Disclaimer : not mine. It's JKR's work.

Chapter 26, June 1980

He had been called to a meeting hours earlier and I expected my necklace to warm any time soon. But when it actually did, I almost dropped what I held. Instead of the soft warmth it usually produced, it was burning. I opened my blouse and was amazed to see unblemished pale skin, not angry red as I expected.

True enough, I had always been good at Charms and my Protean charm had been far more potent and accurate after my seventh year that in fifth. Not mentioning I had spelled it carefully as I had explained him. His levels of adrenaline triggered it so that the necklace reacted upon his perception of urgency. The hotter, the direr. Of course they were some firewalls or I would be perpetually bothered by the jewel. But this temperature had never been achieved yet and it scared me in its intensity. I knew he was alive for my necklace would be as cold as ice otherwise. That was the only up in the present situation. I had seen Severus in various states of hurt and depression since last October. He had stumbled home several times mostly out of sheer exhaustion, barely managed to call me before collapsing on the threshold of his lab once, had been snarky, inward and despondent more often than I cared to count but I had never had the impression the necklace had melted with my own skin. I was scared out of my wits. I turned it over with many precautions and difficulties. Written in small illegible scribble for anyone but us was the code word for his home. I grabbed my cloak, a few Potions, a first-aid kit and Apparated there with some trepidation.

And there he was, standing in his small, dimly-lit sitting-room apparently unhurt. No blood visible, neither on him nor on the floor. But his disheveled state— something wasn't right at all. Severus was not someone who would let himself seem disordered and dazed, not even in the privacy of his home. And there he was like a deer caught in the headlights. He startled when I appeared. Something kept me from running to him to check him out. Was it the heavy cloak lying haphazardly on the couch? Was it the way his hands would clench unconsciously? Or the shadow his body cast on the ground that seemed to envelop everything, to cloud the poor light into abysmal wells of Darkness, that seem to grow and superimpose itself onto the man himself?

"Severus?" I called, for what else could I have possibly said? Are you alright? Obviously he wasn't. "What happened?" I finally decided upon, hoping to at least get some hint about the reason for such uncharacteristic behaviour.

"There was a meeting tonight," he began, his voice totally flat, strangely reminiscent of that night after the first raid he had participated to. A meeting wasn't such a rare occurrence nowadays so I waited for the rest of the story. "Some had noticed the new recruits were somewhat squeamish." Well, who wouldn't? Joining meant torturing and killing. It was one thing to believe on the superiority of Pureblood, it was another to get your hands dirty with this supposedly tainted blood. After all it was as red as theirs. "They mentioned it to the Dark Lord." I repressed a flinch. It unnerved me to no end to hear him talk about Voldemort that way. He hadn't turned yet and despite a growing unease and distaste, he would never even consider it. Until Lily was brought into play again at least. "He had tasked me with brewing a remedy a while ago."

"Didn't you succeed? Was He displeased?" It seemed such a simple explanation.

"Oh, no, I was very successful. I am very good at my job, you know? There was some initiation again tonight." He was talkative. Was he rambling? That was very unlike him. "Of course they wanted to test my potion. Had me bring a whole batch with me. There was ample quantity for everyone." He seemed to retreat inward for a moment then started talking again. Very strange indeed. Severus was one for discomfited and disconcerting silences, those that made you uncomfortable and made you start spilling without conscious thought about it. He was a master manipulator of silence. And he was definitely rambling, talking quickly, much more than usual and in that still unnatural flat voice. "We held special guests tonight in that prospect."

"Oh," a small interjection of surprise escaped me as realization dawned. Oh, gods. A bloody meeting. There were the strategy meetings where they were tasked with whatever missions, discussed whatever plans or the positions in the ranks, initiations and so on. Then there were what I had dubbed 'the Bloody Meetings.' When they tortured and killed Muggles, Muggleborns or Blood Traitors alike. He always came back from those badly shaken. Usually took him days to come to terms with whatever happened then. I never asked. His considerable researches are proof enough of his sleepless nights. I did not want to know. And no need to ask if his potion worked. Severus brewed it. It was potent.

"Oh, I am good you know," he bragged but there was some underlining sarcasm. "It was well beyond my expectations."

