The Sickness

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Sept 1997

The owl in his window pecked at his hand impatiently as he opened the brief message it'd carried. A shiver went down his spine as he read the long, leaning script of Narcissa Malfoy

"Potter has broken into the ministry. The dark lord requests you stay behind."

If Potter was at the ministry then that meant—

He threw the note on his desk with excessive force. The owl glared at him, still seeking a reward for flying so quickly to deliver the message. Snape paid him no attention, lost in his thoughts. Stay behind. How could he when she was in imminent danger? The nasty habit of pacing started and he travelled back and forth like a trapped goldfish in the tiny bowl of his office. He needed to go to the ministry. But he knew better than to defy orders. The dark lord would kill him in a heartbeat for insubordination.

The owl shrieked at him, and he stopped mid-step. His dark eyes flashed with anger. Stupid creature. Unfazed, the bird cocked its head to look at him expectantly and shrieked again. That was the last straw. Snape grabbed the bird with one hand went to the nearest window. Without hesitation, he flung it open and cast the protesting bird out.

Still angry, he grabbed the nearest object, a decorative telescope Dumbledore had left behind, and threw it against the wall. The metal tube clanked loudly while it's glass pieces made a shattering cry. It was worthless anyway. Worthless like everything else the old man had left him.

This was his divine fate, to be eternally dissatisfied. To know but be unable to act, to want but be unable to have. Loathing fed his anger as he turned his hate on everything, most of all himself for being afraid of the things he loved. His hardened gaze drew him to the bowl of floo powder by the fireplace. He envisioned himself running his fingers through the fine grain of green powder. It would be so easy…

"Headmaster!" a voice huffed from the other room.

Shaking off the idea, he made his way over to alcove containing the wall of portraits. There was never a moment of peace with all these paintings buzzing around all the time.

"Headmaster!" someone on the wall called out again.

All of the previous headmasters were now alert and chattering to each other in excitement, making it hard to tell who was calling. Various bits of phrases like "pay attention" and "speak up, I can't hear" were being thrown around. Snape put a hand on his temple and tried to concentrate.

"Silence!"

The chorus of portraits all stopped immediately.

"Up here!" the voice called, still out of breath.

He raised his head and scanned the wall until he saw Phineas Nigellus Black waving madly at him. The old man's long beard was all blown around, as though he'd just come from a long run.

"They've escaped capture at the ministry," he managed to wheeze out before need taking several more deep breaths. "Potter and the other two, the boy and the mudblood. I heard it all. Quite a commotion."

"Don't call her that," Snape interrupted him sharply.

Phineas Nigellus Black scowled at being corrected by someone so much much his junior.

"Are they unharmed?" The question rushed out a bit too fast, betraying excessive concern.

There was a bit of silence as the painting finally calmed down and inhaled normally. "The Weasley boy splinched on his way out but he'll live. They're in a forest, couldn't make it back to the house. Something about being tracked or followed. Serves them right for defiling my portrait and soiling my property!" the former headmaster answered resentfully. His regal face was etched with annoyance as he folded his arms and glowered down.

Snape considered the information carefully, tapping his chin impatiently. "Is Miss Granger alright?"

"Still obnoxious and miserable."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to retain his composure. "Is she alright," he repeated, raising his voice slightly.

"Quit your obsession; she's fine."

Snape shot the old man's portrait a venomous glare. "Good, now go back and keep an eye on them." He was not obsessed...

"I'm not going back to that wretched bag until I've had my rest." The portrait's tone was indignant and sour.

"I am not asking, Headmaster Black." Snape raised his wand in threat. Leave it to these privileged bastards to complain about even the smallest discomfort. Phineas Nigellus Black let out a string of expletives and pushed his head forward so much that he could have come out of his portrait.

"You should show more respect to your elders, boy!"

"Let the man rest, Severus. He's clearly had an eventful morning," Dumbledore added as he wagged a finger from his frame.

The wall erupted as all the portraits urged similar messages of restraint.

"Enough!"

Snape stalked out the alcove to be out of the portraits' view. How badly he wanted to just burn all of their canvases and watch their painted faces melt into puddles. Those old fools, always second guessing him and muttering behind his back.

When he sat down at his desk, he looked at his hands and willed them to stop shaking. She was fine, he reasoned with himself, she had no need of him. But the thought of her out there, afraid and alone, in some chilly autumn forest made his chest hurt. Not alone, the nagging voice in his head corrected, with her friends. Her soft voice drifted like a breeze.

"All that we really have are the people we care for."

