DARKNESS. The rasping sounds of her breathing filled her ears. Images and flashes of her father's face, leering at her, looming over her. The feel of his strong arms around her, his hot breath ghosting along her neck and face. Dahlia bolted upright from her slumber, her lungs burning and gasping for breath.

Beneath her, the bed was surprisingly soft, a welcome luxury after the cramped discomfort of her hovel of a flat that was little more than dirt, and in downtown London, she couldn't afford much more than dirt on her previous salary as a St. Mungo's Healer, which was substantial enough to live off of, but said much about the cost of living in downtown London.

Shuddering from the memory, she blinked slowly until she could make out the vague, familiar shapes in the room.

The small square of the window with the curtains open. Probably the only room in Severus Snape's home that was, she thought bitterly to herself, wondering why her patient had such an aversion to the light.

A dresser for her clothes, a washstand, and some old chest that looked as though it might have once been his school trunk from days long past when he was a boy. Safe. She felt safe here, she realized, with a jolt.

She had no idea why she felt this way, perhaps it was because Severus had saved her life earlier, but she sensed something vital and different in the atmosphere of her bedroom, something that protected her, insulated her.

Safe at last. Anywhere felt safe compared to her old childhood home. As soon as the thought flitted into her mind, she ducked from it with a gasp and she lowered her head, squeezing her eyes shut. She was not ready to think about the possibility of having to return home yet, though she knew eventually, she would have to. She must not.

Perhaps…there was a way for her never to think about the past again. Her hand unfurled from its fist and snaked her way along her collarbones and then lingered on her cheekbone, tracing over the edge of one of her father's scars, the last one he had given to her before she had moved out. It was now long since faded and white, but permanent.

No Dittany would ever remove it. No. There was no chance of ever forgetting, she realized with a heavy heart.

"Hello? Severus?" she whispered into the darkness.

No answer came. Just a low, constant growl of sound somewhere outside. Furrowing her brows into a frown, gingerly, she lifted back the covers, wincing at the pain in her shoulder that Severus had snapped back into place. Shivering, she reached for a long fleece cream-colored robe and wound the warm garment around herself.

Feeling the way towards the door with her hands, she moved along the wall towards the door, which was slightly ajar. A splinter of rough wood nearly pierced her hand, but Dahlia barely flinched.

After all that she had been through in the last eight hours alone, a splinter was hardly cause for concern. She paused in the doorway, trying to get her bearings, wondering what the sound she heard was that was coming from outside.

Dahlia lingered in the hallway for a moment, her mind still struggling to wrap itself around the strange situation. In truth, she was wondering if perhaps she had imagined Severus's request that she shares a meal with him. She heaved a sigh and thought about what would be appropriate for her to wear in this situation.

She had two dresses that she thought he might deem appropriate, perhaps even like if she were to wear them. Her jade green dress that she had bought in a Muggle boutique once as a gift to herself for summoning enough courage to cut her father out of her life when old enough, and a long white dress patterned with tiny flowers, one that she had bought as a celebratory gift when she had passed her qualifications to become a licensed Healer for St. Mungo's.

She could not help but wonder why he had chosen to ask her to dinner as his favor owed.

Sill, she was more or less amazed that she had survived Antonin Dolohov's assault against her, and were it not for Snape coming to her aid, then she'd have likely been killed.

Speaking of Severus, what of the wizard? She wondered if she should attempt to go and find him, to try to apologize again for her tactlessness and carelessness that led her into this situation of having to dine with him.

She stood in the dark hallway shrouded in darkness, feeling the cold hardwood floor beneath her bare feet, and trying to decide. It was then that she saw him. Severus. Her first impulse was to bolt from where she stood, to run and hide.

Dahlia knew she had already provoked the man into anger twice today, and she was not about to try for a third time. But surely, her fleeing the corridor wasn't necessary. Surely, Severus could not see her. He stood in the living room in front of the mantle, the fire in the hearth now reduced to little more than a smoldering ember flame.

There was something of the way Severus stood that caught at her, that she could not quite put her finger on. He kept his hands crammed in the pockets of his robes and his shoulders hunched as if the room were cold.

But it wasn't cold. Cool, perhaps, but not freezing. There was a stillness to Severus. As if he were carved in inanimate stone, as immovable as the floor upon which he stood.

Shivering, Dahlia lingered in the entryway of the man's living room as she watched Severus flick through a book as he moved to sit in his armchair by the fire, wondering what he was reading.

While she felt rather useless right now and would have wanted to help him with whatever it was that he needed, whether that meant his bandages needed changing again or another layer of the Dittany poultice applied around the column of his neck, she presently felt too weak and exhausted to do much of anything but stare.

Her entire body was sore from being beaten to a nearly bloody pulp, her shoulder and wrist throbbed, her chest stung where Dolohov had cut her, and she was feeling quite feverish. Her cheeks felt clammy and hot.

