The Loss of Ours: Chapter 8
By Polexia Aphrodite
Notes: I love writing this. Hope you all like it too. Either way, please review!
July, 1996:
The summer was quickly becoming unbearably warm in the antiquated castle. Severus was to leave Hogwarts, as per the Dark Lord's wishes. His absence at the Department of Mysteries had not gone unnoticed and he needed to distance himself temporarily from Hogwarts and Dumbledore.
Louisa had discovered him packing in their bedroom at twilight, methodically filling an opened suitcase resting on the bed. Though it was going on nine in the evening, the sky outside was still a clear, deep cerulean blue. Low, amber sunlight spread lazy shadows across the floor. He was in his shirtsleeves, his cuffs uncharacteristically rolled up to the elbow in a futile attempt to escape the room's stuffiness.
"Are we leaving?" she tried to keep the excitement out of her voice. She knew that Severus considered Hogwarts to be his home, but it had never been hers.
Severus winced at her words. It was a moment he had been dreading all afternoon, since his earlier meeting with Dumbledore. He sometimes felt that the better part of his life at Hogwarts was spent either attempting to instruct the un-instructable or embroiled in torturously embarrassing and exposing conversations in the Headmaster's office. Today's discussion had been one of the worst.
"I'm leaving," he began, trying to sound authoritative, "You will remain here."
"Here? At Hogwarts?" her stomach lurched at the unwelcome surprise, "Is that what the Dark Lord wants?"
"No," he snapped the suitcase closed, "It's what Albus wants."
Her brow furrowed, "Albus?"
He sighed, keeping his eyes fixed on his suitcase. He knew he was fidgeting but resisted the urge to shove his hands in his pockets for fear of looking as childishly stupid as he felt.
"The Order is concerned that a plot to free Lucius is being formed"
He looked up at her long enough to see her shake her head in confusion. He inhaled deeply, trying to fill his lungs, which felt on the verge of stifling collapse, and continued.
"Apparently you told them about your…connection to Lucius. They're concerned you might try to aid in his escape."
Her mouth opened in shocked outrage. He stared at the closed suitcase.
Her head turned away from him sharply, a flush, either from anger or embarrassment, rapidly spreading across her face and chest. Her breathing grew heavy. She wanted to throw something, to beat her fists against something, to scream or cry or shout.
"Can we never escape the mistakes of our past?" she cried, her strangled voice revealed the choking, unreleased sob that had built in her throat.
He snorted, his lips twisting into a grim smirk. How often he had wondered the exact same thing.
At the slight noise, she turned back to him, as if reminded of his presence. Her chest constricted to see him then, without the physical armor of his jacket and robes and so clearly avoiding her gaze.
"Severus," she reached out an hand to touch him. He shook her off, unrolling his sleeves with unusual vigor. In another moment, he had shrugged his jacket on, swung his heavy, black robes around his shoulders and taken the suitcase in his hand.
He was moving towards the door when she stopped him again. She had only to place her hand on his arm to stop him, to make him turn and look at her. He wondered if his wordless compliance was a sign that he had wanted her to interfere in his departure.
Panic was written plainly across her expression. Her fingers curled around his elbow.
"Please…don't…," she paused, trying to still the thoughts tumbling through her mind, "Do you forgive me?"
His brow creased. She had never cared about his forgiveness before, though he had surreptitiously cared about hers. Even when the affair had actually happened, neither of them had discussed it. She had apologized and he had believed in her contrition, but she had never asked for his forgiveness.
"Does it matter if I forgive you?" he asked sharply in the same tone he reserved for disobedient students. Though he knew it was cruel, he was testing her, wondering how she would react.
She stepped forward, leaning her forehead against his upper arm. Her eyes closed, her brow still knitted. He couldn't see her face, but he didn't think she was crying. He hoped she wasn't.
"Yes," she whispered.
His entire body felt numb, though he didn't know why. He swallowed, his jaw clenched unconsciously.
"Then I do."
He wanted to drop the valise to the floor, throw his arms around her, carry her into their bedroom and pretend the world didn't exist. But he didn't.
"We'll be in touch," he barked, hoping that gruffness would be enough to suppress the longing building in his chest. It wasn't.
And then he was gone.
He went to Spinner's End. It was smaller, and more manageable than the Rosier Estate, he had reasoned. To his never-ending dismay, he had been greeted by Peter Pettigrew. Though Pettigrew feigned obedience and near-servitude, Severus knew he was being spied on. He also knew that Pettigrew secretly believed in his own superiority, believing that his pure blood trumped the dwindling favor bestowed on Severus by the Dark Lord.
Within only days of his relocation, he had played the host for Narcissa and Bellatrix. He had known what Draco was assigned to do. Though his mind screamed at him to spurn them both and let Draco take his punishment, he had known that, in that moment, his position hung by a thread. And his work was more important than his life. So he had taken the vow.
Severus returned to the castle late one August night after receiving an emergency owl from McGonagall. When he arrived at the castle, he had been surprised to see Louisa gathered with the other assorted staff members who stayed at Hogwarts over the summer and had congregated, still dressed in their pyjamas, in the castle's entrance hall. As he passed them on the way to Dumbledore's office, he had gestured that Louisa should follow him.
Though they said nothing, his hand rested at the small of her back as they walked, just barely feeling the curve of her back through the gossamer fabric of her nightgown.
Inside the Headmaster's office, Severus had evaluated the injury caused to Dumbledore's hand by the cursed ring and dispatched Louisa for potions ingredients. After she returned successfully, he had dismissed her, needing to speak to Albus privately.
It was then that Severus had consented to killing Albus Dumbledore. He could not have denied him, this man who had given him his life back, to whom he owed what little he had earned back.
He had returned to his chambers quietly. Louisa had been seated in their small parlour, but said nothing, knowing intuitively that he needed distance.
They sat together in silence for a long while. It was past one in the morning when Severus rose, extended a hand to Louisa and led her to their bedroom.
Exhaustion and lack of practice over the past weeks made their coupling unusually abbreviated, but afterwards, curled against each other in the darkness, in spite of the his overall sense of impending doom, Severus had never felt so whole.
