Severus hid himself behind a book as Wormtail cleaned the kitchen, deliberately acting as though what had happened in the kitchen had not fazed him. Truthfully, he was both furious at and terrified for Eleanor. She had left the scuffle looking very poor; dead-eyed and bleeding. He struggled to keep himself from running to check on her – and yell at her. Of all the idiotic things, she had to eavesdrop on Narcissa Malfoy and her deranged sister. It was a wonder Ella was still alive and his house was still standing.
Snape turned a page, pretending to be absorbed by its contents while Wormtail glanced over at him warily. The ticking of the small clock on the mantelpiece had become thunderous, and despite its even, reassuring tempo the minutes seemed to drag on far longer than normal. Blood roared in Snape's ears as his mind worked furiously, trying to untangle his plan of action. There were so many troubling notions now, so many ways to become ensnared in his tangle of deception.
"Finished," Wormtail hissed, tossing a soiled towel covered in scouring solution and wine onto the ground before Snape. He flopped onto the couch, sending a little bit of stuffing shooting out the side of a ripped cushion.
"Then remove the mud from the doorway," said Snape composedly as he snapped his book shut, unable to stare at the same paragraph any longer, "and refrain from disturbing me any further."
Snape rose and ignored the incredulous look Wormtail gave him, making a beeline for the bookcase door leading to the stairwell. The stout man grunted as he heaved himself off the couch, mumbling curses under his breath. Snape kept his gait slow and fluid as he closed the door behind him, cutting off Wormtail's droning. Tiny drops of blood and wine were smeared on the steps and small, red fingerprints dotted parts of the wall. His eyes trailed upwards, searching for their source.
Eleanor sat in the landing, hunched over and trembling. Her eyes were glazed as she stared blankly at the wall in front of her. It was not an uncommon reaction to a person's first encounter with an Unforgivable – if they lived. Severus had been no different years ago, however he had been far more prepared.
Tiny cuts marred Ella's hands, now stained with a thin smearing of blood, and small bits of glass were still stuck in her arm and leg, glittering maliciously in the lowlight. Her cheek was bright red and swollen, the starting of a good bruise. Worry slithered its way into his chest, but his frustration quickly snuffed it out.
"Stupid girl," he hissed, "why, in Merlin's name, were you down there?"
Slowly, her gold eyes shifted to him, yet her lips remained silent. Her trembling frame and puffy cheek were pitiable, striking against his anger with a decidedly sour note of sympathy. Snape was no stranger to the cruciatus curse, and though the years had hardened him to it, the magic still bore a potency that struck him mercilessly each time it dug into his skin. He cursed himself for letting go the matter because of her pathetic appearance, but it was clear she had learned her lesson and the damage had already been done. Consequences would unfold whether he liked it or not, and he did not want to leave her bleeding for Wormtail to discover.
"Get up," he snapped quietly, walking past her as if she were simply a troublesome bump in the rug. "Do as I say if you want any relief from what you are feeling."
With great difficulty, Eleanor rose to her feet, wavering like a weed caught in a gale. Her eyes never removed themselves from him. She followed him mechanically to the safety and privacy of his room, where the door was promptly shut, locked, and charmed against the last remaining danger (if Wormtail could be called such) in the house. Where to begin was a near impossible decision weighing on Severus's mind. There was no telling the dangers of both Bellatrix's and Wormtail's knowledge of Eleanor. Bella would know better than to "kiss and tell", knowing it would expose the rather taboo nature of her visit. Somehow Bella managed to retain her protective nature for her sister despite shedding her humanity long ago. Stubborn loyalty often flowed through pureblood families. Narcissa was too scared to say a word, and with her husband locked away in Azkaban, she was far too vulnerable to wager an accusation. Sooner or later, though, word would slip and he was in for a world of hurt. Eleanor would be facing a potentially worse situation.
There was no denying the tension in the room as Snape stared down at Ella, willing his growing concern for the young woman to leave his thoughts. Seeing the shaking of her legs, he slid his chair over to her.
"If you're going to be the death of me, I might as well make sure you stick around to see to it," he said before starting his search for a set of medicinal potions he kept in his bathroom cabinet.