She watched in silence and tried not to think of how horrible she felt as she watched her patient sit stiffly in his chair, quietly reading, his expression, from what little she could see of him as his profile was to the side and she did not want to enter and announce her presence just yet, was impassive.

Severus had seemed so furious with her earlier before his inviting her to dinner, which Dahlia did not find fair.

She had done her part to ensure that she kept Severus from being murdered, and she had thought she'd been able to do that, but Snape had still yelled at her for it.

Why was it that no matter what she did, it was never going to be good enough for this man?

She had spent the last several hours ruminating this over in her mind, and from her perspective, Severus should have been pleased with how she had handled the frightening situation. She had dealt with the likes of Dolohov and his men the only way she had known how. If she had called for Severus, perhaps both of them would be dead by now, it was hard for her to say for sure. Or she could have told Antonin everything.

Perhaps he might have taken pity on her and let her go, though she sincerely doubted that.

She refused to take the easy way out. Instead, she had risked her own life to keep Severus Snape's presence in the graveyard of Little Hangleton a secret from the man's former colleagues, men who would see him dead for his betrayal of the Dark Lord's trust. They would have killed him had they known he had come with her, she was sure.

Dahlia frowned as she realized that the only reason that Dolohov hadn't killed her aside from thinking he needed her skills to mend his arm if he thought he could burn his Dark Mark off, was probably because she wasn't strong.

What a strange trait to save another person's life.

She pouted and hugged her middle, continuing to observe the wizard's fluid movements as Severus continued reading his book. She felt so cold, and she couldn't stop shivering. Her shivering could have very likely been caused by the fact that she could still very well be in shock from having almost been brutally killed, or perhaps it was due to the chilly air of the man's home that seemed to abhor warmth, or at least the hallway did.

Dahlia furrowed her brows in a frown when she thought again about the way Severus had looked at her as though she downright repulsed him and had spoken to him before.

The Potions Master of Hogwarts seemed to think that she was foolish, naive, and implied that she had no idea just how much danger she'd been in.

But Dahlia was more than aware of what Dolohov and his men could have done to her had they been given the opportunity to.

The man had certainly been vocal with his threats. Just knowing that she could have been hurt so much worse made the witch tremble even more and shrink into her thick nightrobe as much as she could.

If Severus had not come to her aid, Dolohov would still have her in his captivity, and she probably would have suffered for days at the tip of the man's wand before finally being granted the mercy of death, albeit a painful one at that.

Just knowing that Dolohov had escaped made her feel sick with terror and dread as an uncomfortable pit formed within her stomach. She looked up as Severus rose from his chair and approached her, having sensed her presence. She grimaced, sincerely hoping the man did not yell at her a second time for what had happened.

She had already apologized. She didn't think she had done anything wrong.

When she had noticed Antonin Dolohov, it seemed as though she had two choices: run towards Severus's location and probably get the wizard killed in the process or attempt to talk to Dolohov and likely only get herself killed.

If it meant that her patient would live, then she could have lived with such a death, she had told herself earlier this morning when it had happened to her. She still felt as though she had made the right choice. Even now, as Severus shuffled towards her, she could tell that his stamina was not quite up to par with where he should be yet.

Severus's eyes narrowed as his hardened gaze made a quick scan of her shivering form, how she'd wound her arms around her middle and was practically drowning in her hooded fleece robe, trying to get warm. He frowned as he stared at her.

"What are you doing? You should be resting," he chastised Dahlia lightly.

Her tongue felt like heavy clay in her mouth. "I should," was all that she could think to say when she had managed to regain control over her voice.

"Then go. Rest if you must." Snape commanded Dahlia like she was one of his students.

Agitation flared to life within her, but she stomped it back down and refused to let her rescuer see it. "I wanted to see you. I—I'm sorry, Severus, I didn't mean to disturb you, I should…go. You seem…busy," she swallowed down hard.

Dahlia turned on her heels to flee but was halted by the man's hand, which, in a reflexive movement, swiftly clasped onto Dahlia's delicate wrist in a soft but firm hold, stopping her from moving.

For a moment, she stood stock-still, as a dog caught in the headlights of the Knight Bus, staring up at him in bewilderment. Then, she felt the warmth of Severus's hand and looking down, immediately pulled her hand away from his. He offered no resistance.

"Sit down, I could hear your teeth chattering in the hall, Hawthorne, at this rate, I won't sleep at all, so you might as well join me for a moment if you cannot sleep either. Don't make me say it to you a second time," he barked gruffly, turning his back towards her and striding towards the fireplace, his wand already in hand, causing Dahlia to freeze, a little stunned at Snape's words. Severus, noting Dahlia's silence, looked up and realized that the witch had yet to move, felt some form of discomfort, and proceeded to try to correct himself now. "Would you…please…kindly sit by the fire? Pardon my brash behavior, Hawthorne, but I would rather not see you catch your death. Now. Come sit."

