mother had passed it down to him, telling him, long ago, to give it to someone that he cared for. He never thought the day would come where the occasion would arise for him to present it to someone. Until her. He wanted Alexandra to have it that night… the night of her initiation incase anything went amiss. He would be sure that she had some sort of protection, other than him.
He looked in at her fair face and sniffed in disgust with himself. She was an angel. Her makeup was modest, just the way she would have wanted it. Her hair still looked springy and full of life as her trademark long, loose curls had returned for the viewing. They floated out around her head giving onlookers the distinct impression that a chocolate colored halo was surrounding her head. 'I should have given this to you sooner…' he said with sincere regret.
He took one final look at her before turning from the coffin and leaving at top speed. He burst out through the outer door and hit pavement. He'd only taken a few steps when he heard the door of the funeral parlor bang open again. Footsteps were moving quickly behind him, heeled footsteps. Boots. But light, agile.
"Snape!" an even female voice called out. He sensed hostility in Jess McGrady's cool intonation.
His better judgment told him to apparate right there and not give her the satisfaction of what he was afraid she was about to say. But, something held him back, perhaps it was the masochist coming out in him… then again, he deserved whatever berating Miss McGrady had in store for him.
He heaved a sigh and turned around, "Miss McGrady…" He put an obvious stress on 'Miss'. "I realize that the term is nearly over and summer holidays are almost upon you. I also am acutely aware of the fact that you somehow have managed to convince both Dumbledore and the Ministry of Magic that you are worthy of taking on a position as an Auror before you have even completed your magical education, which, I am sure, in your minds eye makes you and I practically equals. However, if you wish to address me, you will do so by using either 'Sir' or 'Professor' and refrain from using my surname alone. I will not tolerate such outright disrespect and insubordination and believe me, Gryffindor could still manage to lose the house cup yet… even so close to the holidays…" he finished, giving her a look that positively screamed for her to keep her mouth shut. But she did not.
"I don't care what you want me to call you… though, I do have a few choice words that come to mind… but I want you to know that I think you've got some nerve showing up here… considering that you're the reason Lexie is lying in that box in the first place." She arched a high eyebrow and crossed her arms standoffishly.
Snape didn't like to be accused of things… whether he was responsible for them or not. He drew himself up to full height, looking like an oversized, menacing bat. But how was a person to respond to such an accusation?
Jess, sensing her advantage, pushed the envelope. "Any way you look at it – you are responsible. If you're good, like you say you are and you're on the right side, then why did you let her take it that far? Why did you let her go to the initiation? Why didn't you just stop her before it was too late? Personally, I think there's only one explanation for that…"
"Which is?" Snape said mildly, though he could feel his blood heating up.
"That you're evil. That you're still an active Death Eater who's loyal to the Dark Lord." She paused. They locked eyes and for a moment, it was a staring contest. Almost like trying to master a Hippogriff. Neither would blink, which surprised Snape. The entire time, Jess' hazel eyes never faltered.
Finally, she spoke again. "You know, you might have Dumbledore fooled, maybe even the Ministry, but I don't buy your reformation act. I think it's a bunch of shit. While my position with the Ministry prevents me from telling the entire world that you're still a lowlife Death Eater, I can assure you that I will be watching your every move." She paused again, sighed, and dropped her stare to the ground for a moment before continuing.
"Lexie was a colleague, a friend, a good person, and a good witch. And I'm going to miss her. That's what tonight was supposed to be about before you walked through those doors. I just hope that you weren't here to make a mockery of her, that your reasons for being here were pure. Though, I realize that's probably a stretch. It was my understanding that she cared a great deal for you and for that reason, out of respect for her, I will honor my word to the Ministry and not tell the entire school that you're still in Voldemort's back pocket." She said. And with that, she turned on her heel and marched back inside the building without as much as a backward glance at him.