THE skin on his cheek still tingled and burned where Dahlia Hawthorne had pressed her lips. The soft, cool brushing of her tender lips burned his skin, and it had his chest constricting painfully tight until it almost hurt him to breathe and his stomach twisting in an uncomfortable bundle of nerves and desire.
When she had walked towards him, he'd felt his heartbeat so loudly in his chest that he swore he thought Dahlia could hear it, and when her hands went to his shoulders and gently pulled him down, his mind went numb. His eyes were fixated on the witch's beautiful, perfect face, so cold and white, like the pale cold morning of spring, her sparkling brown eyes that brought to mind hot cocoa, his favorite drink when he was younger, something of a secret indulgence of his during the winters when the weather got especially cold. Her stunning red hair made his fingertips go numb with the burning itch and overwhelming ache to run his fingers through it, to see if it was as soft as it looked.
The Healer's beauty rocked him to his very core, and for the smallest of moments, Dahlia Hawthorne allowed Severus to forget who he was, what he was, and the state of the mess he had made of his life now. But when Dahlia had pulled away, her face tilting slightly to the side, a strange look in her eyes that he did not know what to make of, Snape could not help but be reminded. Her lips were cold and hot at once, freezing and burning him to the bone.
His jaw tingled, and the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and his chest tightened in desire.
Such beautiful innocence as Dahlia's should have been disgusting to him, and normally, it was, but somehow, the woman responsible for saving his life was admittedly proving to be…different.
Every fiber of his being demanded that he stay close by her side, though he dutifully lingered near the front entrance to the cemetery and respectfully allowed Dahlia the space that she needed to mourn her father, but kept her in his sights.
His breaths quickened and he lifted a heavy boot and took a step towards her as he noticed Dahlia walk slowly along the rows of tombstones, his decision made before he even really knew what was happening.
He would have her. One way or another, he would just need to be patient. He could not—and would not—allow Lily's specter to haunt him anymore. She'd haunted him long enough. Severus told himself this as he watched her comely form move swiftly and slowly along the rows of graves, most of the names of various wizards and witches that Snape either personally knew at one point in his life or knew of, and now, he could add her wretched bastard of a father to his list of names. He scowled heavily as her back was turned towards him. He wondered, perhaps inappropriately as he watched her stand stiffly in front of her father's gravestone, what she was thinking of him if anything at all.
Was Dahlia thinking of him in awe or disgust? Was he a bully or a hero in her eyes? A disgusting bully, no doubt, but it was easy enough for him to pretend he saw awe and respect in those dark brown eyes of Dahlia's.
A sudden and sharp pang thrashed through his heart. Merlin, but he felt…wrong. Or more so, what he was feeling for the woman who was his Healer was wrong. It just had to be.
You've my word, Severus, that I will spare your witch.
His heart, that damned feeble quivering muscle within his chest, tremored within him as his last master's dangerously quiet and menacing voice clouded his conflicted thoughts.
I do not forget your fealty and service to me, Severus. Nor do I fail to reward that which is given. Fealty with respect, valor with honor, and disloyalty with swift vengeance. I give you my word I will spare the witch.
Severus stiffened, still able to recall the Dark Lord's cold, icy stare shortly before Lord Voldemort had slit his throat, hoping to kill him. The Dark Lord had lost his loyalty and respect the moment he had reneged on his promise and had murdered Lily in cold blood. As much as his heart ached for Lily to return, his hazy dream would never come to fruition. There simply was, and could never be, a cure for death, no matter how much he wished for it, and even if Lily were to return, by some miracle, she would never choose him.
He was the snake in the shadows, the darkness to her light that held her back from her life in the sun. He thought it strange how now, for perhaps the first time in years, another witch flitted through his mind, and it was not Lily Potter.
But of Dahlia, as the Healer's serene eyes drenched his memory. He would never have imagined that another witch could invoke these old and forgotten feelings repressed deep within himself.
Yet, here he was, broken and scarred, yes, beaten, but still very much feeling. Of course, these feelings for Dahlia Hawthorne were new, but they still held a familiar foreign sense to them, like a distant fond memory his mind's eye was now showing him as though viewing them in Dumbledore's Pensieve in his office. However, as he recognized all too well what was happening, something inside of him still fought against it. These feelings for the prickly young witch were light and breathless, but underneath the euphoria and state of secret bliss, he was growing accustomed to the feeling when around her, something dark was stirring within him, this 'wrong' feeling that pricked his conscience.
Not only did he feel 'wrong' about this new development, but a snake-like voice sat in the back of his mind and taunted him, sounding entire too much like his own father's voice for comfort.
This witch will never love you, never care for you, just as the other one didn't, boy.
These intrusive thoughts in the voice of his father, Tobias Snape, left Severus pondering and stricken, at a loss for words, perhaps for the first time in his life.
The small pure and perfect dark crimson dahlia flower, a plant that was typically only native to Mexico and Central America, that he had conjured in his hands, was almost forgotten as his hold on the plant loosened. His dark eyes were left unblinking as he felt his breaths hitch painfully in his throat.
