A/N: Hooboy. I hope you are comfortable with a long read, as it's quite a long chapter. My apologies for the length of this chapter. I had thought of splitting it up into 2 sections, but neither section had the impact I wanted it to give. Thanks for bearing with me.

THE silence that lingered in Severus's front hallway roared in her ears and was almost deafening as it enveloped her. Dahlia released a breath she had not even realized she'd been holding as her fists balled tightly against her annoyance and anger at the fact that he had pulled her away from her conversation.

"That was a low down, filthy, dirty trick you pulled, Severus," she snapped, turning to face him. "There had better be some truly excellent reason for your invasion into my private life or else—"

Though Dahlia gasped and cut herself off from speaking as she took a step back at once. Severus was right behind her, his face inches from hers.

Dahlia stiffened. She half expected the wizard to slam her back against the wall right then and there for whatever offense she had just committed in his mind. She tried a flippant smile, but it felt wavering.

"What is it, Severus? What's wrong? I just changed your bandages, so I know you can't possibly need them changed, it hasn't been four hours yet, so don't use that as your excuse that you gave outside to that poor werewolf," she asked, trying to keep her voice as level-headed as possible, though she could not disguise the faint warbling note of fear in her voice. "I've made you angry, Snape. I can see it in your eyes. What is it that I've gone and down now? Was there some house rule of yours I wasn't made aware of? Was it Wes? Was I staring at him too long as we were talking, or what? Are you upset that I didn't tell you I needed air?" Her tone was biting and bordering on the edge of sarcasm, but she could not help herself, though shock and horror burst and flooded through Dahlia's veins as she heard Snape let out a low warning growl through gritted teeth as he held up Dahlia's letter in his clenched fist.

She was sure she had never seen him so angry.

"You didn't tell me of your father's passing, Hawthorne," Severus growled in an accusatory tone.

Her mouth dropped open, but no sounds came out. She had nothing in defense that she could say to her keeping secrets. In fact, there was a part of her that was rather surprised it had taken Snape this long to find out of his colleague's death. She had half-expected him to have learned of Hans's passing by now, considering both men were Death Eaters. The man's annoyance and anger with her were like living, breathing entities pressing down on her from either side, leaving her ill-prepared to respond.

"Why?" Severus repeated angrily, his voice echoing in the empty hallway.

Dahlia flinched at the harshness of the wizard's voice.

"I did not think it would matter much to you, Severus," she said softly, knowing that her words would likely only make things between the two of them even tenser.

Worse did not begin to describe it.

"What a surprise," Severus spat, slamming a fist into the wall, narrowly missing her left ear. "And what did you hope to achieve by keeping the fact that Hans was your father from me a secret, that the man had died in the skirmish?" He spoke the words as if they were blades against his tongue. "Tell me."

Dahlia drew in a shallow breath, trying to steady her racing heart and her nerves. When she spoke, she tried to maintain as level-headed a voice as she could possibly manage, though it was increasingly difficult as her entire body was shaking as she bravely lifted her chin to meet the man's gaze.

"I'm surprised Father never told you," she remarked flatly. "But then I guess, I shouldn't be surprised." She breathed out a steadying breath and ran a hand through her red hair. "Father was always very...protective of his little girl, and private. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised he never told anyone in your inner circle, in Voldemort's nest of vipers," she spat, no small amount of contempt in her tone. "And as to why I didn't tell you?" She looked at him as though she thought it was obvious. "You've not cared to try to get to know me this far into our…arrangement, Severus, I did not think that you would have cared to learn of my personal problems. You've made it painfully clear this far that you wish for me to leave you alone. Well, then tomorrow, you'll have your wish for a few hours, Snape," Dahlia began in a flat voice, looking deep into the fathomless pits of black that were the wizard's dark eyes. "I did not think it was worth mentioning to you that I plan to attend my father's funeral tomorrow, considering what kind of a wizard my father was, and how your true allegiances have come to light, that you would not care one way or another that your Healer plans to attend the funeral of one of Lord Voldemort's best Death Eaters. And my business is my own, not anyone else's," she remarked, her tone sounding frosty.

A long pause and a few shaky breaths later, and Snape took hold of her arms, pressing her back and back until she collided roughly against the cold wall.

"Why would you even want to go, Hawthorne?" Severus snarled, the edges of his lips curling upward to reveal his gums. "Surely you don't need me to tell you what sort of a merciless brute Hans was to everyone around him, so why? I do not ask this question out of spite, Hawthorne, so don't give me that look. I am not as heartless as you think. I merely supposed that you were aware of what sort of man your father was, but this letter states that you've already agreed to attend the man's funeral, which leaves me thinking that I was mistaken. You are even more naïve than I thought, Dahlia."

