The Infirmary 1993
She was still glowing. That strange and soft golden light that seemed almost to float across her skin. It was…disconcerting.
Of course, Severus hadn't been paying attention to it when she was the strange furry cat creature sitting on one of Poppy's fiercely made beds, picking at her fluffy tail with nervous fingers. He'd been too busy holding down his wild burst of laughter.
After all, the Great Bat of the Dungeons didn't laugh, did he?
The hated Mark on his arm was dark. Faded, yes, but there was still life, still his magic trapped within it. Even though it'd been over a decade since his fall, the appropriate masks had to be maintained. But, Merlin, his jaw had ached and the inside of his cheek was raw from the biting to hold his laughter back.
Her furry slip had been the final ingredient. He was well aware of that. And he was impressed that the little muggleborn had not only acquired the necessary book from the restricted section, the ingredients –with the help of her annoying little friends— and then produced an adequate potion.
And now here she was again on one of Poppy's beds. Though, in that moment, there were no nerves, so worried glances. She was a stone-like statue, frozen, petrified by whatever plagued the school.
Her only movement was the rippling glow.
Something gleamed across the line of her wrist…and Severus grew as still as one of the petrified people in Poppy's ward. Ut Animam Meam. He closed his eyes, and his chest tightened. Oh, the silly little chit.
"What have you done to yourself, Miss Granger?" His voice was soft, holding a compassion he could show to no one truly living. Who had caught her eye, held her heart hard enough to risk the Soul-Sharing spell?
A wry smile lifted his lip as he looked down on her. Even the soft, evening candlelight was not kind. She wasn't an attractive child, being all wild hair and too-big teeth. Hermione Granger could very possibly follow his path. An ambitious mind that was far too clever with no hint of physical beauty to make her talent acceptable to others.
She had fallen for it. The short commentary with the spell that promised to reveal your love, promised to open your heart and soul to the one who was worthy. And whoever had transcribed that potion —with those words— was a complete and utter black-hearted bastard.
A wave of Severus' wand obscured and protected the bright flare of her soul. A war was coming and the young girl couldn't afford to have her power, her magic, her very self open to those who would take great pleasure in doing her harm.
Severus traced his thumb over his own wrist, the shine of the golden cuneiform chasing in its wake. He'd made the same mistake at fifteen…
But the one he wished for was long gone.
Severus turned away, his black robes billowing around his dragon hide boots. An old pain seared his chest. He hoped, one day, Miss Granger found someone worthy of the gift she could bestow. And, poor girl, they did have to be worthy. Anyone…less was an anathema. Could not be borne.
The infirmary doors closed quietly behind him and he drew in a long breath. The familiar odours of the castle, of stone and cloth, metal and hints of cold, Scottish wildness did little to ease the pressure in squeezing his heart.
Miss Granger's thoughtless act had pushed up old memories. An ancient pain.
The loathed reminder that his time was gone. And that he would never share his soul again.
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