Disclaimer:
All things not Allosia and Gabriel belong to JKR.
Exaudio belong to RJ Anderson
Because this story is still, at it's heart, a romance...
-----------
Snape stepped quietly into the empty hospital wing and made his way to his wife's bed. He sat down, not next to it, but across from it, and he watched her from the shadows. Already, thanks to Pomfrey's ministrations, and probably potions he had brewed for her himself at some point, Allosia's condition was starting to improve. The swelling was down and most of her bruising had faded from blacks and purples to reds and pinks, although he suspected it would be another couple of days before she looked entirely herself. And then, of course, there was the ankle.
He glanced at the table by her bedside, empty but for a box of tissues. He worked his hand quietly at his side; it was sore from his earlier outburst. He had heard her crying as he left, and wondered how long that had gone on, if she had stopped of her own accord, or if she had eventually been given potions to allow his own poor behavior to trouble her another day.
Lost in thought, he drummed his fingers over his lips, but started, when she heard her ask after him.
"Severus," she said sleepily, and he presumed it was in a dream until her eyes opened.
Quickly, he went to sit on the edge of her bed. "I didn't know you were awake."
"It's hard to miss you staring."
"I'm sorry, I hadn't want to disturb you."
"Not up to facing me yet?"
He hung his head. "Didn't Poppy give you Dreamless Sleep?" he asked, changing the subject.
"Dreamless, not sound," she said, shifting uncomfortably.
"You're looking much better already, how do you feel?"
"Sore. Not right."
Snape gave her a puzzled look.
"Pain is one thing, the distortions of my body are another," she said by way of explanation.
He ran a finger along her hairline, and she smiled weakly.
"You are so very furious with me," she stated softly, looking merely for confirmation.
"Merely furious, Allosia. Things should not have to be this way. And I would not blame you if you decided the situation to be beyond your perseverance."
"Please stop trying to make me leave you. If I were to, it would be because of the strains we put on each other, not the constraints of the world we both happen to live in. You can't eliminate the possibility of my hurting you, but every time you try, you do grievous injury to one of us. I cannot make this relationship safer for you, any more than you can make the world safer for me, so please stop asking the impossible of me." While her voice was gentle, it was also weary, with more than the events of the last two days. "Where's the baby?" she asked then.
"In bed."
"I wish you wouldn't leave him alone."
Snape smiled then and tapped his ear. "Exaudio."
Allosia let a slight smile form on her mouth. "Clever. Still -"
"I won't make a habit of it."
"Thank you."
"Sit up for a second," he said.
She did, although she looked at him quizicly as she made the effort, with him assisting. He slid behind her then, leaning himself against the headboard and then pulled her body back against his.
"Comfortable?" he asked.
She nodded, and made a soft sound.
"Good," he said, in quiet voice, the type of voice used to soothe horses and offer unspoken instruction.
Very slowly, he raised his hand to her face, and rested his fingers ever so lightly on her cheek. Allosia flinched.
"Tell me if I hurt you," he said.
"No," she said, her voice nervous, "it's just, I'm more aware of how I must look when you do that."
"Shhhhh. Just close your eyes, listen to my voice" he said with some quiet urgency.
Taking a deep breath, she made a pointed effort to relax into him. He made a soft noise of approval and began slowly moving his fingertips over her face, feeling each contour, each mark,, each bit of swelling.
Occasionally she would hiss or tense for a moment, and Snape would pause, lightening his touch if he could, but not removing it. The whole time he mumbled in her ear small soothing words and sounds, and as he had said, she did her best just to focus on that.
Despite her embarrassment over how her face (and for that matter the rest of her body) must look and feel, this felt good, and safe and the small movements and sounds were a welcome contrast to the grand and ugly gestures of the prior 36 hours.
He ran his hand along her jaw to her ear and then slowly down to her neck where the skin was still ugly and raw from whatever had been looped around her neck. That, perhaps more than any of it, galled him. It emphasized the risk she had been in. It also emphasized the insult Malfoy had meant the entire escapade to be.
Allosia flinched again, this time more violently and did not relax right away.
"Does that hurt?" he asked.
"It burns."
"I'm sorry," he said, but did not remove his fingers. "How does your face feel?" he asked softly.
"A little better," she replied with some curiosity.
Snape, ignoring the implied question, merely said, "Good," and continued to stroke his fingers along her throat, making indulgent shushing noises, at each flinch and start from her. He resisted the urge to chuckle or to weep with gratitude when one of her little sounds was clearly that of pleasure, rather than pain or fear. With every third or fourth caress Allosia's breath would catch in her throat and he would smile and hum slightly in her ear.
"Severus?" she eventually asked, "what -"
"Shhhhh." And it was enough to silence her as he slipped his hand from her neck, down her body and between her legs.
She started in earnest then, and he just shushed her again and held her against him. "There's no one here. Poppy's asleep," and he was glad when she began to relax and he did not have to continue to justify his actions.
When she came, quietly and with small shudders he held onto her against, she reached up and placed one of her hands against the side of his face. He was forgiven. And he was grateful. Such touches to her meant love, but to him meant acceptance. That she could take pleasure, not merely in what he could do to her, but that it was he doing it, was hope against the despair.
After a time, she fell asleep against him, and he slipped out from under her. After arranging her pillows and pulling her covers up neatly to her chin, he slipped out of the wing as quietly as he had arrived.
