Part II
Chapter 1
Snape carried a tray of healing potions to the hospital wing. He rather hoped Madam Pomfrey wouldn't be there, that he could just leave it. Even though this was the beginning of his second year teaching at Hogwarts, and of contributing to the infirmary potions stock when requested, she still wasn't overly friendly towards him.
Like all the others, she didn't fully trust him. They probably never would. A former Death Eater – his left forearm prickled – was almost as good a social deterrent as part-vampire. Though that at least was still a secret. It didn't matter that his human blood days were over, for good; he didn't even hunt in the forest now, just relied on his potion – no one (besides Dumbledore) knew about any of that anyway. Which was how he wanted it. He kept to himself, and if that made some people suspicious or just unfriendly, well. That's just the way it was.
It was all the same to him, what anyone thought. Only Dumbledore seemed to be different… and that still felt so strange Snape couldn't think about it much. Thank Merlin that Dumbledore didn't insist on some kind of friendly rapport – he said he trusted Snape, but he was never demonstrative about it. It suited Snape just fine.
Dumbledore thought the Dark Lord would return someday, and part of Snape almost hoped for it, hoped for a chance for action, a chance to avenge Lily. The other part… well, what was the point. It wouldn't bring her back. Nothing would.
Strange – he used to welcome the excuse not to think about Lily, to feel nothing. He had once thought that the knot of furious jealousy and despair in his stomach whenever he thought of her – seventh year, the years after – was the worst he could ever feel. A failure of imagination on his part.
The infirmary hall was empty, no sign of the matron. Now to leave the potion in the side workroom. He sidled quietly (certainly not sneaking, he thought ruefully) through the curtained doorway – and stopped, frozen in his tracks.
Selda Yewmarsh looked up at him. She was standing at the worktable in the center of the small room, cutting up some type of root with a silver knife, the flowing black sleeves of her high-necked dress pulled back. Her arms were – tattooed? Or somehow traced with a pattern of gold lines that glittered slightly in the light from the windows behind her, and her long dark hair was half pulled back and streaked with purple. But her face was still the same. Except for the faint scar under her left cheekbone, she seemed barely older than when he had last seen her three years before. It was jarring – he felt absurdly old for a moment, and then as if he were awkward, clueless and fifteen again, sitting under a tree by the lake, showing off the most harmless spell he had ever invented, practically the only one he'd never had to invent a counter-spell to atone for...
For a frozen moment, he almost thought she looked – happy? To see him? Then she jumped a little, looked down at the table, and swore.
"Healing potions for Madame Pomfrey," he said quickly, setting the tray on a nearby shelf. "I'll just—"
"No, no!" Selda had set down the knife and walked quickly around the table, though she stopped abruptly by the near corner. "No, I just cut my finger, I was surprised." She was holding a white handkerchief to her hand, and he could see red spots on it, and smell the blood, faintly. "Please stay," she said.
He wanted nothing, nothing more than to turn around, to flee the room… but he couldn't. He owed her — a debt, an apology, however inadequate…. He inclined his head, and forced himself to take a step forward, away from the doorway.
They stood awkwardly. What now? Snape thought. Talk about the weather? You're terrible at small talk, do you know that? echoed absurdly in his mind. A sudden urge to reach out and touch her cheek made him clench his hands.
"I was so sorry to hear about Lily." Selda broke the silence in a quiet tone.
Snape managed to keep his face still, but his blink was longer than strictly necessary. "Yes," he said.
"She was always so…." Selda trailed off, and then shook her head a little. "I mean, she gave me a name I actually like. She used to talk to me—" she glanced at him, "in the corridors. She asked about you, at first, but then later we would just talk, too. It was almost like having another friend."
Snape felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He couldn't talk about this now – even the possibility that Lily might not have completely given up on him was unendurable. And Selda was looking at him far too attentively, as if she wanted to ask if he was all right—
"And you?" he asked, heading her off. "I read… about your father. In the Daily Prophet, after his sentencing." It had been just after Snape finished at Hogwarts – life imprisonment in Azkaban.
Selda nodded. "He died there, last winter," she said. She looked at him, almost wryly. "You can say it, if you like."
Snape shook his head, declining; but he thought it, ferociously: Good riddance.
Selda took a hesitant step forward. "Severus… I never thanked you," she said. "For your help."
He thought, Something I almost did right? But his stomach twisted; he didn't deserve thanks. "You broke the curse yourself," he told her.
She nodded. "But at least you cared enough to try to help, before. That was—"
Before. He didn't know what to say, how to begin, but he hurried to speak, to say what needed to be said. "Selda, I – I know it's not enough, I know…." He took a deep breath, and looked, at least for a moment, at her. "But I'm sorry. I'm sorry about that night." He dropped his gaze to the floor. "It was wrong, I was wrong, I betrayed you, and I'm sorry. I know you must hate me. I know there's no way I can take it back, but … I wish I could."
He opened his mouth to say more, but she had moved a little closer, and placed a finger on his lips, interrupting him.
Snape jerked away a little at the touch, and she also pulled her hand back quickly, blushing. His lip was slightly wet – blood from her cut finger. Before he stopped to think, he licked it, and couldn't suppress a tiny shiver. Selda shook her sleeve down over her hand. They stood silent a moment, and then she spoke.
"I appreciate that, Severus," she said, quietly, looking up into his face, though her cheeks were still a little red. "Truly. And I don't hate you."
He raised an incredulous eyebrow and shook his head, almost as if gnats were buzzing around his ears. "You don't have to lie to spare me," he said. "I don't blame you—"
"Since when," she said, her voice low and sardonic, "have I ever lied to you?" A pause. "That I could help."
