Disclaimer:

It's JKR's world, I just play in it.

Sorry I was away from this for so long guys, the characters and I needed to recharge badly. Which perhaps regrettably led me to drag Severus off into another story — if you want to read a lot of BDSM smut, check out A Certain Education. It has nothing to do with the particular universe I've created here though, although I'd like to think it's as witty in its own way.

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Hana Hooch did not know what to say. It was an entirely different thing to see Snape excuse himself from the head table due to a summons from Voldemort than to see it at close quarters. In his own home, he did not, or perhaps, could not hide the fact that the call frightened him.

"Sia," she said softly, "would you prefer company or no?"

Allosia shook herself out of her reverie, and shrugged. "I don't mean to be awful, but it's rather gotten to a point where it doesn't matter. I'm not consoled either way," she said, trying to sound reasonable about an unreasonable situation.

"I never had to go through this with him."

"I know."

"I don't imagine he would have let me."

Allosia let out a small chuckle. "He barely lets me," she said.

"What do you tell Gabriel?"

"Probably the wrong things. Or too much and not enough. It's alright, right now, but that's not going to last much longer. Severus doesn't want to lie to him."

"That's stupid," Hooch said, bluntly.

"You can imagine, while I'm not overwhelmed with joy about it, I concur with you. I know he does too. So we've been avoiding the subject."

Hooch sighed. "Do you think things will ever be different?"

"Do you? This isn't the type of war that gets won."

"Everyone says you've changed him, but he's changed you."

"Not really. I went through a lot with this thing before we got together. It was just easier to ignore when it wasn't in my living room all the time."

They sat in silence for a long time, before Hooch excused herself with the thought that at least one of them should take Snape's advice and not wait up.

After she left, Allosia lay back on the couch, telling herself she'd head to bed momentarily several times, before nodding off instead.

Snape scowled as he trudged up the stairs to Hogwarts' main entrance. He was amazed at the capacity Death Eaters had to waste time. To his mind, it spoke to the incompetence of nearly all of the combatants. Magic aside, it was strategy that would win this thing and no one seemed to have one, on either side.

The evening had rattled him, but not for the obvious reasons. Spilling his tea and having had so quiet and domestic an evening interrupted had made him feel somewhat absurdly vulnerable. Having to listen to the casual brutality of the Death Eaters' conversations had frayed his nerves further. While it was an easier and less bloody evening than he normally had to endure, Snape hated small talk, especially when it involved people he despised discussing views he had come to abhor. Of course, Lucius dropping another casual bombshell into his life didn't help.

"We're having another party soon. Do bring your wife. Narcissa has even promised to put in an appearance for a change."

"I can't imagine Allosia would be particularly excited to see you, Lucius. No offense, of course."

"Of course," he had said with a smile. "Consider it a peace offering," he added, lightly.

Snape looked at him sideways.

"I'm not up to anything, Severus. Other than trying to help you out a bit. I think your marriage would do so much better if you just allowed Allosia to participate in your life a bit more."

"While you and Narcissa are exemplars of many things, I would not say a happy marriage is one of them."

"That's because Narcissa and I had the good sense not to marry for so tawdry and fragile a purpose as romance."

"My wife is not a Slytherin."

"That much is clear. What isn't, is whether you still are. You will bring her, won't you?"

"How could I refuse your generosity?" Snape said with a sneer.

He worried about Allosia's reaction. He knew there were two possibilities, neither of them good. The first, was that she would want absolutely nothing to do with the event and become so panicky she would have to be half drowned in calming potions just to get her in the door. The second, which put them both at slightly less risk, was far more distasteful. She might like the idea, eager as she was to do more than merely sit by him in the aftermath of so many truly awful adventures. He did not want her to see these things though. Not because of any illusions of her having a delicate constitution, but because as she had pointed out so many times about so many of his transgressions, it was one thing to be aware of something and another to know absolutely. He didn't think this would be good, for her, or them, presuming of course, they could even be assured of their physical safety.

Despite an urge to write, to logic out these fears to the silent audience he had made of her on parchment, Snape was eager to see her, to let her know he was alright. The small indignities of the evening, coupled with Lucius' invitation, made him desperate for the warmth of her flesh. Why was it always so damn cold at 5am, he wondered.

Snape knelt down on the floor, next to the loveseat Allosia had fallen asleep on. He touched his forehead to hers, and found himself being thankful she was such a solid sleeper. He allowed himself too few moments like this.

She wrinkled her nose as his breath hit her face, before slitting her eyes and pulling her head back a bit.

"I thought you were cat," she slurred, sleepily.

"I'd be a damn sorry cat, Allosia."

"Mmmmm. Y'okay?"

"Yes. Do you want to come to bed?"

She made another muffled noise and tried to burrow into the loveseat.

"I will throw you over my shoulder if need be."

"No upside down," she said, still ridiculously groggy.

"Then I suggest you get up," he said, standing.

She sat up and rubbed her face, before allowing him to lead her to their bedroom. She promptly crawled into bed, still fully dressed. Snape decided he was better off battling with his own clothes than hers, and readied himself for sleep he knew would not come.

Settling himself under the covers, he summoned the lap desk to him as Allosia curled against him muttering. He began to write.

Sia --

Clearly, I tempt at least one of us or fate with the increasing casualness of these epistles. Surely, I would not be so careless with the secrecy that has become both my art and my habit if I did not have some intent for you to know these words, despite my best denials and my so cherished belief that you already do.

That I do not just surrender them to you outright is a testament to an uncertainty I cannot shake. It is not that I doubt my eloquence or even your so oft misguided tolerance of my self and my life as it is conducted outside of your reach. Rather, I doubt my strength in the face of any reaction you may have. Knowing you as I do, I am too often caught in the echo and eddy of your heart and pinned by eyes that have never learned to hide their hurts. I admire this about you, even as it is something I can never aspire to. You are to me a kingdom and a grief that I have neither the skill to protect nor the sense to let go.

I have received tonight the threat of a most terrible invitation. Your reaction to which I can calculate, but not fathom. Because I know you believe, because believe it you must, that I am always searching for another way, I will not remind you of that fact. Instead, I wish merely to remind you that my hands will always be at your back and at your breastbone. And I pray that you will always allow me the indulgence of doing for you what I cannot do for myself, which is a holding together.

It is only with you and with Gabriel that my posture is a pride and not merely an exercise in the containment of emotions too dangerous for me to lose and too precarious for me to share.

A quiet believer in the art of confessional,

Severus.

As he began to fold the letter and consider a temporary hiding place for it, Allosia stirred.

"Who are you writing to?" she asked.

"You," he whispered, before he could stop himself.

"Mmmmm, why?"

"It's something I do," knowing he could often deflect her inquiries by pleading strangeness.

"Read it to me?"

"It's best we talk about it in the morning."

"It is morning," she said, her voice still thick with sleep.

And so he read it to her, in a slow sonorous voice.

When he was finished, she muttered, "Considering you are not so good at it, you should try to hide less from me."

He smiled then. As she rolled over, and he put the desk aside to curl around her.

"What's the invitation?" she asked.

"We'll talk about it later, go back to sleep."

The small noises she made in response indicated she already had. With any luck, Snape thought, she wouldn't even remember the letter.