It was uncanny, really, how often you found yourself in this position. No matter how many times you told yourself that the last time would be the last time… You inevitably came back to this familiar place when you were at your lowest. It was weak, pathetic, and honestly, kinda gross. But try as you might to adopt a more conventional coping strategy, nothing could really compare to the cold comfort and inexplicable security of crying on a bathroom floor.
You'd found out the hard way that the window of your new quarters faced the rising sun. You hadn't had the presence of mind to draw the curtains when you'd stumbled back into your room last night. You hadn't had the presence of mind to do much of anything, really, besides kicking off your boots and falling face first into your new bed. You hadn't even made it under the covers before you'd drifted into the sweet oblivion of alcohol induced bliss.
And you had felt blissful… You remembered that much. You remembered tottering out of the Hog's Head, clutching Severus by the arm, unwilling to let him go. You remembered slipping on the gravel path, hopelessly uncoordinated in your inebriation, but he'd held you fast, kept you from falling (kept you safe). The castle had been so dim, so quiet when you'd returned. He'd walked you back to your classroom, and you'd attempted to pull him in with you. But he'd stopped you, told you to go to bed, to get some sleep, and reminded you that you would talk about this tomorrow… You'd pouted, of course. And he'd surprised you by kissing you. He'd kissed that pout right off of your face, and in the shimmering torchlight of that darkened hallway, you knew you would do anything he asked of you. You hadn't wanted it to end, the soft, chaste press of his lips, over and over until you couldn't breathe any more… Until he'd turned you around and steered you through your classroom door. He didn't follow after, but lingered in the doorway to make sure you made it to your office. The rest was a little bit of a blur, but you'd made it to bed somehow. Even on top of the blankets, you remembered feeling warm, a bone-deep contentment radiating from your very core, like the hum of ancient magic.
That warmth was gone now, though. Like an empty fireplace, last nights flames had been replaced with the cold ashes of dread, grim and foreboding in the stark relief of daylight. Even with the sun blazing through you window, you found no comfort in the break of day. Spots in your eyes, red hot behind your lids, you felt dizzy, sick, disoriented and scared.
What had you done?
You didn't waste time contemplating whether the sick feeling churning in your guts was from the fear, or the firewhiskey. You had to get out of the sun, get away from the light, be free from the glaring consequences of your actions. You'd stumbled across the brightly lit room, your robes slipping from your arms and onto the floor as you lurched into the darkened bathroom. You weren't sure what your body was demanding of you right at this moment, but you hedged your bets by kneeling down before the toilet. Blessedly, nothing attempted to vacate your body. You did however, cross your arms over the bowl before resting your forehead against them, spitting into the water occasionally as you tried to will away your nausea. Everything hurt. Your stomach, your head, your back, your eyes. Every nerve was agony, and the physical discomfort was a catalyst for the tears that began to fall. It wasn't just your body, though. There was a deep ache in your chest too, a hollow space that was rapidly filling with panic. Quiet sniffles turned into ugly sobs, and you buried your hands in your hair as fell back onto your arse, before crumpling onto the bathroom floor.
Idiot. You stupid fucking idiot. What had you been thinking? You'd been united for less than a day… fuck, practically less than an hour, and you'd gone and thrown yourself at him like some desperate school girl. That's certainly what you felt like right now. A foolish, imprudent school girl who couldn't fucking control herself. Alcohol was no excuse. It had been years since you'd last seen him. Years of letters, years apart, years transitioning from being his student to maybe possibly being his friend. And the first fucking thing you'd done upon seeing him again was tell him that you loved him? God, you were pathetic. Who the fuck held on to a schoolgirl crush for five fucking years? On a professor, no less. Did you really think he would be receptive? Did you actually think he'd be even remotely interested in you? He probably thought you were a fucking creep. Nothing could ever come of this. You'd convinced yourself of that for years, but now that there was a thread of hope, a straw to grasp on to, a chance… you'd ruined it by shooting out of the fucking gate before you could even stop to think. And you'd kissed him. God, you hadn't even asked if it was okay you'd just dived in and kissed him and… and…
And he'd… kissed you back… hadn't he?
He'd kissed you twice, actually.