Contained safely within a scratched and broken box, Severus found his collection of tiny medicinal bottles and tins. They rattled and clinked as he drew them close, scanning the stoppers and label on each one to mentally select the ones he needed. They were not dusty in the least bit, gaining more use as the Dark Lord grew bolder and his strength returned. A large glass of that elf-made wine would have done her some good too, but most of that was Vanished or soaked up in Ella's hair.
When he returned, Snape found Eleanor sitting in the chair struggling to bring herself to remove a bit of glass from her leg. He knelt down in front of her inspecting the wound as he arranged the small tins and bottles neatly. Snape handed her a clear bottle filled with a purple liquid.
"I assume you know what this is," he said as she uncorked it. The strong astringent emitted a bitter odor that brought many unpleasant memories to mind. Eleanor slowly dabbed the potion on her hands and arms, which emitted little puffs of smoke as it made contact with the small cuts eliciting a small hiss of pain through her clenched teeth. When she turned her attention back to the offending piece of glass she had been fiddling with, her fingers began to quiver far more. They clumsily tugged on the glass and her cheeks became ashen as she fought the urge to be sick.
"Could you-…?" Her voice, little more than moving her lips, resounded with pain.
Ella's eyes darted from him to her leg, her trembling fingers pressing down around the still bleeding wound. The jagged piece of glass stuck out haphazardly in her skin, stained pink and glinting in the lamplight. Snape knew removing it with a simple extracting spell would hurt far worse, and possibly inflict more damage, than if he merely plucked it with his bare hands, as ghastly as that sounded. Snape pressed a hand beside the gash to keep the surrounding skin firm, surprised by the warmth and smoothness of her skin, and slowly pulled the small bit of glass free. Biting her lip, a small gasp of pain slipped from her, and again when the antiseptic potion was applied.
Snape handed her a small tin filled with the remains of a salve he frequently used and fetched a cool washcloth for her swollen cheek, mind swirling with conflicting thoughts. As Ella smeared the salve onto her hands, Snape performed a quick tergeo to remove the dried blood from her skin and the wine from her hair and the floor where it had dripped into a small puddle beneath her. He moved methodically, trying not to dwell on what he was doing while he worked through the same routine he used on himself. Eyeing her quivering hands smeared with the thick paste, he gingerly pressed the washcloth to her face. This simple action took her by surprise, her golden eyes round and wide as they watched him.
The situation had become nauseatingly complicated. Had Bellatrix not joined her sister's visit, Snape never would have needed to make that Vow. Dumbledore's fate was set in stone and his final request made, and Snape was truly feeling the pressure of it now. The lines of the new Vow burned in his skin still, a nagging reminder that the clock was ticking. He needed to report to Dumbledore what had happened, especially Ella's stupidity that nearly got her killed. Three people now knew of her, the most concerning was Bellatrix, the Dark Lord's pet. She would find a way to plant mistrust in the Dark Lord's mind any chance she got, and this was a dangerous notion in her favor.
Why Severus was being so considerate to the source of his probable doom was not clear to him. He was still struggling to understand the panic he had felt upon catching sight of a red muzzle and ear peaking out from his kitchen and witnessing the ensuing disaster Bellatrix had unleashed. It was very real terror that made staying calm more difficult that he was accustomed to. The same feeling he had experienced when Lily was put in peril, bringing his hands to tremble and breath to quicken. How easy it would have been to feign surprise and allow Bellatrix to dispatch Eleanor, effectively snuffing out any further complications and tying up loose ends.
"Emmeline," Ella said softly, her voice hoarse and shaking. "She's… Did you really…?"
He looked her in the eye and replied without hesitation, "Yes."
Snape watched the hope ebb from her eyes. Her shoulders slumped over miserably, crumbling her willowy figure as she soaked in the realization that he was not playing the hero. He was glad to tell her. Relieved. Ella needed to know that he wasn't playing for anyone else, living at least, and there was a very real danger in knowing him. There was a very real danger that her life would already be over if he had not stepped in. Regret bothered him far less than it should, at least in this regard. Tearing his gaze away, Snape went to search in his nightstand drawer, unwilling to watch her disappointment any longer. His fingers ran over dozens of tiny bottles all rolling around in the drawer amid a stack of ripped parchment, a spare quill with a broken tip, and a moldy jar of valerian leaves.