Severus's voice was dry and cutting, and strangely more so than it had been earlier, which made it that much more difficult for Dahlia to come up with any sort of reply because he sounded as if he were deliberately trying to end their conversation when he was the one who had taken note of her and approached.

Turning away from Severus, Dahlia could only comply with his request that was more of a demand. As she sat down in the second armchair, she felt a slight change in the air. Strange and foreign to her though it was, she could still feel Severus's hand on her wrist and glancing down at the place where he had touched her, felt a certain amount of curiosity and trepidation, both equally at war with one another and battling for dominance.

"You cannot sleep either," he murmured, his words posed as more of a statement of fact than a question, his voice strangely low and quiet. He did not look at Dahlia as he said this as he settled himself in the opposite armchair, choosing instead to stare into the flickering flames of the fireplace as he stoked the fire by sending a fresh wave of flames into the hearth with his wand, setting his wand down onto the small wooden table that rested between the two chairs. "You don't need to hide it. What's troubling you that you can't rest?" he asked, sounding curious now.

Dahlia frowned, taking her time in forming an adequate reply, awkwardly clearing her throat in the process, aware that Severus's gaze was directed firmly at her as he swiveled his head in her direction and away from the warm fire.

"I'm sorry, again, Severus, that you...that you had to save me earlier this morning," she whispered in a shy voice, to which her apology was immediately cut off by a loud and frustrated groan from Severus, much to Dahlia's astonishment. He turned to look at her with a disappointed look on his face, his mouth pinched down in a scowl.

"If you won't let me apologize, then please let me say this as I haven't…had the opportunity to speak to you before."After a moment of an awkward silence that lingered between them both, Severus slowly lifted his gaze, turning to stare at Dahlia with his cold black eyes, which seemed to flicker, or perhaps it was a trick of the light from the fire, as the flames were casting odd shadows of various lengths to dance along the walls.

Dahlia felt her cheeks burn as she realized how embarrassed she still felt over what had transpired in the graveyard this morning, how foolish she had been to insist that she come. She was beginning to suspect that it had been a trap for her all along. Maybe Antonin himself had arranged it, there was no way to know for sure. All she did know was that Snape had saved her life, and she did not want to come across as cold and impersonal.

"Thank you for finding me," she whispered hoarsely, as she struggled to keep her voice level-headed, and found the task much more difficult than she had anticipated. "If you hadn't found me, I don't even want to think of what would have happened." She shuddered and tore her gaze away from his, folding her arms across her chest and staring deeply into the fire.

Curiously enough, Severus responded much sooner than she had anticipated but she still noted the shift in his voice.

"Anybody else would have done the same in my position, Dahlia," he remarked dismissively, sitting up in his chair. "And please. Don't apologize again. If I hear you apologize one more time, Hawthorne, I swear that I will throttle you, witch," he murmured, his voice sounding languid but irritable towards her, regardless. "It is in the past, now do us both a favor and forget it. Merlin only knows I want to. You have been avoiding answering my question, Dahlia. Why did you come out here when you should be asleep?" he asked, hardening his gaze.

"I…couldn't sleep," she stammered after letting herself have a moment to collect her thoughts while trying to avoid the piercing scrutiny of the man's cold, listless stare that rendered it impossible for her to tell what Severus might be thinking or feeling.

"Is that right," he drolled. "And what troubles you so much that you couldn't manage to conjure up a simple Sleeping Draught to help you sleep better?" he said.

Dahlia sighed in frustration and tore her gaze away from Severus, though she felt his eyes on her. She gritted her teeth and tried to ignore it, though this was easier said than done as her cheeks were burning hotter than dragon fire with her shame. She frowned and actively averted the man's gaze, choosing instead to look directly into the fire as she spoke, as though she hoped she could burn away the painful memories that were coming to her mind as she reflected on the event that had led her to the graveyard in Little Hangleton with Severus in the first place this morning.

"Well, I…" Dahlia paused, biting on her bottom lip as she fidgeted with her fingers. "I should be sad that my father is dead. I thought…maybe, if I saw his grave this morning, then I would feel something…but I don't…I never—"

Severus had to fight against his urge to sigh loudly and tell the witch to just come out with it and say what was on her mind. He had already dipped into her mind, he knew why his Healer was here with him in the middle of the night, but he wanted to hear it from her lips.

Sitting and waiting for Dahlia to build up enough courage was frustrating, but Severus patiently waited. He considered himself to be a patient man and would do whatever was necessary to achieve the desired results.

If he lashed out at her now, then there was every possibility that she would refuse his invite, and that, he knew, he could not allow it to happen.

