CHAPTER FIFTY TWO

Time out of mind

Severus scowled down at Karkaroff snoring loudly as he sprawled his long limbs across the sitting room couch. His hair was a tangled mess of dark waves and his rumbled dress robes reeked of expensive scotch and the cheap perfume of the sleazy company he kept. His mouth was hanging open with a bit of drool about to drip off his lip and his color was bad after a night of carousing.

"Get up," Severus snarled, becoming even more incensed when his order produced no reaction and Karkaroff snored even louder. "I said get UP!" This time he punctuated his demand with a firm kick to the shin.

"Ouch! What the fuck?" Igor growled leaning up abruptly and grabbing his shin. "What's wrong with you? Who wakes up a house guest like that?"

"Oh for Merlin's sake, you're a drunk on my couch, not a guest at the Savoy," Severus hissed in the snotty tone that was becoming more and more his trademark these days. "You look like rubbish. How's your head?" Severus stood over Igor and glared disapprovingly at him.

Igor winced and rubbed his temples. "Hurts," he grunted for he was still quite foggy.

Severus tossed another vial at him. "Drink this. It will take the edge off and then the fog should lift in about an hour. I have to go," Severus paused briefly. "Don't be here when I return."

"Govnjuk!" Igor grumbled childishly while hoping Severus didn't know that was the Russian word for bastard. He obediently finished the draught and growled at Severus while flopping back down on the couch. He would do as he damned well pleased and this bat would not stop him. However at the moment he felt too shitty to argue. Severus turned on his heel and left with a flourish of black robes swirling behind him.

Igor groaned loudly and then rolled over and tried to sleep but he could not, for a feeling that something bad had happened was gnawing at him. Slowly, little details of the previous evening began coming back to him. The Malfoy wedding he remembered, the dinner afterward as well, however the reception was foggy and he had no idea how they ended up at the The Three Broomsticks. He remembered the randy girls he had met and his cock came to life. Three girls at once was his lurid plan for the evening, but they were nowhere to be seen this morning and he felt insanely backed up so obviously that plan did not come to fruition. He'd never had a problem closing the deal before and searched his sketchy memory for the reason. Then all at once the hideous memory hit him like a crushing jinx, Natalia.

"Oh no," he groaned as he now understood the feeling of dread he awoke with. Natalia, he'd seen her. Ah, she looked lovely; that he remembered. They'd had words, very ugly words. What had he said? He couldn't remember but he knew from the knots in his stomach it wasn't good. They'd argued bitterly. She'd laughed at his eyeliner; that humiliation he was unfortunate enough to recall. He rubbed under his eyes knowing he looked like a raccoon at the moment. What else? He'd gotten angry and called her, oh no, a prostitute.

All these years he'd been so angry, so hurt, and so terribly bitter. He'd tried so desperately to escape the pain she left him with through drink, drugs, women, politics and dark magic, but although they were momentary distractions the memories always returned and he was forced further down the rabbit hole of vice and destruction. Ah, but to see that lovely witch last night turned his world upside down. Despite the pain and humiliation she left him with, he still ached for her. "Damn," he muttered to no one and got up to take a shower. Perhaps that would clear his head and he could go back to his life that was devoid of all things Natalia. He wanted to get out of this rat trap and back to his own bed in the penthouse suite he was now using in the swankiest section of magical London.

Natalia knocked on the door of her friend's house in the run down area called Spinners End. It had been years since she'd visited him here for he didn't like people coming to his home, but she had to see him. The prior evenings encounter with Igor was unsettling and he was the only one she could talk to. He knew everything, even the things she was sworn not to tell another living soul.

There was no answer and she decided he must be sleeping in a bit. It was a late night for all of them. She remembered the wards he used as a teenager and took a guess. "Half Blood Prince," she muttered and the front door popped open an inch. That was a little too easy and she made a mental note to mention it to him. She pushed her way inside and heard water running in the small bathroom just off the living room. It was a little late for him to be just now getting up but it was a lazy Sunday so she thought nothing of it. She wandered into the study to wait for him and noticed a pile of dress robes and a blanket on the floor. That was unusual for him not to sleep upstairs not to mention leaving a mess. Normally he didn't have house guests but then his life as a Death Eater was quite different these days. She heard the bathroom door open behind her at the exact moment she noticed the Durmstrang cuff link still attached to the cuff of the shirt. She froze, terrified to turn around.

Igor fresh from the shower was in nothing but a towel around his waist and another around his neck that he was using to dry his hair. He took only two steps into the room before he too froze. She turned slowly to face him and when their eyes met he felt his insides melt. Then a pained expression shadowed her face and she ran past him out of the room nearly knocking his towel off. He had to scramble to keep it on and go after her at the same time. She opened the door an inch but he was immediately behind her slamming it shut and pinning her between it and his wet bare chest.

"Let me go," she whimpered shakily.

"Not yet." No way in hell was he letting her go without a fight.

She began to struggle to open the door and attempting push him off but he was far too powerful to be moved unless he wanted to be.

"Stop. Don't run from me." He pressed himself back against her and lowered his voice, breathing purposefully on her neck when he spoke again. "No matter what's happened between us, you know I would never physically hurt you." She stopped struggling and he smiled blissfully knowing that while their connection was damaged, it was not broken. They were both breathing heavily and mercilessly he did not release her, not yet. "I'm sorry for my behavior last night."

"As you should be." She hissed, struggling to speak under his weight and her mad desire for him despite their circumstance.

"Yes, as I should." He ran his hand gently down her arm but did not release her. He couldn't let her go, still haunted by unanswered questions. "I just don't understand why…"

"I am not having this conversation again." Her body tensed again. "It's too late for this discussion and besides, we've both moved on."