"There may come a time when the same might happen to you." He could feel her gaze on his back as he spoke like hot coals pressed to his bare skin. "Those in the Order understand the slippery slope they are on. You happen to be in far deeper than all of them, especially after today. You need to be aware of how fleeting your safety is from now on."
At last, he found what he had been searching for: a miniature bottle half the size of his ring finger and filled with a turquoise liquid. It was a potent sleeping brew, one of his own creations, which combined several soothing mixtures without many side effects. Though he seldom liked to use potions such as these on himself, in his line of duty he occasionally felt the need override the risks. This particular concoction was a combination of a very strong dreamless sleep potion, an anti-anxiety brew, and a minor anesthetic. A perfect escape for a good night's rest. A drop, about the amount that was left by tipping the vial over his fingertip, was enough to put him out and ease the horrors that gripped him for a few hours. It left him rather vulnerable, though, and its addictive tendencies was enough to keep him off of it, leaving the little vial left unused unless he really felt the need for it.
Judging by the looks of her and her history of sleepless nights, Snape could tell Ella could use it. After his comment, she had paled several shades more and her hands began to shake more violently. Practically on the verge of hysteria, Ella clutched at the chair stiffly for support but yielded instantly at his touch. He pressed the small bottle into her hand, the buzz of lingering dark magic still tangible on her skin, "Here."
Ella looked down at it questioningly, letting the still-damp washcloth fall from her cheek onto her lap. Her fingers traced the lip of the bottle, tugging at the cork inquisitively.
"It will help you sleep later," Snape added as he turned to shut the drawer, rattling its contents as he did so. "All you need is a drop's worth-"
Snape whipped around at the sound of a loud thud. Eleanor had collapsed sideways out of the wooden chair and onto the floor. The little bottle in her fingers was drained completely. The stupid girl hadn't even let him finish before downing a foreign potion in one go. She was normally more careful than that, especially after the mishap with the Moody imposter. With proper use, the potion would start to make Snape feel drowsy within an hour giving him plenty of time to curl up and get comfortable. Obviously, the amount Eleanor had just ingested was enough to put her out in seconds, and send her head on a quick trip to the floor. Snape let out an exasperated sigh, running his hand through his hair and muttered, "Mobilicorpus."
Eleanor was lifted from the floor and less than gently deposited onto Severus's bed, as he was unwilling to float an unconscious witch through the hallway with Wormtail about. The afternoon was slipping away from him; Snape needed to make a report to Dumbledore while the conversation with Narcissa and Bellatrix was still fresh. In his pocket, the sickle charmed to connect him with the Order began to warm and hum. He inspected the surface as a number appeared: 7. They would meet in a few hours; he would have to make his visit with Dumbledore quick.
Stealing a glance at Eleanor, he attempted to reassure himself that she was alive despite her stillness or the idiotic amount of potion she had ingested. It was unwise to leave her alone without knowing the effects of such a dose, yet he did not have much choice. Most likely, she would still be fast asleep upon his return. He took her wrist and fumbled for a pulse. It was there, albeit slow, and he felt it was enough to diminish his discomfort.
Snape locked his room up tight and passed Wormtail lounging on the couch, stretched out as far as his short limbs could go. Seeing Snape, he jumped from the cushions and tried to appear busy. Snape merely sneered in his direction and left without a word.
After their meeting, Albus had joined Severus at the Order meeting within Grimmauld Place. What the old wizard had been searching for went unanswered, as he quickly turned the topic to the one concerning the alarming disappearances of wandmakers in the area. Voldemort seemed to be collecting them, but even Severus did not yet know his reasons for doing so.
Albus found the matter of Mrs. Jones, Wormtail, Narcissa Malfoy, and Bellatrix Lestrange amusing. Amusing, Snape grimaced, that we are dancing on the precipice of Voldemort's favor. He had hoped to drill a little regret into the old wizard for forcibly shoving the witch on his doorstep, but Albus had chuckled as Snape explained and found the bit about Mrs. Jones the most entertaining. Although there had been a flash in his eyes, just for a moment, where they appeared hard and calculating that led Snape to believe that perhaps he was angry and had yet to show it. Severus had been fuming when they parted a short while before, and even now annoyance simmered hotly in his chest at the old wizard sitting at the head of the table, calmly directing the conversation through the agenda.