"I just thought you might understand," Dahlia whispered, looking across the way at him. "Because…I feel…glad that he's gone," she gasped out in a choked voice. "Since you ah...didn't get along so well with your father either."

Severus stared up at her as Dahlia looked back at him. Her dark eyes shone with tears, and her lip, set in a slight pout, was trembling slightly. "This might be…difficult, for you to believe," he began cautiously, choosing his words carefully, "considering how charming a man and wizard I turned out to be," he attempted to make an already difficult conversation as light as possible. "But my father wasn't a saint either, Hawthorne," he grumbled.

Dahlia said nothing at first, as her concern for the man who was now no longer her patient, she supposed, considering she was no longer an employee of St. Mungo's and was now…something else, melted away to something quieter.

She watched the man struggle against an onslaught of emotions, grief, and sorrow, the likes of which she could not even begin to comprehend what he had gone through. She racked her brain in silence, but she felt too distracted.

All she understood was that someone she thought she might be beginning to care for, was falling apart in front of her, and she didn't know how to possibly begin to help Severus heal. Not from this.

"What did he do?" she asked, very softly, lowering her gaze to her lap.

Severus awkwardly cleared his throat. This was admittedly one of the few times outside of the likes of Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore with another who had taken an interest in his life. Of course, he was careful never to broach the topic if he could at all help it. He was unsure of how much he could divulge to Dahlia. He knew that he did not want to go into too much detail. She had suffered enough violent abuse at her own father's hand, she did not need to hear of what his father had inflicted upon his mother and him, back when Tobias Snape was still alive.

But then, perhaps she would be able to relate and would feel comforted that she was not the only one with less-than-stellar parental figures. He decided to tell her the bare bones minimum and keep his past brief and concise to save himself the embarrassment of talking about himself.

"He favored the bottom of a wine glass when I was younger, and even before I came into their lives. He would scream at my mother, yell at her, throw things. He got violent with my mother on more than a few occasions. I don't know what it was my mother saw in my father when they first met, as he certainly lacked the charm around his wife as far as I'm concerned." Dahlia seemed to be listening intently as he continued. "I received an owl one day when I was twenty-four, from my mother, stating that his body had been found at the bottom of the stairwell. He'd been drinking, per usual, and Father fell. I didn't attend his funeral. I've never visited the man's grave and fully don't intend to."

"You don't feel guilty?" Dahlia asked, her eyebrows furrowed with worry and concern. "No one thought it was…strange, that you didn't mourn your father?"

"Guilt was never what I felt," Severus mused back as he heaved a tired sigh and ran a hand through his black hair as he thought over the rest of his answer. "I suppose, in my way, I mourned him, but it wasn't out of guilt. I was upset that he was never worth a damn in my life to begin with. I mourned him not because I missed it, but because I never had him in the first place. I miss my father for the man that he should have been, not what he was."

She nodded. "I…I understand."

"Never let anyone make you feel guilty," Severus's intense gaze threatened to penetrate a hole right through her heart as he looked at her. "Anyone who tells you that you should mourn your father did not know him. If anyone bothers you, come to me, I'll deal with them," he snarled. "Your father was a swine, Hawthorne. A mad man consumed with hatred. He could hardly handle his affairs. I wouldn't fret over losing sleep of his passing if I were you, Dahlia," he said. "A bad man, an evil wizard, the worst of the worst. You need not mourn Hans."

Severus stared at Dahlia as she said nothing. He looked to be searching Dahlia's eyes, which made her squirm a bit in her chair as she tried and failed to pretend that she did not notice. What was the man looking for in her eyes?

"I…apologize again, Severus, for…everything." Now, it was Dahlia's turn to clear her throat and avert her gaze. "If I seemed like I wasn't taking the situation with Dolohov seriously, it wasn't because I didn't understand it. In fact, I—I don't know if I've ever been more scared in my entire life. You weren't there, Severus."

Dahlia frowned as she remembered the horrible descriptive terms they'd used for her, how his men spoke of what they wanted to do to her when they'd drugged her with a Calming Draught. She shuddered and swallowed all the bile rising in her throat and forced herself to continue.

She knew she needed to say the words that he needed to hear. "I'm sorry. I'll…try to be more careful."

Severus sighed heavily and pinched at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

"I…apologize," he growled, though just hearing the words that were ripped from his lips sent a shiver down Dahlia's spine. It sounded as though it were causing him great pain to apologize to her. But Dahlia did not have time to dwell on it as he continued. "I can see now that your apparent lack of concern towards the severity of your situation was likely another side effect of the fear you felt. I had no right to assume that Antonin wouldn't have made you aware of his…ill intentions," he growled, a shadow of anger clouding his face. "You deserve better from me. You are a brave woman, Dahlia Hawthorne, in your own right, and I should learn to treat you with the respect that you deserve, and that you've earned. You've saved my life, which is no small feat in it. I feared that you did not understand the danger that you were in, but I see now that I…was wrong. I see now that you do, of course, you do. You knew what you were up against and chose to face it anyway."

