Author's Note- It's been literally years since I've published any fanfics, so please do forgive if the story gets a bit intense at times. This story begins during the summer just before HBP and continues until the end of the series. Updates will take place (RL schedule permitting) on Sunday and Wednesday evenings. Canon is applicable where possible, though I can't promise I won't take a bit of artistic license with the man himself. Special thanks goes out to SK for his part in this fic, though he has no idea I've written it based off of a series of most excellent conversations over a period of several years.
Rating is M for adult scenes, some overt smut, and no small amount of dark situations. Reviews are loved and feedback is amazing, especially critical feedback. Please do bear in mind that I am a grown woman with a husband, a full time work schedule as well as a full course load in university, so during some periods, the schedule of posting may be tweaked by a day or two, but generally on time. The story is, as of the posting of this first chapter, standing at just shy of 11,000 words and just getting started. Projected completion will be in the 40-50K range total. I currently have no beta reader, but perhaps there may be a lovely volunteer who's willing to work for gratitude among you?
And reviewers... don't be gentl, be honest. And remember... everytime I typo, the errorists win, so my apologies in advance.
All terms and key plot points that are a bit fuzzy now will be explained as time goes on, scout's honor! Standard disclaimers apply. Only Sara is mine, along with the non-canon magical plot point of a Kelsalis and a Kel (one of those terms that will be explored further in coming chapters).
Thanks!
x Snow
Chapter One
The only aphrodisiac I need is your voice
Hearing you speak my name
Beckoning me to answer
Telling me you want me
So I tell you that you're the answer to every question I've ever had about love
-Bilingual, Jose Nunez
Sara's brow furrowed into a tight frown, the sight of the tiny houses below her growing closer with every passing second, and as they did, the terror in her stomach mounted. Summer was never her favorite time of the year, at least not in England. She tugged at the seatbelt, tightening it around her hips, then buttoned the sweater she wore, knowing all too well just how cold it would be when the plane finally touched the ground at Heathrow. The frown that settled over delicately wrought features would become semi-permanent, lasting at least until the end of the summer… so would her headache, the beginnings of which she could feel starting, the minute tightening of muscles behind her eyes. Summer vacation… Spinner's End… Him. Hell. She was entering hell.
The plane touched down with a bump and lurch, kicking her heart into overdrive. Four years now, four summers spent in the dreadful catatonic state that accompanied that blasted man. Her Kel. She'd stopped wishing for more than a sneer and a command the summer before, on her last day there, when he'd managed to dump her at the train station without so much as a farewell, only twenty pounds for cab fare and a note instructing her to what time the cab would be coming for her. Sara's jaw tightened at the memory, hear heart sinking with each passing second as the plane was pulled into the gate. The instant the fasten seatbelt sign was off the people around her began the wild grab for luggage, a fit of temporary madness that always seemed to accompany being stuck inside a metal can hurtling through the air for a good seven plus hours.
Sara, however, made no move to be among them, instead waiting until the herd had thinned out. She was, after all, in no hurry to start the summer. It would, after all, only consist of staring at the same four walls she spent every summer for the past years staring at. The same walls with the same faded portrait of some ancestor who never spoke, never moved, and possessed no magic whatsoever. If there was a place in the muggle world where magic went to die, Sara suspected Spinner's End and her little room there might just be it.
Almost an hour later, she had finally found her way through customs and onto the train heading north. Her journey was not nearly over, and with each and every mile that passed, her mood darkened, her joy slipping away as apprehension settled over her like a shroud, hovering oppressively over her, slowly pervading her pores and her lungs, breathed in like an unseen fog and settling inside the marrow of her bones. The distance within herself was crucial. The bonding had never been completed, and until it was, there would never be any comfort from her Kel. He was not the kind to ever complete the bonding as it was needed and so she remained alone, distance, a part of a whole that would never be formed. Her usual happy smile that so many knew and associated with her was nowhere in sight, her eyes haunted and utterly lacking in the joy that was so naturally a part of her.