You felt like throwing up again, but managed to swallow it down as you finally started to get a hold of yourself. Your breathing was too fast, hitching and hiccupping as you tried to slow it down, but you screwed your eyes shut tight, rolling flat onto your back and trying to concentrate on where your body met the floor. The ache of your bones against solid stone, the twinge in your lower back you got from sleeping on your stomach. You pulled in deep, shuddering breaths through your snotty nose, and did your best to release them slowly through your mouth. One at a time… in and out… slowly… count to ten… start over… and over… slow, now…
He'd said you needed to talk about it.
That didn't mean it had to be a bad talk, right?
Severus Snape was not the sort of man to indulge the whims of a silly girl just because he was afraid of hurting her feelings. He could have pushed you away, if he'd wanted to. Would have told you he wasn't interested, had that been the case. He hadn't had nearly as much to drink as you'd had. He'd had the presence of mind to stop you, when you'd tried to pull him into your room. Had told you to rest, to sleep. That you'd talk in the morning… He'd kissed you… He'd taken care of you… he was always taking care of you… Maybe you hadn't ruined anything… maybe…
A sudden rattling sound from your bedroom made you gasp with fright, your soul practically leaving your body as you jolted to sit up. You were quickly brought back down to earth as your head spun, and you groaned as you buried your face in your hands in an attempt to stop the room from tilting. You could hear quiet shuffling from beyond the bathroom door, and you knew you couldn't hide in here forever. Though your nerves were shot and your body protested, you managed to roll yourself onto your knees before using the edge of the sink to pull yourself to your feet. You didn't know where you wand was, and you felt like an idiot all over again. Moving as slowly and carefully as your aching body would allow, you edged towards the door frame, and peeked out into your well lit room.
What you found… was a house-elf. Standing on your breakfast table in front of the window, and fussing around a tray. It was the same house-elf from McGonagall's office, you realized. The one with the face like a piglet and wearing an old flour sack. Though you noticed that the sack looked a little more like a proper dress today, as it was cinched at the waist with some sort of belt. And as your eyes began to adjust to the brightness of the room, you realized with a shock that the belt was actually a length of bronze colored butchers twine.
This singular little detail was enough to finally break you out of your obsessive thoughts. You'd transfigured that twine yourself. You'd tried to make it gold, but your spell work had been shoddy at best, and you'd just ended up with that tarnished bronze. You'd left little bundles of biscuits out for the elves as a Merry Christmas, as a thank you for being allowed into their domain… you hadn't thought any of them would have kept the wrapping as well. And for all these years?
Sometimes it was hard to remember that there was anything else going on outside of your own little world. For months it had revolved around your emotional agony. Your depression. Your anxiety. They had all seemed so big at the time… And last night, this morning, as everything came to a head and you felt that your world might be crumbling beneath you once again… It was funny, how a little thing could put it all back into perspective. You might have spent the rest of the day sequestered in your bathroom had this elf not arrived in her charming little flour sack to remind you that you were at Hogwarts again. That you were about to become the Professor of Muggle Studies. That you had classes starting in two weeks, and a date to have tea with Mr. Filch later this afternoon. No matter what had happened last night… last month… last year… You'd been given a fresh start, which was starting right now.
"Good morning, Flopsy," you called quietly as you exited the bathroom, hoping not to startle the elf. You winced slightly as your voice croaked, but smiled all the same as the elf rounded on you, her own smile beaming as brightly as the sun behind her. Her countenance faltered slightly at the sight of you (did you really look that bad?), but she recovered quickly as she snapped her fingers, and you breathed a sigh of relief when the yellow curtains framing the window drew themselves in. They weren't thick enough to plunge the room into darkness, but you appreciated the soft, warm glow filtering through them, instead of the direct glare of the rising sun. It reminded you of being in the Hufflepuff common room again. You would have to invest in some house plants…
"Good morning, Miss Goode!" Flopsy squeaked, but her smile waivered again as she wilted. "I mean! Professor Goode!" she corrected herself, and she looked at you guiltily, as if searching for your disapproval. She would find none, however, as you had no interest in watching an elf punish itself, and you honestly weren't even remotely offended by the slip. You simply kept smiling, pulling out one of the chairs from the table and settling into it, your back protesting slightly. You really hated when you slept on your stomach… Flopsy was watching you closely, but she smiled meekly as she took the tips of her ears into her hands, drawing them coyly under her chin. "You remember Flopsy, Miss?" she asked, twisting from side to side in childish anticipation.