Dahlia inexplicably felt her fury rise within her chest and she let out a haggard breath and bit down on her bottom lip. The nerve of this man! She was not sure if she could stomach the likes of Severus Snape and his pretentious ways for an entire year, Merlin, he was already pushing her limits. She wanted to offer some biting remark of how it was none of this man's business that she was choosing to go, but there were far too many thoughts flitting through her brain, and more to the point, besides, she needed a moment alone as quickly as possible.

She wanted an end to this unpleasant conversation, and let Snape think of her what he wished, it was no concern of hers, as far as Dahlia believed.

"Tell me. Dahlia," continued Severus, emphasizing her name through gritted teeth, causing his Healer to flinch slightly. It felt strange to hear him say her name, as though a boundary had been crossed. "Tell me why you're going."

"Because…he's my father, is that not reason enough?" Dahlia replied hesitantly, still aware of the man's piercing gaze on her, but she swallowed hard and looked away, actively avoiding it. She did not like the way Severus was boring holes through her, it was as if he could read her very mind. "Because…it's the respectful thing to do," she said softly.

"Your father is not a man who deserves it, your respect, much less that of anyone else's. People grieving over his passing is despicable, least of all you," Severus growled as he narrowed his eyes at her as he made no move to release her. If anything, his grip on her arms tightened. Dahlia made a small attempt to break free of his grip, but Severus only pressed her back against the wall. "Your father was a swine and a monster. The fact that you choose to honor his passing is abhorrent to me, Miss Hawthorne."

His voice was rising again, growing steadily louder in the quiet of the hallway. The wood of the wall was grinding into Dahlia's wrists, into her back, and biting into her skin uncomfortably. It took great effort to keep herself from squirming and showing Snape any of her discomforts. She bit down on her lip, hard, and tried to think of something to say that might supplicate the man's temper some.

"I have to go, Severus, like or not, he was my father," she whispered faintly, purposefully keeping her voice low in the hopes of controlling her fear. She had never seen him quite this furious, this quiet dangerous fury that smoldered under the surface of his exterior, and she did not know what to do.

Dahlia frowned. She knew she ought not to, but she could not help but ask a question of her own, having learned from Father only snippets of Snape's past.

"He's family, Severus. I have to go, based on that reason alone. I know the things that my father did, alright? My father was not a good man, I know that, I'm not stupid," she shot back, rather roughly. "And I…I loved him for it, even knowing what he was. He was all that I ever had, like it or not. All that I had…"

She finally broke down and sharply turned her head to the left, fighting desperately against the tears that swamped her throat and stung the edges of her eyes.

"He…was…all that I had…" she said again in a very small and hurt voice before Snape thought he heard the witch sniff. "A-and he…he lied to me…used me…when I believed that his lies that he meant well…h-he proved how stupid I was to ever think kindly of him, Severus…wh-what of you, Snape? Considering how I don't see any family pictures on the mantle in your home, I take it you didn't get along with your father either, did you, Severus?" Dahlia said.

Merlin, but she was feeling it now, a surge in her temper swelling as her anger threatened to overtake her hurt emotions that Severus had opened a piece of mail that was intended for her and her alone, and now, she was shoved against a wall and having to explain her reasons to him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Severus stiffen, and she felt her stomach drop by way of response as his already pallid complexion paled a shade further, and she resigned herself for what she was sure to come, another outburst. Turning slowly towards her, Severus's lips were pursed into such a thin line and he looked as if he were about to spontaneously combust and explode with all the rage boiling within himself, but as he lifted his gaze to her, he halted.

For a moment, the two simply looked at one another, their eyes locked in an intense gaze and having a conversation all their own, neither of them saying a word, for there was no need to.

After a moment, as if suddenly remembering something beyond Dahlia, Severus's anger slowly began to dissipate, and grief twisted his expression into a feral snarl. It took him a moment to speak.

"I did not, Dahlia," he replied quietly, his hoarse voice somber and low.

Dahlia could only stare at the former Hogwarts Headmaster in wonder, and she realized that now it was he who was looking uncomfortable, and not her. She had not expected Snape to answer her question.

What was even more puzzling, was the fact that her patient wouldn't look at her. Dahlia parted her lips to speak, though before she could so much as utter the first syllable, he returned his gaze towards hers with a murderous glint in his dark eyes as they narrowed.

Severus lifted his chin. "As much as you might wish to attend, I cannot allow you to go."

Dahlia turned her cold eyes on him, and he froze. She traced every line of his face, every contour of his nose and chin and brow. Severus tried to hold the mask of stoic calm in place, as he always did when he wished to hide his true emotions, but he could feel it already slipping away.

This was twice now, that this had happened in this strange creature's presence. Her jaw tightened, she pursed her lips, and she met his gaze with an icy fury that elicited a cold chill to waft up and down his spine that he was only barely able to repress and keep the young redheaded witch from seeing it. The itch was practically driving him mad. Severus's eyes slid from Dahlia's and down the column of her throat.

For an inappropriate moment, he wondered what it would feel like, to stroke her pale neck. The wild thought shattered whatever bit of the stoic mask he had managed to maintain in her presence.