"He wants to keep us unarmed and harmless," Moody grumbled, leaning heavily on his staff. "Wizards without wands… Nothing but a flock of sheep waiting for slaughter."
Both his good eye and his magical one fixed upon Dumbledore as he spoke. But, Dumbledore retained his cheerful and calm demeanor, as he had through all of the comments on his blackened hand. He had played it off as a minor injury due to his age and growing clumsiness, but it didn't seem to fool the Order members. Yet, they said nothing of it afterwards. In their eyes, Dumbledore's word was infallible. They clung to every bit like bees to honey. They had no idea of the deception he was capable of crafting, the intentional corruption of those he sought to charm. Any respect Severus had for him was closely guarded by a forbidding helplessness.
Snape was, however, pleased to see his countercurses and containments were still in place, working well. Albus was alive and showed no sign of weakness, being in good enough spirits to make light of the position he was in.
"Harry has been sent to the Burrow without incident," Albus said calmly. "We can rest a little easier now."
"And he's doing well," Arthur Weasley cut in.
Snape felt Lupin's gaze upon him once again. He chose not to acknowledge it this time, keeping his eyes forward. No doubt he was curious as to why Eleanor was absent, just as the others had been. Lupin had better things to worry about, like the look he was getting from Nymphadora Tonks just across the table. Somehow she had managed to make herself drabber than the last meeting, perhaps by washing out the mousy brown locks she sported by wearing an all-brown outfit. Overall, she seemed to disappear into the wallpaper and wood, except for the horrible glare.
"Judging by the safety material they have been mailing out at the office," Arthur Weasley said. "We can be sure people are starting to take notice. But they don't know how deep it runs. Just the other day, several people in the Improper Use of Magic department got sacked without warning. Word is they were all Muggle-born, but everything's still hushed."
"The Auror office too," Tonks chimed in, perking up only slightly. "Lesley Parks was sacked. She was Muggle-born, and bloody brilliant with a wand. Had to leave without rhyme or reason."
"We need to be prepared," Moody said sharply. "For when the air-headed politicians all turn on us. We'll see the return of Maeve's Meadow or the Week's Siege without a doubt."
The mention of Maeve's Meadow made everyone at the table shift uneasily. A town marked with tragedy from the First Wizarding War after decades of idyllic coexistence, when dozens of witches, wizards, and muggles all perished in a dreadful nighttime ambush highlighted by excessive use of disemboweling curses. The name still bore a sharp pang of guilt when Severus heard it. He had not been a part of it. It occurred just after he graduated from Hogwarts, and really opened his eyes to what he had gotten himself into. The slaughter of children was never something anyone could properly prepare for.
"Keeping the dementor population down, and remaining vigilant are our goals for the time being," Albus said, breaking the tense silence. "Let us hope that an end will come swiftly before we see a return of such tragedies. We are, fortunately, better prepared this time."
The rest of the meeting dragged on, moving through minute details of the auror staff at Hogwarts for the coming year, the advance guard who would be at the ready at all times for Potter's protection, and the potential for protection missions. Snape focused on regaining a sense of inner calm, replacing all of the mental blocks he had removed for his meeting with Dumbledore and repairing the distraction of recent events. He took in deep, silent breaths, even after Tonks knocked over her glass and sent lukewarm soda everywhere. He actively relaxed the muscles in his arms and hands trying to ignore the conversation as it swung away from anything he would be involved with. His head began to ache with his increased self-awareness and fatigue began to snatch away his attention. He needed to rest. He had gone too many days with only a few hours of sleep.
Snape was all too eager to jump to his feet at the conclusion of the meeting. Arthur Weasley was prattling on to Tonks about an invitation to tea extended by his wife. Unfortunately, the two of them were completely blocking the hall. Moody had been smart, edging to the door before the talking had even ended. Now, he was long gone.
