Hey chickens! Thanks loads to Laura Beth for making this readable, now you
all should go and read her wonderful stories, go shoo, shoo! Thank you
also to Sweetness for reviewing. I have started a new Snape/Hermione story
if anyone's interested! Please read and review as always!
******************************
Chapter 19 - Life's Not Fair
Faith collapsed on the sofa and buried her face in the cushions. She knew she was going to have another attack tonight. She could feel the curse sliding up her spine, her hands were trembling so much she couldn't even hold a glass, and cold sweat was pouring off her. There was no way of stopping it or bringing it forward, she was stuck waiting, waiting, waiting!
There was a possible bright spot though. Snape apparently had a potion that clamed hysteria, it was especially designed for hysteria brought on by magic. But it was another way she was loosing her self sufficiency. She had been stitching herself together after years of depression, addiction and pain when it was all ripped out of her by the curse. She had been made helpless again. And even though she knew how useful the potion could be, how important it might be, it still bruised her. It was another reminder of her inability to keep control of herself.
She stared at the glass in her hand. In St. Mungo's they had made them drink from paper cups and eat with plastic knives and forks. Windows not on the ground floor had bars across. Faith had never, ever felt so demeaned, so helpless in her life. It was terrifying to rely on someone else to preserve the freedom she had.
And sickening to know that, if she was sane enough, she would probably run along like a good little girl, and collect her new medicine. But what else was there to do?
She had just had a scalding hot bath, it had made her feel slightly better, but now she was back to being a nervous wreck.
She tried to read, but the words skittered about under her eyes, and wandered all over the page. She couldn't fucking focus! She threw the book across the room and it bounced across the table, scattering papers and maps.
She tried to tidy them but they fell through her fingers.
She opened the windows because the rain had stopped and she thought that maybe, maybe, if the room was cold the attack wouldn't be so bad? It had always been so hot before! Even in the little room in St. Mungo's with the blood that dripped all over the floor!
She was too hot, then too cold, then too hot, then too cold, then too hot again!
She picked up her letter to Eloise. All she'd written so far was,
Dear Eloise
She drew a doodle of a wine glass in the corner, then a broken wine glass, then a dagger, then a dagger covered in blood. Then she threw the pen down in disgust.
Her relationship with Eloise, her only other friend apart from Remus, was difficult.
They had been friends since they were two. But what do you say to someone who has put you to bed, when you've been too drunk to even speak, more times than you can remember? What do you say to someone who has made sure you don't choke on your own vomit after numerous drug overdoses? What do you say to the person who pulled you out of the bath you tried to slash your wrists in, mopped up the blood, healed the wounds and saved you miserable excuse for a life? What do you say? What is there possibly left to say?
What the fuck do you say?
Faith's wrists began to throb and she looked down at the scars. They were pulsing and glowing blood red. It would hit soon.
She staggered up and went to the window. She was so hot! Could only cope with wearing this silly, silky nightdress. It stuck to the sweat on her skin. She held herself, shivering violently and her teeth chattered loudly in the silence.
Silence! Too much silence! She ran across the room, tripped over a pile of newspapers and grabbed her violin. She hugged it for a moment, and then swung into playing. The music throbbed out of her as she launched into the last movement of Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique. Here the composer, drugged on opium, imagined the witches, demons and ghouls, who danced with him, tormented him, burnt him and fucked him. She spun into a series of spiralling, circling, Eastern European folk songs, she ran into the primal, throbbing beat of the music from Carmen, she played and played and played as she raced the nightmares.
Eventually she calmed down, completely exhausted, and sunk into a sad, soft, gentle piece. The music wept and she didn't realise there were tears running down her cheeks as she played out the ache in her body.
As the music drifted away she slid sleepily down into the sofa. Her tired fingers found her dressing gown and pulled it over her body. The violin fell gently out of her hands to the floor as she drifted into sleep.
****************************
Snape was working. He was tending some plants he cultivated for potions behind the castle. None of the students' rooms looked out this way so he was safe from observation and interference.