What would Lily say?
A heavy hand found its way back to his face as a scattered groan managed to escape its way past his cracked lips. Severus snapped his tired eyes tightly shut in an attempt to block out his father's voice.
The mocking tone was laced with amusement and judgment.
Unfortunately, he was quite familiar with the tone as his father's voice had taunted him ever since Tobias Snape had died.
Did you love her at all? From what it looks like, you've moved from one witch to the next…
"No!" his cracking voice erupted from him in the form of a low and vicious growl, as though he hoped and thought it would be the silencer to the dark demonic voice of his wretched father inside of his head. His shallow breathing only worsened as time passed. "Y-you're wrong, Father, I-I'm…happy." He spat the word as though it were bitter poison that lingered on his tongue.
He buried his head in his calloused hands, pieces of black locks sticky every which way as they entangled his fingers. The flower he had intended to offer the Healer in a show of condolence for the witch's loss of her father fell to the grass beneath his feet as the soft breeze carried the feeble dahlia flower to the ground to rest near his boots. The petals bent, connecting with the cool earth.
The poor man was nearly hysterical at this point.
Severus's lungs burned as the biting cold air thrashed in and out of him at a speed that he could not slow down for the life of him. He fought in vain against the salty liquid now brimming in his eyes. Severus was sure slick tears would slip from his eyes at any moment. After a moment of deafening silence and struggling to rein in control of his emotions, the voice of his father had finally ceased tormenting him.
The only thing his ears picked up on was the sound of the wind flowing around his trembling body. His head remained buried in his hands. His lungs had calmed slightly, the burning feeling slowly but surely subsiding a bit.
"I-I-I loved her." His voice dropped lower than he was used to. Merlin and God help him, but this was wrong. It had to be, yes.
How could he look at another witch like this?
What would Lily say to you, if she could learn the truth if she were here now? This time, the internal voice asking the question was his own. The question swirled his throbbing head. His mind felt like it was reeling, plagued with the unanswerable question he would likely never know the answer to. As the silence around him in the graveyard of Little Hangleton thickened, an abrupt bitterness seeped into the pit of his churning stomach.
Potter. Potter was the reason Lily did not return his affections.
"If she had stayed…then I...maybe..." he croaked as he lowered his hands from his face. A lump formed in his throat as his breath stuttered. "No…she made her choice, and her choice was never me," he whisper-hissed his words through clenched teeth. He shook his head violently as he immediately attempted to dismiss those incriminating thoughts.
He'd always thought James Potter to be an arrogant toe rag. Every bit a swine and a bastard, but he could not blame the man for something that he was not responsible for. Lily had made her choice and she had not chosen him. His glazed over and heavily-lidded eyes glanced down to rest on the delicate flower that landed by his boots.
With a frustrated exhale, he knelt to the small thing and gingerly picked it up, resting the crimson dahlia flower as red as wine in his palm. He stared at the plant with thoughtful eyes, thinking how the hues of the flower's color almost reminded him of Dahlia's hair. His thoughts wandered yet again to Dahlia Hawthorne for a moment upon looking at the flower. He closed his strained eyes, pressing the flower against his chest, sighing.
The memories of the last few days and this morning swirled in his fatigued mind. He was more than confused and utterly at a loss, but there was potentially something good out of it.
Severus rose back to his fatigued feet, still holding the plant to his chest, and spotted her. Severus felt his lips tug upward as he swore he thought he saw Dahlia turn in his direction, beckoning him to her side with just the power of a pleading look from those warm eyes that he could tell even from this distance were glistening with stifled tears.
He made to take a step forward in the witch's general direction, though before he could, however, the loud sound of someone Apparating behind him nearly made him jump. The waves of sharp alarm hit him fast and hard. The abrupt but small sound had caused Snape to withdraw his shaking hand back into himself again.
His hand, at the moment, clenched into a fist, unfurled to clutch at his chest. The soft fabric of his black dress robes tangled within his calloused fingers. Severus had never been so easily startled throughout most of his life, but here recently, his jumpiness seemed worse. His hammering heart had just begun to slow down when he was able to take in a full breath. He let his heavy hand rest on his heaving chest. He took in a long shaky breath. One. Two. Three.
Then back out. And repeat. He had not realized it, but he'd closed his eyes while doing so, and it was while his eyes were closed that a familiar voice rent through the silent and eerie air of the graveyard.
Severus did not need to turn around to know that Minerva had come to speak with Hawthorne.
"Is this going to become a regular thing with you, Minerva?" he growled in a hoarse voice as he paused to adjust the thick black woolen scarf he had draped over his neck to conceal the worst of his scarred tissue around his neck from her as the sallow-faced reinstated Potions Master slowly turned on his heels to regard the new Hogwarts Headmistress.
Minerva arched a thin brow and frowned at his snark quip. "Severus. I confess that I'm surprised to see you here, dear. I had thought for certain that you would have chosen to stay behind, but I am pleased to see that you are taking gradual steps towards regaining control of your life. The fresh air will do you some good, and I'm sure Miss Hawthorne appreciates the company. Have you talked to Dahlia?" Minerva's warbling voice rang in his throbbing ears.
