A/N: A little trigger warning here as well, not as bad as before but ... just in case. It'll be easy to pick up the story back up in the next chapter if you need to.
I Floo'd home after I was done documenting on the patients I'd seen that day. It really could have waited until tomorrow, but I honestly needed the extra time to compose myself after Mr. Snape left. As I busied myself with the mundane chore in my office, my mind kept flashing unwillingly back to his hands, and the way they made me feel.
It had never been like that before with Harry, even when it was good. His touches had made me feel warm and giddy in those days, not hot and burning and alive with electricity. My knickers were clinging to me again, making me even more aware of the effect he had on me.
Michael Fitzpatrick.
Such an unassuming name, so different than Severus Michael Snape was in our world. And he had lived under that name in the years he was gone, apparently working in Paris and not hiding out in some horrible little secret shack like Harry thought he'd done. I couldn't help but wonder what he'd been like then. He seemed so different the two times I'd seen him, almost like a different man completely. The defiant scowl was gone, and I could see his face easily since he didn't keep his hair in front of it all the time. And when he spoke, his words to me had been soft and kind.
What about in Paris, when he lived life as Mr. Fitzpatrick? What was he like?
What kind of man was he then, when no one knew his name?
I couldn't figure out why I'd agreed to have dinner with him, other than the politeness being an automatic response to being invited out. And it would be nice to celebrate my success, if there was one to celebrate. Hermione was out of town of course, Ron had mentioned going to a stag party with George, and Harry … I sighed when I remembered that even if he were here, he hadn't remembered about the exam at all.
I braced myself after a bad Floo connection made my stomach flip and walked out of the fireplace, almost running into a to the man in front of me. I let out a little shriek of fright before I realized it was Harry. I looked up and into his eyes, made even more green by the still glowing light of the Floo connection.
"Harry!" I said, putting my arms around him in genuine surprise and happiness.
"Ginny," he replied coldy. His arms remained at his side as I pulled away. The look on his face troubled me. I'd seen him angry before, but never like this. "You lied to me," he said, showing me a copy of Rita Skeeter's column.
My face paled as I looked at that bitch's simpering face wink at me and chew her on the tip of her quill, then looked at the headline beneath it, though I knew what it was going to say. I swallowed and coughed, clearing my dry throat before I spoke. "I didn't want to upset you, since we hadn't had dinner together in so long! I ran into Mr. Snape, and he helped me when I twisted my ankle. That's all! Ask Kreacher – I was here all weekend, I swear to it!"
His eyes swept over my face before he threw the paper down on the table and sat down on the wooden bench. "I believe you. I just really hate that git, Ginny. I don't want him anywhere near you, and tell the truth next time."
I closed my eyes and sat down next to him, putting my arm around him as wiped tears from his eyes. "I know, Harry."
"I hate what he did to my Mum, to my family," he said, his voice brittle as he wept in the kitchen, not for the first time since we'd lived together there.
"Shhh, Harry – I know," I said, though I believed that giving Harry all those years of protection and almost his life should have been enough payback for the single wrong he did so long ago that caused a chain reaction he'd had no control over. "Do you want something to drink? I could make us some hot chocolate, mixed with that rum you like?"
He shook his head and took a handkerchief from his pocket, blowing his nose loudly. Then he did something he hadn't done in years. He placed his head against my breast, listening to my heartbeat as he wrapped his arms around me tightly. When we were very young, after the War, on nights when my parents had drunk a little more sherry than they should and slept more soundly from it, he would creep into my room and do the same thing, just listening to my heart because he said it calmed him.
Sighing, he squeezed me tighter as I placed my arms around his shoulders and held him to him, trying very hard not to cry. This was the Harry I fell in love with, not the angry man who couldn't seem to stop moving. Was he still in there, just waiting to come back out again?
"I missed this," he said. I leaned my nose to his hair and sniffed it, trying not to let it bother me that I slightly smelled hyacinths and rose water. He always came back to me, just like he did -
- tonight he swore not to go back, but he'd sworn the same thing every night for the last week, and yet he wanted to watch her move within the house with a book in her hand, studying as she did little mundane tasks like pouring herself a glass of wine or stoking the fire in the kitchen while eating her dinner so that she wouldn't have to bother Kreacher.
Severus didn't expect to see Potter there. He thought he'd heard her say that he was gone for a fortnight. But there they were, in the kitchen and clinging to each other like long lost lovers as he walked up to the window. He thought about leaving, cancelling his next appointment with her and pretending like he'd never met her again at all. But there was something in her eyes as she buried her nose in Potter's hair and looked out the window with longing. It was a measure of pain and resignation that should not ever be present in a woman who couldn't be much older than twenty three. Her eyes in that moment looked as old as his own did, not burning and young like they had not an hour before.