There was nothing to say, nothing to ease his mind. He had willingly chosen to follow and obey that maniac. And I couldn't bring myself to touch him right now. Even a small pat on the shoulder, I couldn't bring myself to do it. Maybe that was what he needed deep down. But I couldn't. Not yet. What had he done? Torture? Most probably. Rape? Probably too. Murder? Definitely. I cared for him. I would support him despite his life-choices. I had chosen that road and I would abide by it, through Hell and fire. But touch him after a Bloody Meeting? That was above my abilities. The thought repulsed me enough and I couldn't do more than consent to be in the same room. Well, when all else fails, make a cup of tea.

"I'll make some tea," I offered, already moving towards the kitchen.

"Yes! Let's!" The vitriol in his voice stopped me in my tracks. "It will make all the wrongs damn right!" I knew his temper to be volatile, especially in situations such as these. I could feel hurt and leave, I could turn angry and answer in kind or I could breathe slowly and try to understand where his hurt came from.

"I thought the warmth would calm your nerves or at least steady your hands. They are shaking." He looked down at them and clenched them tightly in fists. He punched the wall. Once. I startled. When he lifted his eyes up to mine, there was a craziness dancing in their depths that worried me, a troubling fierceness I hadn't yet been privy to that seemed to beckon me, to tease me on. I fought it off.

"I was wrong to call you. Go home."

I might not be known for obedience and meekness but I knew an order when I heard one. Severus Snape admitting freely and willingly of being wrong? That was unheard of. If he started apologizing, I would die of shock. There was more to this and I would get to its bottom. I took in his still frazzled state, his rumpled clothes. The mixture of emotions on his face— anger, disappointment, hurt, guilt, shame and a dazed veil over it all. Mostly, I watched his hands. They were always steady. He was a Potion-Master after all— or almost one. He needed to have steady hands in every possible situation. But he was clenching and unclenching them reflexively. Sometimes, he would fist his robes. Sometimes, he would let them hang limply at his sides and the tremors would invariably come back to them. Was it the after effects of a Crucio? But the temperature my necklace gave off wasn't one of a bad session of Unforgivable. He had ridden some before yet never come home in such a state. When he had come back with the death of a child on his conscience he hadn't been like that. Deeply disturbed, despondent, angry as Hell, guilt-ridden, haunted, unresponsive and unreachable, yes. That wasn't what he exuded right now. He looked more like he was hanging on the last shreds of self-control by a thread. A very fine, tenuous and slippery thread.

"What was that potion?" A sudden stroke of inspiration flared.

"A Disinhibitor Potion. Suppresses the chemical reactions of your body and mind that causes feelings of fear, shame or embarrassment. Makes you act on impulses with no care for propriety."

Well, well, well. Wasn't that evening getting worse by the minute? And they fed that to the newbies? What a night they must have had at the meeting.

"Can I do something for you?" It was an innocent question. His stare wasn't. His eyes raked over me hungrily. He visibly fought the words that came to mind and finally decided to clamp his jaws shut on them. Time to change my question. And how did that relate to him, despite the obvious?

"What have they done?" He smiled then, a bright, shark-like smile. I didn't like it one bit.

"They spiked the wine."

My mind drew a blank. I sometimes forget how casually blunt Severus can be. He would deal you the truth without a shred of diplomacy to soften the blow. He hadn't much care for others. Scratch that, he had none for anyone apart Lily and I.

"Pardon me?"

"They gave a vial to each newly-Marked Death-Eater. But they also dosed the wine without my knowledge. I saw no reason to refuse a glass."

He drank the damn thing. Ye gods. Was there none listening tonight? He watched the thoughts on my face and suddenly advanced on me. His stare had turned murderous. I recoiled.

"I do not rape women!" he asked frostily, correctly assuming the pictures that had crossed my mind. "What do you take me for?" he whispered nastily. Never before had I been afraid of him turning on me until then. But I wasn't one to shy away either.

"I never thought there would be a day when I would have to remind you," I mused aloud then paused. "You are a Death-Eater, Severus." A slap would have been softer than my words. He blanched and stepped back minutely. I saw it because I was watching, looking for it.

"My fellow comrades hoped to loosen me up because I've always refused to participate," he spat as he straightened up, very still and very erect. "I can't believe you would assume I partook in that."

"You brewed the Potion. There was no way it wasn't potent."

"I have more self-control than that!"

