Sort of bitter, stupid, already-done-a-thousand-times concocted in half an hour to get the bitterness out of me and into some poor, blameless characters. (which by the way, I wish were mine, but aren't)
- - - - -
She had come into the room, although he had shouted her not to. And she had just seen him lying there on the floor, crumpled in a ball of pain and shivers, under the aftereffects of the curse. She had witnessed that, and her eyes had been flooded with tears. Like they were when she looked at the bloody house elves.
We was enraged. He was out of his mind.
He crossed the distance between them, and slapped her. Hard. She fell down, against the wall. He was about to take another go; something was burning to get out of him beyond any reasonable, human-like thought; he just wanted, needed, to erase that image of him whimpering on the floor from her head. From anyone's. Too many years fighting against that sniveling man. Too many years and mistakes and pains to build himself up again. Too much suffering, to let a schoolgirl pity him.
He raised his hand.
She was not crying. She was not moving, either. She just stayed there, on the floor, ready to take another blow, if that was what he needed, out of compassion, pity, sympathy… her teeth gritted, her jaw high, her eyes defiant.
In a flash, he saw the dark mark on his forearm, and he came to his senses.
He looked at her, horrified, knowing he would have to flee the country. She wouldn't tell where he was, she was far too Gryffindor for that, but he couldn't stay. Mistake after mistake, he had become some sort of animal. He was too far gone. He had gone lower than he thought he possibly could, hitting just a girl. That was not respect. That was not bravery. He was as despicable, as loathsome as ever. Old, pitiful Severus. He wasn't worth killing. He was sick of himself.
"I'm… sorry" he croaked, so embarrassed he couldn't look at her.
The words, unused for more than 18 years, didn't come to him easily. She probably didn't know that, the fact that he hadn't said those words since that time in a cementery so long ago. She probably wouldn't have guessed who he said them to back then, either. Potter, of all people. He wasn't sorry he was dead. He was sorry it was his fault. He was sorry about how it happened. He had his moral standards, after all.
He had to snigger at the thought. Hadn't he just crossed that threshold.
His black cloak floating after him, professor Snape turned around to exit the room.
A small but firm hand stopped him.
"That" said a shaky, yet decided voice "was the first and the last time you hit me"
If he was surprised, his face didn't tell. He was far too well trained.
"As I said" he answered softly, not looking at her, but at the floor "I am sorry. Now, you can either turn me in, or let me leave. I assure you you won't have to see me again.
Ever"
"I think not"
"What do you want from me?" there was strain in his voice "I am not a bloody house elf, Miss Granger. You cannot help me. As you just saw."
"You are just a man, Professor"
"I don't think I am any longer" he said, and turned to leave.
She moved between him and the door, and forced him to look at her. He could see her cheek red where he had hit her, and he tried to turn his face away. For the first time in decades, he felt his mask slipping away, cracking with pain and shame.
And he raised a hand, and nearly, but not quite, caressed the offended cheek.
She felt the air move, and could imagine his touch.
"I am really sorry" he said, again, knowing it was meaningless, unable to really carry the feeling, unable to bring him forgiveness. "I… don't know what came over me"
"I do. You have been building up to this for a while, I guess. I am sorry you had to go through that on your own, Dumbledore was really shortsighted" he stiffened a bit. "I am glad that was all it took to make you react. However, Professor, I want you to understand that I won't tolerate any further abuse"
He just stared at her.
Did he recognize his old student in that fierce woman who was telling the most wanted Death Eater how to behave? How he was supposed to feel?
He hated her. No, no he didn't. He didn't allow himself emotions, and hate was one. But he felt it bubbling inside him, filling him up, the hatred. The lucky one. The one that had had everything. So unlike him.
Through the years he had become very good at lying to himself. Sometimes, a slip of the mind, a slip of the tongue, but he managed. Sometimes, when focused in loathing Potter, it would escape his lips. More talented friends. More talented friends, indeed. She had found him, hadn't she?
He felt so sick.
Her voice was suddenly very soft.
"Professor Snape"
He just looked up, distracted in his own thoughts.
"I've been worried for you"
"Miss Granger" he shook his head with bitterness. "I am past beyond redemption. Find yourself another social project"
There was no sarcasm, no bite. He just meant it. He had gone too far. He could no longer be rescued. He had just hit a former student. He had just betrayed the very last honor codes he had held to, which hadn't really been all that high anyway.
"Yes, I guess you are, aren't you?"