"You can't do this!" she protested, what little color was left in her face.

"Can't I, Hawthorne?" he murmured in a low voice, taking a small step closer to her.

Dahlia stiffened, a shadow of anger darting across her face. "What, Snape?"

His eyes flicked back up to meet hers, and he gave a thin smirk that was twisted and weak. "You cannot go," he said, his voice rising just a little, enough to cause the witch to flinch. "Because I will not allow it," he repeated to her, impatiently. Dahlia angrily curled her fingers into fists. For a moment, Severus thought she would draw her wand against him again, and braced himself for that possibility, but that moment for him never came.

"It's not your right to keep me here in your house like a prisoner," she snarled.

"You're not a prisoner here," Severus retorted, echoing the witch's own words back to her that she'd spouted at him earlier. "Far from it. Just as you swore to not leave my side in case I had need of your…services, I would not see you harmed. This…partnership, if you want to call it that, works both ways, Hawthorne, or did you not know that? This is for your own benefit that you do not attend. Think for a moment of what you are suggesting. I would not see you potentially dead at the hands of the other Death Eaters who have not yet been apprehended by the Ministry, which is what they would surely do to you if they found out that you are my Healer. They would see me dead for betraying the Dark Lord."

Severus stared at the young witch, his dark eyes glittering in the flickering light of the light emanating from the kitchen. He thought he saw the sudden spark of fear in her face as she took in his words. He sneered, realizing that this Healer hadn't thought of that possibility.

"I will not see you dead at all," Severus muttered, lowering his voice an octave. He hesitated for just a moment, his slender fingers fluttering nervously behind his back.

Then in a sudden movement that seemed as though he was no longer in control of his own limbs, it startled him as much as it startled her, Severus shot a hand out, reaching out and cupping her cheek.

The searing, uncomfortable itch in his limbs dissipated almost at once the minute his palm made contact with her skin. Dahlia's skin was surprisingly cool and soft, tender beneath his fingers.

Her eyelids slowly fluttered closed, just for a moment, and at that moment, the leagues that existed between them disappeared.

She was not his Healer, and he was not her patient. He was touching her, part of her, and melting into her. He belonged to someone, finally, at last, and she, in turn, was his, his alone.

Then, Dahlia's eyes snapped wide open, and she stepped back, a quick defensive step, as she took hold of the skirts of her dress and cloak, and the wall that existed between them was up again, endless, empty, and forever eternal.

"You can't do this, Severus," she tried again, though her voice was trembling. "You have no right."

Severus's palm began to burn again. He gritted his teeth as he closed his fingers, scratching, willing the itch to leave him, though it wouldn't.

"I already have," he replied, his tone clipped and curt. "You aren't the only one who can put up enchantments preventing someone from Disapparating. Congratulations, Miss Hawthorne, we're both now trapped in here. And please, don't even think of using my fireplace," he added coolly, almost as an afterthought. She opened her mouth.

Severus braced himself, expecting some form of protest or threat from Dahlia: I don't understand. I'll find a way to go. I'll make you stop. I'll call the Minister or even the Headmistress. But Dahlia offered up none of those. Instead, she spoke in a voice that was barely above a whisper, her dark brown eyes wide and frightened.

"Let me go…"

The itch had finally ceased. His dark eyes searched Dahlia's pleading face for a moment as he chewed on the wall of his mouth, contemplating the notion.

Was it possible? Could he let her go? He'd had his moment, hadn't he?

He had touched the witch's skin and had satiated his curiosity to see if she was as soft as she really looked, had closed off the distance that was set up between them. He'd only wanted one time. He told himself that was all that he needed of her. But the unbearable burning itch was already flaring up again within his veins, an angry tingling that was stretching all the way up to his arm. He bit at his tongue, hard enough that he tasted his own blood, his feelings warring within him. Dahlia boldly stared at him, every inch of her pleading with him, silently.

Could he deny her request? But what if he let her go to her father's funeral, and she did not return? What if he received word from someone that her lifeless body had been found in the graveyard of Little Hangleton near her father's tomb, dead at the hands of a Death Eater, likely someone he knew, and then it would be all his fault.

No. The thought was almost unbearable and caused an abrupt bitterness to settle in his stomach. He could not—would not—be responsible for another witch's death. Lily's was bad enough.

Severus started to speak, firm in his resolve, and would say whatever biting remark came to mind in order to keep the witch here by his side, where he could keep an eye on the prickly young Healer.

But his resolve crumbled to ashes the moment Dahlia reached out and took his hand.

The distance between them was gone yet again with just the touch of her hand against his, and she was there with him, sinking into him yet again.

Severus practically crushed her hand in his, ignoring the startled gasp of pain she let out at the unspoken strength behind his iron-clad grip, despite his hands' wounds, which were still bandaged and would likely suffer some bruising yet. He was frantic, euphoric, and hardly daring to breathe.