"Yes, very clearly, you do," I snapped. "That's why you made so many lucky life-altering choices!"

I had been out of my mind with worry and he was flustered about the trivial fact that he drank a fucking potion and was out of his usually rigid self-control! What mad alternative world was this? And now, I was getting sucked into the argument, throwing accusations and laying blame. Very mature.

"I made a mistake!" he yelled. "I'm kicking myself every single fucking meeting for not listening to you and Lily and thinking this through! Are you happy knowing this? Does that make you feel better Hermione? Because it certainly doesn't help me."

I froze and blinked. How many sentences were wrong coming from his mouth? Mistake? Lily? Sorry? Wrong? Having Severus finally admit aloud he regretted taking the Mark— or as good as admitting it, should have overjoyed me. It didn't. There was something very, very wrong with him. He would never have blurted the truth that way. Unless…

"What have they given you?" I whispered, more afraid of the answer than I should.

"My potion. And Veritaserum I suspect. A strong dose."

"Can you fight it? Did you let anything slip over there?" Worry, scared to death I associated with Severus. This was known ground. I could now begin to reason and plan ahead. Emotional, impulsive and Severus were words that didn't mix, like oil and water.

"I left as soon as I felt the effects. I didn't even have to lie. I had no wish to join in on the festivities."

"My necklace burned Severus. I understand you're upset but why was it so hot?"

"I needed you."

"What for? I haven't done anything since I arrived. Apart maybe getting into an argument."

He didn't answer. I had the perfect opportunity to ask whatever had nagged me for years. Yet, I wouldn't. Some of those needed to be said in confidence to be accepted as true. Veritaserum couldn't do this. It just made sure no lie could be said.

"What do you want me to do?" He visibly shuddered again and fought his answer. I was onto something. And it certainly concerned me. "Severus?" I insisted coming a step closer in a show of trust.

Something swirled in his eyes. His pupils dilated and a look of determination settled onto his features. He was cautious and seldom let his emotions decide but at that precise moment in time, I knew he had relinquished control over them. There was a sudden gleam glowing in his black eyes, alight from the inside with a feeling I didn't immediately recognized. It lurked far behind a usually closed façade. Some part of me was waiting in tense anticipation, another wanted nothing but to bolt out of the house. I stood rooted on the spot, the wall on my back, feeling preyed upon. Instinct told me to move. Quick. Willpower kept me upright in rapt stillness. He pounced on me. There is no other words. And when he did, the word came back to me.

Desire.

That was what I saw in his eyes. Why he called for me. What he fretted about. Why he fought the Veritaserum. Because he was a proud man who did not take rejection easily. Because he had already screwed up the relation he had entertained with Lily spectacularly.

He kissed me. Darn that man who couldn't do anything the normal, conventional way, who had to cloud everything in darkness, anger and misery. I had waited for him to kiss me, I had longed for him to do so for weeks and he had to do it when he's under drug, angry and in the pits. When his love for Lily had finally receded enough to leave a little bit of wiggle room for me, this happened. Of course, Severus Snape could not kiss me on a happy occasion. He had to kiss me on the night of a Bloody Meeting. Just my rotten luck.

He kissed me hard, hungrily. A bruising kiss, more demanding than giving. Disinhibitor Potion indeed. He held nothing back the sly little fox. He pushed me against the wall and plundered my mouth with a relish I hadn't thought he possessed. I did not know of any woman he had ever dated. He hadn't talked about it in seventh year but there was still a very slight off probability he had dated a girl within the confines of Slytherin. I doubt it however. Damn, but for a first kiss, he was talented. He left no place untouched. When he pulled back enough to get air, our lips were tingling and swollen, red from the assault and his taste lingered. Red wine. It had been red wine. His grip on me tightened if possible. Maybe he was afraid I would flee from him. Maybe he thought I would slap him for his impertinence. Maybe he had assumed I would scream in fear, disgust or outrage. I don't know what played through his mind. What I knew was that he had willingly kissed me and that I could finally have him. I grabbed his shirt, not that it would bring him any closer. I could smell him, his usual herbal earth scent mixed with a few others I couldn't place. Right then, he was mine and damn the circumstances. Damn the Bloody Meeting and the images it kindled. Right then, rational thought didn't seem doable. I could see his Adam apple bobble up and down and the swirls in his eyes. I could feel him against me and purposefully grounded my hips into him, eliciting a low irrepressible growl. I smiled smugly. I kissed him with an ardour to match his own. It was enough. I don't know how we made it to his room nor how my blouse survived his impatient attempts at unbuttoning it. His mouth never left my skin. There was an unrestrained need that night we never achieved again. We improved over the years for we fumbled tremendously that first time as neither knew exactly what to do. But our clothes found themselves spread haphazardly on the floor and we found the way to the bed so we did manage the essentials. Technicalities and expertise come with time. Let's just say we practiced a lot from then on and leave it at that.

