Author's Note:
Thanks for your encouraging reviews.
I've continued the one-shot, and I hope you enjoy the fruits of my labour.
RL is getting in the way of writing at present, but I promise there is more to come.
Stay tuned, and please leave a review!
Chapter Two
It was six long weeks later when Snape saw the young Auror again.
After spending the best part of the evening in Hogwarts' hospital wing, tending to Katie Bell, he headed towards Dumbledore's office to meet the Order of the Phoenix.
Lately, saving people's lives from cursed objects seemed to have become a useful skill, and the young Gryffindor girl was now stable, but remained seriously ill.
The only question not yet answered was how Miss Bell had come into contact with the opal necklace. If Draco Malfoy had been involved, he had hidden his tracks well: Malfoy had been in detention with Minerva McGonagall at the time of the incident.
Snape arrived in the Headmaster's office to find the Order meeting winding down. McGonagall looked tired, Hagrid confused, and Dawlish and Tonks were solemn. Snape noticed the mousey-haired witch avoided his gaze as he strode into the room and pulled up a chair.
"Ah, Severus, thank you for joining us." Dumbledore peered earnestly through his half-moon spectacles. "How is Miss Bell?"
"Lucky to be alive," Snape replied. "Only the tiniest amount of skin was exposed to the curse, through a hole in the girl's glove. Poppy is monitoring her closely, but we feel confident she will make a full recovery in time."
Hagrid whistled a release of tension, and the atmosphere in the room seemed to shift.
"Excellent news, Severus," the Headmaster said. "Once again your knowledge of the Dark Arts has proved invaluable. I feel sure Miss Bell's parents will wish to thank you in person."
"That will not be necessary, Headmaster," Snape replied curtly. "Miss Bell may need to be transferred to St Mungo's to convalesce. We shall assess the situation tomorrow morning."
"Very well." Dumbledore nodded and clasped his hands, signalling the end of the meeting.
The Order members arose from their seats, and Tonks bolted for the door.
Snape was about to follow when Dumbledore spoke softly in his ear.
"Severus, before you leave, we need to discuss our friend, Draco Malfoy."
"As you wish, Headmaster."
oOoOoOo
The slushy snow on the ground had frozen into a pitted glacier of ice by the time Snape arrived at the front door of the Three Broomsticks.
The night was clear, and his breath rose in translucent spirals as he stamped his boots on the doormat and pushed the door open.
Madam Rosmerta was tidying up behind the bar, as the evening's trade drew to a close. The air was heavy and sweet with the scent of mead.
Snape strode to the bar and cleared his throat. The landlady turned around and frowned at her new customer.
"Severus Snape... Haven't seen you here in a long while." Rosmerta's eyebrows arched and a suspicious smile curled her ruby lips.
"When was the last time a student almost died after consuming one of your Butterbeers?" Snape asked indelicately.
The woman made a hushing sound, pressing her finger against her mouth.
Snape sneered. "The whole of Hogsmeade will have heard the news by now."
"Yes, they probably have. And I've been interviewed by two Aurors already this afternoon." Rosmerta nodded towards a secluded booth in the back of the pub. "I thought one of 'em had come back for more."
Snape turned to see Tonks sitting in the booth alone, nursing a goblet of golden mead. The Gordian knot in his stomach tightened.
He tapped his fingers on the bar, and looked back at the landlady. "Firewhisky. Double," he ordered.
Rosmerta shook her head. "Last orders were five minutes ago, Professor Snape."
Snape scowled, and his hand balled into a fist. "If you wish to avoid a second interrogation, Rosmerta, I suggest my Firewhisky is served on the house."
A moment later, Snape was dropping his complimentary tumbler of Firewhisky onto the table in front of the young Auror.
With her privacy breached, Tonks looked up at him, startled. She rubbed her forehead with her hands, hiding from his gaze.
Snape settled into the seat opposite, and took a swig of his beverage.
The pair sat in silence for a long time.
"What are you doing here, Severus?" Tonks asked eventually, her gaze fixed firmly on the table.
"I came to question Rosmerta about the cursed necklace."
"I've already done it."
"So I believe."
Snape took another sip, this time relishing the liquid as it warmed his tongue, his throat, his body.
He stared at the woman before him, a mere ghost of the bubbly, vivacious girl to whom he taught Potions, many years ago.