Severus seized the opportunity to squeeze past when Arthur moved slightly to the side. An awkward moment later and Severus was home free, at least it seemed. An angry looking Lupin shouldered him into the wall before he could make it the rest of the way out.
"Everyone has noticed someone is missing," Lupin said crossly.
Snape feigned boredom, "Emmeline has been gone for a while."
"Not her," Lupin snapped sharply, quickly reminding Snape that the rest of the group was still actively mourning the witch.
"We are not attached at the hip, Lupin. I am her colleague, not her keeper," Snape said harshly.
"You are her partner in the Order. You're supposed to keep track, and you know where she is."
"A lesson from the star partner in the Order," Snape chided. "Kept yours safe, didn't you?"
Lupin bared his teeth and hissed angrily, easily bothered giving Severus the idea that the moon phase must have been full recently. His trust in Snape was visibly diminishing with each meeting, so it came as no surprise that his patience was unhinging. Emmeline's disappearance and subsequent death had shaken many of the members, including Lupin.
But Severus did not have the will to continue the silly standoff though his tongue ached to agitate the swiftly souring Lupin into an embarrassing fit of anger.
"You may voice your complaints to Dumbledore," Snape said. "I have more important matters to occupy my time than babysitting a quidditch dropout."
He glared as he shoved Lupin out of his way and left the house with satisfaction.
The hour was late when Snape returned home at last. His body ached for sleep, having gone so long on meager rest and endured the whirlwind of events that had passed within the day. Wormtail had gone to bed, leaving the sitting room empty and a low fire threatening to put itself out in the hearth. There had been a distinct and unseasonal chill in the air, warranting the added warmth.
His eyes burned and his head throbbed, every bit of him calling for sleep. Snape trudged up the stairs with heavy lidded eyes. Eleanor's door was closed, like Wormtail's, and Snape thought nothing of it. He didn't bother switching on the lights or waiting for his eyes to adjust, and immediately stripped off his shoes and coat in the dark by memory.
Tugging at the covers, he didn't think twice about their stubbornness to roll down to let him in. Snape slid into sheets and was asleep by the time his head hit the pillow.
Hours passed before Snape was jolted awake by a fear that fled the instant he woke. His hand had reached out and grabbed what he had thought was his pillow, a habitual effort to ground him until his senses returned. Instead, his fingers were wrapped around something soft and warm and somewhat bony.
Despite being nearly face down on his pillow, Snape's eyes flew open in alarm. It was still dark outside, but the first tendrils of sunrise were beginning to paint the sky a delicate shade of indigo. Enough light for Snape to make out the silhouette beside him in bed. He had completely forgotten about leaving her in his room. Unease sank deeper into him like ice water before dissolving at the realization she would probably be out cold for several more hours at the least, saving him the embarrassment of trying to rectify the situation.
Though his first reaction was to release her hand in disgust, Snape's fingers remained locked in place. His eyes strained for details that were still masked in the dim light as his heartbeat grew faster and louder in his ears. A strange feeling gripped him as his hand absorbed the warmth of her wrist. He had always been alone, most especially at night, and while he found most forms of physical contact uncomfortable he had always wondered about the allure felt by others. Lily's hugs had been his only taste of positive contact, and they had long since gone away, replaced by the Dark Lord's bony fingers steering him down a dark path or the impersonal embrace of a curse.
Snape had held Eleanor's hand before on a need basis only, and while it was a bit exhilarating and strange, it was not like this. His thumb grazed the thin, delicate skin of her inner wrist, feeling the flesh give under the lightest of pressure. Perplexed by the complexity of the moment's emotion, Severus could not help but marvel at the familiarity of the foreign sensation. He had seen Eleanor for a couple years now on a regular basis, memorized her mannerisms and the way she moved – usually to reduce the burden on himself of dealing with her. But actually touching her – in this way, at least - was unfamiliar territory, yet he felt completely at ease.
Perhaps he was still asleep.