All things not Allosia and Gabriel belong to JKR.
Exaudio belong to RJ Anderson
Because this story is still, at it's heart, a romance...
-----------
Snape stepped quietly into the empty hospital wing and made his way to his wife's bed. He sat down, not next to it, but across from it, and he watched her from the shadows. Already, thanks to Pomfrey's ministrations, and probably potions he had brewed for her himself at some point, Allosia's condition was starting to improve. The swelling was down and most of her bruising had faded from blacks and purples to reds and pinks, although he suspected it would be another couple of days before she looked entirely herself. And then, of course, there was the ankle.
He glanced at the table by her bedside, empty but for a box of tissues. He worked his hand quietly at his side; it was sore from his earlier outburst. He had heard her crying as he left, and wondered how long that had gone on, if she had stopped of her own accord, or if she had eventually been given potions to allow his own poor behavior to trouble her another day.
Lost in thought, he drummed his fingers over his lips, but started, when she heard her ask after him.
"Severus," she said sleepily, and he presumed it was in a dream until her eyes opened.
Quickly, he went to sit on the edge of her bed. "I didn't know you were awake."
"It's hard to miss you staring."
"I'm sorry, I hadn't want to disturb you."
"Not up to facing me yet?"
He hung his head. "Didn't Poppy give you Dreamless Sleep?" he asked, changing the subject.
"Dreamless, not sound," she said, shifting uncomfortably.
"You're looking much better already, how do you feel?"
"Sore. Not right."
Snape gave her a puzzled look.
"Pain is one thing, the distortions of my body are another," she said by way of explanation.
He ran a finger along her hairline, and she smiled weakly.
"You are so very furious with me," she stated softly, looking merely for confirmation.
"Merely furious, Allosia. Things should not have to be this way. And I would not blame you if you decided the situation to be beyond your perseverance."
"Please stop trying to make me leave you. If I were to, it would be because of the strains we put on each other, not the constraints of the world we both happen to live in. You can't eliminate the possibility of my hurting you, but every time you try, you do grievous injury to one of us. I cannot make this relationship safer for you, any more than you can make the world safer for me, so please stop asking the impossible of me." While her voice was gentle, it was also weary, with more than the events of the last two days. "Where's the baby?" she asked then.
"In bed."
"I wish you wouldn't leave him alone."
Snape smiled then and tapped his ear. "Exaudio."
Allosia let a slight smile form on her mouth. "Clever. Still -"
"I won't make a habit of it."
"Thank you."
"Sit up for a second," he said.
She did, although she looked at him quizicly as she made the effort, with him assisting. He slid behind her then, leaning himself against the headboard and then pulled her body back against his.
"Comfortable?" he asked.
She nodded, and made a soft sound.
"Good," he said, in quiet voice, the type of voice used to soothe horses and offer unspoken instruction.
Very slowly, he raised his hand to her face, and rested his fingers ever so lightly on her cheek. Allosia flinched.
"Tell me if I hurt you," he said.
"No," she said, her voice nervous, "it's just, I'm more aware of how I must look when you do that."
"Shhhhh. Just close your eyes, listen to my voice" he said with some quiet urgency.
Taking a deep breath, she made a pointed effort to relax into him. He made a soft noise of approval and began slowly moving his fingertips over her face, feeling each contour, each mark,, each bit of swelling.
Occasionally she would hiss or tense for a moment, and Snape would pause, lightening his touch if he could, but not removing it. The whole time he mumbled in her ear small soothing words and sounds, and as he had said, she did her best just to focus on that.
Despite her embarrassment over how her face (and for that matter the rest of her body) must look and feel, this felt good, and safe and the small movements and sounds were a welcome contrast to the grand and ugly gestures of the prior 36 hours.
He ran his hand along her jaw to her ear and then slowly down to her neck where the skin was still ugly and raw from whatever had been looped around her neck. That, perhaps more than any of it, galled him. It emphasized the risk she had been in. It also emphasized the insult Malfoy had meant the entire escapade to be.
Allosia flinched again, this time more violently and did not relax right away.
"Does that hurt?" he asked.
"It burns."
"I'm sorry," he said, but did not remove his fingers. "How does your face feel?" he asked softly.
"A little better," she replied with some curiosity.
Snape, ignoring the implied question, merely said, "Good," and continued to stroke his fingers along her throat, making indulgent shushing noises, at each flinch and start from her. He resisted the urge to chuckle or to weep with gratitude when one of her little sounds was clearly that of pleasure, rather than pain or fear. With every third or fourth caress Allosia's breath would catch in her throat and he would smile and hum slightly in her ear.
"Severus?" she eventually asked, "what -"
"Shhhhh." And it was enough to silence her as he slipped his hand from her neck, down her body and between her legs.
She started in earnest then, and he just shushed her again and held her against him. "There's no one here. Poppy's asleep," and he was glad when she began to relax and he did not have to continue to justify his actions.
When she came, quietly and with small shudders he held onto her against, she reached up and placed one of her hands against the side of his face. He was forgiven. And he was grateful. Such touches to her meant love, but to him meant acceptance. That she could take pleasure, not merely in what he could do to her, but that it was he doing it, was hope against the despair.
After a time, she fell asleep against him, and he slipped out from under her. After arranging her pillows and pulling her covers up neatly to her chin, he slipped out of the wing as quietly as he had arrived.