The Joy It Brings: Chapter 4

By Polexia Aphrodite

Rating: T

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Three days passed. Marianne knew that McGonagall had contacted Potter. It would only be a matter of time before he joined the small, dismal party that inhabited the castle. Marianne became Snape's primary caretaker as McGonagall, Pomfrey, and a handful of other teachers made every attempt to expedite the school's repairs in time for the beginning of the new term.

It was mid-morning. Marianne had removed a tray of half-eaten breakfast (his appetite had yet to be fully restored) from Severus' lap and had only just finished adjusting the pillows that supported him to allow him a slightly more reclined pose than the more upright eating posture that often caused him discomfort but allowed him to feed himself, an act of autonomy he absolutely insisted upon.

"Miss Price," he began as she moved away, a deep frown exacerbated the age-lines across his forehead. He looked at her frankly, his dark eyes seemed despairing but in a way that was strangely familiar to her. There was a quiet, willing acceptance in his expression, the likes of which she had seen when he accepted the disdain of his peers during his year as Headmaster.

"I'm sure you haven't forgotten the ...events that transpired between us before I left. I want to apol—"

"Don't," she cried impulsively, knowing that an apology would only further undermine the tenuous hold she had on her post-Severus self-esteem.

His brow creased; he had not predicted resistance to his attempt to leave their past in the past. Subconsciously, he may have known that allowing Marianne his explicit permission to forget their advances toward each other was a pretext for yet more self-flagellation. In the last four nights he had passed in the ward, he had lied fitfully awake as McGonagall or Marianne dozed in the chair next to him and he had formed a vision of his future, the only future acceptable in the face of his failure to die. He would submit himself to the Wizengamot. He would spend the remainder of his pitiful days on earth in a rotting cell in Azkaban, a hermit hidden from the world and able to devote himself fully to the emotional asceticism that allowed him to love Lily above all others.

Unabated, after a moment's silence he continued, "I only mean to say I'm—"

"For God's sake!" her voice raised sharply, echoing in the nearly-empty ward, before lowering self-consciously, her cheeks flushed, she was unable to hide the horror in her eyes, "Please…it's…just…don't apologise." She stood awkwardly for a moment, her mouth opening and closing as though to say more before she finally pursed her lips. She knew she was struggling against the impulse to cry and she tried desperately to push through it, closing her eyes carefully and pressing a warm palm against her temple, trying to ignore the persistent, torturous refrain of he regrets it he regrets it he regrets me that tumbled through her mind.

After a long minute passed, she could take no more, numbly lifted the discarded breakfast tray and left the room.

It was the first time Severus had been completely alone in the ward since he had regained consciousness. He felt oddly breathless. As Marianne knew all too well, he was incapable of abstaining from analysis when the situation so clearly called for it.

She hadn't wanted him to apologise. She hadn't wanted him to…to what? To regret his actions? To give her a chance to save face and laugh off her disastrous association with him?

He thought back to his last night at the castle, ruminating over the series of events that had led up to his flight more seriously than he had since his return to the castle and the world of the living. He had told her what she meant to him, and he had meant it. She was the first woman to mean so much since…but that line of thought was irrelevant. There could be no comparison. Methodically, his mind sifted through years of evidence:

"I've missed you"

The open concern in her eyes as she administered to his wounds, placing herself under his arm as a human crutch, lowering him into bed

"Do be careful"

Her hand, warm and gentle, pressing his wrist to feel for broken bones in a gesture that lasted longer than it should have and, by the end of the examination, made his chest swell with emotion in a way that none of her previous inspections had

"Because of you"

Her dark eyes glittering strangely in the candlelight, her small hands maneuvering his to the sides of her waist, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, surprisingly strong

"Tell me you don't want me"

He had looked into her mind then, but gently and unobtrusively, too frightened to look deeper. But he had felt her affection, her faith in him, and he knew for certain that he was not the only one who felt that strange warmth that spread from his chest to his limbs, head, fingers, and even toes when they were together

"Thank God for you, Marianne"

She murmured encouragingly by his ear, her legs trembled as he moved them to drape around his waist. He had hesitated before the final consummative act, a pause that nearly destroyed him as her soft touch still worked his nerves mercilessly, but it had been a necessary hesitation designed to let her change her mind. She didn't.

Lying motionless in the Hogwarts ward, Severus felt half-wild. She had cared for him. Marianne had cared for him. More than he deserved. More than anyone.

No, he thought as soon as the last thought passed through his mind, Not more than anyone. Not more than…

But he couldn't bring himself to finish the thought. Lily had cared for him but, his ordered, empirical mind told him, she had given him significantly less evidence to support her affection. And in the end Lily had wanted more regret than he could offer, namely, his regret for associating with Mulciber and the other young Death Eaters. Marianne did not want him to regret at all. Lily could not accept an apology for what he had done, but Marianne did not want an apology.

It was an hour later, his brow still knitted in consternation, that sleep finally managed to silence the din of thoughts, hypotheses, and futile nostalgia.

When he woke, Marianne was seated on the chair by his side. Her gaze was unfocused and serene, directed at a vaguely defined spot on the other side of the window that abutted Severus' cot. In her lap, nimble fingers rolled bandages, an activity she had once told him she refused to use magic for, preferring instead to let her mind wander as her hands engaged in the mundane task. He had related with her then, thinking of his own preference for hand-preparing potions ingredients and the peacefulness that came over him when he did.

Presently, Severus spoke, unsure if she had even sensed that he was awake.

"You must think I'm horrible."

She started slightly, turning to look at him. Her expression remained distant and she slowly returned it to the window. The shadowy, late afternoon light that came through the window made her pale skin paler and he noticed for the first time how slightly gaunt she looked.

She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly.

"You know I don't"

With some effort, he moved his hand toward her, his fingers outstretched in unspoken invitation.

The sudden movement made her turn again, her eyes settling on his opened palm. She hesitated but reciprocated, letting him take her hand, squeezing it with what little strength he had. He suddenly felt so alarmingly close to her. For a moment, it was as if the final battle had never happened and they were together as they had been then. His apocalyptic vision of his own future grew dim

"Marianne," his voice was barely louder than a whisper, "I—"

Then the door behind her creaked open. Marianne jerked away her hand, stood, and turned as McGonagall stepped into the room, followed closely by Harry Potter. His hair was dark and messy as she had seen in countless photographs, and round, black glasses framed clear green eyes. Her eyes, she had read. And everything was changed again.