The light grew a bit brighter, turning the sky into a rich blue, illuminating the room just enough with a grayish light for Snape to make out Eleanor's figure a bit better. Her lips were parted and her jaw relaxed in a way he had seen her sleep before. Her cheek was still puffy and discoloured, noticeable even in the low light. Strands of red hair snaked over her injured cheek and spilled onto the white sheets like dark rivers. He let the back of his hand brush against a silky strand. He could still smell the scent of wine on her.
As a teenager Severus had tried to imagine what it would be like to lay next to someone at night, though at that time his mind would picture Lily. She had been the only proof that friendship existed and love, without the dysfunction he witnessed on a regular basis, was possible. But in this moment, for once, his mind did not wander too deeply back to his childhood crush. Eleanor remained Eleanor, even with her golden eyes shut. Nosy, persistent, rash Eleanor.
The way she slept with her mouth open was rather endearing, as long as she didn't drool and thankfully there was no hint of her doing so. She hadn't been so calm when she recovered from the botched sleeping draught Barty Crouch Jr. had made. Or on a regular basis, for that matter. Usually at this time of night he could hear her tossing and turning, violently tangling and kicking her sheets. The potion was doing a good job of keeping her deeply asleep, blocking the nightmares she usually suffered from. If she could learn to listen, Snape considered making a batch for her to use if she needed it.
The floorboards in the hall creaked and moaned as Wormtail wandered to the bathroom. Severus tightened his grip on Ella's arm, eyes locked on the door. The sounds of the sink running came and went, and at last the floor was quiet again.
Snape knew he should, and normally would, get rid of the girl or put himself to bed in her room. For whatever reason, most likely his deep exhaustion, Severus did not move. His dark eyes studied Ella carefully, with a boldness he wouldn't dare if she were awake, as the light outside was gradually growing into a reddish glow. Unnamable emotions made Severus uncomfortable, he preferred the rationality of perfectly definable ones. But at that moment, he had a lightness in his chest he could not identify the reasoning behind. Rational thought seemed to be taking an unwelcome break, he realized as his fingers slowly uncurled from Ella's wrist to seize an opportunity he never figured he would get again.
Severus let his fingers trail from her jaw to the curve of Ella's neck, barely grazing the surface, fearful of what his touch might do. His hand settled against her collarbone, fingers pressing into the warmth he found there with a newfound boldness. Her heartbeat pulsed evenly beneath his hand. It was a very perplexing source of comfort once he reminded himself she would not wake.
His eyelids began to grow heavy as his body relaxed, finding a common rhythm with Ella's slow, deep breaths. What he was doing was stupid, he thought to himself, utterly ridiculous. But he could not deny he had always been curious. He had longed for something more intimate than standing beside Lily when they were young. He lost that chance when he grew closer to his Slytherin classmates, though Lily had not known his real intention of befriending them. She was his only friend, his best friend, and he wanted to protect her, especially from people like Malfoy, the Blacks, Mulciber, Avery, and Lestrange. His pureblooded house mates were merely connections to a brighter, more secure position in society, one that would overlook his abusive muggle father and tainted familial line. They didn't approve of his "mudblood" friend and forced him to limit the time they had together, or else risk being labeled a blood traitor and every opportunity they gave him would have vanished. She took the distance as an affront to their friendship, and in turn spoke to him less often and drifted closer to her roommates, and the Maurauders. If he had known how short their friendship was he never would have given up all the chances he had to study alone with her, walk her to class, or meet her in Hogsmeade. Regret was bitter in his mouth.
Still, his connections – something Severus was not able to properly label as "friendship"– with his Slytherin classmates had given him many things to be grateful for. Lucius particularly, having invited him to dinner and events that were frequented by wealthy and powerful wizarding families that Snape could never have gotten close to otherwise. Lucius had been his good word with the Dark Lord.
Ella's interruption earlier could have cost Severus his good graces with the Malfoys, though Lucius hardly had any credit to his name left at this point. The Dark Lord had cast him aside like a used rag the instant he failed to return with the prophecy. The same could happen to Severus, or worse, the moment any doubt was cast into the Dark Lord's mind. He had been toeing the line all these years, it was only a matter of time until he lost his balance. He had no doubts that the very thing that would throw him over the edge was the creature sleeping across from him. She tangled everything up so quickly. How easy it would have been to leave her to bleed to death in that bathroom his first year teaching, or to leave her in a permanent nightmare after Crouch's botched draught. The mayhem earlier would have been completely avoided, and he would have nothing to hide.
