CHAPTER 13

STAY, A WHILE LONGER

It was strange that he had dreamt of Lily. And in such a way. He tried to gather his thoughts, but they refused to be gathered, like shards of glass he couldn't piece together.

Severus pushed on his elbows to sit up, only to have a sharp pain below his ribs cut off his movement, and with it, the image of a silver beam of magic flashed before his eyes — and the face of Sirius Black. Black with his wand trained on him as Severus knelt on the ground.

Such an imbecile.

An imbecile though he was, Black, or rather the thought of him must have moved something in the domino of Severus' recollections, because with that one missing fragment, his memories of the night, all of them and all at once, tumbled and pieced back together, in one single moment — so sudden it left him feeling almost nauseated.

Strangely enough, the thought of Black left him feeling… nothing. Dull annoyance, maybe, and nothing else.

Maybe he had dwelt too long on his hatred for Black and had consumed all of it when the Dark Lord had searched his mind. Or maybe he was too tired to resent anyone… for now.

Turning to his uninjured side, Severus pushed himself groggily up to sit on the edge of the bed.

Moving ached, though only numbly, and he figured the lenient numbness must have had something to do with the taste of medicine lingering in his mouth. Perhaps that's why his mind felt drowsily sedated too. Or perhaps the night had been a bit too much, and he still needed a while to pull away from all of that.

The thought seemed reasonable enough.

He propped his forearms on his knees and, feeling rather unsteady, remained seated for another while, taking his time to make sense of himself and everything else. His midsection, he noticed, was wrapped in bandages, neatly and quite heavily. As for everything else… he needed a clock, but glancing around, couldn't find one, and the bleak night, slipping into the room by the edge of the curtains, only inferred it was somewhere past six or seven.

He shuddered.

It wasn't the darkness that unnerved him but the cold from outside. He wasn't stupid. He knew the iced wind wasn't pervading the room. He felt it diffusing through his bones regardless. And with it, the figments of the other night started dancing once more at the margin of his vision.

Figuring cowardice never served him well, Severus decided to face the mocking hallucinations and watch them flee and dissipate, if only for the moment.

He turned his head to follow the trail of illusions and saw himself breathing in hitches at the Dark Lord's feet. The scene played so vividly Severus was certain he would feel flesh in the grasp of his hand if he reached out to grab his projection's arm.

Nothing fled or dissipated.

He tried to stand up — not him, his projection — only to crumple back on all fours, panting like a dog, with his head bowed so low his forehead rested on the filthy ground. He heard laughter; Dolohov was mocking him from the shadows. Dolohov, of all people, that brutish hunk of meat.

Severus looked away to study his other — real — surroundings. He didn't want to see what had happened there. Did not want to think of it. Ever again.

Of course, things didn't work that way.

Scenes of that night were unwinding in his head since he had woken, since before that in fact, and they would continue to do so for some time, he had no doubt. As for the visions, the hallucinatory play with a magnetism of its own pulled him back in earlier than he could credit. It felt sickly hypnotic to watch the film of his own torture: his body convulsing mindlessly, his throat emitting sounds he never knew to be human, his fingers clawing at the dirt on the cobblestone ground, as if that made any sense. The Dark Lord knelt down by his side, 'what a waste', then blinked up at him — not at the projection, at the real him — and smiled, deformed and cruel.

HE stood up, stepped over the unconscious form on the ground and stretched out his arm to reach Severus; the long inhuman fingers neared Severus' face, almost touched his forehead, viciously cold. And Severus flinched.

He looked away.

At the bookshelf—cabinet—the table close to the bed. The crystal glass on it was undeniably intriguing, enough to keep his attention pinned to it. He could count the beads adorning it, he figured, and did so, counted every one of them, as the wicked hallucination drifted back to the sidelines of his senses, where it continued to play innocuously, almost soundly in a way.

He let his head hang and his forehead rest in his hand for a moment, wary to keep his attention on his surroundings — details of the real world to hold his mind from slipping to that other place.

Someone must have cast a cleaning spell on his trousers, he noticed, grateful for the courtesy of that. There wasn't a trace of dust on the dark fabric, and he had spent quite some time mopping the floors with his knees the other night.

He couldn't help wondering, with those hallucinations — had the one night been enough to disarray his mind in such a way? Or maybe it had something to do with his mind being ripped open while everything else was done to him.

It probably didn't matter anymore.

He had been lucky, in a way, that the Dark Lord had been so brutally hasty in his little game. He had played with his new toy a bit too roughly and had broken it a bit too early. Earlier then it could divulge Severus' treason at any rate.

It didn't add up.