Geeze, she was cute. You nodded eagerly in reply, but stopped immediately as your head pounded in protest. "I do," you confirmed, watching as Flopsy released her ears (they snapped back into place like they were made of elastic) and quickly turned back to the tray. She proceeded to charm the large silver carafe into the air, pouring a measure of fantastically strong smelling coffee into one of the cups. "I remembered you yesterday, too. You used to help me when I was a student, whenever I wanted to cook for myself." Flopsy had placed the cup and saucer onto the table before you, and you reached out towards her, pinching the tassel of bronze twine that hung from her waist between your fingers. "How could I ever forget you?"
Flopsy looked simply fit to burst, bouncing on her toes for a moment before throwing herself onto the table before you. You quickly lifted your coffee cup from its saucer, rescuing it from the mighty rattle caused by the force of her prostration. "Oh, Miss, you're too kind!" she simpered, crawling towards you and peering up with bright, misty eyes. "I remembered you, too! Always so nice to the elves, you were. I always kept the gifts your left! Elves don't get many gifts." You settled your cup back onto the table, and the elf took the opportunity to seize your hand, her tiny fists clutching on to your thumb and pinkie finger as she leaned over to kiss the back of your knuckles. You were so startled by this gesture that you were powerless to do anything but sit back and watch her do it. "Flopsy is so happy to see you back at Hogwarts, Miss. Hogwarts missed you terribly." Finally releasing you, she sat back on her knobby knees in order to gaze up at you. She was just so… genuinely happy about you being here. You were glad to know that someone was. You were about to tell her as much, when she leaned in close to you again, a conspiratorial glint in her violet eyes as she placed her hands on either side of her mouth before whispering, "Master of Potions missed you terribly, too."
You blinked rapidly down at her, as she just kept smiling that knowing smile. You felt your cheeks grow warm at the connotations of this confession, and rubbed a hand over your face in order to hide your shame. "What makes you say that?" you grumbled, and you heard tittering giggles from the table. F… Freakin' house-elves! They had no business being all up in your, uh, business. But, then again… if she happened to have any insight…
You peeked one eye out from between your fingers as you heard her hop to her feet again, pattering across the table to take hold of the tray and push it towards you. "Because Master of Potions told me to bring this up to you," Flopsy professed, quite proudly too as she puffed up her little chest. It seemed like it was quite an honor to have received the job herself. "He told me to tell him when you were awake. And he told me to make sure to bring you a croi-" Her self-satisfaction disappeared, and a moment later, she disappeared as well with a loud pop. You dropped your hand from your face, blinking again at the empty spot on the table where she once had been, but just as quickly as she'd gone, she returned, a large plate piled high with croissants in her hands. She placed the platter onto the tray as if they had absolutely been there the entire time. "A croissant!"
You stared down at the elf, at the tray, at the croissants, and you sucked your bottom lip into your mouth as you tried not to cry again. The last thing you needed was to dissolve into hysterics in front of a house-elf; you certainly didn't wish to offend her either. So, naturally, you started giggling, dropping your face into your hand again, and covering up your tears as you bubbled with laughter. Because of fucking course he did. Of course he would send you coffee after a long, drunken night. Of course he would remember that you were fond of croissants, from the one fucking time you'd ever mentioned it to him at the Society meeting. And of course he wanted to know when you were up. Maybe to talk to you. Maybe just make sure that you were alright. But either way…
Flopsy looked concerned as you wiped your eyes with the heel of your hand, and you sniffled as you attempted to put the smile back on your face. "Thank you, Flopsy," you assured her, reaching your hand out towards her, and she happily, though reluctantly, placed her little hand against your palm. "I really appreciate it." You sighed heavily, resigning yourself to the fact that… he probably wanted to talk. As soon as possible. If he felt anywhere as anxious as you did, it might be best to just get this out of the way now. "You can go ahead and tell him that I'm… up…"
Flopsy's face had gone from a wide, warm smile to a tight, anxious one. And in the split second between her nervous glance towards your bedroom door, and the sudden burst of knocking from it, you realized that she had already told him. The elf smiled apologetically, before disappearing finally with a loud snap. You stared dazedly down at the table once again, and sighed long-sufferingly at the second knock from your door. Bloody house-elves…
Your heart was thudding in your throat as you rose from your chair, wincing at the ache in your bones, the dull throb in your head. You would have liked some time to freshen up, to center yourself, to brush your damn teeth. But that was clearly too much to ask for. Flopsy was a good elf… but she needed to work on her timing. You at least allowed yourself a few deep, steadying breaths, before unlatching your door and pulling it open. And what you saw was infuriating.