xxxxx

I never pegged Severus Snape for the cuddly type. Never had I imagined he would enjoy spooning and touching after sex. But I awoke the next morning with a rough, calloused hand gliding softly, reverently over my skin, from my lower back to my neck, following its curve, grazing down my arm, getting back to its starting point and starting its revolution again. I laid there unmoving, enjoying the peace and serenity of this moment, so rare for either of us. The tenderness, the intimacy of that morning was soothing. Severus was a hard man, difficult to reach and even more challenging to decipher. I never knew where to stand, what to think nor what he felt. It was but sweet relief to finally have an inkling of his feelings for me and rewarding somewhat of all the hardships I had faced at his side. He traced the contour of the tattoo I had on the small of my back. My eyes fluttered as it tickled. Aware I was now awake, his hand remained on me still, never ceasing its hypnotic dance.

"What is it?" he inquired softly.

"A memory," I answered straight off. I felt his index finger on it, caressing, prodding, following every curve, rubbing gently on the green. "It represents the friends I lost but will always love with all my heart. It is my way to never forget, to share everything with them. As we used to do."

The pads of his fingers still on it, I understood his question, his subtle way of inquiring and felt the compulsion to explain. But I couldn't. Not without giving my secrets away. The tattoo was an allegory of Harry and Ron. A sitting Jack Russell terrier— its coat white and flaming red. Two malachite in lieu of eyes—manga-like huge and brilliant green. Under his paws, a great sword, half hidden. In his jaws, a bouquet of flowers: forget-me-not, heather, ivy, lilac, chrysanthemum and zinnia. There was no way he could understand the implicit of my tattoo, its real meaning, its significance. I had it made about three weeks after graduation in a small underground Muggle shop in London. I brought printings of Jack Russell terriers in various positions, of the flowers I wanted drawn and pictures of my friends. I asked specifically for the colors to exactly match. I demanded the sitting position— waiting, trustful, always at the ready. Sitting like the lion of Gryffindor. The color of Ron's hair for his own Patronus, a dog loyal til the end. Like he had been. Like I was being, trying still to protect them, to save them from their undeserved end. And of course, Harry's eyes. My best friends. My brother and my first love. Mine for all eternity, etched into my skin, inked into my body, indelible. And Severus was tracing it, inquiring. It felt strange to say the least, erotic even. It would not be the last time he'd ask. It would not be the last that I'd rebuke him.

"It represents them. Every feature, from the choice of the animal to the colours, everything reminds me of them."

"The location too?"

"Indeed. We used to always protect each other, to support and back each other up, to have the others' back. I couldn't possibly have it drawn anywhere else."

"Don't you have any regret?"

"It's a Muggle tattoo, Severus. It's just a testament, a tribute, a token of love. I have nothing to fear from it. It is not a mark of obedience and nobody has a hold over me through it." Silence stretched for a few minutes but it wasn't uncomfortable. "You know, sometimes they seem but a distant dream of the past. Most days, I barely remember their voice. But when I see my tattoo, it's like they are looking back at me and I can almost feel their presence again at my side. I can hear their laugh and witness the delight in their smiles, their eyes crinkling in mirth and good-humoured tease."

"You love them still," he commented idly, his hand resuming its path on my skin.

"Always," I replied solemnly and it was the end of it.

A/N : Of course he would pursue her only under drugs. He wouldn't even know how or where to begin otherwise. He should be utterly thankful she is so understanding. And in case you're wondering, he has NOT participated in the meeting, that's why she doesn't reject his advances that particular night despite her inner thoughts at the beginning of the chapter.

flower meaning

forget-me-not : remember me forever

heather : solitude

ivy : fidelity

lilac : first love

chrysanthemum : loyalty and devotion

zinnia : thoughts of friends