He sighed heavily, his head still pounding despite Snape's draught which barely affected a hangover of Karkaroff proportions. "I suppose." But he did not release her, for he may have moved around, but certainly not moved on. He could never forget the greatest love of his life. He wasn't going to let her go so quickly. "At least stay for coffee. I want to hear all about your life." He felt tension ease out of her body once again and knew she would stay with him, at least for a little while.

"I'll make it. You get dressed." She tried to move but he remained pressed against her.

"Promise you won't leave if I let you go?"

"I promise," she replied, and he believed her.

He released her but reluctantly as he was enjoying the feel of her bum against his hips. She had filled out a little more since he'd last seen her. Releasing her was for the best though, as he was seconds from a hard on and felt quite confident that she would reward that with a slap in the face or a swift kick in the balls. Neither option was appealing to him.

While he was in the other room putting on his trousers and the shirt to his dress robes, he heard her clanging around in the kitchen and sighed yet again at the domestic rhythms that he could have enjoyed with her all these years. Why did she have to lie to him? It made his heart hurt all over again just thinking of how they'd parted so quickly and so horribly.

He busied himself tidying up the room which in addition to his robes being strewn across the place, also looked like there might have been a mild scuffle with Snape the prior evening. He remembered a terse conversation and some kind of warning, but the details were fuzzy. She entered carrying a large tray with a coffee pot, two mismatched mugs and some toast. He smiled at her attempt to pull together a small bit of hospitality in such an inhospitable abode. It was a mark of the humble sweetness that he'd always found so charming in this girl and his deep regret vibrated in his heart.

"Thought you looked like you might need a little something on your tummy. You're looking a little worse for wear this morning." She set the tray on the table and handed him a steaming cup of black coffee.

It had been so long since someone tended to him out of genuine concern. The women who drifted in and out of his life these days were all after something; power, money, a sexual adventure but they only did things for him in an effort to get something back. Knowing what he knew now about Natalia and Lucius, and the pay-off from both fathers, she was more than likely after something now. But what could it be? His head pounded and he reached out to take the steaming mug she was handing him. As he did, his unbuttoned shirt sleeve lifted revealing purple bruises and dark tracks along his thin but muscular forearm. He took a grateful sip of coffee and raised his eyes to find her staring at his forearm and the telltale track marks left by his addiction to Black Dragon.

"How long has that been going on?" She nodded to his arm. He was found out. Really his ongoing chase of the Dragon, as he called it was an open secret, not advertised but not aggressively concealed, for those in his circle cared not. It was only now, under her sweetly pained face that he felt ashamed, and this annoyed him. This is why he didn't need a woman in his life. She had always kept him away from excessive partying and made him to the right thing. At one time in his life he liked who he was when he was with her, but now under the twisted grip of the Dragon, he rationalized that he was better off without her. He was better off being alone and free of such constraints that a woman like Natalia would put upon him.

"What's it to you?" He snapped with a conceited cock of his head, for he was not in the mood for a sermon much less from a liar.

She seemed to consider her response carefully which irritated him further. He could almost see the wheels turning into her head as she concocted a way to manipulate him while taking another sip of her coffee. He noticed her cup it had cream in it as she always liked and even that served to annoy him, watering down a perfectly good brew to a tepid mess, which was exactly what she would try to do to him if he wasn't careful.

"That rubbish will kill you if you aren't careful," she finally said softly.

"Hasn't killed me yet." He gave a flat smile that did not reach his eyes and shrugged in an attempt to make her believe that this abuse of mind altering potions banned by the Ministry were was merely recreational, but that was a lie he was telling himself.

"Yet," Natalia sipped her coffee and raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

Igor began to feel jumpy at the mention of his favorite escape. The tar like concoction was a mere three feet away in his coat draped over a nearby chair; at least he hoped it was still there. His foot began to tap restlessly and his pulse quickened. He couldn't go more than a few hours without needing a fix these days but still didn't seem to think he had a problem. So many in the Dark Lord's circle used and it became commonplace. He became so focused on his craving that he didn't notice the widening gap of silence between the two of them. He took another sip of coffee and began to wish she would leave so he could have his fix.

"Eat your toast. It will calm your nerves," Natalia spoke softly to him.

Once again she was bossing him around but oh, how he missed the comforting sound of her voice. He looked at her again and thought how lovely her face was and what treachery it concealed. Still, what he wouldn't give for a hit of Black Dragon and violent shag. Yes a truly violent shag to put this conniving witch in her place and have her once again desiring him, the very thought was delicious. Would she resist him? Yes. Most likely she would resist and in his needy state she would win. He needed a hit so badly his legs were beginning to spasm. He tried to control them but she noticed and called him out.

"Don't let me stop you," she remarked haughtily. "If you need a hit take a hit. I was just leaving." She rose to leave, unable to watch him dissolve into a panic over his unquenched thirst for rubbish.

"No. Don't go." He grabbed her hand. "Stay. I...I...just need a little..."he became nauseous at the sound of his pathetic pleas that he hadn't intended to say out loud.

"Igor," she whispered softly, taking his hand. "You don't need any of that."

The thought of not having another hit was horrifying and rage rose up to defend the addiction like the worst kind of dark curse. He jerked his hand out of hers, stood up and backed away from her. "You have no idea what I need."

She sighed heavily, giving up quicker than he'd thought or hoped she would. "Perhaps not, but I did once...but you were a better man then."

And with that she left him, his heart wounded as well as his pride. She was right. But he couldn't think about that now. All he could think about was the warm wave of bliss he would feel in a few moments. So rather than go after her as a man deserving of such a witch would, he ran straight for the container of thick paste in his coat pocket. His hands shook as he struggled to open it and dip the tip of his wand in it. As soon as he touched the darkness to his arm he felt right again and slumped back in his chair as the familiar numbness overtook him.