"Please," Dahlia begged again in a much quieter voice.

Severus felt himself swallow down hard past a lump in his throat as it hollowed.

There was a bitter taste in his mouth, a taste that he didn't recognize. He wavered, dancing somewhere between fear and a growing curiosity bordering on obsession to learn more of this Healer, between wanting the prickly young witch to be happy and wanting to keep her here where he could keep a watchful eye on her, so she stayed out of trouble. Merlin only knew what would happen to her if he allowed her to leave.

Severus closed his eyes and swallowed again, though when he did, it felt as though he were swallowing knives, and his throat hurt like hell and burned.

"I can't," he growled, his voice now little more than a choked whisper. "I am…sorry, but I cannot let you leave."

Dahlia's fingers were suddenly torn from his as she ripped from his grasp. His eyes flew open, and he met the witch's gaze, furious, heated, and burning.

"You can't keep me here," she spat.

His black eyes narrowed, seeing her words as something of a challenge.

The itch flared to life within himself once again, more than an itch now—it was now a burning, an incurable and excruciatingly painful heat in the center of his palm, radiating all the way down to his fingertips.

His eyes traveled down her neck and to her collarbone, following the neckline of Dahlia's dress, tracing the contours of the Healer's petite figure before letting his eyes flicker up to hers once more.

Severus did not bother to speak. He didn't need to. The look was more than enough.

Watch me, Dahlia, his eyes said. I will.

Without another word, Severus turned on his heels and stalked off towards another part of his home. Dahlia could not care to follow, as she was still too flabbergasted to move away off from the wall.

The man left Dahlia alone to her tortured thoughts.

Her mind barely registered the fact that she did not hear the man's voice murmuring a series of enchantments in ancient Latin, likely no doubt reinforcing the barriers around the perimeter of his property that were now keeping her from Apparating and Disapparating as well.

She did not know how long she leaned against the wall in the entryway of the man's home in silence, her heart broken, her mind struggling to grasp what in the seven bloody hells had just happened.

Bitter tears streamed down her cheeks. Her thoughts were now focused only on finding some way to slip past Severus while he was either distracted or even asleep, that she could physically sneak out of his home and attend the wake for Hans Hawthorne once she was at the edge of Spinner's End in order to safely Disapparate. Shattered, her anguished thoughts pivoted around what tomorrow would bring.

Hell be to Snape if he thought that he could keep her here.

She'd find a way out, she tried to tell herself, as she shakily opened her eyes and stared down the hallway into the nothingness of the man's desolate home before her. She glanced down steadily at her palms and recalled how Snape's eyes were aghast and distraught and she nursed no remorse for any feelings of humiliation she might plague him with, based on her looks. Dahlia rummaged into the pockets of her cloak and took the stone from her hands, staring at the strange object's poisonous glory once more.

She turned it slowly once in hand, watching how the black and gold flecks toyed with her, casting a shadow across her face. Her eyes lit up as she remembered the stone's owner, those strange yellow eyes, the horrific scars that littered the poor bloke's face, and his flaxen straw-colored hair and a face that reminded her somewhat of Remus.

He had a kind enough face, this Wes Walker, and handsome too, she thought tiredly. Though her mood swung easily as she flinched a second as her mind's eye forced her to look upon an image of her father, Hans. That beautiful man wrapped in vile snakeskin who repaid her love by assaulting her when she grew older, 'into her beauty.' Unwilling to look upon the strange stone found in the Forbidden Forest any longer, Dahlia shoved aside thoughts of the dark but bewitching stone and put it safely back into her cloak's pocket for safekeeping until she could return it to Wes.

A part of her wondered if she could arrange to meet him tomorrow if she was successful in sneaking away to her father's funeral. With slow, even strides, Dahlia strode out of the hallway and stomped her way towards the spare bedroom that was now hers, mindful to make as much noise as she possibly could in the hopes of goading Snape's anger in one final show of pure fury. As she slammed the door to the spare bedroom, the one thought that flitted through her mind as she thought she felt Snape's eyes on hers, was a simple but poignant thought. She thought that she would be perfectly happy if she did not see Severus Snape for the rest of the night.

Frustrated, once the door was shut behind her and locked it for good measure, not that Severus was sure to come looking for her, she crossed the threshold of the small bedroom and threw herself on the mattress of her bed, terror, and anger rooting itself deep in her stomach.

It was not the thought of Snape attempting to keep her here that bothered her so much. She supposed she ought to have expected as much, but rather, it was the feelings of the strange stirring desire in her stomach the moment he had leaned his hand to her chin and had held onto her with surprising tenderness that frightened her if she was being honest. To feel his touch that was almost soft was not at all like the wizard that she had heard countless numbers of stories of, and she did not know what to make of the shift in the wizard's countenance.