Minerva McGonagall basked on the silence of her reinstated Potions Master standing stiffly across from her, looking as though she had hit him with a Stunning Spell. He seemed, for a moment, utterly paralyzed and unable to speak. But after a moment, Severus slowly turned his head somewhat lazily to regard her sudden arrival. She curiously peered at Snape through the lenses of her spectacles and eyed the strange revolt in Severus Snape's pallid face. It was pale as if hit by a blizzard, but then again, the man's face was almost always colorless. His lips were agape as if devoid of words.
And it was the wizard's eyes that were new to take in the sight of. The black of the man's irises was suddenly drained, turning them into almost black pools which no words nor enchanted painting could match. Minerva was confident she had never seen a man who was once her former student this aghast, and it was most unusual for Severus.
Minerva furrowed her brows to remind the wizard of his supposed act of chivalry towards the young witch who had saved his life, looking at him briefly with questioning eyes, frowning. She heaved a tired sigh and pinched at the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, following the wizard's gaze and noticing how the man's eyes lingered on Dahlia.
"I suppose not, or if it was so, it did not go well, as I have yet to receive any sort of correspondence from her regarding her answer." Minerva sighed, her small eyes squinting, almost looking like tired lines as she did so. "I thought she would have come..." Her voice trailed off as she tore her gaze away from her colleague and towards the young redheaded witch, her expression thoughtful.
Severus frowned, feeling something dark and festering welling within his chest at the thought of Minerva having come to Hawthorne's father's wake for the sole purpose of introducing herself and asking after the vacant position of Head Matron.
For a moment, he thought Minerva McGonagall was no better than Dumbledore had been, selfishly serving her interests. The words were ripped from his lips before he even had time to consider what it was that he wanted to say to the older witch.
"Forgive me, Minerva, but I thought the morning of her father's funeral was perhaps not the best time to broach the subject of her potential future at Hogwarts, surely you could respect her need for solitude at this given moment," Severus snapped, huffing in indignation and folding his arms across his chest, glowering at the Headmistress of Hogwarts. He sighed again and cast Minerva a disparaging look. "Yes, you would be correct in that I have not yet broached the subject with her. Rest assured that I give you my word I will do so in another day or two when she is not so….preoccupied," he sniffed, crinkling his nose, and pulling a face of disgust as he did not look at Minerva. Instead, Severus purposefully kept his gaze lingering on Dahlia Hawthorne's backside, watching the redheaded witch like a hawk, scanning the perimeter of Little Hangleton's desolate graveyard for other signs of potential threats. "But since we're on the topic, Minerva, speaking of Hogwarts and my Healer, why was it that I could never find her?"
What blood was left in Minerva's rosy-cheeked complexion thanks to the chill of the morning air promptly drained at his question.
"I do beg your pardon?" she conceded in as polite a tone as she could manage, regarding him with a look of utmost dread on her lined and weathered features as Severus glowered.
"Do not patronize me, Minerva, and please do not insult my intelligence." Severus heavily scowled as his lips turned up in a vicious sneer as he glared at her. "You know very well what I speak of." His spiteful stare bore holes through the Hogwarts Headmistress, who all but squirmed underneath the man's hardened scrutiny. "Hawthorne, Minerva," he asserted. "She's three years younger than me, which would have put her three years behind me when I attended Hogwarts, so why was it she was never present? Our paths would have crossed at one point," he said, wondering aloud.
Minerva quietly considered Severus's words, though as she straightened her gait, her jaw was cut like steel. Her lips pursed stiffly with anger as she regarded her wounded Potions Master, holding a suspicion in her heart that she believed the man was beginning to care for the Healer assigned to him. But she knew that she did not want to goad him into anger. She took a moment to choose her words carefully and awkwardly cleared her throat.
"Because she never attended, my dear." Her answer was nearly as agonized as his query.
The revelation hit Severus like a slap in the face, ringing like a cracking palm against his cheek.
"What?" he asked flatly, feeling certain he had misheard the Headmistress. He spoke through a mouth that had gone bone dry, and when his tongue flicked out to lick his lips in hopes of moistening them, no moisture came.
"She did not attend Hogwarts, dear. To the best of my knowledge, she was homeschooled," Minerva repeated compassionately as she regarded him. "Her father would not allow her to attend school," was all that she could think to say in a quiet voice.
"Why?" Severus demanded as he clenched his fists, speaking to the Hogwarts Headmistress in a low voice that Minerva could only describe as a dangerous warning growl.
Minerva frowned, casting him a withering look that almost made him convinced that if she'd wanted to, she could have pinned him with the look of daggers she currently shot him.