He was working very hard. Digging with the trowel, yanking up the weeds and pulling at flower heads. He didn't want to stop. If he would be forced to remember the look on Faith's face when Sprout mentioned the calming potion. For a few moments her eyes had shimmered with hope, but then her face shut down and glared at the floor. It had been almost heart breaking to see the way she froze up again. But if he kept working he wouldn't have to see the moment when her eyes turned on him, him, with that tenuous, brief hope.
He would defeat this stupid, stupid crush!
Then, from somewhere above him, came a sudden blast of music.
It built up and crashed around in the air. It was being played on a violin and not perfectly, some of the notes and rhythms were wrong. But this really didn't matter, because it was being played with such frenzy, such sheer passion, that all Snape could do was sit back and listen in shock and something approaching awe, as the mysterious person played and played and played.
And then it faded into a gentle, drifting, nostalgic mood. It was beautiful and tragic and yearning. It brought up half forgotten memories of a certain girl's smile. Of lost Summers when everything had been fresh and new. Of the first moments he saw the different, swirling ingredients melt together, as the perfect potion was created.
He'd heard music before. He'd heard music played live before. But He had never heard so much soul poured into a piece of wood and strings. He didn't feel he could move. He'd never felt music stir him so much before.
Music and magic. Magic and music. Which, in the end, was more powerful?
Finally the music stopped. And then he stood and could only wander home in a daze. How, and who, and why?
********************
She was begging him to stop, but he wouldn't, oh he wouldn't! The Cruciatus curse flowed through her veins and blood and nerves. It made her scream and howl! It made her tear at her skin and try to rip it off!
Stop stop please stop please please!
But maybe she had gone past the point of screaming? Maybe the words were only really in her brain, maybe they weren't leaving her mouth! Maybe that's why he wouldn't stop!
STOP! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE! STOP!
It wouldn't stop!
And then she was suddenly somewhere else, but still in so much pain! Where was she? She couldn't see! Why? Why couldn't she see? There was a fog in front of her eyes! She could smell death, flesh rotting in the gloom. There was a man laughing somewhere, she stumbled towards it, and then fell as the hand grabbed her face and punched it over and over again. "Worthless, worthless, stupid, bitch, stupid brat, stupid girl!" Blood exploding in her nose, in her mouth, cheek bones shattering.
From somewhere, from him, his stinking breath on her face, someone's tongue in her mouth, hands ripping off her skirt, blood running from her wrists, falling from the sky as her wings refused to fly!
She was awake. And lying on something? Something soft? Carpet? Yes, carpet! She was awake! Faith's eyes snapped open and she realised she was on the floor. The panic was still surging through her, she was trembling and couldn't stand without hurting even more!
So hurt, so much pain still. She could feel the Cruciatus and the Nocthorrifica inside her like little pins under her skin. She fell towards the drinks cabinet. She had to make it stop, she had to make it stop!
Snape! Snape had a potion to make it stop!
She spun round and grabbed her invisibility cloak, so no one would see her and curse her, and fled to his rooms. She flew through the corridors, the stone was so cold on her bare feet, and then fell against his door, pounding desperately against the wood.
The door creaked open and Snape stood there in the light.
"Yes, who's there?"
Oh God, yes, she still had the cloak on!
Her fingers trembled as she tried to undo the clasp, but it finally fell down, and it took some ridiculous amount of strength just to keep it hooked on the tips of her fingers.
She was swaying, and tried to explain, but her mouth was full of something thick that tasted like bile.
"Miss, Ms, Faith, what are you doing here? What's happened to you?"
Her neck was full of lead, but she managed to look up.
"Curse, you had potion, curse, hurts."
"Oh God, yes, um, come in."
He opened the door wider for her, but she only managed a few steps before she fell against him. She yelped in pain and jumped back. The contact against her arm felt like being burnt.
She lent against the door frame, and then felt fingers tentatively reach round her and guide her through the rooms to a sofa and a fire place. It hurt, but not as much, it was human contact, that was worth pain.
He knelt in front of her, and said quietly,
"Faith, I'm going to make up the potion, it just needs reheating." She raised her aching eyes to his face, trying to make him realise that he couldn't leave her, that the horrible people would come back.
He whispered softly, "You're shivering, I'll light the fire." He moved and his presence was lost to her. She reached out to find him, but her fingers went through air.