The way that he had looked at her had disturbed her somewhat, those hot dark eyes, the piercing stare that made her feel as if she were wearing nothing. Even still, as hard as Dahlia tried, she could not rustle up the disgust and horror for the broken man she knew she should feel. But as she thought of how he had coldly reacted towards her just now, she felt her cheeks hot and her stomach flutter.

Perhaps it was because he was at least attempting to be kinder towards her following her saving his life, maybe it was because he was trying to give her advice while he had the chance, regardless of whether she listened or not, she wasn't sure where this feeling in the pit of her stomach was coming from.

His attention towards her wasn't wanted, but they also weren't unwanted.

Dahlia buried her face into her pillow, the thick fabric muffling her scream of frustration as she tried to make sense of Severus Snape. But she did not know what to make of this guarded wizard.

Only that his sudden interest in her was too intense, too heated, too invasive. In a way, Dahlia thought to herself as she slowly lifted her head off the pillow and rolled over onto her back, staring numbly up at the slowly rotating ceiling fan as she laced her fingers together and rested her hands on the flat of her stomach, it was worse than Father because she was reacting to Severus Snape now in ways she did not want to, in ways that were highly unprofessional and breached the boundary between patient and Healer, ways she could feel herself quickly becoming ashamed of.

She'd always hated Father and the way that he had touched her from the moment she was fifteen, how he had abused and tortured her almost every night until she was seventeen and moved out. But Severus, on the other hand… Severus Snape made her blood sing in her veins, her skin heat, and her heart raced wildly against her chest.

It was almost unbearable to think of how much she reacted to Snape in a way that made her realize that the idea of wanting him in that way was almost…intoxicating, but…

It made her begin to think that perhaps she had misjudged Snape. It hurt.

To be touched by another man, that was what she had always thought, and why, how, the moment she moved away from her father, she had little to no interest in dating or trying to settle down with a good wizard.

She had always thought, from her time home with Father, that no man would ever treat her right, the way that a witch ought to be treated. That pain and suffering from men were all she knew.

If she did find someone, she had hoped that it would be someone brave, gentle, and strong.

No, there were no wizards like that anymore in her life. She'd been surrounded by monsters for most of her childhood and well into her adult life, and Dahlia knew better than to start trying to think otherwise.

But she could not deny, Severus Snape's soft-spoken words and smooth, melodious voice, deep and rich, even with his injury, held a strange kind of gentleness she suspected he did not let others see.

Severus Snape was cruel, she couldn't deny that, she had seen the way that he had behaved coldly towards Wes outside his home moments ago.

His reputation left much to her overactive imagination, but what she knew of him so far at least, that he was not as cruel as the stories Father would have had her once believe.

She furrowed her brows into a frown as she thought of how she might slip past Severus tomorrow undetected. She wondered if perhaps she could slip a simple Sleeping Draught into his drink or food, and he would simply sleep while she snuck away for an hour or two, just long enough to pay her respects, and with any luck, would be back before the man even roused.

The idea of tricking him in order to attend her father's wake did not sit well with her at all, but Snape was leaving her with little to no choice at all. A fiery heat crept to her cheeks as she realized she knew nothing of the man's likes, his dislikes when it came to his food preferences.

A Sleeping Draught was likely the most effective way that she'd be able to slip past him. She frowned as she got up and slid off the mattress, ducking out of her bedroom and moving as swiftly and quietly as she could, hoping to find him in either the kitchen or living room and observe him undetected. Her legs moved of their own accord all the while her brain screamed at her to turn back around.

She swallowed down hard as she crept towards the kitchen. It was getting late and he was likely already asleep or preparing to head to bed. She had no way of knowing which and she found herself praying to Merlin and God and whoever else might be listening to her up there that he was both awake and asleep, not knowing which she wanted more.

She felt little beads of sweat break out over her forehead as she spotted the man's tall silhouette in the living room. She drew to a halt with a small gasp as she came to a barreling stop in the entryway.

Severus had been standing at the kitchen table again, muttering a series of curses under his breath that almost brought a smile to her lips as he was attempting to change his bandages yet again, without her help.

At the sound, Severus whirled around to face her fully, looking nearly as startled as she was sure she looked.

Dahlia's heart thudded in her chest.

She had to be careful now, had to be as innocent as possible in this and keep her mind closed off to the man, otherwise, the Legilimens that the man was, would likely sense her thoughts, and that he would know her innermost thoughts of him. And then he would—

Though he spoke before she could ruminate over her thoughts of her patient once more.

"Miss Hawthorne," he offered dryly with a small incline of his head, his voice almost a buttery purr and enough to set her on edge. "What a pleasant surprise. How…kind of you to visit me." His voice sounded hoarse and distant as he spoke. Were you coming to see me because of this?" he asked, motioning with a jerk of his head towards his bleeding arm, and his other hand drifting up subconsciously to ghost over the column of his scarred throat.

She grimaced as she got a good look. Even with Dittany, it would scar. Dahlia's mouth parted open slightly.