"Surely, my dear, I don't need to point out the obvious. You must have worked alongside Hans at some point throughout your…time," she finished lamely and cringing as the words that left her lips, "as a spy for Voldemort. You know what sort of a wizard he was. Hans was not a kind man to his daughter following his wife leaving, and he would be less to the young witch if he found out the sort of company she tends to prefer. He would have seen her affinity to looking past the notion of purebloods as an affront to everything that their family stood for." She closed her eyes, swallowing down hard. "To the best of my knowledge, what very little Albus and I were able to glean from her upbringing, most days, Hans did not allow her to leave the house. He taught her at his knee, and the rest…well." Minerva paused, a glint of admiration forming behind her green eyes. "Well, the rest. He put her up to the rest, dear. But if you've more questions regarding her…past, then I am not the one whom you should be speaking to. Talk to Dahlia, dear."
Severus could hardly manage to spit out words that burned in his throat, and when he swallowed past a lump in his throat, it felt as though he were swallowing knives.
"I did not know," he answered softly in a subdued tone. "Her home…was close to mine, growing up. Perhaps if I had known, I could have…I could.." But he trailed off and did not complete his thought. He had no words left. He had nothing. The revelation burned within him, hot and angry and sad at the thought of the young witch suffering so much at her father's hand.
A part of Minerva almost appreciated her Potions Master's imagined protectiveness of his now-Healer.
"Think of yourself back then, for a moment, dear," she bid the wizard. "You had Lily." Minerva shamed Severus with the memory. "You were not made aware of Dahlia Hawthorne's presence. You would not have loved her, I suspect." Severus seemed to shrink before Minerva's eyes as the weight of her words sunk beneath his skin. Minerva continued as regret and remorse melted the fire melted in the young wizard's eyes. "Dahlia and Lily have been perhaps the only witches in your life who have ever bothered to attempt to look past the surface. Lily is dead, Severus. There is no cure for death and were she here, I do not think she would have chosen you, even if your circumstances had been different." Minerva sighed. "Lily was always quite taken with James Potter when he matured. But with Miss Hawthorne, perhaps, if you allow her, a connection might be able to be formed. That woman has known nothing but misery and strife for most of her life, much as you have, dear. You are...kindred spirits, in a way. Your happiness is still attainable and within your ability to control. Miss Hawthorne seems to care for you, and I would be remiss if I did not advise you to take a chance, for once."
The bitterness in McGonagall's words chilled Severus even further. The question burned on the tip of his tongue, begging to be asked and answered.
"How did she cope?" he asked, very softly.
Minerva smiled a little, albeit remorsefully.
"She is fierce and strong enough, dear. She survived. Just as you did," she pointed out, her words blunt, enough to make Severus flinch, but she was unstirred as she continued speaking. "Talk to her, for you'll get no further answers from me, Severus," she reiterated with emphasis on her words, desirous to make her point understood. "You might find yourself surprised at her answer. It would be good for you, I think, to form a connection with this woman," she muttered, a wistful expression forming in her eyes as she stared at Dahlia alongside Severus. "And as for if you would have known that the two of you were practically neighbors, Severus, would it have made much of a difference?"
Severus laughed bitterly. "Part of me wishes that I hadn't lived, Minerva," he growled. "I wish that I had been so fortunate to die in that boathouse. The whole world would likely be happier for it, I suspect," he hissed angrily.
Minerva's eyes widened, glassy and hurt. "You truly do hold yourself in so little regard?"
"Yes. It's the truth, Minerva. And you have so longed to hear the truth from me, haven't you?" The words were pouring out of him in a torrent, spilling from his mouth before Severus held a prayer of silencing them. "Well, since you're here, have it now, since you've been so good to give it to me. I am not strong. I never was. I've always been afraid, Minerva. I have fought for every inch of life that I've ever lived, every moment, every breath. And I've hated myself far more than you could comprehend for every single instant of it. But during every fight in this wretched war, I was afraid. I gambled everything I had to assuage my fear, and in the end, I still lost, Minerva. What do I have now to show for my efforts? A witch that I gave up everything for, one who could never love me in return, who turned on me before I could ever have the chance to make up for my past mistake, and now, the Ministry of Magic would seek to humiliate me further by demanding I appear in front of the full Wizengamot to be tried for my actions?"
It hurt him to breathe. It hurt to speak.
Merlin, it hurt to be standing here, alive, in front of Minerva, a witch whom he had always respected and greatly admired, crumbling before her very eyes.
Between pained, heavy breaths, Severus managed to spit out, "I think that I would be better off dead than to live this way, to see all my mistakes thrown back into my face like this…"
His words trailed away into a noise that sounded like a half-choked sob, broken and ugly and harsh in his ringing ears. Severus clenched his fists even more tightly and leaned against the iron-wrought gates that surrounded the perimeter of the graveyard for support. He was shaking like grass in the plains of the British countryside on a windy day, trembling from head to toe. He wanted to suffer, and he knew he more than deserved it. He wanted to die.
It was no less than what he had deserved, as every sense of coherent thought was leaving him, slinking away, and drowning in despair. And then, Minerva's hand was resting on his shoulder, surprisingly strong and squeezing onto the appendage reassuringly, and even his sorrow was drowned out.
