I couldn't resist.
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Snape's fingers twitched. The beginnings of a cramp were stirring in his stomach. The Potions master knew that it would not be long before the discomfort became agonizing pain and chills began to wrack his body. He leaned forward with his elbows on his writing desk and found that he had no desire of the mug of tea he was staring down into. An abrupt pang twisted his stomach more sharply than the previous ones had. Snape flinched and closed his eyes against the rising steam. He took a shuddering breath as the first of the tremors ran up his spine and through his shoulders.

Today was the day he usually took the Soulsbane substitute, but a week ago Madam Pomfrey had told him that it was time for the final stage of weaning him completely off the drug. That meant one dose of the substitute every month instead of every two weeks. Snape knew he would go through hell. His body always craved the drug, or anything similar, and every time Pomfrey lengthened the intervals between doses it went through severe cases of withdrawal. Mechanically, Snape raised the tea to his lips, then lowered it immediately when he felt his lips shaking against the rim of the mug.

He snarled weakly under his breath. He would not curl like a pathetic dog in his chambers this time. Not with Pomfrey and McGonagall and the Headmaster know what he was going through, and pitying him.

No pity. I loathe it. No...pity...

He pushed his black hair out of his face and dragged himself to his feet. A walk through the castle would force him to keep control.

Hogwarts was empty and cold. Snape had always relished the silence that came in the wake of the students' departure, but today it seemed heavy and crushing. He shivered, pulling his robes closer about himself. The school was far too frigid, even for the summer. In fact, it became colder with every step he took, until Snape was sure that he was freezing. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that the withdrawal was truly setting in and that what he was doing was foolhardy, but already his thinking was becoming clouded.

He slowly climbed the steps to the top floor of the castle, sheer delirium spurring him on. The pains in his stomach were very acute now, forcing him to double over. He staggered and fell against the railing of the corridor, the only thing that prevented him from plunging to his death. He stared down at the distant foyer and idly wondered if his body could be numbed against the pain of...

I need it. I need it. Takes away the pain. Like opium...poppy seeds and lotus root and...opium doesn't have lotus root...let me die, just let me die. I want to forget...it lets me forget. Can't Potter see that? This is all his fault...found me out...

Snape let out a choked sob.

There was someone else, too...can't remember who else...I need it, I need it, hurts too much. Stop the screams...stop, just stop. It makes it go away. I should die I deserve to die I should have fought it so weak weak little coward...

The agony in his stomach and in all of his muscles paled in comparison to the one in his chest. It alternated between a dull ache and a thousand burning needles, sometimes mixing until he couldn't feel one from the other. He had stopped moving, instead just clutching at the railing and staring blankly over it, unaware of the tears streaming down his face and mingling with the hair that had fallen forward. I didn't mean it...I didn't want to...I didn't know...he made me, he made me... "Sorry," he whispered. "So sorry. Forgive me...please..." His knuckles turned white. "...forgive me."

The screams that echoed from his past suddenly erupted to a volume that split his mind open. Snape barely heard his own shriek as he clutched at his head, falling to his knees. Not for the first time in his life, Severus Snape wanted to die. Something made him look up.

She was there. She made those screams in his head. There was something in her grey eyes, something in her face. Something that hovered so cruelly on the farthest reaches of his imagination; of his sanity. Something...

"Professor?" demanded her voice. Professor 'Harrison' narrowed her eyes and quickened her stride, ready to break into a run if necessary. She stopped dead in her tracks as the Potions master met her gaze; an icy thrill coursed through her veins as she saw the impossible: a flicker of recognition behind Snape's eyes.

"You..." he whispered, without anger, without fear, simply like a broken man. Then he collapsed forward, losing consciousness.

Rysk was at his side in a flash. She felt his wrist for a pulse and found it racing. She laid the inside of her arm against Snape's forehead to feel it burning. He moaned as she brought it away damp with cold sweat. "Shit," she breathed, placing a hand on his chest and feeling how his body shook violently, almost spasmodically. The witch rocked back on her heels, contemplating the Potions master with a hard gaze.

"I'm not sorry," she told him quietly. "I'm not sorry." Then, utterly alone, she closed her eyes and bowed her head so that neither her face nor her eyes could betray her grief.

The American stood. "Mobilius corpus." The Potions master cried out as he was jerked into the air. Rysk immediately reversed the spell, causing Snape to drop to the floor again. Rysk tucked her wand away. She crouched back down beside him, a faint grimace pulling at her lips, then slid her arms under his back and knees, reluctance written in every movement. Snape's face remained drawn and twisted in pain as she carried him to her classroom. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and wetted a spot on her robes. Rysk wondered if he could still feel the headache she caused.

She glanced at the door when she reached it, silently ordering it to open. She had to try twice before it swung outwards and she could step inside. Her desk, which had been neat and spartan throughout the school year, was now completely bare of any parchment or quill. Even the silver bell was gone. All of it had been magically packed into the small duffel bag lying on the floor. After laying Snape gently down onto the desk, Rysk slung the brown sack over her shoulder and turned to go.

Several minutes later, she was still there, looking down at him. What had been intended as a final glance had turned into a final look and then into a stare. She let her bag slide to the ground and shrugged off her grey robes. She draped them over his shivering form, careful to never really touch him; but as she pulled her hand back it was arrested by an invisible force. For the first time, her cold expression faltered. Her fingers lingered so close to his skin that she could feel its warmth, just beneath a lock of hair that had fallen across his face. For a fleeting moment, she nearly brushed it away, but then a final tear trickled down and touched her.

Rysk snatched her hand back as though burnt.

She took up her belongings again and turned her back on Severus Snape. She knew that he would find no peace in this sleep, and no peace when he awoke from it.

But at least then she, who had his tears on her hands...she would be gone.

Rysk left the room, pulling the door quietly shut behind. She made her way through the halls of the castle, a queer figure, out of place in her jeans and T-shirt, emblazoned with a ball of Celtic knots and a rearing dragon. She would go out to Hogsmeade and from there Apparate to America, to a place where even Dumbledore could not trace her. Without a word to another witch or wizard or even a sign to mark her departure, Carmen Rysk walked out of Hogwarts.