Dahlia gaped at him, her lips parting open slightly in shock as her eyes widened. Hearing Severus Snape apologize to her was rather foreign, and she found herself at a loss for how to respond and came up short for a reply. Severus followed her gaze and stared into the depths of the fire in the hearth for a moment, not looking at her as he spoke.

"I did not mean to be so harsh with my words before. For a moment, I thought that you were lost to me-to—to the world," he stammered, his cheeks flushing red as he realized what he'd said.

His blush intensified, though he carried on. Still, he knew by the way Dahlia perked up that she'd heard it and now seemed to be hanging onto his every word. He swallowed down, hard.

"It was my fear, Hawthorne, manifesting itself as anger, that caused me to lose my temper with you earlier. I would prefer it if you stuck by me from now on, or if you do go out, tell me where you'll be and when to expect you back. I respect that you did not want to get me involved. It was noble and brave, characteristics I would expect of a Gryffindor," Severus added, taking note of how her face paled at the mention of one of the Hogwarts Houses.

Briefly, Severus was tempted to tell her that he knew she had never attended Hogwarts, thanks to Hans' domineering hold on her life, from what Minerva had told him earlier, but decided against it.

She would need to come to him in her own time, when she was ready, just as there were things of his life he was not ready yet to reveal. He was still curious as to how her conversation with Minerva had gone. If she had accepted the position of Head Matron if he would have yet another excuse to remain close to her and linger.

But, he supposed that could wait for tomorrow, and could perhaps be a point of conversation during dinner.

He breathed out a steadying breath and continued.

"Brave though it was, witch, it was also self-destructive and stupid. I want you to allow me to be involved if something like this happens to you again. You were brought into my life as a Healer, Dahlia, not an Auror or a guard. If anyone should be protecting the other from harm, it is I who should protect you. I can recognize that you feared for my well-being, but if something happened to you because you were trying to keep me out of the very same danger that almost got you killed, then I don't think I could ever forgive myself. I would rather you put my life at risk if it means that I can help you than have you sacrifice yourself for my sake. My ledger has far too much red in it already thanks to this damned bloody war, I won't have your blood on my conscience, Dahlia. If you were killed in my stead, the guilt that I would face would be crushing. I beg of you, do not do that to me…."

Dahlia leaned her head back tiredly against the headrest of her chair and closed her eyes.

"I'm sorry if it seemed that I was reckless," she sighed. "I suppose I…don't always do what I should. I tried to do what I judged to be right." She lifted her eyebrows as she swallowed nervously.

Something rather odd had just happened between the two of them, but she wasn't quite sure what it was. In any case, it had left her quite flushed in embarrassment and she didn't know how to react.

"I—it's getting late, Severus, I should return to my room. I—I promised Wes that I would meet him in Diagon Alley, near Flourish and Blotts, for a vial of Wolfsbane, Remus Lupin too, I—I sent them both a Patronus this morning before we…before we left," Dahlia stammered, barely stifling a yawn with the back of her hand hastily as she got up from the leather armchair.

"You spoke with the wolf that was outside my house the other day?" Severus growled, his voice suddenly sharp, a complete contrast to the man's languid state only seconds before.

"Well, yes," replied Dahlia, somewhat defensively as she stared in disbelief at Snape, who was suddenly regarding her with narrowed eyes, his demeanor completely changed as he sat up straighter in his chair. "He came to the neighborhood looking for me. He'd heard of me, of my, ah…talents."

He furrowed his brows into a heavy scowl, his mouth turning down in a frown. "Stay away from him, Hawthorne. Remus Lupin has proven himself trustworthy enough, though the wolf and I will never be the best of friends, considering I'm forced to spend the rest of my tenure at Hogwarts alongside the man, I suppose it's time I put this war to rest. But the other one, this Wes Walker, I don't trust it, wolves are dangerous, Dark creatures, Hawthorne, with one thing on their mind. You would do well to stay away from him if possible," he growled, his dark eyes glittering.

"Him, Severus, Wes Walker is a human being, with thoughts and emotions, just as you and I. He cannot help what he is. Just as Remus Lupin can't. I know that you are determined to hate Lupin, he's told me as much when he comes to me. When he did," Dahlia quietly corrected at his accusatory statement, lifting her eyebrows in sarcasm as she glared at him.

She realized only a fraction of a second too late that she had almost let slip that she no longer worked for St. Mungo's and remembered she had not yet told him of her decision to accept the position of Head Matron at Hogwarts. She was tempted but thought perhaps she could save it for tomorrow during this dinner of his.