For a moment, she was entirely at a loss for what to tell him, and it was hard to think rationally under the scrutiny of the man's coal-black eyes, narrowed and hardened as he fixed her with a pointed look that she wasn't sure what to make of.

At last, she decided to use the man's wounds as her excuse. She drew herself to stand as tall and proud as she could muster, lifting her chin and glaring at him.

"I have. You seem to need my help, Severus. Again, I thought I told you not to attempt this without me?" she pointed out, her words clumsy and blunt as her gaze drifted down toward his bleeding arm. She heaved a haggard tired sigh and motioned with a wave of her arm for the man to follow her into the kitchen. "Sit," she commanded in a curt tone as she kicked a chair towards him.

Severus's impassive expression shifted, just for a moment. It was subtle and barely noticeable, seen only in the slight falling off his smirk that she supposed was as close as he could come to smiling, the sudden coldness of his eyes. Disappointment did not look well on Severus Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts. Nevertheless, he complied.

He frowned, glancing around the kitchen. His eyes alighted on the cooker. Dahlia curiously glanced over her shoulder and felt her heart skip as she caught the sight of a tea kettle.

He must be fond of tea, like every other Brit in England, she thought, filing away the fact for later.

When she looked back at him as she waved her wand to conjure a pile of fresh bandages with which to change his soiled ones, Snape was eying her narrowly, as if he did not trust her.

"I don't suppose you happened to be…wandering down here because perhaps…you cannot sleep either?"

Dahlia stiffened as she focused, perhaps a bit too intently, on her work as she wound fresh layers of gauze around his arm.

"No," she said flatly. "I was just coming into the kitchen to see about ah…making myself some tea. I find that it helps me to calm down and think about things that I'd rather not."

The confession was ripped from her lips before she could stop herself, and she felt her eyes widen in shock and abject horror as she steadily lifted her gaze to look into Severus Snape's eyes.

But the man's expression was stony as he scanned her face for any sign of a lie, but Dahlia wore her iciness like a shield and prayed that it would stave his effort.

After a few agonizing moments, he shrugged and lightly turned away.

"I apologize then, for interrupting your intentions," he said. "May the remainder of your evening's rest give you far less trouble than I seem to be doing, Dahlia," Severus remarked in his listless voice.

She furrowed her brows into a frown as she straightened her gait and took a step back, admiring her literal handiwork.

"That should do it until the morning, I think," she answered flatly by way of response and turned her back on the man though she could feel his eyes on her, threatening to burn a hole in the side of her skull. "Tea?" she asked in what she hoped was a casual voice. "I was just thinking of making a cup, I could make you one too, if you like, Severus," she called out as she strode with purpose to the cooker.

He did not reply. As she reached the counter, Dahlia's fingers curled tightly around the edge, to keep her steady, but every inch of her felt like she was melting under the man's scrutinous stare. The tension coiling and tugging at her with an insistence that was becoming impossible to ignore.

She swallowed down hard and busied herself with the kettle, preparing a pot of Chamomile tea, thinking that she did in fact, need a cup to hopefully quell her nerves.

"Your reasons for keeping me here…and my father's ah…comrades," she began hesitantly, still keeping her back facing him as she spoke, trying to choose her words carefully. "Should I be afraid of them? You truly think they'd hurt me?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her, wanting to know his reply.

She heard the scraping of the chair's legs and the shuffling of the man's feet.

He was now no more than three paces away from her. A few more steps and she could likely feel his breath on the back of her neck, but so far, he stayed put.

"Yes. I do. But you've not answered my question, witch. Are you thinking of attempting to flee this place come the morning? You truly are many things, Dahlia Hawthorne," Severus mused, turning away from her, and setting his cup down on the counter. "But a good liar, not one of them…" He furrowed his brows and frowned. "You won't be going," he pointed out, as though he were stating the obvious, to which she felt a solar flare of her temper ignite in her chest. The way he was staring at her now spurred discomfort and uncertainty but cradled a hidden desire of submission to the way he looked at her.

There was anger in the man's eyes, yes, but a thinly-veiled frustrated desire. She swallowed down hard and stared down into her mug of still steaming tea, her dark eyes unmoved and her face nonchalant.

"You don't know what I'm capable of, snake," she snapped, the poisonous thought escaping from the back of her throat before she could stop herself.

He flinched at the harshness of her last word, his mouth pinching down.

"I'll imagine that you've not said that."

"What, 'snake?'" Dahlia asked in as innocent a tone as she could possibly muster up, summoning the courage to face the wizard's black eyes that looked heavily weighted down by his own grief and sorrow, but at the moment, she could not manage to pretend to care about any of it. "My apologies. I'm sorry, Severus, that was uncalled for," she remarked in a voice full of exaggerated sarcasm and anger. "It's just that my father always told me to address people by what they really are," she huffed in indignation.

"And now your father is going to rot six feet under below the surface of the earth," he spat back at her.

