He hadn't meant to do this. How could he have let it get so far? Why had he not managed to make her leave? It was all so … familiar. It was as if it was all happening again. Why was he not able to keep people he cared for in his life? What was it about him that made him destroy it all, every time? Every single bloody time. His mother. Lilly. Dumbledore. Sophie. The list of people, that had had a bigger place in his life, was depressingly short as it was. Why was he not … what was it, that he was not? Caring enough? Careful enough? Respectful and mindful of other people's feelings enough? His thoughts were turning in circles in his mind again. The same feeling of going insane, that he had battled so many times, so many dark hours, that he thought he had left behind for good, it was back. He stayed inside, in his lab, trying to avoid sleep for as long as he could. He didn't want to go outside, didn't want to see her pack the car with her parents and leave. After two days, when his hands were shaking with fatigue and he had wasted a particularly expensive batch of half-finished potions due to this, he sank down beside the work table, exhausted and tired, more of himself than of sleep, and began to weep bitterly. There would be no salvation for him, no repentance, no forgiveness. He was, and had always been, destroyed. A damaged being, that could not be healed.

He didn't know how much time had passed. He had fallen asleep on the floor. His bones were aching when he tried to get up. At nearly sixty he should really stop such nonsense. Things were the way they were. And he should face them like a man.

He went to the bathroom and then made himself a coffee. He took it outside. It was a stormy day. Rain clouds were drawing in from the west. The wind was violent, but on his sheltered porch he could sit wrapped in a blanket and watch nature unfold it's own justice upon this world. He wished he could be swept away with the water. Out into the endlessness of the ocean. There none of this would matter anymore. He wouldn't matter. What he had done wouldn't matter and what had been done to him wouldn't matter. Nothing would…

He couldn't remember how long he had been sitting out there. He was cold and shivering by the time he got up. He glanced down into the cove and saw the car standing by the end of the cottage garden. So they were packing. He fled inside. She was leaving. She really was. And so she should. No, she shouldn't. She should come back and forgive him. Didn't she say she was a freakin' Christian? Wasn't it their duty to forgive? Where was she?

No, she would not come.

It took him a long time to pick himself up off the couch again. It was dark outside. He glanced at the clock on the mantel piece of his little fireplace. Nearly nine. She would still be awake. He picked up his cloak, fastened it around him and left down the path into the cove.

He knew he could not expect her forgiveness. But he wanted to say sorry anyway. He did not want to part like this. He would try. And if she shut the door in his face then so be it. She had every right to.

By the time he had made it to her door, he was soaking wet. The storm had blown his cloak away from him and he had not bothered to draw it around him. Secretly he hoped she would have pity on him when she saw him like this and that might increase his chance of her listening to him.

When the door opened he found himself face to face with Sophie's mother, who was obviously not very pleased to see him. She didn't even say hello, she just stood there and looked at him.

"I would like to see Sophie."

Her mother's English was better than her father's, and she answered him lacing her words with a great amount of dislike.

"Sophie will not want to see you."

This could have become a very long and very frustrating conversation, had Sophie not chosen this moment to appear behind her mother.

"Who is it, m…, oh."

"Sophie, I need to talk to you."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

She turned to leave. He manoevered himself past her mother into the hallway and wanted to take her by the arm to stop her. She turned and looked warningly at his outstretched hand. He let his hand sink immediately.

"Sophie, I… I ...Sophie...what I did was inexcusable. And I do not expect you to forgive me. I just want you to know that I know that I have been wrong… and that I am sorry."

He looked at her pleadingly.

"Sam, you hit me square in the face!"

"I know."

"We were just arguing and when you ran out of things to say you just hit me!"

By now she was shouting in his face.

"I know, Sophie."

"Why should I listen to you then?"

He hesitated.

"I don't know. I really don't know. I don't know what came over me, I don't know why I lost control."

How could he explain it? How could he say that he hated being called a coward? That being called a coward reminded him of what he hated most about himself: the moment when he should have stood up against Voldemort, when he should have killed him before he could get to Lilly. He had gone over it in his mind for nearly forty years cursing himself for having taken the easy way out and leaving it to Dumbledore, when really he should have used his proximity to the Dark Lord and tried to kill him himself, no matter what the cost.

And how could he tell her about all his feelings for her? About how he had hated to see that git flirting with her and how it had made him feel small, insignificant and unwanted? He didn't know how to put such things into words. But he knew if he wanted a chance here he would have to find the courage to speak.

He looked down, silently wishing his own past away and praying that he would find the right words.

When he looked back up at her, he saw that her eyes had softened, that the harshness of her anger was gone from them and had been replaced by doubt and hesitation.

"You were jealous. Why were you jealous?"

Here it went. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"I… I was jealous, yes."

There, it was out. And as if this little confession had suddenly opened the floodgates that had kept his tongue in check, he continued.

"I was jealous because I wanted you for myself. I didn't want to share your attention with that idiot. I...I thought I had deserved that after having saved your life, I thought I deserved you. But I was wrong."