It would, at least, give them something to talk about. And as for Wes Walker and Remus Lupin being dangerous, was a gross understatement. As far as she was concerned, the most dangerous man now in all of Great Britain now that the Dark Lord was dead, was now standing right in front of her. She swallowed and took in a breath of air before continuing.

"If the two of you are going to work together, then yes, I would agree with you that it's time to set aside your old prejudices and learn to get along with Lupin and his wife since they're to be at Hogwarts too. And as for Wes, I told him that I would come tomorrow morning and I keep my promises. I don't expect that I will be gone long, but it bothers you that much, then do as you did for me today, and come with me."

Severus stole a glance towards her and, judging by the way that he looked away from her almost instantly as the blood in his face drained, looking flustered, it was clear that Snape understood her meaning.

"Don't take in my words, Hawthorne," Severus said, speaking to Dahlia in a soft voice. "Losing one's father does strange things to a person. Let yourself feel it if you must. Even if Hans was a monster to you."

Severus finally turned to look at Dahlia, who was now regarding the man with unabashed curiosity and intrigue. Almost as if he found the image before him now privately amusing, the seriousness in his coal-black eyes melted away, and he proceeded to observe her in an almost arrogant manner, his walls back up.

"You should sleep, Dahlia, while you still can, before it's light out," was all Severus said to her.

"Yes, I—I will. Thank you, Severus, for…accepting my apology, and…for listening," she added, truly grateful but overcome with awkwardness as she turned to leave, looking away quickly from Severus, who was now leaning against the mantlepiece with a rather relaxed stance, looking untroubled and at ease.

"Goodnight, Dahlia," he murmured lowly.

"Goodnight, Severus," she whispered shyly by way of response. He turned away from her and strolled over to one of the bookshelves, seeming to browse his shelves' contents for the next book that would hold his interest for however long the man planned to be awake. The silence that lingered in the air between them made Dahlia feel nervous, and in her mind, she could still hear Severus calling her name, but she made no effort to move away from the doorway that separated the man's living room from the rest of his townhouse.

She was somewhat perplexed at how their conversation had ended without either one of them raising their voices in anger. She watched for what felt like a long time, waiting to see if he'd move. But Severus Snape never moved, and it was she, not him, who was the first to move again. Fatigued, her body sore, she returned slowly down the hall and towards her bedroom and crawled back into bed. She barely managed to make it, she was weaker than she thought.

In moments, Dahlia was falling asleep again. Falling asleep, and for the first time too, unafraid, and found herself looking forward to her dinner date tomorrow.

THERE was a part of Severus that wondered as he stood staring into the depths of what remained of the fire in the heart if Dahlia would renege on their agreement, that she would come to her senses come the morning and truly comprehend what he asked of her. With her comprehension would come the revulsion that he was sure to follow, and she would flee the premises and that was sure to be the last that he would see of the Healer.

This was what he imagined when he was meant to be asleep and could not, so he had moved to the living room and stared in front of the fireplace, glaring at the embers as though he thought they would hold the answers to the questions that taunted him. Thoughts of the witch's denial haunted him.

He recognized that he wanted this chance to be alone with the Healer, perhaps more desperately than he had any reason to, a feeling he had not allowed himself to experience since Lily. His desires secretly frightened him in their intensity, but their futility disturbed him more than Severus cared to admit.

What use had a beautiful witch-like Dahlia Hawthorne could have for the likes of him, a former Death Eater reviled by the world. And probably even more so after Rita Skeeter's biography on his wretched life would hit the shelves of Flourish and Blotts and other various wizarding bookstores through Europe. She had every right to grant herself to better men, stronger wizards, ones whose deeds would always outshine that of Severus's own.

As soon as he was fully healed and her year with him was finished, she'd leave, rejoin whatever was left of the Hawthorne family, and Dahlia Hawthorne would forget him. As well she should.

Severus lingered in his living room for a few moments longer. He told himself that he should leave the witch well alone and let her be, but he felt his legs move as if by rote memory, caught up in a sort of horrified fascination as he moved stealthily out of the living room and towards her room.

His calloused palms pushed open the door to his Healer's bedroom, and Severus Snape entered into an entirely different world. She had shifted positions. He could see that immediately as he peered into the room where Dahlia peacefully slept. In the gathering light, as he realized she had drawn back the curtains, he observed the way the redheaded witch lay across the bed in a sense of comfortable abandonment, as relaxed as a child, her sleep untroubled.

One of the quilts had fallen in a heap onto the floor. His sharp gaze darted quickly about the room. The room was beginning to lighten with the dawn. He frowned, telling himself that he should let Hawthorne be, but his feet took him closer towards the edge of her bedside. Minerva had been so matter-of-fact about letting this witch into his life.

Couldn't she see just how extraordinary this was?

A part of him knew that he should stop himself before he took things too far, that he should stop himself from knowing this witch. The delicate beauty of this woman who resembled a likeness to Lily Potter, save for the length of her hair, her eyes, and her nose, was a blatant taunt.