However sluggish Severus' cognition may have been at the moment, he couldn't overlook the fracture in that train of thought: the Dark Lord would never make such a mistake. After all, he had made an art out of keeping minds intact long enough for wills to falter. That he hadn't done so with Severus meant he hadn't truly searched for anything. It had been merely a show of force, a bluff well played to dissuade anyone from ever acting so negligently.

It would seem that, in the end, one thing had saved Severus' life: the Dark Lord's assuredness that no one in their right mind would dare stand before him, bearing the knowledge of a treachery so great.

Well… Severus smiled at that, just a little madly.

"You shouldn't be up," Narcissa said from the doorway, and Severus wondered whether she had been standing there for long.

"I'm feeling all right," he said quietly, "somewhat stiff."

She didn't look convinced.

Truth be told, he was feeling better than he had expected. "Today is Wednesday?"

"Thursday…"

He nodded absently, trying to bring his thoughts in order. "Do you know the time?"

His question made her frown, but she said nothing as she pulled back the silk sleeve of her blouse to uncover a thin, golden watch on her wrist.

"Ten past seven."

"Thank you."

"Is there somewhere you need to be?" joked Narcissa, a bit lighthearted, a bit stinging, and Severus nodded.

She stood straighter, blinking a couple of times while she regarded him wordlessly, looking almost insulted, and for the first time that evening, she was looking just like herself.

"You're not serious."

Severus didn't know what to respond. He was finding her abrupt indignation somewhat humorous, though.

"No," she said. "You are not leaving in this state. If I have to, I'll charm the door locked."

Severus glanced at the floor, trying to keep the slight amusement away from his face. Selfish as it was, he was glad Narcissa was here with him. Her presence cast away the unlovely company that his imagination so fervently concocted.

"Well…" She sighed and said in a softer note, "Don't hurry out on my account. I'm on leave from the Institute for the rest of the week. I might as well enjoy your company."

"On leave… how come?"

"To stay with you."

Severus took a moment to process her words, and his own.

"That's very gracious of you, Narcissa. I thought you had a House-elf for guests," he said, a little uncertain, "slightly demented?"

"Shlevor?" Narcissa said, walking up to the small table at the centre of the room. "To leave you to his hands would be premeditated murder."

"I know of a few people who would be grateful to you for that."

"Yes, it certainly looks so."

She picked up a small vial from the impressive assortment resting on the table.

"Here," she said gently. "Huxenhal prescribed that you take one every four hours. It should help ease the pain."

A medicinal smell of camphor filled the air as she stirred the colourless content of the vial into a glass of water — Yerba Cania potion, quite potent, no side-effects, not the easiest to obtain.

"Huxenhal?" he asked.

"Yes, Prime Healer at Saint Mungo's. He's very good."

"I can tell."

Given how much of a disaster the night had been and how Severus was feeling now, Huxenhal wasn't good, he was brilliant.

"He's a friend of the family," said Narcissa. "He treated you here. Lucius thought it would be unwise to bring you to the hospital after everything that happened."

"Of course. I am grateful for everything. And I'm sorry for this… inconvenience."

Her thin lips pursed to an even thinner line, and she sat on the bed next to him with the glass of water in her hands.

For a while she was silent, staring into the glass, tracing the rim with her thumb.

"Having you here is never an inconvenience, Severus. Though I wish we could stop meeting like this."

She glanced down at his injured side, and Severus surprised himself trying, rather awkwardly, to lighten her mood.

"I'll make sure it's the other side next time," he said.

"Humor was never your strong suit, you know?"

"No, I suppose it isn't."

She sighed. A light strand of hair fell into her eyes, and she didn't bother brushing it away.

"Well... Huxenhal said whoever's responsible for that—'' She gestured to Severus' bandaged midsection. "Did a remarkable job."

"The hex or the healing charm?"

"Both actually. I was speaking of the healing though — your work I assume?" She said with a smile. "Take it as a compliment."

"Thank you, Narcissa." Severus bowed his head in feigned courtesy. "If I ever change professions, I'll have this to recommend me for residency at Mungo's."

"With Huxenhal?" she said. "You wouldn't last a day. I've never met anyone as boring. Or as chatty."

"Charming combination."

She smiled amused and leaned forward to rest her elbows on her thighs, mirroring his posture.

"How is school going?" she asked.

"It's going fine. Draco is top of his class, as always." ...I think

"I know. I meant… How are you?"

"I'm doing well."

"The first-years are still giving you a headache?" she said.

"You have no idea."

"Dunderheads?"

"Dunderheads."

She laughed at that, and Severus found himself doing almost the same.

"Was your paper well-received?" she asked.