Crossing your arms over your chest, you leaned against the door frame, looking him over deliberately. You would be hard pressed to believe that the man standing in your doorway had ever consumed an alcoholic beverage in his life. Severus was impeccably put together, as always. Not a button askew or a swath of hair out of place. He may have appeared a little tired, but he always looked like that, so it didn't count. He was gazing down at you sympathetically, almost as apologetic as Flopsy had been. And yet, you felt inexplicably calm from his mere presence. Hair of the dog that bit you, you guessed; he was the soothing balm to the burn that he had given you in the first place.
You inhaled deeply, before letting out a dramatic sigh. "Is that a Sobering Solution in your pocket," you began, attempting to quell the stupid grin that threatened to split your face in half as you scanned your eyes over him again. "Or are you just happy to- " You dropped your arms to your sides as you watched him slip his hand into the front pocket of his frock coat, drawing from it a small amber apothecary bottle that you knew, undoubtedly, was filled with Sobering Solution. "Oh… damn it." You glared, as now it was his turn to fight the mirth from his features, and you snatched the small bottle from his fingers as you turned your back on him with a huff. "Coffee?" you threw over your shoulder, resisting the urge to just slam the door in his face, though there was no real conviction in the desire.
"Please," he replied from the doorway, his voice dripping with barely restrained smugness. But that self-satisfaction evaporated as he stepped through the threshold and into your bedroom. He seemed to hesitate as he shut the door quietly behind him, and his furtive glances around your sparse quarters did not go amiss. "You… haven't unpacked yet?" he asked conversationally, but the concerned line forming between his brows belied his tone.
And you winced at the question, because it was just another reminder that no, you hadn't unpacked a single trunk. Because the first thing you'd done after arriving yesterday was go looking for him. And then after you'd found him... For god's sake, you were wearing the same clothes from last night. You felt gross all of a sudden, grimy and barefoot and wild-haired. You wished your robes weren't lying in a heap on the floor on the other side of the bed (could he see them there?) so you could wrap yourself up in them to hide your shame. And you still didn't know where your bloody wand had ended up…
"Haven't exactly had much time," you admitted sheepishly, taking your seat at the breakfast table again, biting back a groan as your back complained. You stretched a leg out under the table, kicking the other chair out in a rather uncivilized invitation for him to sit, and he snorted as he accepted it, striding across the room to join you. "I've only been awake for… maybe thirty minutes?"
Severus looked stricken for a moment, stopping halfway as he was settling into his chair. There was a beat of silence before he audibly groaned, dropping back into his seat as he dropped his face into his hand, rubbing his eyes with exasperation. "Flopsy…" he sighed, and you didn't bother fighting back your laughter this time. It still made your head ache, but you were about to take care of that any way.
"She did her best," you assured him, pushing the breakfast tray to the middle of the table for him to reach. (Had there always been two mugs…?) You watched surreptitiously as he made his coffee (one sugar, no cream), and you went about preparing your own, using your teeth to pull out the cork from the amber bottle. Had any other person handed you this potion, you would have inspected it thoroughly before you even considered ingesting it. But even after the mishap with the Purging Potion… or rather, because of it, you would never question a single potion given to you by your Potions Master ever again. You didn't even bother sniffing it as you poured the contents of the small bottle into your coffee cup, before replacing the stopper and using your spoon to stir in the pale orange liquid into the black.
"Thank you, by the way. For sending up the tray," you murmured, lifting the cup to your lips and taking a small sip. Almost instantly you could feel the vice grip around your brain loosen a tick, the stone in your stomach become a hair lighter. The potion made your coffee taste strongly of turmeric and licorice, but you certainly weren't complaining. He glanced up at you before turning his gaze to the tray, his eyes narrowing slightly, and you got the feeling that he was silently chastising Flopsy again for apparently revealing all of his good deeds. You plucked up one of the croissants from the platter then, thoroughly intending to rub it in as you casually commented, "You know, these are my favorite."