Dahlia's blood curdled in her veins, as did his. Tears moistened her vision, and wrath burned on Snape's. He frowned, the edges of his mouth turning down in a scowl.

When he spoke, his voice shook.

"It was the wolf Remus Lupin who sent that final Killing Curse to your father's chest, not I," Severus growled, narrowing his eyes which almost painted heavy hurt. "So why don't you stop treating me like I was the one who held the wolf's wand?"

A single wretched tear slipped from her eye and her lips quivered, Snape stared on, even in her tears, this witch was entrancing and breathtakingly beautiful that it held such an intense fascination for him that it left his expression looking intrigued. She crumpled and broke down into soft sobs, turning away and burying her face in her hands.

Goddamn you, Dahlia. Hawthorne women don't weep. Stop. Stop it, the dark voice at the back of her mind chimed a warning, a snakelike voice that sounded too much like Father's. She sniffed once or twice, and in an exhale, she was hardened and stoic again.

"I should go," she remarked and made to leave.

He was still but as she reached the doorframe, Dahlia could feel his eyes crawling all over her, and what was new with that?

She was used to men checking her out in the hallways of St. Mungo's or in Diagon Alley or downtown London. There was strange confidence growing within her that told her not to be afraid, that she did not need to shirk away from his attentions and apparent interest in her, though something within her still fought against this sudden development.

"Was it that bad?" he asked, very softly, in a voice so faint she had thought for sure that the man had not spoken at all.

Dahlia turned at the waist, eyeing him bashfully out of the corner of her gaze as she noticed his attention had drifted to the back of her neck and back, the cut of her dress's back and neckline revealing the black patches that almost resembled scars, cursed wounds, courtesy of Father.

There was neither concern nor pity that could be detected in Severus's listless tone, just plain curiosity, or if he did feel sorry for her, Snape was good at hiding it. She stiffened and straightened her posture.

"These are nothing to worry about," she answered in a dismissive tone.

"Those are scars," he pointed out, bluntly, raising his brows in alarm at her.

"I know what they are, thank you, for your keen and penetrating observations," Dahlia snapped as she whirled around to face him fully. "They were scars once, and now they're nothing, Severus. Leave it alone, please."

"Minerva said you've been through enough but did not specify just what your trauma was. Was it really that bad?" he asked.

Slowly, Dahlia faced him with an icy stare and felt herself swallow, hard, though when she did, it felt as though she were swallowing knives and the blood rushed to her cheeks.

"I pulled my father's lifeless body from the rubble of the Courtyard in Hogwarts myself following Voldemort's siege against the castle, but before that, for years, until I turned seventeen and moved out, my father snuck into my room every night and whispered horrible things, put his hands on me in a way that a father shouldn't to their little girl, took me in the ways that he should have only done to his wife, never his child," she whispered in a wavering voice, fighting back against the bitter onslaught of tears. "My mother left me alone when I was six to deal with him, and when I went to my aunt for help when I was homeless with nowhere else to go, she tried to kill me," she huffed angrily. She looked away from Severus. "No, Severus, to answer your question, it wasn't all that bad," she hissed through gritted teeth and made to leave him.

Severus breathed out in the form of a long and slow exhale and headed to the door, rolling his neck to crack it as he moved to stand in front of the witch.

"Severus," she blurted out before he could turn to leave her. She wasn't sure what had compelled her to call after him to convince the man to linger a moment longer, but she could no longer take it back.

The sound of his name on her lips had him stopping halfway through the hallway to twist his head in order to tend to Dahlia's words. He waited, perceiving her hesitations. She thought for a moment to collect her thoughts. Suddenly, she did not think she could stomach the thought of going alone to her father's funeral tomorrow.

Perhaps Severus was right. Her father's colleagues had not been good men and women. The sound of the heavy driving rain broke into her thoughts, somehow making the night seem deeper and darker. The thought of spending even an hour in the company of known or suspected Death Eaters who had yet somehow managed to avoid capture did not sit well with her, and she knew that deep down, Severus was right.

It was not safe for her to go alone. But perhaps, just this once, if she were to make an exception to the rule and allow him out of his house in the form of her escort, it would be safe. Dahlia looked over her shoulder at the kitchen window, now streaked with tiny rivets of water, and searched her brain for something to say to Severus.

"You could...come with me tomorrow, Severus, to my father's funeral, if you won't let me go on my own," she described logically, halting the urgency of her thoughts. "You could stay," she offered nervously. "You would be my side at all times. You are hellbent on not letting me go alone, then come with me, supervise me if you feel the need to, protect me," Dahlia stammered in a quiet tone, suddenly unable to meet his gaze.

Severus stiffened, hardening his gaze. He couldn't be sure, but he thought that there might have been a note of hope in the young redheaded witch's shy voice.

"Protect you? Tell me, what other purpose would I have there tomorrow?" Severus drolled, his expression darkening, and it sent a shiver down her spine. Her heart pounded, her mouth was dry, and her stomach quivered, but she raised her chin and stared defiantly.