Minerva did not speak, at least at first, staying silent for several long minutes.
"I've spoken at length with Kingsley, Severus. It has taken several conversations and visits to his office, the last one of which almost erupted into something of a shouting match," she admitted, with a pained expression flitting across her face. She shook the memory away with a curt shake of her head and continued. "He has already agreed to save you the ah...potential embarrassment that it would cause you to appear in front of the full Wizengamot. If you are agreeable, if you could provide me with the required memories the Wizengamot requires, the same ones that you offered Potter, then your trial will be conducted in private, a decision reached behind closed doors, though personally, dear, it is my firm belief you have nothing to fear. I would not have reinstated you to your position as our Potions Master if I was not confident in their ability to reach a sound decision. And..." Minerva paused for a moment, unsure whether or not to ask, but the question came out before she could stop herself. "Would Miss Hawthorne make it better for you, dear?" she asked in somewhat of a coy, sly voice.
Severus's dark eyes widened in disbelief.
"What?" he exclaimed sourly, certain he had misheard the Hogwarts Headmistress just now, raising a thick dark brow at Minerva.
"You care for her," Minerva stated, her tone matter-of-fact and blunt as she regarded her Potions Master with a rather pointed look, ignoring the light pink blush that was speckling the man's cheeks with color, for which he was grateful she pretended not to see. "Don't bother denying it. I see it in your eyes. You've never hidden anything from me, dear, so don't start. Were she perhaps to return your affections, well, it would be a change in your life for the better. You have a chance to live a normal life now, Severus. You're free of Voldemort's hold on you, and Dumbledore's as well, Severus. I know that this is in no way any of my business, but you should consider letting this young woman in. She only wishes to help you, and perhaps...maybe, in time, a connection between the two of you could form, if you let her. Your loneliness is a silent killer and it's killing you because you're letting it. There's no need for you to torture yourself like this, dear. There never was. It would only hurt you. I think that, should you confide in Miss Hawthorne and choose to open up, you might find yourself surprised at how well she might sympathize with you. As I once told Remus when he experienced doubts over Nymphadora Tonks's love for him, the night that you...killed Albus at his bequest," she swallowed hard as the memory of that night flooded through her mind, "the world would be a much better place if there were a little more love in this world," she sighed remorsefully.
His brow furrowed and a dark shadow flitted across his face. Severus's mouth turned down in a frown as he recollected the black markings on Dahlia's back when he had pointed out her visible scars to her and had asked after them.
He wondered with a sickening pit now forming in his stomach just how much of her body was littered in scars, thanks to her father's hand. Severus heard himself heave a haggard sigh as he turned away and pinched at the bridge of his hooked nose in frustration.
"Fine," he growled. "I will take your words into consideration since I can see that you have no intentions of leaving me alone until this issue is addressed, Minerva," he barked in a hoarse voice. "I will think about allowing Dahlia Hawthorne in, and taking care of her, and even as you say, letting her take care of me, but only because I wish for a moment of sweet, blessed silence in my life. A silence, which it may be noted, that you are interrupting with your meddling presence here. You may speak with Miss Hawthorne if that is your true intent for coming but I would be remiss if I didn't at least caution you to be prepared to be disappointed with whatever answer she gives you," he dryly remarked as he offered his arm to Minerva McGonagall and escorted the older witch towards Dahlia.
Severus could not ignore the constricting pain in his chest as he escorted Minerva to where Dahlia stood in front of her father's tomb, that this was a mistake, that it was too soon to be broaching the topic of the possibility of her becoming employed at Hogwarts. Though he could not deny a part of him was wishing for it.
He was surprised at the feeling of Hawthorne's dark eyes forever pressing on his back. At first, to learn that she watched him when she thought he wasn't looking both confused and unnerved him. But now, his curiosity was overwhelming, and more than a small part of him wanted to learn everything of this witch before she had stripped him bare and discovered all of his darkest, innermost secrets.
By beating her at her own game, Severus was confident that he would come out the stronger, and then, he would have nothing to fear of her anymore, or of these feelings that he felt. Or so he'd hoped.
But plans have a way of going astray, and his plan went wrong almost from the start, from the moment he approached with Minerva…
DAHLIA was not sure how many more deaths in her life she could suffer. What could she have possibly done that made fate that much crueler than to curse her with something far worse disease or anything else she could think of, but eternal grief? The last drop of a tear left her sore and stinging red-rimmed eyes that were cracked at the edges as she stood in front of her father's tomb. She cursed herself for loving him, wishing she could hate the monster who had abused her at every turn but couldn't manage to bring herself to hate Hans.
She had thought she could handle it when they had Apparated into the graveyard of Little Hangleton, clutching onto Snape's arm for some measure of strength, grateful that he did not pull away. But as they slowly made their way through the row of grave markers and they found her father's and her eyes rested on his name's inscription, it was as if her heart was ripped out from her chest.
It was only the strong grip of Severus as his hand wound around her waist that held her in place.