"Why did you want me for yourself?"

He looked at her hoping she did not want to hear him say what he didn't want to admit even to himself. But she didn't relent.

"Why did you want me for yourself, Sam? What could you want with me?"

He hesitated. He wanted to say it. But he was also scared to say it. He wasn't sure whether he would have the strength to say it aloud until he had actually opened his mouth.

"I...I want you."

He paused, unsure how to go on. But he had nothing to lose anymore. With this confession he had already given her the power to hurt him, reject him, laugh about him and leave his soul in a heap of shreds on the ground. He might just as well finish it.

"I have not much to offer. In fact, I am probably the most nasty and cruelest person you will ever meet. But ...you...I mean, I ...when you are there, it's all...When you are there, I feel there is hope for me. Does that make sense?"

Now she even smiled at him. Only slightly, but he could see there was no ridicule and no rejection.

"I think it does."

And then her face closed up again and she became serious once more. And his hope, that had gotten itself ready to soar high just a moment before, withdrew again into the dark corner it had inhabited these last decades.

"Sam, you must know by now that I really enjoy your company, and that I am very grateful for everything you did for me?"

"But?" he asked resignedly.

"I do care for you. But not enough to give up my own happiness. Do you understand?"

He just looked down.

"Yes, of course."

"No, Sam, you don't. What I mean is… you need me to give you hope and love you. But if in return I am hit in the face, that seems like a really bad bargain to me."

His head snapped up again at this.

"I didn't mean to hit you!"

"But you did. And that's a fact. You could not control your anger. And that scares me. I have seen what a violent relationship can do to all people involved. My grandfather was a very violent man. And my mum is still suffering from it. I promised myself, I would never allow a man to treat me this way. I would never be one of those women that stay with a man and always find excuses for his violence, believing him, when even after the tenth time that he swore it would never happen again, he still hit her and she still stayed. Completely giving myself up to be someone else's punching bag is just not who I am. I value my own life too much to do that."

He understood that. But she needed to understand that it would never happen again. How could he make her?

"I agree. That is not who you are. But I can also promise you that it will really never happen again. I am not much, Sophie, but I am a man of my word. Once I give a promise, I will keep it, no matter what the cost. I will never raise my hand against you again."

"Why should I believe you?"

He was thinking feverishly… if only he could tell her the truth about himself, he could make an unbreakable vow and she would believe him.

"I can guarantee it."

"How?"

"There are ways I have...it has to do with the things I can't talk about. But I can make sure that should I ever raise my hand against you again, I will drop dead."

At those words her eyes opened wide and she stared at him in horror.

"Drop dead? Why on earth would I want you to drop dead?"

He was taken aback by her reaction. And unsure how to continue.

"Well, wouldn't that be the best solution? I mean, you would feel safe and we could be together and you would believe me, right?"

"No, Sam, not right! I would never want you to drop dead over a fight with me! For Christ's sake, what is wrong with you? I want you to live and be happy and find peace within yourself, because I think that is what you are lacking most. But I would not ever want you to be hurt or even die!"

"If you want me to be happy, then give me a chance." He tried to sound as pleading as he could. "Please!"

"Sam,..."

"Sophie, I swear to you, you will not ever have to fear me. I swear it! Give me only one chance! If I should ever as much as raise a threatening finger towards you, you can pack up and leave and I will not stop you. I swear it! Really!"

He could see she was considering it, could see the little wheels in her head turning in his favour. Just a little more...one more argument in his favour. Quick, Severus, think quick!

"Give me this chance...and you will never in you entire life find someone who will love you more, be more faithful and more caring than I will be."

He had spoken as softly as he could. As if talking to a wild deer that you tried to lure into a trap. He put all the earnestness he could muster into his next words.

"Please, Sophie, I mean what I say."

And he had her! He could see the shift, he could almost hear how her heart opened to him again, saw how her eyes lit up. But the words she spoke still held distrust and suspicion. He would have to be careful and stay true to his words. She would not forget his promise and she would watch for any sign of betrayal.

"OK. One more chance. But if you don't keep your word I will be gone. Forever. There will be no further arguments and no room for negotiation. You treat me badly one more time and we are history. Understand?"

He smiled. Yes, he would use this chance. He would not ruin it this time and he would make her trust him. She turned away and wiped her eyes.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, still smiling.

She turned back to him and looked him straight in the face.

"I am giving you my life here. My heart, my soul, my everything. I am laying it into your hands, even though I am not sure you will not crush me. I am giving up the promise I gave myself and the self-respect that promise demanded. And I don't know why I am doing that. There is no valid logical reason why I should do that, and since you are a man that argues purely on logical reasons you may be able to understand what it is costing me to do this. I hope you will proof yourself worthy of this."

With that she turned and walked into the sitting room. That was a very cold dose of reality she had just emptied out on him. She was right though. But he had already resolved he would not betray the trust she had put in him. And unlike so many other resolutions he had lately made and then broken, he was determined to keep this one to the day he took his last breath.