"It's either that or I'll go alone and I don't think either one of us wants that, do we?" she remarked, to which her comment earned her something that resembled a harsh bark of laughter from Snape that to her almost sounded mocking, a thing that the Potions Master did so naturally.

"You really think I would let you go alone?" he mocked, though his expression was placid as she realized he seemed to be considering her offer.

She frowned, sensing his reluctance.

"Then stay here in your dark hole and rot. Don't be alarmed if you get an owl post or a Patronus from someone at the Ministry when they find my body, lifeless and in a deserted alleyway somewhere, because you didn't come."

Severus restrained the waves of staggering cold that hit him from behind as he merely watched the feisty young witch stalk forward towards her room. Any other person who dared to speak to him as she just did, he would have hexed right there on the spot without even having to think about it.

But with Dahlia Hawthorne, he felt like a requiem. And he hated this yielding to her.

This was a battle that he would win, of course, with the influence of a drug. Her. He gave out a frustrated sigh and ran a hand through his hair before heading towards the door of his own bedroom.

"Fine. We'll leave at seven, and if you are late, you will not go," he remarked in an almost calmed manner. "I do this for you on the condition that you remain by my side at all times," he growled with emphasis on his words as he looked at Dahlia sharply and hardened his gaze, while she halted in front of the door to her room, having turned and was looking at him hopefully, a hint of a smile on her lips. He smirked at her coldly. "And I expect that you will give me something in exchange. Consider this arrangement a favor owed, if you will, Dahlia..."

Dahlia swallowed hard. "Whatever you ask, Severus," was all that she could think to say.

His smirk widened. "Whatever I ask? A hefty promise, coming from you. I like it. See that you keep it."

Letting her shoulders sag, Dahlia dejectedly lowered her hopeful gaze and smiled painfully as she turned away. It was as if Severus had cut her, wounded her deeply just now by glancing at her so dismissively and making her feel somewhat uncomfortable on purpose.

About to disappear into the confines of his spare room, he heard himself speak in a faint voice that almost did not sound like himself, the words were ripped from his lips as if he had no control over his voice. Only as he caught up to her did he grab hold of Dahlia's arm, perhaps more forcefully than he would have liked as he heard the startled gasp of surprise leave her lips, wishing for nothing more than to rid the heart-wrenching expression off her face.

He roughly turned her around to face him. Looking down at the spirited witch, he could see Dahlia's brown eyes glittering in the darkness of the hallway, but it could have been a trick of the light.

A part of him felt pained to see her like this and he punished himself inwardly, knowing that he was the cause of this witch's anguish, and hoping that he could somehow make amends to her.

"Let it be known I'm only suffering through this disgusting funeral tomorrow because I despise to see that look on your face any longer, Dahlia."

Blinking owlishly up at Snape, Dahlia stared at her patient wordlessly as he lowered her hand instinctively to her own, unable to resist the call of her aura and his own efforts to soothe her in whatever way he could. Even though his conscience was screaming at him to stop.

His hand slid down her arm and went beyond the sleeve of her dress, Severus pressed against the innermost part of Dahlia's palm softly with his thumb.

"Are you sure?" Dahlia asked, staring unblinking into the man's narrowed eyes. "How would you explain your presence there if one of the Death Eaters…if someone knows you? Are you really prepared to lose everything, just so that I can say goodbye to him?"

Severus swallowed hard but did not step away from the witch.

"I have already lost everything. I've nothing left to lose by going. Let me tend to any of the Dark Lord's followers, as it is my duty as your…protector, in this endeavor, to do so. I care not what they think if they see me. Let them see me there, let them dare raise their wand to me, I'd like to see them try." He paused, licking his lips. "Let it be known again that you are not to leave my side, do you understand? I will go with you to whatever it is you wish to see following his wake. You simply cannot go alone, witch. Can you do that?"

"Yes," she said, staring unblinking into his face, surprised at her own certainty. She wasn't even aware that his hand was still enveloped in hers, gripping almost painfully tight that he bruised her fingers.

Taking a moment to reflect on her touch and how nice it felt, how it took was one minute in her company for him to feel at peace, Severus could feel the heat of Dahlia's hand before letting it go, glaring at her before sharply turning on his heels and disappearing into his room.

It did not escape her attention that Snape moved with what seemed like an exertion of his willpower. She could only stare at him as he was gone in the space of a breath, retreating into the darkness, and leaving Dahlia all alone.

She stood leaning against the door to her room with her hand still slightly outstretched.

It had started to tingle and burn slightly, as if somehow, Severus had left something with her, his own magic of sorts that tingled in her palm. Something that would never go away, and a part of her wished to hold onto it.

Dahlia curled her outstretched hand into a fist and pressed it to her heart. She was beginning to think that perhaps she had misjudged him, she thought, as she turned and disappeared into her bedroom.

She made a silent vow going forward to be kinder to him.