She did not even remember her knees weakening or her chest tightening and hyperventilating, her soul plunging into a dark, endless chasm. The images of her family came crashing down on her—one abandoned her, presumed dead with no word for years, three others murdered and buried by comrades of the Dark Lord when they failed him, and now, her father, killed by a man, a werewolf who she called a friend.
When Severus attempted to tug on her arm and pull her away after she had conjured a single white lily to place at the foot of his grave, that was all it had taken for her tears to come pouring that showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. She thought she could have filled a well had she gathered the wretched little drops into a vial.
She was grateful, at a minimum, that there were no other souls that she could see wandering about the desolate graveyard of Little Hangleton, that it was merely Severus and her that she knew of. Snape, true to form, hadn't left her sight once since she had located her father's grave and Severus had approached with Minerva.
She had thought he would pull away out of disgust for her father once they managed to find her father's gravestone, but he hovered near her, almost to the point of smothering, but even she could not deny she ached for some small modicum of comfort, wherever she could get it. And if it came from the likes of Severus, then so be it.
She flinched at the sound of Headmistress Minerva McGonagall's voice.
"I am sorry for your loss, dear. I know that the two of you did not always have the best appearance, but he was still your father. Please, feel free to come to me if there's anything you should ever need, Dahlia."
"Thank you, Headmistress, you're very kind," Dahlia sniffed, wiping at the edges of her eye with the back of her sleeve. "I appreciate your concern over my...loss, but I am sure that I will be just fine, Minerva, you're sweet to worry," she murmured as she turned to face them.
She opened her mouth to speak, though Dahlia stiffened as the sound of more approaching footsteps caused her ears to perk up at the noise. Every fiber in her body was tense, and she felt her fingers dig into the material of Snape's dress robes. She grimaced uncomfortably as the unmistakable shutter of a camera's flash could be heard going off the minute she made to tug on the man's arm, silently signaling she was ready to leave this horrid place and never return.
She did not even need to turn around to know whom it was, and she could tell by the abject look of dawning frustration in Severus's dark eyes, he knew it too.
"I need to—oh, excuse me!"
Dahlia gritted her teeth and repressed a shiver as the unmistakable simpering voice of Rita Skeeter reached her ringing ears. Dahlia exchanged a brief look with Severus, whose brows were knitted together in quandary with his eyes waiting for a remark on what the bloody hell Rita Skeeter was doing here.
By this point, Rita was standing directly behind the two of them. Dahlia frowned.
She could see the antagonism flare in Severus's eyes as Dahlia bit down on her lower lip as she turned around slowly to face the witch whom she had already given one verbal warning to, but it seemed that was not going to be enough.
"I'm sorry to have interrupted this, ah, truly touching and sentimental moment, Miss Hawthorne, the trauma that you went through over these last few days alone must be just utterly exhausting, but I was hoping that I might have a word?" Rita simpered, snapping her long manicured fingers so that her clipboard hovered just by her left ear and her black sharpened Quick-Quotes Quill began furiously scribbling away.
Rita's voice was as smooth and benign as possible, though Dahlia thought she picked up on the hint of dislike in the older blonde witch's tone as she curiously surveyed how protective Severus was behaving towards Dahlia.
Dahlia opened her mouth to speak in hopes of rectifying this situation, but before she could, Severus intervened and spoke on her behalf.
"Miss Skeeter," he drolled in his smooth, languid voice that sent a shiver down her spine. "What an unexpected surprise to see you here. Is skulking about a graveyard these days the only way for you to obtain your information?"
Rita pouted for a half-second before feigning surprise and a strained smile on her painted lips.
"Snape," she chirped in a shrill voice by way of response. "There's no need for such pleasantries around me, Severus. I do not intend to take up too much of your woman's time this morning," she smirked, her Cheshire-Cat-like grin widening at the sudden coloration of the man's pale cheeks. She bit down on the wall of her cheek and thought over her words. "A pleasure to see you have slithered out of your hole at long last. Perhaps you're not the coward that your actions would have us believe. What a….coincidence, that I happened to run into you. I was hoping that I would run into your Healer, but what are the chances that I would be spotting you here? How are you?" Rita asked, mockingly.
"Just fine until this exact moment, Miss Skeeter, if you truly must know, but I know you did not come here to engage in a conversation with me purely out of the goodness of your blackened heart, witch," he snarled back at her with a wild frown as he impatiently swatted away the feathered tips of her Quick-Quotes Quill with his hand. "What is it that you want?" he asked.
"Bad day?" Rita continued feigning playing nice as she pretended to pick at her fingernails.
"You are what's wrong, Rita," Severus growled, moving to step forward and in front of Dahlia, his arm flung out to prevent the witch from taking a step closer. He stalked forward to close off the gap of space that existed between them until the tip of his nose was almost touching hers. "You are like a festering wound eating away at my soul. Every time I think that I've found a cure to get away from you, witch, you just come crawling right back like a cockroach. Looking at you makes me wish that I could pour Basilisk venom into my eyes and blind myself. Hearing you makes me wish that I had been born deaf. And every time I see you or even feel your presence, I die a little inside. I think it takes years off my life just by being in the same place as you, suffering even a moment of your company is a fate worse than death itself or even the Dementor's Kiss," he growled, exchanging a glance with Dahlia.