Snape could not deny he had been frightened, albeit briefly, when he saw several killing curses come very near to hitting Ella. She could have been snuffed out in an instant, though his problems would have remained. Doubt would be cast, even without her around, and Severus's situation would still be nauseatingly complicated. But in the pit of his stomach, Snape was ill at ease imagining Eleanor suddenly gone. As irritating as she was, her presence was welcomer than others. She had been stubbornly keen on keeping watch over him for a while now, even going so far as making an unbreakable vow despite knowing he was an active death eater. She knew his hands were not clean, yet still she cared about him.
This idea perplexed Severus to no end. Aside from the bizarre notion that any member of the female variety could find anything redeeming about himself, this behavior struck him odd. Lily had drifted away the more she learned about what he was getting into, and Ella was doing the complete opposite.
The warmth running through his fingers was soothing and made his eyes grow heavy despite the growing morning light. It was strange to still be in bed to him, as he was nearly always up at sunrise. He wasn't one to lounge about or sleep deeply. The reddish sunlight lit the edges of Eleanor's hair, turning them into living embers. Severus studied her face; the shape of her eyes and her long lashes, the pattern of freckles that began at her nose and spread over her cheeks, and the curve of her parted lips. It was a pretty face, he thought, even if her smile was a bit crooked and her cheek was currently swollen. Struggling to stare at Ella's face a little longer, his eyes finally refused to remain open. Her heartbeat throbbed reassuringly beneath his fingers and he drifted off to sleep with fragmented memories trailing from his thoughts.
Ella did not dream, and if she did there was no recollection of them. She did not remember a few days passing by except for a couple short glimpses, which perhaps could have been a dream as hazy as they were. It was a strange, dark numbness permeated with a continual feeling of dread.
Ella woke once in the night in an unfamiliar bed. Her eyes were slow to focus and adjust to the dim moonlight streaming into the room. Pain made itself apparent quickly and her body was stiff and heavy. As she gazed around, Ella found something large beside her in bed. Soft, rhythmic breathing broke the silence, along with the gentle creaking and settling of the house. The thing beside her was not very large, simply very close. Barely able to turn her head, Ella studied her companion more closely as a little feeling returned to her limbs.
A head of dark hair rested very close to hers, and a gentle weight became more apparent on her chest. Still too numb to fully express the surprise and confusion building in her mind, Ella lay very still – though she didn't have much of a choice in the matter – and watched him sleep.
His face was relaxed, but a stubborn wrinkle in his forehead from too many years of deep thinking and stress remained between his dark eyebrows. She wasn't sure if she had ever seen him look so peaceful. His hand was fastened tightly to the front of her shirt and rested on her chest with a comfortable weight. Something about his presence calmed her, and not long afterwards her eyelids refused to stay open. Her fingers struggled up to touch his hand, just to see if it was real, as she drifted off to sleep once more.
Ella was jostled out of the darkness by a sudden moment of terror, though the actual thought responsible had fled the same instant. She clutched the sheets as her eyes struggled to focus. The room was lit by lamplight, and nearby was a blurry dark figure at a blurrier desk. He gave a start at her reaction and rose from his chair. Ella felt her whole body tremble and couldn't figure out if the bed was moving or she was shaking.
He stood over her – but his face was far too hazy for her to make out any expression – as she felt something touch her hand. Eyelids fluttering, she fought to stay awake as the numb feeling grew all over. Then, darkness once more.
When she woke the last time, she was alone with weak limbs and crippling fear. Ella could not tell if the fleeting memories were really memories, or simply dreams. Anxiously, she struggled to rise and stumbled to the bathroom, feeling a rush of terror upon laying eyes on the stairwell and her nearly healed, but still raw hands. The only memory that returned was Bellatrix Lestrange launching a curse at her, the sound and feeling of crunching glass, and the smell of red wine.
A/N: Dear guest reviewer (and all readers), I'm sorry for making you wait so long! I've been agonizing over the tangle of plot and scenes for far too long! ;)