He was mildly surprised, as surprised as his numbness would allow.
"Yes"
Exhaustion was washing over him; he wondered what she wanted from him, if anything other than taunting him. He couldn't bring himself to be snarky, not when he felt so dead.
"You are wondering what I want, I guess. I wanted to make sure you were ok"
He didn't think he had said "why" out loud, but apparently he had, for she was answering the question in his head.
"I wish I knew"
If he had expected anyone to look after him, it had been Potter. He left nothing, nobody behind. He had never had anything or anybody he could call his own. His only friends, his only colleagues, his only lovers, his only brothers and sisters were a bunch of bloodthirsty idiotic murderers. How appropriate. And he had felt himself so superior. So powerful compared to them. The power of reason. The power of intellect. The power of the Dark Arts.
"I am ok" he shrugged.
"I don't think so"
"There is nothing, Miss Granger, that you could possibly do about it, so I would be truly grateful if you left me be now"
"You don't understand. I don't want to help you. I want you help me"
At that he looked at her.
"What can I do?" he asked curtly. Anything, anything to repair his faux pas, and let him get on with his life.
Her voice shook.
"I just want to get rid of this shallow feeling… of this nothingness"
He looked at her, gracefully standing there, and was scared of disrupting the picture with the sole dirtiness of his voice.
He closed his eyes, in pain.
"Miss Granger…" he said, lifting a hand and let it there, scared to touch her, afraid not to.
She caught it- he shuddered- and pressed it against her cheek.
"It won't go, will it?"
He shook his head, his eyes still closed, only feeling the tiny little parch of skin his fingers were touching, his whole being focusing on barely a couple of millimeters. It was other skin. It was other, perfect, soft, unblemished, unscarred skin. It was innocent skin. It was unevil skin, he though, irrationally. He didn't remember a skin like that. Not a willing one, anyway.
And she was rubbing it against his hand. He nearly let out a savage, animal groan of pain.
He opened his eyes, to check with his sight that his touch was not deceiving him.
She was still there, her eyes closed, trusting the very hand that had hurt her.
And he couldn't help himself. He just couldn't. He had to sneak his hand all the way to her neck. It was warm, and soft, and vulnerable, and he just pulled her towards him and embraced her so strong she thought she would suffocate. But for the shortest while, shallowness was gone, for both of them.
And then it was hands. Hands were all over, cupping her face, strongly, harshly, still not totally ungentle. Silence was deafening, but none was listening to anything but the silent rubbing of skin against skin. He was pale. She was warm. She was beautiful. She was too good for anybody, and he was about the last person on Earth such a gift should be bestowed upon.
Moonlight hid, and they could barely see, but they were not watching. They were tasting, and touching for so long they were unsure what skin was whose anymore.
They laid entwined on the floor, flesh on flesh. They felt dawn crawling over their bare legs.
"And yet, I thought I could sink no lower" he whispered to himself staring at the sleepy mass of curls he hold so firmly he was scared he would break her. "This is just… wrong. It is the sickest thing I've done"
"I think you just saved me" she commented, offhandedly.
"Don't you dare" he hissed. "Don't you dare give me any hope, Miss Granger. I just cannot afford losing anything else"
She started breaking the embrace.
"Don't go" he said, knowing there was no point to it, now she had had her pressure released, and she didn't need him any longer.
"I need to."
He didn't say a thing. It was the first time in twenty years he had uncovered any part of himself. One would think he was immune by now, it had been so long since he had last felt his heart aching in any way at all. He thought he wouldn't recognize the feeling, but he most physically did.
"I will be back tonight. I will find you if you are not here" she warned him.
"I might not want to be found by you". Just far too risky. Too many emotions. Too foreign for him, unknown, unsafe territory.
"Then hide, for I will do my best to find you. You know I don't give up easily"
She was all dressed now, and he felt his lips curving in an unsure, unpractised movement, into a twisted sort of smile, and his chest pounding with feelings he didn't want to acknowledge.
He grabbed her, and kissed her for the first time.
"I trust you not to"
She smiled at him and disapparated.
He touched the small bruises her hips had left in his, purple flesh reminding him of the small miracle that seemed to have just happened to him. Why, he couldn't figure out. He prepared to flee the place.
She was too good for him. She would find out eventually, and he couldn't afford the pain.
Still, if there was a thing he trusted, and Severus Snape just didn't do trust, it was Miss Granger's determination. She had made sure of that throughout the years.
She would find him.
He hoped so.