By the time she emerged from the train station and onto the darkened sidewalk, her stomach was cramping with hunger and her heartbeat thudded in time to her steps. Her suitcase trailing behind her, she made her way into the chip shop just down the street from her destination and plunked down onto one of the hard benches. She pulled her hat down low over her eyes as she gazed out the window into the rain soaked street. Her hair clung to her face, the collar of the wool coat she wore turned up against the chill of the evening. Sara picked at the lamb kabob and chips she'd bought, forcing herself to down a meal, her eyes never leaving the street. Twenty minutes. She was expected to arrive on his doorstep in precisely 20 minutes. Idly, she wondered if he would notice if she simply didn't show. She frowned faintly once more, her head lifting as she glanced toward the clock, the last of the barely touched food turned away. It was a wonder the chip shop survived in a neighborhood as rough as this. It seemed even seedier now in the dark and rain, lit only by the orange halos cast from the streetlights and of those… more were broken than worked.
Sara stood once more, tugging her hat down lower on her head as she tossed the remains of her dinner into the garbage bin nearby and gripped her suitcase by its battered handle once more, hiking her backpack higher on her shoulder. Her wand was tucked into her left sleeve, capture snugly in the sweater she wore to fend off the cold and damp air. So much colder here than in the States. Especially for June. God, she hated England. She paused at the corner, the house within sight, just across the street a few meters away. She thought for a moment she caught sight of movement in the from the curtain. It was so quick though, there was no way to really know. Sara lifted her eyes to the door once more, making her way across the sleep with slow, plodding steps. She produced the copy of her key a moment later, slipping it into the lock and drawing in a breath, steeling herself against the weeks to come.
The moment she opened the door, she knew she'd made a mistake. It was quiet, as quiet as ever, only the ticking of the clock serving to rend the silence from something comfortable, turning it on ear and setting her world into an instant, torturous countdown, though to what she didn't know. The man appeared before her, his wand pressed to her throat as he uttered the words in a breathless, squealy voice. "Just who the bloody hell do you think you are? Waltzing in here as if you own the place?"
Sara froze in place at the first touch of the wand to her pulse point. Her breath hitched as her hand fisted around the key still in her grip. Her eyes darted around herself, the door open to the front room clearly betraying that she was in the right house, her key had worked, the faded lace curtains were the same, the smell of age and discare… the same. Her frown deepened as a small squeak of fear emitted from her. Surely Severus would correct him. He knew she was coming. It was July third. She always arrived on July third. Sara drew herself up, her brow deepened into something unrecognizable beneath the rain-soaked floppy brimmed hat. The putrid little man pressed his wand deeper into her neck, more painfully now. His voice was a grumble as he tossed the words at her. "I won't ask again. Who are you?"
Sara drew in a breath, her petite frame relaxing as she focused clear blue eyes on the stranger, answering him succinctly. "Better to ask who you are. He will not like it if he finds that you've accosted the only person who has a key to his house aside from him." She lifted her hand, letting the key ring dangle from her fingertips. Doubt flickered over the man's face in the next moment. Sara swallowed hard, her eyes darting toward the doorway that led to the front room once more.
The instant of doubt flitted away from the man's face as if it had never been there. Sara drew in a slow breath, a breath that burned its way into her lungs. In the next heartbeat though, blessedly, his voice came. Not the stranger's roughened, twisted voice… no, this was the voice of her greatest enemy and her only ally in the whole of the wizarding world. "Put the wand down, Wormtail, we wouldn't want you inadvertently decapitating yourself." The droll voice she had not heard in precisely 9 months and 28 days pierced through her fear, bolstering her and lifting her up, wrapping her in armor and steeling her, as if she were facing some unknown war.
Sara spun slowly, her eyes locked to the staircase as she released a breath she'd not realized she'd been holding. "Mr. Snape." The words were murmured softly, tinged with something akin to relief, though barely above a whisper. Severus descended the stairs, his countenance as grim as ever as he intoned, "Mrs. Snape." The formality practically dripped from him, his cold eyes raking over her rain-soaked form impassively, though she knew from experience it was his custom, a cursory check for damage, to measure any changes the last year had brought. He gave a dismissive nod of his head toward her as she stepped to the side, brushing past her. "Close your mouth, Wormtail. You look like a dying fish."
Beside Sara, the unknown man was gaping, his mouth working in silent shock, though Sara knew better than to ask questions. There were precious few rules for her visits during the summer, or what passed for summer in England, first and foremost of those rules, obedience, second… don't ask silly questions. She pressed her slight form closer to the wall as Severus spoke again. "You may put your things in my room, Madam. Then make yourself presentable. Dinner will be served in precisely one hour." With that he turned dismissing her in that way of hers. It was one of the things she almost managed to forget about, along with the inevitable pang that it brought to her chest, to be dismissed as if she were nothing more than an unruly child to be set aside.