A test. To see if he was strong enough to resist an angel's face and a body as ripe as the sweetest fruit off a vine.

"Damn you, goddamn you, Dahlia Hawthorne," he whispered in a low growl to the empty air. "Why couldn't you have the face of a banshee, Hawthorne? Then this would be easier," Severus hissed, clenching his teeth in agitation and ire.

The odd thing was, he knew it would not matter. If she had entered into his life with three arms or short an eye, he thought that he would feel no different towards Dahlia. He would still be ensnared in the mystery of the witch, and her loveliness only added that extra twist of irony in his mundane life. Daylight began to glow brighter through the window, causing him to almost hiss in disgust and turn his face away from the garish light of day. He preferred the quiet still unburdened time of the night when he could be alone and at peace with his thoughts.

She sighed in her sleep as she turned, her knees coming up and her hands winding around them, a tiny smile tugging the edges of her lips upward. Severus was sorely tempted to dip into her mind, to see what it was she dreamt of in her sleep, a part of him hoping it was him she dreamt of.

A lock of Dahlia's red hair fell over her face, and she sniffed as it tickled her nose. Severus stared in awe at the lock of her hair, realizing it was the same one from his dream that he had plucked from the air. A shaft of sunlight through the window touched this lock of her hair, turning the deep red to a blood-ruby hue. It was the color of dark fire.

As the thought crossed Severus's mind, he leaned down and gently lifted the lock of hair away from her face. The softness, the silky texture of her hair, were so acute and unexpected that he almost let out a gasp of surprise and likely would have woken her.

He stepped back quickly, horrified at himself, and withdrew his hand.

He had touched her, and he had no right to touch her in such an intimate way like this, not without Dahlia Hawthorne's consent.

Though before he could turn on his heels and quit the scene of her bedroom altogether, it was out of the corner of his gaze that he noticed the witch flinching slightly underneath his touch, mumbling softly in her sleep.

Whether or not Dahlia was aware of his presence, he did not know.

"Why…" she whispered in an out-of-breath voice, causing Severus to still his movements and frown down at her as she slept, wondering if she was talking to him or not. "Why…dinner?" she asked in a soft tone laced with grogginess.

Severus froze, wondering if she was awake. He could see that in her stillness, she was still intently listening.

The words left his lips as he leaned down and forward to whisper them into the shell of her ear.

"To show you, Hawthorne, that a man's touch doesn't have to hurt," he growled. Though he made his voice even softer, instinctively knowing that her father wasn't the only wizard who had ever hurt his Healer. The scars that littered her back and likely the rest of her too proved that. "It can be kind, Dahlia." In a moment of boldness that surprised even him, as he wondered if she would remember this when she woke, or if she would dismiss it as a figment of her imagination, he whispered against her skin, his lips barely grazing the shell of her ear. "Your father never knew how to treat you, Hawthorne, and for that…I am sorry."

He stepped back and fell silent for a moment as he observed the sleeping Healer. By now, bruises were littered all over her from her unexpected run-in with Dolohov. Dahlia's face was adorned with scratches and marks on both sides, and her bottom lip looked slightly swollen, to say nothing of her black eye that was already bruising and turning purple. It wouldn't fade for at least two weeks, and he doubted that any amount of makeup she applied would cover it at all.

He frowned, thinking that it was likely that Dolohov and the men who had been under his command had likely hit his Healer upside the head, and probably more than once. It pained him to think that anyone could strike this innocent witch like this. More to the point besides, Hawthorne's innocence ate at him.

It only lasted a moment. His decision became clear enough to him as he had felt his anger subside with her from earlier, having gotten most of it out of his system during their conversation. He needed his Healer. Wanted her. He could not bear to send her away.

It was the strongest desire that he had ever felt, perhaps even surpassing what he felt for Lily, as to the best of his ability, there was no other wizard that he was competing against this time for the lovely witch's affections.

Words were impossible to describe. Angry with her though he still was for allowing herself to get into such a precarious position that had required him to come to her rescue, he could not and would not send her away.

Not when he felt like this, but as he watched her sleep, he felt his rage return. The more this feeling, this draw to the prickly redheaded petite witch grew in him, the more he thought he hated Hawthorne.

He hated Dahlia for making him feel these things, the pain, the sadness, the fear of her betrayal, that one day, he might not be enough for her, and his Healer would leave.

The thought of Dahlia, alone and up against five violent Death Eaters made Severus's rage return worse than before.

She had been completely at Antonin Dolohov's mercy, men who were well known within the Dark Lord's ranks to be among the least-merciful, especially when it came to beautiful witches like Hawthorne.