He was, at least, perhaps a little bit secretly pleased that the witch was looking as though she wasn't sure whether to laugh or not and had compromised by clamping a hand over her mouth.
Unable to provide the desired response that she wanted, Rita heaved a heavy sigh and took it upon herself to chance.
"Charming as always, Snape. Truly. I merely hoped for a word with you, Severus. Nothing more and nothing less than that. The public is clamoring to know the inside story of the man with many masks, and I hope to be the first to give my readers what they want. Your autobiography is going to sell even more copies in Flourish and Blotts than Dumbledore's, perhaps even becoming an international bestseller. The world will know your story, Severus, one way or another, with or without your cooperation. I would prefer it to be with, sir, I hope that you know that," she sighed heavily in a simpering tone. "It is so much easier when you cooperate, dear," she huffed indignantly. "You deserve the highest form of respect and on behalf of those in your life who failed to do it for you, I do apologize. And you should know that I am willing to compensate, provided you give me what I ask. I offer you a thousand Galleons for even just an hour of your time. I do not make this offer lightly, Snape. If you want to keep your reputation intact, Snape, then the time is right now for you to give me the answers that I'm looking for. Otherwise, I'll have to resort to more...creative endeavors, if you will, to obtain your history," She finished her pitch and waited, shifting her weight.
A stunned pause was nothing Rita could have hoped for. She could surely sense the revolt both Hawthorne and Snape were nursing against her, and perhaps, even the Hogwarts Headmistress as well, but if both of them wanted to prove that they weren't at all stupid, then he'd better embrace the offer—
"I wish that you could listen to yourself, Miss Skeeter, do you even know what it is you're saying to my patient?" Dahlia's breath trembled as she stepped forward and ducked out from underneath Snape's arm, despite her patient shooting her a truly withering look for it but Severus fell silent. He was admittedly curious as to how Dahlia would respond. She tried her best to ignore it and continued. "You proposition a book deal in front of my father's tomb on the day I buried him, and less than a week after my patient has been removed from the care of St. Mungo's and is in no condition to answer your questions, with no regard for my feelings or my patient's. So much talk of respect, Rita."
Dahlia frowned as she proceeded to fold her arms across her chest and wait for her to speak. Dahlia swore she felt Rita stiffen and tense as her gaze flicked from Severus and Minerva's withering glower and back to her. She pursed her lips into a thin line and shook her head, heaving a haggard sigh of frustration as she re-adjusted her jeweled glasses.
"I would…be leaving you with more time then, Miss Hawthorne, Snape," she murmured, a dark shadow flitting across her features as her lips turned down in a scowl. She snapped her manicured fingers and a business card materialized out of thin air, which she plucked from in front of her with her thumb and forefinger and handed it to Dahlia. "Should you change your minds, call me."
Dahlia snatched the card out of her hand and pursed her lips into a thin line.
"You could defeat a fire-breathing dragon and neither of us will consent," she snapped angrily through gritted teeth. "Write your book on my patient if you must, but you won't be receiving any firsthand information from either of us. Do not bother to contact either one of us, Miss Skeeter. I let you off with a warning the other day and today. I don't want to make a scene, but if you show your face to me a third time, that would be the last time that I would ever see you. The next time you approach me or my patient, I'll call the Aurors, let the Dementors in Azkaban Prison deal with you, Miss Skeeter, and if that threat alone isn't enough to convince you to stay away, then I'll deal with you myself, and with just one word, I can ruin your entire life and make you a laughingstock for The Daily Prophet. You're going to wish you'd have picked a different career by the time I've finished with you, Rita," was all that she could manage to answer in a stiff voice as she turned her back. She could feel Rita Skeeter's searing gaze burning a hole in her back as she turned away from the tabloid reporter, not willing to engage the poisonous witch in a conversation any longer than was necessary. "I think I've made my point to you clear enough," she answered. "You're free to go. Leave," she blurted out in a flat and listless-sounding voice.
Rita turned away, somewhat reluctantly as Dahlia tugged on Severus's arm. His hand was surprisingly warm and tight, and when she shifted to take the man's hand, his fingers slipped through hers like they were always meant to be there and clutched at her until it hurt her to the very bones.
"Temper, temper...this solar flaring temper of yours is sure to get you into trouble one day, Miss Hawthrone, and perhaps with the wrong sort of wizard or witch if you aren't careful about what you say, but then, it runs in the family, doesn't it, dear thing?" she clucked her tongue and shook her head in mock disapproval. "I suppose then, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. You truly are your father's little girl, aren't you?" she simpered, sticking out her bottom lip in a slight pout, and relishing how Dahlia's face paled in anger, shock, and embarrassment, all at once. "Rest assured, Miss Hawthorne, you and I will finish this conversation…later. I won't forget," Rita Skeeter simpered mockingly.