"My paper—?"

"At the symposium, when you presented… Did it go well?"

"That…" he said, glancing at the floor. He had been looking forward to it for over a year, and now the mention of it left him indifferent. Sure enough, it seemed so distant it could have been months ago, at least. "I had to withdraw."

"You — Oh. It was — I thought it was earlier this week…"

"No… Clash of meetings, I suppose. All the same, they were a boring lot."

She tilted her head a bit lower to catch his gaze again. "But the referee's review of your paper was good I assume?"

"It was."

"Was it…" she said with a tentative smile, "excellent?"

He smiled at that, a little, and he nodded. "It was."

"Of course." Narcissa laughed softly. "I had no doubt."

It was vaguely unexpected, and he surely didn't know what to make of it, but seeing her laugh felt, in a way, just right.

"It would be good to have you around more often," she said. "Sometimes I feel like… I miss the old days."

For a long moment, Severus simply regarded her — the years hadn't changed her, not really.

Even with the dark shadows under her eyes, which he had never seen there before, and with her golden hair, just slightly undone, she looked flawless as always. He found himself smiling, thinking of all the years he'd known her and of how much of a shrew he had believed her to be in the beginning.

Well, times had changed. He had changed. It was strange how, at thirty-five, he felt like he had lived three lifetimes already.

"I could drop by for tea more often," he said after a while, and she replied with a smile.

"I'd like that."

The room was quiet and pleasantly warm, and Narcissa leaned in closer. Her eyes glistened, unreadable.

"It's the Order of the Phoenix, isn't it?" she said. "That's why you must leave?"

"That's really not important, Narcissa."

She frowned only slightly, taking him in; her gaze travelled with unnerving thoroughness: his face, his shoulders, his midsection safely bandaged. Then she looked him in the eyes for a lengthened second, and Severus found himself longing to know what made her cold eyes flicker so ardently. And Narcissa flinched.

She sat straighter briskly, as if a loud noise had startled her, and held out the glass of water she had been clutching in her hands.

"Here," she said in a whisper. "You must be thirsty — it slipped my mind."

"Thank you."

Severus straightened his back and took the glass. His hand was shaking, not so badly as to spill water and make a scene, but enough to let show that the Torture Curse had fried his nerves just about enough. A nuisance that would pass on its own. It still made him feel inadequate.

Narcissa must have found him just as inadequate because she took the glass from his hand as soon as he finished drinking and put it aside on the floor, by the couch.

He nodded in silent thanks and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees again, not taking his eyes from the empty glass. Sure enough, he had never seen Narcissa place a glass anywhere else than on a table, on a coaster.

"You're not seriously considering this — going to the Order now?"

There was a tense undercurrent to her words, and Severus found he couldn't look up to meet her gaze. He couldn't find anything to say either. It was more than his uneasiness that Narcissa had seen him so disarrayed — not the innocuous shakiness now, but everything before.

This wasn't about him, he knew.

She had a husband and a son in this war. To make her watch what awaited them if they misstepped before the Dark Lord was twistedly cynical, even for Severus' questionable morals. Lucius was a fool to have let her see this.

"With the attempt on Sirius Black," she said, "if you show up to the Order meeting like this, you'll be in Azkaban before the night is over."

"You have nothing to worry about," he reassured her, reckoning privately he would still end up in Azkaban if he didn't show up at all. "Just — don't think about it at all."

"You don't need to do this. I hope you're aware of that?"

"Narcissa, you don't have to — It's not— If there were reasons for concern, I wouldn't—" Her eyes, blazing fiercely as they stared into his, made him lose his train of thoughts.

An unyielding strength was showing in her gaze, a hurricane that could topple the balance of war should the world push her to it. And yet, she was fragile and breakable all the same.

Severus let out a long breath, vaguely overwhelmed by everything. It would seem, at times, he had it easier deciphering blood-thirsty sociopaths rather than making sense of normal people.

Or maybe he was just tired. He was. Not of Narcissa — if anything, she'd been his break. He was just tired. Just 'can't think straight, can't hold my head up straight' tired. He wanted nothing but to lay down and rest his head and, for a moment, not feel a thing.

Well, lounging could wait another while.

He felt a gentle touch on his forearm and found Narcissa's hand resting there.

"Severus…?"

"Mm-hmm, it's all right," he said quietly. He'd never been any good at this sort of thing. "Nothing will happen, you'll see. I'll meet you and Lucius for tea next week when all this will be forgotten. Just tea — no war talk, no politics. It's been a while, hasn't it? Friday afternoon if you don't have other plans?"