He rolled his eyes, this time with his own long-suffering sigh, and you dropped your head to hide your snickering. A comfortable silence settled over the both of you then. Sipping coffee, unraveling croissants, staring out of the sliver in the curtains that looked out over the Black Lake. This felt good. This felt natural. You felt like a student again, during those late nights in the potions lab for your apprenticeship. The way you seamlessly fell together, the comfort of simply being in his presence. Years apart had changed nothing, expect that you were older now, and the barriers that had kept you apart had crumbled over the years. He wasn't your professor any more. You weren't his student. You felt closer to him than ever. And there was nothing stopping you now, from acting as freely as you wished.
Except, of course…
"We need to talk about last night."
You closed your eyes, drawing a deep, shuddering breath and holding it as you let your head tip backwards. While you absolutely wanted to get this over with, you'd hoped that you wouldn't have to talk about last night. Because the way that he said it…
Nothing can come of this…
"Oh, I don't like the sound of that," you admitted as you released the breath that you held with a hollow whoosh. You dropped the croissant to your saucer (you hadn't even managed to take a bite) and sat up straight again, gazing across the table at him, where he was looking just about as miserable as you felt. "Do we have to?" you tried, fiddling with the handle of your cup. You lifted it to your lips, but you thought you might choke if you actually had to drink any.
Severus closed his eyes this time, like you did when you tried to steady yourself. So you braced for the worst, and indeed it came, swift and fatal. "Gwendolyn, I'm sorry. But I can't… do this." He managed to keep his voice smooth and even as ever, but you noticed that he wasn't holding his own coffee cup. His hands were in his lap, so you couldn't see if they were shaking from under the table. And his eyes were downcast, so you couldn't see if they were as regretful as you hoped they were.
You forced yourself to take another sip of coffee, not wanting to continue this conversation with all of the physical discomfort you were already in. You didn't choke, but you did have to force yourself to swallow without retching, the effects of the potion conflicting with your nerves. "And what is 'this', exactly?" you asked quietly, taking a page out of his own book and staring down into your cup. You simply couldn't meet his eye. If you did, you would likely burst into tears, and you didn't want to continue the trend of crying in front of him at every available opportunity.
"It's… just not a good idea. To take this any further," he began, his voice halting and unsure now, that evenness disappearing. You'd never heard him like this before. He'd always been so confident in everything he did and said. Which just made you think… hope… that these were things he didn't actually mean. You finally looked up, catching his eye as you leaned forward, eyebrows raised imploringly. He hadn't answered your question. You wanted him to say it. He frowned deeply and looked away, and your dread only rose higher. "This being a… relationship… with me." He seemed unsure about that, too. As if he was afraid that he had read into the situation wrong. But that couldn't be further from the truth, because a relationship with him was exactly what you wanted.
"And why's that?" you asked, perhaps a bit hotter than you intended. Your own rant at yourself from the bathroom floor came bubbling to the surface, all of those perfectly good reasons why this should never work. But those reasons were… they were bullshit! And you were going to tell him so. Because you desperately wanted him to be wrong.
Your mug thumped against the table as you leaned forward earnestly, cutting him off before he could even open his mouth. "And don't you dare say it's because of your age, or because you used to be my professor." The words were tumbling out of your mouth with no filter, no direction. Your emotions had taken over and your logic could only sit back and watch. "We're both adults, and it's… That's never bothered me before." You felt childish just admitting that, which was perfectly contradictory to the words you just spoke. But you held fast to that conviction. It hadn't ever bothered you before. Not at the Atticus, when you had slept soundly in his bed for one night. Not in Albania, where you'd spilled your guts onto paper just to be closer to him. And not last night, when you'd confessed the one truth you'd been holding on to for years.
Severus for his part, didn't even look shocked by this profession. Perhaps he'd been expecting this argument, and had a counter argument of his own already prepared. But the resignation on his face told you that what he had to say would be so much worse than any of those paltry excuses.
