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Her fugue, His Lie, and Their Story
Chapter 7: Ties
It wasn't that he desired death; it was only that he did not possess an enthusiasm for life, the kind of energy that actually kept people on living. So he was sort of stuck in the middle, which was a very dismal and confusing place to be.
Poppy offered him even littler peace away from his own taunting mind. He would have been completely contented to sit there forever in the darkness of which he had been so accustomed to, but she wouldn't hear of it. She harassed him into silly little ventures such as taking air, and exercising his sorely unused muscles. Of course, she was only trying to make up for the fact that just months earlier she had considered him guilty of treason, and murder, and perhaps things that were very much worse. Any dunce of a being could see that. But she was trying all the same. Trying with all of her good hearted soul to show him she cared. He did not, however, need such barratment to know it.
If she hadn't cared, he would be dead, which perhaps, was preferable to this sort of life.
John stayed purposefully out of the way. It was certainly awkward for him, the man had been, by all means, hunting Severus once upon a time, afterall, and when people were trying to avoid being awkward it always made it more so.
And Granger was no better than anyone. He was always so painfully aware of when she was close. Never saying much since their previous, and as it would seem, only conversation, but just watching him with those deeply pained eyes. Usually it was a vacant glance, as if she truly were as ignorant as Poppy claimed her to be, but sometimes there was a flash of something that crossed her face, a particularly searing gaze that would fall upon him and make his blood run even colder in his veins. It was a look of realization, as if to say, 'I know what you did', but then it would pass as quickly as it came, and the girl would rub her forehead in dismay and carry herself, wistfully, up to bed.
He had no desire to speak to her. She was intelligent, far too much so for her own good. He knew that if he revealed anything to her, she may piece things together, and he would have, therefore, revealed his lie, or secret, or whatever the hell he was calling it that day. He had vowed for her never to know the truth.
He had vowed it so solemnly to himself that it hurt.
It had been a month since that morning when they had spoken, and he had intentionally thrown her off her fancy with him. He knew Hermione Granger, even the vacant version of her. She wouldn't take a liking to him if he spoke as helplessly as he looked, and certainly not if he called her a fool for having a shred of belief.
That much was true, perhaps. Even if she was bright, she was also a fool.
A beautiful little fool, with a pain he felt all too sincerely. The kind that would catch him in his sleep. A pain he had first felt shortly after he had awakened to find her thrashing around on the bathroom floor leaking the crimson liquid of her own youth.
He thought it was possible she felt it too. Whenever he lie awake at night, unable to sleep, memories and nightmares becoming intertwined under the stars, he would hear her sheets rustling from the other room. And sometimes when he had finally decided to take a step out of his room, she would be there on the landing, looking puzzled about where she was standing, and yet not surprised to see him at the same place, at the same time at all. This happened frequently. And one evening, as she was coming up the stairs, and he was arduously going down with his gait, she stopped, and stared him up and down.
"You're not going to Azkaban so you can stop feeling sorry for yourself now." said Hermione, "The Minister came by today, and he says so."
"Does he?" He drew with a sneer, stepping down to continue on his way, but she slid in front of him defiantly. Severus chuckled- not that was truly amusing, "I may look feeble, Granger, but I promise I'd win against you."
"I'm not so sure."
"Don't you know about the things I've done?" He asked, although he felt rather silly after he had said it. It seemed a mite melodramatic, even for him, and for a moment he was afraid she may laugh, so he set his jaw, attempting to look as searing and yet as unconcerned as possible- a facade which he had mastered many, many years ago, "Well?"
Hermione crossed her arms, "Of course I don't- I'm not allowed to, remember? Anyway, I don't care. It doesn't matter now."
Severus sighed purposefully, his body already growing weary under the meager weight he carried. He was bluffing and Hermione knew it, and she pitied him, and she begged him with those horribly, troubled eyes to tell the truth- whatever truth left in the world there was to tell. She thought she could get it from him because he was weak, and weary of life, for the people nearest to death always had a way of handing away their souls.
There just wasn't enough left of his to give, whatever she believed, and whatever she didn't..
"What do you want?" he asked still.
Her eyes quickly flittered over his shadowy form, hunched over, and frail, trying desperately to look as alive as a dead man could seem. And then she simply made a noncommittal noise, as if to say 'You know.'
Snape shuddered. His nerves were in absolute shrivels by now. He had stood before Voldemort himself and still had never felt quite so abused. How was she doing this to him? How did she make him feel like she had cast a bewitchment over him? He just wanted to go lie down in his darkened room once again and press his palms over his ears so hard that that noise would ring in his head anymore. He didn't need this. He didn't need her watching him. He didn't need to say anything.
And then his lips betrayed him.
"I have no doubt you'll find what you're looking for someday."
"Where?"
"Probably in me."
A/N: Sorry for the wait, I'm really having trouble with this story, as you can probably tell by this chapter… I'll try and do better next time. Thanks for reading though!