Severus flinched and chewed on the wall of his mouth as he thought of how their conversation from earlier was far from resolved. The two of them still needed to suffer through a discussion of exactly what needed to happen should she encounter another like Dolohov ever in the future, as it seemed there was not enough clear communication between him and the witch.

With a frustrated exhale, Severus left the room and stalked down the hall towards his room, closing her bedroom door to the merest crack, so he could hear if she got up.

He kicked off his boots once he entered his room and collapsed with a rumbling sigh on his bed. But he did not sleep. He couldn't.

He tried to empty his mind and will himself to think of nothing as he stared numbly at the ceiling. But he couldn't stop thinking about Dahlia, a fairy-featured, prickly little witch with a fiery temper that she was, who had invaded his house, his life. Companionship was the last thing that he thought he wanted.

No one seemed to understand that, especially not Minerva.

Minerva had termed Hawthorne as a gift, a challenge, something to be overcome. He tried to tell himself that his Healer was no different from other women that he encountered and interacted with daily.

He had trained his mind well following Lily's rejections of his feelings and her death, punishing himself effectively through sheer force of will. Other women left no impression on him, sparked no desire, awakened no deep slumbering yearning.

Yet, Dahlia who was now living in his home until he would return to Hogwarts towards the end of August, was different in a way that Severus could not explain. There was a deeply suspicious part of himself that knew this young woman close to his age posed a threat to his life that he had grown accustomed and familiar with.

What was even more alarming, he thought, was how he wanted to welcome that challenge, to let Dahlia Hawthorne upend everything that he thought he knew of himself. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, hearing and seeing nothing, except for her.

Yes, he was attracted to the wretched creature. He could not deny it anymore, not after seeing the way that she looked at him with such hopeful eyes earlier, or how she had smiled at him after accepting his invitation.

He knew he should have left Hawthorne to rot in the halls of St. Mungo's Institute, but no, he had assented and agreed to the ridiculous nature of Kingsley Shacklebolt and Minerva McGonagall's demands that this witch be allowed into his own home. Severus was confident he had never felt so out of control in his entire life.

Although he did not admit it consciously to himself, he did fear the increasing effect this strange young woman was having on him, the conflicting emotions Dahlia invoked.

Perhaps he had asked her to dinner because he wanted to challenge his Healer. Find out just what it was about her that caused him to feel so unhinged in her presence. It was almost like a duel, and he had already let Dahlia Hawthorne win twice. He almost smiled as he rolled over onto his back and sighed. Well, it would not happen a third time.

And when he did finally succeed in finding out her weak spot, he thought he would lose all interest in the witch and finally be able to put thoughts of her behind.

The thought of his Healer being in danger as her life had been earlier ripped at his heart. While he had been frustrated at Dahlia for getting herself into such a dangerous situation and foolishly thinking that she could handle it, he was also frustrated with himself.

He knew he should not have lost his composure in front of Rita Skeeter and stormed off as he had.

He should have kept true to his word and stuck close by Dahlia. What had happened was in no way her fault, the fault lied entirely with Antonin Dolohov. The man would pay for what he had done.

His thoughts began to fill with bitter hatred at what Dolohov had done to his Healer. He wanted nothing more than to cement his designs for Dolohov's death firmly into a flawless plan, able to visualize every movement that he would take, though the timing had to be right to strike and he would not leave Dahlia unattended.

He closed his eyes, filling his mind with the image of her face, her dark chocolate eyes staring up at him in wonder and awe.

He knew he would be more than happy if those eyes were looking at him, but then he questioned if she was looking at someone else. He needed to know where Dahlia was at all times going forward, the people that she met.

He needed assurance that she would be his, until after their date tomorrow, that was.

As easy as it was for Severus to be furious with Dahlia for not calling for help the moment Antonin had cornered her, he found he was angrier and angrier with himself with each passing second.

Though he knew that this was no one's fault but Dolohov's who had needlessly cornered and tortured the witch, he still felt a pang of immense weighted guilt settling like an anvil over his shoulders for not taking better care of her. He should have done more to protect Hawthorne and keep his word.

Severus kept his eyes closed tiredly and shook his head to himself. There was no point in staying angry at himself or at Dahlia for what happened.

Antonin was still something of a considerable problem that had now fallen into his lap, among a whole slew of other issues to deal with, but first and foremost, what mattered the most to him was keeping Dahlia safe, and that he could not—would not—let something like this happen to her again if he could help it.

Even so, the guilty feeling did not leave him entirely just yet. He nodded to himself.

Take care of her, as she is trying to take care of me, Severus thought as he nodded.

At the very least, he knew, as he fell into an uneasy sleep, the beginnings of understanding were beginning to form slowly in his brain as he let sleep come.

The man was so deep into the throes of his sleep, his mind creating imagined scenarios between himself and Dahlia Hawthorne, that he did not sense the thoughts of Peter Pettigrew, standing outside of his bedroom window...