"You don't even know me," he stated solemnly, and you felt your heart plummet down into your guts. What did he mean? How could he say that? You'd known him, worked with him, corresponded with him for years. Of course you knew-
"You don't know anything about me," he cut in to your internal protestation, as if he'd been reading your mind. He hadn't been, though. You were sure of it. "My life. My past. What I even do when I'm not teaching here at Hogwarts." Your heart sank further and further as he spoke, and you felt like you were going to throw up. Because he was… right… And that realization was causing quiet panic to swell within you. His resignation deepened into regret, and you had to set your cup down to keep from spilling it. "I come with a lot of baggage," he murmured with a note of finality, leaning back in his chair and staring down at his hands in his lap. "None of which you should have to deal with."
Your throat clicked as you swallowed back your unease, wishing that you could take another sip of the Sobering Solution to calm your roiling insides, but fearing that the attempt would send you running back to the bathroom. You took a deep breath, staring down into the black circle of coffee as you absorbed his words, tried to find a counter for them. You forced a little laugh as you lifted one shaking hand to rub at the side of your face.
"I'm not dense either, Severus," you explained, repeating his own words from last night back to him, settling your cheek into your palm, your elbow propped up against the table. "You think I didn't figure that out for myself? I was twelve when I began to notice how much armor you wear." He started slightly at that, meeting your eyes again (finally), and you snorted at how shocked he seemed to be. "That was the year you started wearing the buttons," you clarified, using your other hand to gesture vaguely towards the very outfit he wore. He glanced down at his chest, and you snickered, though there was no mirth behind any of this laugher. "I would never accuse you of making anything easy…"
He had the gall to look affronted by that, but you just smiled sadly. He had a point, that you didn't know all there was to know about Severus Snape. Of course you didn't know everything about a man who wore mystery like a badge of honor. But it was silly of him to think that you somehow weren't aware of that. And it was even more hurtful to think that it would somehow turn you away.
"But I need you to understand something," you implored, dropping both hands to your coffee cup, not picking it up, but simply warming your fingers, tapping your fingertips against the smooth porcelain, your anxiety insisting you do something with your hands. "I'm not… not interested in some petty fling. Some… little amusement. I…" You laughed again, glancing wildly around as if looking for the words to get him to understand. "I'm not just looking for some boyfriend to warm my lonely nights. If that's all I was after, I could owl Lawrence Hollingsworth and get exactly that." You winced at your own words, at the harsh truth of them, glad that Lawrence wasn't here to hear it. But it was the only thing you could think of to say, to get the point across… "But that's not what I want."
Severus appeared to grow more agitated, more distressed with each word you spoke. And you winced when you saw him clench his fists against the edge of the table, his grip white knuckle as he leaned towards you. "So you want me instead?" he snapped, his voice rising incredulously, his tone accusatory. As if he thought this was all some ruse. Like he was having a prank pulled on him.
And with each cynical syllable, you could feel your heart breaking. Didn't he trust you? Hadn't he acquiesced last night, that your feelings were sincere? What had happened to make him think that you were being anything but entirely genuine with him? "Is that so hard to believe?" you questioned, your voice cracking along with your resolve as you wilted under his intense regard.
"Yes!" he barked, rising suddenly from his chair and pacing a few steps across the room. You watched stiffly, a little fearful that you had said entirely the wrong thing, because frankly the only time you had ever seen him this demonstrative was when he'd cracked Gilderoy Lockhart across the face. He turned back around, his arms crossed over his narrow chest and his face marred with skepticism. "Have you seen me?" he asked, less heated now, but still just as defensive. Which just… absolutely baffled you, because being defensive about one's own perceived unattractiveness was just… absurd.
This time Severus was the one who winced as you stood with conviction, flinching aside as you pushed past him towards you bed, and to the open trunk at the foot of it. You didn't have far to dig; you had packed it with your essentials, because to you, it was essential. You grasped the small sateen bundle, already tugging at the knot as you withdrew it from your trunk, and let the silky fabric fall away from the familiar square bottle as you stepped back toward the table. The bottle glowed faintly, a pale, silvery strand of mist curling and writhing within as you set it on the table with a muted tap.
"I have spent more time inside of that memory than I care to admit," you told him flatly, unable to look at him, because admitting it was sort of mortifying. "Any time I was feeling like shit, which has been quite a lot lately, I'd pull that out and dive into in specifically so that I could see you." You rubbed both of your hands over your face as you sat back in your chair, your cheeks hot with humiliation. You propped your elbows on the table as you slid your fingers into your hair.