It was as he was disappearing through the door that his words struck her. "Your room, Sir?" Sara blurted the words before she could stop herself. Her gaze shifted toward the other man in silent question. She inhaled sharply, the biting silence that followed registering the surprise that was reflected in Severus's eyes for only a moment. His gaze flicked quickly toward the one he'd called Wormtail, then back toward her, the minute shake of his head given. He was warning her, but why? Could it be, Sara wondered, that the vile man was actually resident in the house? Good lord, for how long would she have to put up with the leering eyes that had so unsettled her already and she'd only been in the door a few scant seconds.
Severus's voice came once again, the sarcasm that laced them as perfectly placed as if her question were one that were unexpected. "Of course, Madam. The left side of the wardrobe is yours, as usual." And there the lie was, tied up in a pretty little bow, delivered neatly to her beleaguered and unwilling brain. Perhaps it would make more sense. She nodded, her face flushing as though on cue, as if she truly had made some small oversight. "Ah, yes. Forgive me, Sir. I'm just a bit tired. It was a long flight."
Severus offered her a curt nod. The formalities he had instilled in her from the moment of their first meeting now served to save her. She cleared her throat and lifted the suitcase from the faded rug in the front hall, making her way up the stairs.
Once she'd disappeared around the turn of the steep, narrow staircase, she lowered her suitcase with a near silent plunk. Sara drew in a sharp breath, her eyes resting on the hallway. To the right was his study, the door drawn tightly shut, locked and no doubt warded against intruders. To the left lay her room, or what she'd come to think of over the years as her room. That first summer, it had been a hell and a refuge wrapped into one, a place of solace, privacy, and inner sanctum against the madness that she teetered on when she was forced to be in the presence of the one man who set her so on edge. Her hand rested on the door for a moment before drawing away and lifting her suitcase once more as she moved past the washroom and strode purposefully to the second door on the right. She'd never so much as dared to peek past him when she'd come across him on their rare moments of passing in the hall.
Summers in the Snape house were not for pleasure, they were for solitude, the ensuring of the binding and nothing more. She drew in another deep breath to steady herself, scrubbing at her eyes as she pushed the door open. Sara stepped inside and found herself face to face with a room very unlike what she'd learned to expect from Severus Snape.
The window was closed against the rain, the curtains drawn shut, only a small sliver of light from a streetlamp visible between the panels of dark blue fabric. The room was of a modest size, as were all the rooms in the house, dominated by a double bed in the center. One first glance, it didn't even seem long enough to accommodate her host's tall frame. A lamp burned on the bedside table, piled high with books, though the bed was made, impeccably precise, in fact the entire room was almost militaristic in its neatness, not so much as a speck of dust anywhere, not a single thing out of place, nary a sock on the floor to speak of the room's inhabitant. Sara made her way toward the small, yet sturdy desk just beneath the window, the straight backed chair tucked beneath it used to rest her suitcase on. The hard wooden surface did not look precisely welcoming, but it would do for her purposes. She recognized the desk. It had formerly occupied the corner of her own room and for a moment she dared to smile. It was a small thing, but he had remembered her desk. The line of her shoulders relaxed as Sara moved to the wardrobe, pulling open the left side. Sure enough, it was empty as he'd promised. It was quick work to empty her suitcase and backpack of the contents, settling in for the summer. Her laptop and charger, along with the rather large pile of her own study materials were arranged on the little desk carefully.
She knew without having to be told, just how he expected that hour to be spent. What she did not understand, or even dared to question… just who the hell was the smelly little man with the silver hand whe'd had the audacity to put his wand in her face. Sara drew herself up to her full height and began the shed the layers that had shielded her from the rain, tucking them away carefully in a corner of the room.
Sara gathered her things for her shower and checked the clock before cursing beneath her breath, forty minutes of the hour gone already. She frowned faintly as she bolted across the hall, taking care to move with as much stealth as was possible. The last thing she wanted, on top of the raging headache she had, was to trigger another of her Kel's interminable lectures. They were rare, more frequent that first summer, less so the second, and almost none the past. She rather hoped that this would be the first year with not hour long lectures about the virtues of closing cupboard doors all the way. After all… it simply would not do to trigger his anger. After all, someday, that vein in his head would give and the poor bastard would drop dead. Sara just hoped it would not happen this summer.