"So, why have you not taken your leave already?" Tonks asked, daring to make eye contact for the first time.
"Because there is something I need to know, Nymphadora."
She stared, wide-eyed, swallowing visibly. "And what would that be, Severus?" Her tone attempted bravado but, in reality, it wobbled with fear.
Snape paused, anticipating the cost of his next sentence.
"Why did you choose not to take the Memory Potion?" he asked quietly.
Tonks inhaled audibly and sat up straight. She watched him closely for a long moment, contemplating his question and his demeanour.
"I..." she began. "I don't believe it... You... You didn't take the potion either?"
Snape's eyebrows pinched into a frown. "What made you think I would?"
"I dunno..." Tonks said, breathless, her features betraying relief, then confusion. "I thought... maybe..." Her voice trailed off.
Snape watched her fingernails digging into her folded arms, and her brow furrowing; this piece of information was obviously causing some consternation. He wondered what she was thinking and what judgments were being cast.
When she didn't finish her sentence, his impatience got the better of him.
"I wasn't about to let you have an advantage over me, Nymphadora," he said derisively. "I'm no fool."
Her hazel eyes shot up to meet his, wide with anger. "What?" she exclaimed incredulously. "How dare you! You..."
Tonks stood up, knocking clumsily against the table and sending the drinks flying. Their glasses shattered on the floor. Rosmerta looked up from the bar as Tonks marched towards the back door of the pub then slammed it behind her.
Snape banged his fist onto the table and followed her, flipping a silver Sickle towards the bar as he passed by. He heard Rosmerta's footsteps and the clunk of the door locking behind him.
Outside, Tonks was pacing up and down the path at the back of the Three Broomsticks, growls of frustration escaping in white wisps from her mouth. The sight of Snape rounding the corner and blocking her exit sent her beyond the pale.
She stormed towards him, reaching with both hands and pushing forcefully into his chest. Her momentum made him stumble and slip on the icy gravelled path. Tonks' hands were on her hips and her heart-shaped face was alight with fury.
"I should have known your reasons for not taking the potion were down to your distinct lack of morals!" she shouted.
"Excuse me?" Snape's voice was a low ripple of contempt.
"You're only interested in covering your slippery Slytherin backside."
Snape glowered at the angry witch. "Do tell me, Nymphadora, what your oh-so-noble reasons are for keeping the memory?"
She spoke through gritted teeth. "It's about taking responsibility, Snape; something you seem unable to do.... Take responsibility for your actions for once!"
Snape felt the snapping of a tensile string deep inside his chest. He swept forwards and pinned Tonks against the freezing wall, his hot breath curling inches away from her own. The moonlight reflected on her pale, fearful face.
He was close enough to lean in for a kiss; a forceful, impassioned and unwelcome kiss which would mark his territory and make her see the folly in loving a werewolf.
But something stopped him. It might have been his anger welling up inside him like the weight of water against a failing dam. Or it could have been the fright in the young woman's eyes.
Snape knew he didn't want to hurt her. But he did want to shout and scream about the burden of responsibility. The things he had done. The things he was still to do. If only she knew.
"I assure you, Nymphadora, I am familiar with the concept of taking responsibility. As I recall, it took you a long time to hone that particular skill, so do not dare question my ability."
Tonks raised her wand, pressing its tip into his chest. "You are not my teacher anymore, Snape. Six years have passed since I left your classroom. I have no intention of listening to your lectures on ethics and morals."
She pushed him away with her free hand, and strode past him, towards the gate of the back yard, but Snape stopped her with a firm grip on her forearm. Tonks spun around, her wand pointing once again at his torso. When he saw the look of fierce calm on her face, Snape let go of her arm and took a step back.
Her voice was a measured whisper which glided through the night air like an owl swooping to catch its prey.
"The consequences of our actions will live on, Snape. We have to learn to accept them, not run away and live in denial."
oOoOoOo
Consequences.
The word haunted Snape for weeks after the confrontation at the Three Broomsticks.
Consequences which would live on.
What had she meant?
The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that Tonks was hiding something. And that 'something' might turn out to be life-changing for both of them. Why else would she be so consumed with responsibility?