"I've…" God, were you really going tell him this? "I've been with other people, since I've left Hogwarts," you admitted, and you heard him shift back towards the table, saw him pick up the bottle from the corner of your eye. "And not a single one of them have made me feel anything close to what I feel from just… being around you." You swallowed hard, closing your eyes tightly against the sick feeling of shame that rose up your throat as you confessed, "A few minutes in your memory was better than any night spent in someone else's bed."
It wasn't even an exaggeration. As much as you'd loved Desma, she had only ever felt like a close friend to you. Even when you'd slept together, it had been for fun more than anything else. And Lawrence… You cherished him in your own way, and he'd always be your first lover, but he'd never been your first love. And that was an important distinction. Because no one else could even compare-
No one… else…
Dread suddenly joined the shame you were already feeling, thick and bitter in the back of your throat as you came to a sudden, horrifying realization. You had never even thought… never even considered… that there might be... a possibility…
"Is there someone else?" you asked hoarsely, your face still downcast at the table, your fingers still buried in your hair. You couldn't look at him. You had no idea how he looked at this moment, because you were afraid to lift your eyes and find confirmation. That there was someone else. He'd never mentioned anyone for as long as you'd been his student. Surely it would have come up, if there had been someone? But what about when you'd left? You'd been gone for three years… What if he'd met someone during that time? What if you were actually the one who had read into the situation all wrong? You prayed he wasn't doing the thing, where he wanted you to look at him before he answered, because you couldn't. You just couldn't, not if-
"…Not exactly."
The reply was quiet, stoic. He'd placed the bottle containing his own memory back onto the table, but remained where he stood. And you weren't sure if it made you feel better or worse. Not exactly? What the fuck did that even mean?
You finally lifted your head to peer up at him from between your hands, and you felt your breath stick in your throat at the sight of him. You'd seen that look on him before; a grief so deep, he appeared to age years in a matter of moments. You'd seen it in the Hog's Head, in your sixth year, when you'd gotten the impression that he wasn't being entirely truthful with you, but you hadn't pressed him because it had been none of your business. And you thought that… it wasn't your business this time either.
With a submissive sigh, you pulled your hands from your hair, slipping them into your lap and fidgeting with the hem of your blouse as you dropped your gaze away from that profound sorrow. "You're right. I guess I don't know much about you," you finally acknowledged, and he seemed to relax at that, apparently relieved that you weren't going to press the subject this time either. "But I do know that you've taken care of me for years." You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling exposed as you bared your soul in this moment. Because that's what it came down to, wasn't it? From the day he'd allowed you to write your essays on lined paper, he'd done nothing but watch over you. Take care of you. Do his best to make sure you succeeded. How were you supposed to just ignore that? "No one has ever cared about me the same way you do-"
"I do care about you." Your eyes jumped up to meet his, momentarily shocked by this passionate declaration, because you were quite certain that this was the first time he'd ever admitted to having any sort of feelings towards you. Sure, it was blatantly obvious in his actions, at least to you, but he'd never said it before… not in so many words.
Your jubilation was short lived as his face hardened though, a flash of that earlier grief washing over his features once more. "Which is exactly why we can't do this. Why I can't do this." He started pacing again, turning his back to take a few steps toward your bed, before coming back around, seemingly gathering his thoughts.
"Gwendolyn I…" He came to a stop a few paces away, gazing across the space between you forlornly. "I'm not a free man," he explained, his voice laden with regret. "I don't have the luxury of being allowed to pursue…" He lifted his head, this time being the one to search around the room for the right word, making a vague hand gesture as he apparently couldn't come up with one. You had a sinking feeling that the word he was looking for was happiness. He sighed heavily, dropping his head and clenching his fists as he continued quietly, "It would be stupid, and reckless of me, to subject you to the danger that being with me would put you in."
You started, his words catching you entirely off guard and filling you with a nauseating deluge of fear and confusion. "Danger?" you repeated incredulously, uncrossing your arms as you made to stand from your chair. "Severus, what in the world-"
"You see!?" he cried, and you fell back into your seat as he charged a step at you, his face a grimace of anguish and frustration. "This is what I mean!" You flinched at his raised voice, his sudden sharp movement, and he seemed to realize he'd lost his composure. Taking a step back, he held up his hands pacifyingly as he lowered his voice. "There are things you don't know about me," he explained, softer, more controlled. "Things I can't tell you." He looked around the room again, and this time you could tell he was the one searching for the evidence that would make you finally understand. Taking a step toward you again, he waited to make sure you wouldn't cringe away, before walking to the table and kneeling down beside your chair.