They murmured to each other, and Potter took her hand and led her out of the room. Just as he had before, he climbed the fire escape and watched them enter their bedroom. They undressed silently, not even looking at each other as -
- he asked, hoping she might be up for it.
Ginny nodded slyly. "It think I can manage," she answered with a little smile that warmed his heart just a little bit.
He unmade the bed and laid down on it, his cock already hard by the idea as they walked up the steps to their room. After removing the pot and rubbing the contents on his hard length, he passed it to her, and she rubbed it on her folds. He cocked his head to the side, trying to figure out if she was already -
- wet enough from the heat of Mr. Snape's hands on mine, but it was a good idea to apply it just in case, even if it was out of habit.
I climbed onto the bed and threw my leg over his body like a dancer. It had been our favorite position once, as Harry had full access to my breasts for him to play with or suck.
"Ready?" he asked, taking himself in hand and guiding himself to my pussy.
I nodded, and slid down on him, feeling the pain of not being quite -
- ready enough dammit! She obviously knew what she was doing, even if Potter as oblivious. When her leg had gracefully swung over Potter's narrow form, his own legs had almost given out from the lust that rolled through his body. It was a beautiful thing to watch her move, even now as she rode the boy beneath her. But the pain was still in her eyes and clearly written all over her face. He turned away from it, unable to watch; yet with a groan he turned back to the scene, unable to look away.
She smiled, slyly, her body shaking as smallish hands cupped her breasts and squeezed -
- the soft skin under his hands felt so good, even if he wanted another's there instead -
- of the pain. Just a little longer, a little longer and he'd be done, and I could apply the Soothing Balm that sat under the bed. I felt him swell inside me and knew he was almost there. Just before he started to shout I touched my clit roughly and shook as I smiled again, earning a happy gaze from the man beneath me. I collapsed against him and felt his arms around my back, patting me as he slid out of me.
"I need a shower," he said, kissing me gently before I rolled to the side to let him get up.
When I heard the bathroom door shut, I turned over and started to cry silently as I wiped the blood from my legs again with a soft flannel. Why even bother with the ointment, or with anything, if nothing helped it anymore? Why did it -
- matter or not if he came within her anyways? He finished his wank in the shower, just as he had done the previous week, and watched his cum wash away with the suds down the drain.
Better anyways – even if she was on the Potion neither of them wanted a baby. And if she didn't even notice with all the grease already between her legs from the jar, then what did it matter? Why should he even -
- care. He'd never cared about another person in his life, save for Lily. Why should he care about this girl, not ten feet from him, who stirred something in him he hadn't felt -
- in my entire life, I'd never felt more like the whore Harry told me my desires made me than when he kissed me goodbye and told me he'd be gone an extra week, and not to expect him back again before then. He didn't even care about my tears, my cries for him to stay just ten more minutes when he shut the door behind him.
When it opened again five minutes later I'd still held on to hope that he'd come back, returned to stay with me a little while longer, but it was Kreacher with hot toddy and a bowl of soup, his great eyes sad as he turned away from me as though he was as ashamed as Harry should have been. I ate a few bites of the soup, but I couldn't stomach it all. The toddy was overly sweet to mask the massive amount of brandy he'd added, but the cinnamon stick floating about made it all seem like I was just having a cup of cider on a cold night, instead of getting drunk so that I could try to go to -
- sleep. She tossed and turned in the bed fitfully after drinking the steaming cup of pure brandy he'd Confunded Kreacher into making for her. It hadn't been hard to do, and in the end he didn't think Kreacher had minded the forgetting. Severus wondered just how much the poor little elf had seen and heard during his years of service to this house, and if these current occupants might not be the saddest group yet.
"Kreacher just wants someone to treat Madam Weasley like she deserves. Best Weasley of the bunch," he'd said, just before his eyes turned misty and vague.
He knew nightmares far too well not to recognize the signs that she was having them too. When she reached over to the empty spot next to her in the bed, then sat up in bed and charmed the lights on, she was green with nausea and shaking with fright.
She walked to the bathroom, hand covering her mouth, and shut the door behind her. Even from where he was, he could see the steam wafting from the room and smell the perfume emanating from it. He took the watch from his pocket and realized that it was only half past ten. She would be able to sleep before her exam, if her dreams didn't leave her exhausted in the morning.
Miss Weasley returned to the room shortly thereafter, dropping the towel that had been secured around her body before getting into bed and charming away the lights again.
He left his post on the escape outside then and wandered the streets of London for hours, visible only to himself, before he decided to return his flat for a shower of his own. It was in there, as the heat seared through the damaged skin on his neck, that he realized what he wanted, needed, to do. Severus just hoped she needed and wanted it just as much. From what he had seen of her life, he'd never been so sure of himself as he quickly devised the plan before he too, albeit briefly, slipped between the cool sheets of his bed and cast out the light around him.