He wanted to speak to her, to question her, but didn't know how. He visited Hogsmeade more frequently than was his custom, hoping to bump into the Auror, but it seemed she was avoiding him.
Weeks marched on, and the end of term arrived.
An invitation to Slughorn's Christmas party lay unopened on his desk. Snape told himself he would be expected to attend in Dumbledore's absence but, deep down, he knew the only real reason for accepting the invitation was that he hoped she would be there.
The party, like any other social gathering, was noisy and tedious. After being forced into unwanted conversation with Professor Trelawney, Miss Lovegood and Potter, Snape had escorted the supposed gatecrasher, Draco Malfoy, out of the room. A fraught conversation with Malfoy had ensued, and Snape made little progress infiltrating the young Death Eater's plans.
The evening was souring with each passing minute, and Snape marched back to Slughorn's office, no longer expecting the young Auror to be there. He swept through the emerald, gold and crimson curtains with a characteristic snarl, and caught a glimpse of Tonks, cosied up with the Auror, John Dawlish. Neville Longbottom was serving drinks to them.
She hadn't dressed up for the occasion; that much was clear. She wore her long leather coat, which was unbuttoned to reveal a dark purple jumper and a black skirt. Tonks looked tired, pale and sullen.
Snape took a goblet of mulled wine from Longbottom's tray, and sent the boy on his way.
"Good evening, Severus," said Dawlish.
Snape nodded his greeting and turned to face Tonks. She avoided his gaze, looking around the room for a route of escape.
Dawlish nudged her gently, and addressed Snape. "I was just saying to Tonks, here, that if she wasn't planning to go to the Weasley's for Christmas this year, she ought to attend the Christmas Day feast at Hogwarts instead."
Tonks' features were embarrassed and weary.
"I was hoping for a quiet word with Nymphadora, if I may?" said Snape.
Tonks looked away, and Dawlish cast Snape a long-suffering look. "She's all yours."
When Dawlish had retired, Tonks rounded on Snape in a heartbeat.
"What now?" she hissed, catching his eye then deliberately casting a glance at the crowded room.
"I want to speak to you." Snape spoke slowly, his voice uncompromising.
"I have nothing to say to you," Tonks replied. "Stay away from me!"
"I shall not take 'no' for an answer, Nymphadora. Not when you were the one so preoccupied with taking responsibility for consequences."
She threw him an expression of loathing, before sighing and pushing past him, heading swiftly for the door. Snape followed, and caught up with her in the dark, deserted corridor. Tonks' pace quickened, so he ran in front of her, sweeping around and blocking her forward path.
"Why can't you just leave me alone, Snape?" she moaned.
"Because... I need to know..." His heart beating sickeningly against his ribs, and he forced his words through the nausea. "Are you pregnant?"
Tonks took an unsteady step backwards, her mouth agape and eyes wide. A laugh, half shock, half surprise, escaped.
"What?"
"You heard me."
"I..." She cleared her throat. "What... What made you think I was pregnant?" she said distractedly.
It was Snape's turn to clear his throat, and he answered before he'd even realised what he was saying. "I didn't cast a Contraceptive Charm, and don't know if you did. Your insistence about consequences..."
"I don't believe you!" Tonks' voice raised an octave. "Sometimes... You just... Is that the only consequence your one-track mind could come up with?"
Snape exhaled, flummoxed.
She sensed his weakness.
"In Merlin's name, Severus... You repulse me."
Snape felt the sharp sting of an old wound searing his stomach. His anger bubbled like acid in his throat.
"You haven't answered my question," he bit out.
Tonks scoffed openly. She turned to leave.
"Answer me, Nymphadora!" Snape roared.
She snorted and walked away.
It was more than he could bear. Snape paced frantically behind her, and placed his hand on her shoulder. She responded with a Stinging Hex, which hit his bicep with a crackle of red light.
He fell back with a wince, and Tonks kept on walking.
Snape rubbed his arm with one hand, shouting at her retreating form.
"ARE YOU PREGNANT?"
As his words echoed down the candlelit hallway, Snape realised he'd lost control and made a fool of himself. He wanted to shrink away, hide in his dungeon, lick his wounds and never, ever, reach out to another person again.
Tonks came to a halt in the shadows far ahead. Her hands were on her hips and her body was shaking.
"NO!" she wailed.
She ran away, sobbing.