All we have. But he didn't really have her, he grimaced bitterly. At a loss of words, he stared at the house key sitting in a small ceramic bowl on his desk. She used to play with it when she couldn't keep her hands still. The trace of her fingers over its metal teeth haunted his thoughts. He missed her irritating curiosity terribly. Missed the way she pushed her luck. To go to her now…

No.

He stopped himself. It was foolish to think of such memories. The horror on her face when she realized what he meant to do kept replaying despite his best efforts. Every repeat of her image corrupted the copy. A wave of nausea suddenly overwhelmed him. It was a sort of nausea deep within a body's core, a sensation so heavy and so embedded it sucked his insides inward like a void. Gritting his teeth, he tried to clear his mind.

Hermione. It was imperative he stayed away. He was beginning to doubt she ever really cared for him. The nausea whispered, it was all in his own head. His thoughts were illusions like a wax museum, realistic until a real person breaks the motionless scene with grace that no replica could capture. What could he give her anyway? He was a dead man with nothing to offer except the torment of his attention. She would never admit it, but she would grow to resent him. Having nothing was better than having her scorn.

"Headmaster!"

Again! Would the interruptions never cease? The voice calling this time was urgent and harsh, coming from the door of his office. Without opening, he could tell there was more than one person behind the door. The shuffling and muffled voices gave the impression it was a bit of a crowd. Snape sighed and waved the stone gargoyles open with a flick of his wand.

The lumpy shape of Amycus Carrow staggered in, followed by several students whose hands were tied in front of them. He pushed one of them forward toward the headmaster. The poor girl fell onto the hard ground, clumsy and stiff without her hands to help her balance. Her long, red hair spilled all around as her head hit the floor. When she looked up, her eyes on fire and full of hate.

"I caught these students trying to break into my office, Headmaster. How should I publish them?" Carrow asked excitedly, his face twisting into a crooked grin as he tightened his grip on the next student's shoulder.

"How many times do I have to say it, Amycus," Snape hissed, "You cannot tie the students up."

"But headmaster, they broke into my—"

"They are students, not livestock!" This was beginning to give him a headache. The idiot just couldn't figure out how to intimidate without inflicting physical harm. Just his luck that the dark lord gave him the dull crayons at the bottom of the intelligence barrel.

"What should I do then, sir?" Carrow gave a perplexed expression and scratched his left temple. It didn't seem obvious to him that there was much difference between students and livestock.

"Well, untie them!"

"You mean now?"

Snape shot him an exasperated look and yelled with thunderous rage, "Yes, now, you imbecile!"

Carrow squinted against the spittle flying in his face. He made a noise of discontent as he moved to undo the ropes tying the students' hands. The girl on the ground made an attempt to get up and he instinctively put a foot on her back to keep her down. She let out a painful sound when he pressed down on her ribs. He was about to send his shoe into her side when a sharp call stopped him mid-kick.

"Amycus!"

He turned to the headmaster and put his foot back down when confronted by murderous eyes. Snape shoved him to the side and bent down to help the girl up. She shied away from his hands and tried to get up without his help. When he grabbed her arm, she yanked it away forcefully and pulled herself up, fury still brewing in her clear eyes.

"Don't try my patience, Miss Weasley."

"I don't want your patience," she spat back, "Kiss my—" Before she could finish, Ginny Weasley doubled over in pain as a curse hit her. Carrow stood with his wand out, leering in satisfaction at finally having gotten to hex his least favorite student. Ginny collapsed to the ground and cradled her arm where the curse hit her. She struggled to not cry.

"Cease this!" Snape bellowed, "You are not allowed to curse the students. Don't make me snap your wand."

The death eater lowered his wand but looked unconvinced. "But why?"

"Because they are children! Children, you simpleton."

"Children that deserve to be punished," Carrow supplied as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Perhaps to him it was.

Snape blew out a long breath in defeat. There was no amount of reason that was going to work here. Some people were just hopeless. He turned to the terrified students and said sternly, "Two weeks detention for all of you. You'll be shoveling the stables. Now get out of my sight!"

Amycus Carrow huffed indignantly and walked out first. The students stayed back and crowded around Ginny Weasley to help her up. As they support her out of the office, Snape studied the way she moved, self-assured but with an undercurrent of insecurity. It was something that he saw in his students often. Old enough to think they know how the world works, but young enough to be unsure. Just like her.

Like Her—

He took another look at the girl, and it occurred to him how young they were. They were just children. His nausea returned and he stumbled backward, gripping the edge of his desk to keep from falling. The room spun. His vision swam and his stomach turned.

The nausea was growing as his revulsion amplified. It was wrong to feel this way, to covet the gaze of a child. He felt like he was suffering from sickness. Like a latent infection, it came and went but would always haunt and never truly heal.

But it was different, what was between them was different.

Wasn't it?

He couldn't tell.

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