A fire burst into life, and she realised she was cold, the chill seemed to have seeped into her bones.
There was some amount of time, she didn't know how long it was, when she could only sit with her knees hunched up to her chest, staring into the wicked, leaping flames.
A hand held out a glass. It was filled with a pale blue liquid that was scatted with darting sparks of pink and green and gold.
"Drink." Words, a voice in the air.
She followed the instruction. It tasted like Summer, like Sunshine and like rainbows reflected in raindrops.
A hand, probably the same one, closed round her fingers and took the glass. She closed her eyes and lay back on the sofa. She could feel it running through her blood, and cleansing her body.
She opened her eyes and Snape came into focus.
"Feel better?"
She didn't really know the answer, possibly yes. The lingering effects of the Cruciatus were fading, and she felt warm, slowly and gently warmed. It felt nice.
"Yes." Her voice sounded distant.
He gave her a sceptical look and moved away. She meant to turn towards him, panicked and afraid, but whatever was calming her made it seem unnecessary, so she just sat back and stared into the fire.
So cold again. But the warmth was fighting it. But the cold lay on her skin. Oh of course, she was only wearing her nightgown. One of the ridiculously skimpy ones too. She slid from the sofa to curl up in front of the fire on the soft, plush rug. Hopefully he wouldn't mind too much she wasn't wearing any clothes.
The fog in her mind seemed to be clearing, and she managed to look round. This was a different room to the one she'd been in before. It was more homely, more personal.
Something still hurt, her arms, the pain felt real, physical not magical. She looked down and winced. They were covered in small scratches. She must have tried to. Oh she didn't want to know! She scratched herself very, very cruelly though. She hadn't done this to herself for ages, things had been getting better, hadn't they?
The gashes were small but clear. Little wells of dried red blood in the corners of the cuts. Some were turning black. There were several deep purple bruises.
"Severus?"
"Yes?" The soft voice floated from the shadows and knelt down next to her.
Faith realised he looked less formal than she had seen him before. Just a dark, green shirt, with strings at the top. The kind she loved to play with. Black trousers, no shoes. Her eyes ran over his bare, naked feet.
Strange Snape really having skin, he always seemed so swamped in layers of cloth, protection.
Damn foggy head! What was it? Yes!
"Do you have some sort of healing cream? My, um, arms."
He looked down and hissed.
"Yes, I do."
Faith hunched her legs up to her chest and closed her eyes, just enjoying listening to Snape, Severus, whatever, moving around. The sound of cupboards being opened and closed, glass being moved, the rustle of his clothes.
"Here."
She looked up at him and took the pot with a smile.
"One of the unfortunate side effects to Nocthorrifica is being unable to have long nails."
He face twisted but he didn't reply.
She smeared a huge dollop of cream onto her fingers and spread it over her arms. Oh, it was so cold! So soothing! It felt really gentle, caressing too. The cuts healed, the blood disappeared, and the skin knitted together.
When she was done a towel was waved in front of her face. She wiped her hands free of the white cream and smiled up at him awkwardly. He sat back on the sofa behind her.
There was a long silence. It didn't really seem to matter to Faith. She felt safe. It was just the potion, but she felt calm and content to sit here, it was amazing the amount of things that didn't matter.
Then something caught her eye. A vase on the hearth. Absolutely exquisite. Black and green swirls with fine strands of silver running through them. You could stare at them and the interlocking mysterious patterns for ever.
She edged closer, beautiful, beautiful thing! It looked like Transylvanian glass, but couldn't be! The idea that someone could just keep a piece down in some school dungeons was bizarre. Faith had only ever seen pieces in museums, or in the Malfoy's mansion.
"Is that.?"
"Transylvanian? Yes."
"Can I touch it?" Her voice was excited and breathless.
A long pause, then, "Yes."
She stood up slowly and then bent down to pick it up. Gorgeous, simply gorgeous.
"My ambition is to own one of these one day."
He had moved and was suddenly standing so close to her she jumped and could feel his breath on her neck, she could hear him breathing and sense his chest moving.
"I see it's pointless asking if you like it."
"Yes."
What a ridiculously velvet voice he had. Ridiculous.