He rubbed his forehead. "I don't understand… there's no excuse, no justification for what I did, I—"
"Severus," she said, softly. "That is not what forgiveness is about."
Snape had no words, no idea which ones he wanted or needed. But Selda turned back to the table and picked a little at the chopped roots, and continued in a carefully casual tone. "I work at the Ministry," she said. "Well, for now. I came to talk to Madame Pomfrey about a recommendation… but—" She glanced sidelong at him. "But I work as a court scribe. A lot of Death Eater trials these last months. And I heard, I was there – I recorded all of Professor Dumbledore's testimony defending you," she said. She looked at him steadily, her arms crossed, holding the elbows so tightly he could see her hands whitening, one again clutching her handkerchief. "How you changed sides, how you were a spy – I can't tell you what it means to know that, how glad I am…."
But she knew nothing, and he was afraid of what she might say next. He still couldn't seem to find his voice.
"I've never lied to you, Severus, but I never told you how much…" She took a breath. "That I—"
"Don't," he said quickly, cutting her off. Before either of them could do or say anything else, Snape heard the rustle of the curtain behind him, and Madame Pomfrey entered, a sheaf of parchment in her hand.
"Griselda, dear," she said, reading over one, "I hope this will do—" She stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowing momentarily as she glanced quickly between the two of them. "Ah, Professor Snape," she said, coolly. "I suppose you have brought the potions that I requested?"
"Indeed," Snape said, trying to speak calmly, indicating the shelf where he had left the tray. "And now if you'll excuse me, I don't wish to intrude on your visit." He nodded to the two women, and then left the room as quickly as he could without actually running, and hurried out of the hall.
But Selda caught up with him in the deserted corridor just outside the doors.
"In such a hurry, then?" she said.
He had to get away. He didn't deserve thanks, and he couldn't bear pity, or… or tenderness. "Go away, Selda," he said, still walking.
"No," she said, and took hold of his sleeve, forcing him to turn and face her. "Severus, what—" Just then there was a noise of many student feet around the corner. Looking around, Selda pulled him into an empty classroom behind them and pushed the door shut.
"Well," he said snidely. "Isn't this familiar. Going to take my wand?"
"Don't you wish." He raised an eyebrow, and she lifted her chin, staring him down. "I don't hurt myself any more. At least not on purpose." She gestured with her cut hand.
"And yet," he said, crossing his arms, trying to loom, which wasn't difficult, given how short she still was; her hand strayed toward her robe pocket, but she stopped and lowered it, "here you are, with me. I can't believe you even want to talk to me."
"I do. I heard Dumbledore, I know what it means to leave the Death Eaters, not just leave them, work against them." She shuddered a little. "I know you've changed—"
"Not enough," he snapped. It was time to do this thoroughly, to get it done. He summoned up his coldest voice. "Regardless, it would be better if we didn't see each other again."
Her mouth fell open, and then she said, carefully, "Are you telling me that you don't… care at all anymore?"
"You're assuming that I ever did," he said.
For just a moment she closed her eyes and turned her head slightly, looking for all the world as if he had slapped her. But the next she was staring at him blazingly, her hands in fists at her side. "Don't think you can pull that on me, Severus Snape," she hissed at him. "You think I don't know you?"
He gritted his teeth. "You don't know anything." What I've seen, what I've done…. What I did to you was nothing….
"I know there's something to know." She stared at him intensely, as if he were glowing, as if he were the only thing she could see, and he felt panicky again. She began, with an effort, "And I know that I—"
"Don't," he said again, and even he could hear the desperation in his voice.
"Why not?" she demanded, stepping forward. "Why won't you let me just tell you? You're practically sticking your fingers in your ears and humming."
He wanted to bolt, but managed to confine it to a flinch and a sidestep. "I just can't, Selda, I can't." She opened her mouth again, but he shook his head. "Just… don't. Not to me. Save yourself the pain."
She stared at him. "What does that mean?"
If the truth is what it takes… he thought. He spoke slowly, looking toward the window, his eyes unfocused.
"You said, that night, that I would never have betrayed Lily, and maybe you were right. But I managed to do it anyway. Before I was a spy for Dumbledore, I gave information to the Dark Lord…."
"And?" Her voice was equally quiet.
"And so it was my fault that he went to kill Lily that night." His voice was steady, but he could barely breathe, his chest ached so badly. No matter how many times he said it, or thought it, told himself over and over…. "It's my fault she's dead."
Her eyes were wide. "Severus, no—"
"It is," he said, flatly. He was still standing – he focused for a moment on staying that way. He would not sit, or lean against the wall, or collapse on the floor. Just stand. He had broken in front of Dumbledore, a year ago, sobbing and screaming and crumpled, and he couldn't let it happen again. "And now…." He looked at her, pleadingly. "Lily is… was… always…." He squeezed his eyes shut. How could he say this to her? But he had to. "I can't," he said, no louder than a whisper. "Not now."
"Not ever." Her voice was soft, but as broken as he felt. He looked at her. She was dry-eyed, as ever, but there was a tiny twitch at the outside corner of her left eye.
"I always knew," she said, and the corners of her mouth turned up a little, but it could not rightly be called a smile. "I knew how you felt about her. I thought… never mind what I thought." She looked away, her cheeks reddening a little. "I'll go."
Every time he thought he couldn't feel worse…. This was exactly why he had to do this, why he couldn't be around her. But now he owed her yet another apology. "Selda, wait—" he began, then looked at his feet and muttered. "What I said before, about… about not caring, I'm sorry, I—" He ground to a halt. But, as usual, she seemed to hear what he didn't say.
"I believe you," she said. "I believe you do care… just not enough." She opened the door to the corridor.
"Selda—"
"Don't," she said, shaking her head, and then she was gone.