Somewhere along the way, the fierce glint in her eyes had faded, and her expression had softened, and she was left looking tired, probably even more so than him.

"There's no talking you out of this, is there?"

When he didn't answer, she must have understood his silence because she smiled, bitter and sweet. "I should know better than to ask you to bow out of anything, shouldn't I?"

She looked rather saddened, and he couldn't find his words, his thoughts a sore mess impossible to sort.

"Fine," she said. "If you have to face them, face them. It's your choice; you go your way. You always have, and I probably shouldn't meddle—"

"I never said that, Narcissa."

"No, you never have. You wouldn't."

That had been uncalled for, but he let it be. She sighed softly, and he felt her hand on his forearm squeeze a little tighter. The gesture had been barely perceptible, but he had not missed it.

"If you want to return to the Order, do so. But not today. Wait until you've recovered, and you can take them on as you should, not like this. Just — not like this. Stay, until you're well at least," Narcissa said as she sat there beside him on the bed, delicate hand still resting on his forearm, pleading with him, almost. "Stay, a while longer."

Her blue eyes glistened achingly, and he felt lost in the sight of her and in the magnetism of her voice and the warmth of her touch on his arm. He had been wrong.

It was about him, in every way.

She cared heartfeltly for him, and he was betraying her in the cruellest way, steadily chipping the defences of her side in this war.

It was not the first time he was betraying. Lately, he was thinking of Lily more and more often, to the point that at times it felt like—

He glanced at Narcissa, there, beside him. She hadn't moved, yet he had a vague impression that she was now sitting further away — a world or two away from him at any rate.

It would seem that, in the end, the war and bloodshed and his own humourless balancing act were more fitting than Narcissa's kind offer of friendship.

When had he come to think otherwise?

He turned his gaze from her to the elusive spot at the margin of his vision, where the nightmares still played gleefully, watched the Dark Lord thwart the wretched being on the ground then blink up at him with his lipless smile.

And Severus just about smiled back and greeted him welcome.

He held back on that last impulse, though. It would only make Narcissa think he'd gone insane. He hadn't. Not really.

"I should go," he said and pulled himself to his feet.

The ache in his side merely dragged him out of his numbness, although only halfway, and he reasoned he should be thankful for at least that.

She followed him standing up, while he glanced around the room for his wand and everything else.

"Your shirt was a mess," she said. "I'll bring you something from Lucius' closet."

He thanked her silently, gaze still drifting. Where was his wand?

"Lucius will be home in an hour or so," Narcissa said, catching his gaze. "There was something important he wanted to tell you. Could you wait?"

He glanced at the thin watch on her wrist. No, he really couldn't. And he didn't want to see Lucius right now either, although he couldn't fully understand why.

"Did he... mention what it was?"

"He wouldn't say," she replied, "but he insisted I let him know if you — if you woke up and—" and his brain functioned properly again, yes. Narcissa had his thankfulness for the discretion of not mentioning that. "It seemed very important to him," she said.

It must have had something to do with the other night, though he couldn't tell where Lucius would fit into all of that. He tried to make sense of his memories, but they were refusing to make any sense at all, an aching jumble of pain and screams and fear and, oh — he remembered Lucius now. Strangely though, he couldn't find the ending to that mindless haze. All the same, it was probably nothing he would want to see.

He held back the impulse to cover his brow with his hand and rub his temples and scrunch his eyes shut against this whole mess. He was tired. He really was. Well, rubbing his face and acting pathetic would hardly change anything about that, would it?

"I know that wasn't his intention," he said to Narcissa. "Could you tell him that?"

Her eyes glistened in worry, regarding him, and he reasoned he must have been lost in his own thoughts for quite some while.

In the end, she nodded, only slightly. "Of course."

Some long minutes later, he had a new shirt, his own robes and cloak and boots. He found his wand, still holstered in his robes, of course; he hadn't taken it out.

Bravado and all else aside, he was well enough to sit through a meeting — comfy chair, comfy table, he'd definitely had worse. It was the sharpness of his mind that he was missing, and that bothered him, more than a little. He hoped it wouldn't land him in more trouble than he could sort out for now.

Once outside, the brisk cold air shook him out of his sedated state of mind another bit. Sure enough, the jolt of the Apparating magic would do the rest. Although — he glanced down to where the clothes inconspicuously covered the bandages and, underneath, the splendid work of Sirius Black…

On second thought, the Apparition would better not come with too much of a jolt.

AUTHOR NOTE

Pretty please with cherries on top and whipped cream top of the top, do review! Yes, the whipped cream is plant-based to suit all tastes!

More to the point for this chapter: How *did* this interaction come across? Was it dull, was it awkward, was it something more?