"It was made in compete darkness. Only when there is no light in the room at all does the silver shine."
Hands reached round her and the back of one of them brushed over the silk. She felt herself shiver at the touch on her skin.
"It's over five hundred years old." As he took it from her, his fingers closed around hers for a few brief seconds. Then the weight was gone and he moved away.
"Few people can truly appreciate it." He stared at her, his eyes seemed to burn.
"I do."
"I know."
They stayed like that for what felt like ages. Faith didn't want to go home. She wanted to stay here, in this warm room with Transylvanian glass and this voice like velvet.
But as well as giving her this dopey, swimming head the potion was making her so sleepy. Her eyelids began to close and she had to fight to keep them open. She had to lean on the mantle piece.
He caught her arm very, very tightly.
"I will have more potion for you in a few days. Now get out of here and go to bed."
"Thank you."
He threw floo powder into the fire and tugged her roughly towards it.
"You won't have to bother me in the middle of the night then."
"Sorry. Sorry Severus."
She smiled up at him. Wonderful name, matched his voice.
"Right. Go to bed."
She stepped into the fire, fell onto her own floor, and tripped into bed.
When had she ever felt this sweetly drowsy and calm before? Wonderful potion, wonderful glass, wonderful.
But she was asleep before she could finish the thought.
**********************
Severus Snape knocked back the whisky in one go. Then another. Then another half just to be on the safe side.
Oh. My. God.
He could still smell her in the air, still sense her everywhere.
Oh. My. God.
He sat down. In the she had been sitting, no reclining, lying back, looking so unbelievably warm and. Really he couldn't think of any words that wouldn't have him running for a cold shower. Not that that would probably do any good at all.
In a twisted way it had been better when she'd first turned up. At least then her grey skin, white lips flecked with blood and sheer bloody terror hadn't been remotely sexy.
It had been shocking though. He hadn't actually seen anyone under the influence of the curse before, and her incredible weakness and distress had been awful. She'd been some horrible spectre of the woman he knew.
But then she'd drunk the damn potion, and then he'd realised just how skimpy and revealing that nightdress was. How it showed so much skin, but not quite enough. How easy it would be to snap those tiny strings that held it up!
He needed more whisky.
And the smell of her. The sweat and fear, and the soft flowery scents left over from the bath or shower. The mix was so potent, so intensely arousing.
It really wasn't fair.
And then she had asked for that cream. He'd actually been almost been horrified by the horrible cuts all over her arms. But then she'd started rubbing, massaging the cream into her skin, and enjoying it so damn much!
But that really wasn't his fault. It really wasn't his fault if people rubbing glistening creams onto skin had other, connotations. Or if the little sighs of pleasure she'd made went straight to his libido. Oh Gods, he'd have killed to have been able to rub that cream all over her arms himself!
The towel had been his fault though. It had seemed like a sensible thing to do. Excess cream, therefore she needed something to wipe it off with, that preferably wasn't his extremely expensive Indian rug, or that wonderful, midnight blue nightdress. But the sight of her wiping sticky white stuff off her hands, had also had other, connotations.
Oh he really was doomed, the fucking bitch! Why did she have to come down here, in the middle of the night with that silk gown, sticking, yes sticking, to her skin. It was not fair.
More whisky, Snape thought, desperately need more whisky.
And all those doped out little smiles. She hardly ever smiled nicely. But all those little smiles, all coming from the cannabis in the potion of course, had been, just, oh. There weren't words. She would never smile at him like that again. Or laugh.
The glass dropped from his hands onto the rug.
He was so tired, but would never sleep. He could predict his dreams too accurately.
Horrible curse, horrible. How it turned her so vulnerable. Big eyes that were so scared. Should have turned her away, he thought as the whisky began to dissolve his still functioning brain cells.
Life wasn't fair.
******************************
Chapter 19 - Life's Not Fair
Faith collapsed on the sofa and buried her face in the cushions. She knew she was going to have another attack tonight. She could feel the curse sliding up her spine, her hands were trembling so much she couldn't even hold a glass, and cold sweat was pouring off her. There was no way of stopping it or bringing it forward, she was stuck waiting, waiting, waiting!
