The Confession of Miss Price
Chapter 4: On the Inside
Rating: T
Summary: A healer assigned to assist Snape in his efforts for the Order gives her side of the story.
Notes: Hope you like it. Reviews are appreciated. Also, thanks so much to those who have already reviewed. As I don't have a beta for this story, it's so helpful to get objective opinions.
--
Luckily, I was able to resume my position at St. Mungo's for the summer. I received numerous letters from Madame Pomfrey informing me of Dumbledore's wish that I should return at the start of term and at the end of August, I dutifully complied.
It would be lying to say that I had not once thought of Professor Snape over the summer. I did sometimes wonder if he was alright. More often than not, I forced such thoughts away as soon as they entered my mind.
I did not actually see him again until the start of term feast. Our eyes met briefly in the crowded hall, he was dark and somber as I had remembered him. I couldn't explain why it made me nervous to be in the same room with him, or why I had to press my hands against the tops of my thighs under the table to still their trembling.
Three weeks later I found myself alone on the sofa in his chambers once again. When he returned that night, he was unharmed. He said nothing upon his arrival, but instead sat quietly on the sofa next to me. The silence rapidly became unbearable. Then I said something I never expected to leave my internal monologue.
"I've missed you"
Even now the fact that I said it still surprises me. I remember saying it so quietly, and spending a torturous moment wondering if he had even heard me at all.
But of course he had, and he turned to give me the most baffled look I had yet seen from him. He stammered for a moment, seemingly somewhere between dismissing me outright and stifling incredulous laughter, before finally deciding on, "You may go, Miss Price."
I left as quickly as my feet would carry me, cursing my own foolishness. But it was true, wasn't it? I had missed him. Why, I wasn't sure. But I had.
Mortified as I was, I returned to his chambers nearly once a week for the next few months. Every time he was called to what I assumed to be a Death Eater meeting, I waited for his return. I wondered what it meant for You-Know-Who's enemies that the meetings were called so much more frequently. As usual, he was often unharmed, with the exception of a few perilous nights when he returned so damaged by the Cruciatus that he was barely able to retain consciousness. On such nights I would treat him as I always had, with the usual cold professionalism. But later, after I had returned to my rooms, my mind wandered compulsively to remembrances of how the candlelight had reflected against his pale chest once I had removed his torn shirt or how the sinewy muscles of his arms flexed when he sorely lowered himself into bed.
Unlike the previous year, we never talked and he never argued with me when I asked if he had been hurt. At times he seemed more receptive to my care, allowing me to mend his cuts and once he even let me feel his wrist for broken bones after what turned out to be a particularly nasty sprain. At other times he seemed almost afraid of me, eyeing me warily as though I were some particularly dangerous threat. Of course I didn't actually think he was frightened of me, no man who could face You-Know-Who himself could really view someone like me as an actual danger.
More than anything, it was hard not to notice how resigned he seemed to have become. While last year he had had the air of someone both volatile and determined, he seemed sadder now, at least he did when I saw him in his chambers. In the great hall, no one could have guessed at a change in him.
In truth, he was not the only one who had changed. The entire student body as well as the staff were decidedly on edge. Amiable chats with Pomfrey turned sour on more than one occasion. It was as though everyone had become completely hopeless over the summer.
Despite Katie Bell's poisoning and the attack on Draco Malfoy, there were few medical incidents to be dealt with, and since my area of authority rarely extended to students, they had little effect on me. I simply kept my nose down, learning to be content with the degree of ignorance that was forced on me by those who knew more than I did.
This peaceful idyll that I had lived in, unaware as I was of anything beyond what I read in the Daily Prophet,ended abruptly on a warm night in early June. As I had not been asked by Professor Snape to meet him in his chambers, I was instead in my own humble rooms, though what I was doing at the exact moment he knocked on my door I can't recall. I do remember being surprised that Professor Snape even knew where my rooms were as I let him in. He shut the door forcefully behind him.
"Is there anyone else here?" he asked, scanning the room.
"No," I replied, wondering what exactly he was implying.
"I need you to listen to me very carefully," he began, he was more nervous than I had ever seen him, he was almost visibly shaking, "the castle is under attack. No matter what you may hear in the next few hours, you must not leave this room, do you understand?"
I nodded, feeling my eyes widen in fear. The flip-flop my stomach had done when I first saw him at my door was giving way to nausea.
"Your expertise will no doubt be needed after they've left, but until then you must stay here," he hesitated, "You'll be safe here."
"What will you do?" I could hear the desperation in my voice.
"I…I'm leaving."
"For how long?"
He shrugged. A sharp pain was forming in the back of my throat. He wasn't coming back. My hand was on his shoulder. Then my arms were around his neck, gripping him tightly. I might have been as surprised as he was, but in that moment, holding him felt as natural as breathing. After knowing him for two years, I had seen his anger, his sadness, his courage. I knew him. For so many months, the very thought of him had been enough to produce that warm ache in my chest that I was still all too unfamiliar with. His hands were warm on the sides of my waist.
"Please be careful," I spoke quickly, my voice thick with emotion. I could feel myself panicking as a series of painfully true epiphanies crashed over me along with the knowledge that every moment that we stood so closely would make letting him go harder.
I pulled back far enough to see his face, his eyes were dark and marked by the wary uncertainty I had seen from him so often over the last year. He searched my face and I moved a hand to the side of his. I could already feel fat, warm tears sliding down my cheeks.
In a matter of seconds, his lips were against mine, his arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me closer. I almost cried out in shock before sliding my eyes closed and moving my arms tighter around his shoulders.
The kiss deepened, his tongue stroked mine. My back was against the wall, my hands clutched his shoulders, his head, his back. A long thigh was pressed between my legs. His hand was buried in my hair, caressing my neck. My head spun.
He pulled away abruptly.
"I…" he began, his brow was furrowed, his eyes bored into mine, "Please…try to forgive me."
And without another word, Severus Snape left.