Dahlia did not acknowledge the witch's thinly-veiled threat. She frowned as she watched the older witch saunter away slowly towards the gates of the graveyard. She felt McGonagall's eyes on them.
But Severus's pulse was hammering hard near her thumb, and she knew if he stayed in this graveyard a second longer, then he was apt to panic. She had spent more time around wounded souls than she had whole ones. She knew how dangerous the wounded could be when they were afraid—to others, and themselves.
Though before she could speak, Rita turned once more.
"He's had his eyes draped over you like he's only done to one other before you. He must be looking at you and imagining the Potter boy's mother without your knowledge, isn't he? Or with your knowledge?" she pressed, an evil smirk forming on her lips. "Though, if you ask me, dear, I don't know what it is that he would see in the likes of you." Rita's eyes raked over Dahlia's petite form in her black lace mourning gown. "You're nothing special, Hawthorne."
Dahlia stiffly parted their eye contact, feeling the blood rush from her face as she glanced at Severus.
He growled out in anger as he made a move towards the witch, looking as though he very much was of a mind to hex her where she stood for her disparaging remark against Dahlia and Lily, though it wasn't until Minerva darted forward and held her wand aloft in front of her that Snape ceased his efforts to go after the tabloid reporter.
"I…need a moment, if you will kindly excuse me, I don't intend to go too far," he growled, not bothering to spare Dahlia a second look, though his cheeks were flushed red in anger and embarrassment. "Get out of my way, Minerva," he snarled viciously, shoving past Headmistress McGonagall, and stalked towards the complete opposite side of the graveyard, far away from Dahlia's line of sight and earshot, and going in the opposite direction as Rita Skeeter.
Dahlia could only stare after the man, felt her heart thrum in her chest at the thought of Snape leaving her, though she was too shellshocked to even respond.
But before she could, however, Minerva's voice rent the air, shattering the tension and silence.
"Are you alright, Miss Hawthorne?" Minerva asked as the older witch turned towards the stricken Healer, watching Snape's towering silhouette stalk off until she could no longer see him. "I do apologize for Rita's behavior, she is not the most pleasant of types, as I'm sure you are well aware. I suppose I should have expected she would attempt to intervene in my Potions Master's life, given the more recent events, but I am…grateful, that he has someone attentive like you who can watch out for him when his ah, emotions, get the better of him, dear," she sniffed, pulling a face as she too followed Dahlia's line of sight and watched as Severus disappeared. "I did not anticipate that she would show up here, but I suppose that I shouldn't be surprised. And please don't worry about Severus, dear. Rita Skeeter is a witch who is capable of getting underneath everyone's skin, even someone as stoic and hardened as our Potions Master."
"I'm okay…" Dahlia breathed out a shaking breath and then forced a strained-sounding laugh that sounded more of a half-choked sob. "A little light-headed, and embarrassed, Headmistress, if you want the truth. I—I didn't expect Rita to show up here. I've told her once already that she's not to bother him," she said.
"No need for that, dear." Minerva offered the younger redheaded witch a kind, matronly smile as she wound a reassuring arm around Dahlia's shoulders. "Rita is the one who should feel shame, never you, Dahlia, though I doubt Miss Skeeter feels much of anything other than immense satisfaction when she gets her way, and even when she doesn't, she's known to have her ways. I would be cautious around Rita if I were you, Miss Hawthorne, she won't be making your life or Severus's any easier," she grumbled, tearing her gaze away from the gates of the graveyard of Little Hangleton and frowned, looking back towards Dahlia with worried eyes. "Are you perhaps able to come along with me, away from this place? Can you walk, dear?" she asked as a note of concern and worry crept into her voice as she spoke.
Dahlia hesitated and bit down on her bottom lip as she stared distantly in the direction Severus had stalked after, itching to follow him.
"I should go after him, he doesn't need to be alone right now," she protested worriedly.
But her heart sank to the pit of her stomach as she turned back around just in time to see Minerva solemnly shake her head no by way of response to her statement.
"I don't think that would be wise at this moment, dear. Severus needs his space. I suspect, given his mood at Rita Skeeter's disparaging remarks, seeing you would only invoke his temper further, I fear. No, my dear. You might be alright now, but you may no longer stay that way if you approach Severus now. Allow him to have a moment, and you may return to him soon enough. I had a reason for coming here this morning to speak with you, something of the utmost urgency." Minerva McGonagall offered Dahlia a grim stare. "Nothing will be solved just yet anyway. Come along, dear," she replied tiredly, and without waiting for Dahlia to respond, tugged her forward by entwining her arm around Dahlia's and pulling her away from her father's grave.
Dahlia frowned but reluctantly allowed Headmistress McGonagall to lead her away from her father's tomb to discuss whatever it was that she wished to speak to her about. She did not know that at the same time she was being led away from her father's grave, Severus Snape was sulking angrily under a willow tree near the edge of the property.
The man was currently seething over Rita Skeeter's disparaging comments to Dahlia in regards to her looks, and summoning enough strength to ask the witch to join him for dinner, as his prize that was owed to him for bringing her here.