Your heart thudded in your throat as you stared down at him, and your entire body trembled as he drew your hand into his own. "You said that you trust me?" he asked softly, and you nodded automatically. There was no doubt in your mind. "Then please… trust me about this," he pleaded, and your heart clenched painfully in your chest as those glittering black eyes pierced into you. "I've always done my best, to protect the people that I… I care about. To protect… you." The corners of his lips twitched in warring directions, an attempt to smile thwarted by the overwhelming misery in his words. "But I've failed at it before… More times than I can bare. I don't want to risk that happening again…"
You were shivering, you realized. Not just trembling, but actually shivering, your teeth clattering together in your skull. You clamped down on them as screwed your eyes shut, clutching desperately at his hand for dear life. He grasped you back, and you felt tears slip past your lids, despite your best efforts. You didn't know what he meant, when he said that he'd failed to protect the people he cared for. Whether he meant you personally, having failed you at the Society meeting, and again with Belby. Or if there were others he had failed. Others he felt guilt over. That seemed most likely, and the truth of it only hurt you more.
"Okay," you gasped, nodding reluctantly, finally forcing your eyes open. He was still kneeling before you, and you couldn't resist as you lifted your free hand, the one that wasn't clinging to him like a lifeline, and used it to brush your fingers over his cheek. "I trust you," you affirmed, and he closed his eyes with a sigh of relief that only wounded you deeper. You sniffled, trying your hardest not to completely dissolve, and you cupped his jaw with your palm, forcing him to look back up at you. "But please… Severus… Please, don't rule me out…"
His lips bowed into a frown, and you realized with rising hopelessness that this was a promise he wouldn't be able to make. But he did close his eyes again, and this time he leaned slightly into your touch. Your heart fluttered wildly against your ribcage, desperate for that affection, for that vulnerability, to have this one thing that you desired so urgently. "It's not that I don't want this," he whispered, an assurance that you would cling to just as tightly as you were holding his hand. "But I'm just… not ready." He opened those dark eyes again, and you wished that you could be the one to peer into his mind. But perhaps just like yours… his sincerity was plain. "Not yet."
Not yet… You sighed and nodded gently, finally releasing your grip on his hand, sliding your fingers over his skin as you withdrew them from his face. "Okay," you whispered as he finally stood. And you felt like you were supposed to join him. Like this was the part where you walked him to the door, and showed him out, and had to go about the rest of your day (week, year, life) pretending like you weren't letting go of the most precious thing you'd held on to for so long… so you stayed right where you were, seated in your chair as you gazed up at him. "Then I'll wait."
Severus frowned deeply, brows knitting in confusion as he stared down at you with narrowed eyes. "Wait?" he repeated, and you smiled sadly as you lifted your hand to take his again. No… you wouldn't be letting go of this so easily.
"Until you're ready."
"Gwen…" Severus looked distressed, and perhaps irritated that you weren't simply dropping this after coming to an apparent understanding. He shifted to face you, ready to get back into it if need be. "You deserve better-"
"You don't get to decide that for me," you interrupted, finally rising from your chair, still holding his hand. "I know what I want. And I understand what I'm signing up for," you reminded him, lifting his hand and pressing your lips against his knuckles. He looked taken aback, both by your assertions, as well as your gesture, and you couldn't help but smile, however sadly, that he was at all surprised by either one. "I'll wait as long as it takes."
Severus looked like he wanted to protest… but perhaps just as you had resigned yourself to waiting, he too had resigned himself to being unable to shake you. So instead he sighed, lifting his other hand hesitantly, before brushing a lock of your flaxen hair to the side. He seemed like he wanted to do more (to plunge his hand into your hair, to cradle the back of your neck, to crush his lips against yours and give in), but resisted, perhaps for both of your sakes. "That could be a very long time," he reminded you, and you closed your eyes, nodding in agreement. Though you hoped that wouldn't be the case.
"I'll be here."