There was a possible bright spot though. Snape apparently had a potion that clamed hysteria, it was especially designed for hysteria brought on by magic. But it was another way she was loosing her self sufficiency. She had been stitching herself together after years of depression, addiction and pain when it was all ripped out of her by the curse. She had been made helpless again. And even though she knew how useful the potion could be, how important it might be, it still bruised her. It was another reminder of her inability to keep control of herself.
She stared at the glass in her hand. In St. Mungo's they had made them drink from paper cups and eat with plastic knives and forks. Windows not on the ground floor had bars across. Faith had never, ever felt so demeaned, so helpless in her life. It was terrifying to rely on someone else to preserve the freedom she had.
And sickening to know that, if she was sane enough, she would probably run along like a good little girl, and collect her new medicine. But what else was there to do?
She had just had a scalding hot bath, it had made her feel slightly better, but now she was back to being a nervous wreck.
She tried to read, but the words skittered about under her eyes, and wandered all over the page. She couldn't fucking focus! She threw the book across the room and it bounced across the table, scattering papers and maps.
She tried to tidy them but they fell through her fingers.
She opened the windows because the rain had stopped and she thought that maybe, maybe, if the room was cold the attack wouldn't be so bad? It had always been so hot before! Even in the little room in St. Mungo's with the blood that dripped all over the floor!
She was too hot, then too cold, then too hot, then too cold, then too hot again!
She picked up her letter to Eloise. All she'd written so far was,
Dear Eloise
She drew a doodle of a wine glass in the corner, then a broken wine glass, then a dagger, then a dagger covered in blood. Then she threw the pen down in disgust.
Her relationship with Eloise, her only other friend apart from Remus, was difficult.
They had been friends since they were two. But what do you say to someone who has put you to bed, when you've been too drunk to even speak, more times than you can remember? What do you say to someone who has made sure you don't choke on your own vomit after numerous drug overdoses? What do you say to the person who pulled you out of the bath you tried to slash your wrists in, mopped up the blood, healed the wounds and saved you miserable excuse for a life? What do you say? What is there possibly left to say?
What the fuck do you say?
Faith's wrists began to throb and she looked down at the scars. They were pulsing and glowing blood red. It would hit soon.
She staggered up and went to the window. She was so hot! Could only cope with wearing this silly, silky nightdress. It stuck to the sweat on her skin. She held herself, shivering violently and her teeth chattered loudly in the silence.
Silence! Too much silence! She ran across the room, tripped over a pile of newspapers and grabbed her violin. She hugged it for a moment, and then swung into playing. The music throbbed out of her as she launched into the last movement of Berlioz's Symphonie Fantastique. Here the composer, drugged on opium, imagined the witches, demons and ghouls, who danced with him, tormented him, burnt him and fucked him. She spun into a series of spiralling, circling, Eastern European folk songs, she ran into the primal, throbbing beat of the music from Carmen, she played and played and played as she raced the nightmares.
Eventually she calmed down, completely exhausted, and sunk into a sad, soft, gentle piece. The music wept and she didn't realise there were tears running down her cheeks as she played out the ache in her body.
As the music drifted away she slid sleepily down into the sofa. Her tired fingers found her dressing gown and pulled it over her body. The violin fell gently out of her hands to the floor as she drifted into sleep.
****************************
Snape was working. He was tending some plants he cultivated for potions behind the castle. None of the students' rooms looked out this way so he was safe from observation and interference.
He was working very hard. Digging with the trowel, yanking up the weeds and pulling at flower heads. He didn't want to stop. If he would be forced to remember the look on Faith's face when Sprout mentioned the calming potion. For a few moments her eyes had shimmered with hope, but then her face shut down and glared at the floor. It had been almost heart breaking to see the way she froze up again. But if he kept working he wouldn't have to see the moment when her eyes turned on him, him, with that tenuous, brief hope.
He would defeat this stupid, stupid crush!
Then, from somewhere above him, came a sudden blast of music.
It built up and crashed around in the air. It was being played on a violin and not perfectly, some of the notes and rhythms were wrong. But this really didn't matter, because it was being played with such frenzy, such sheer passion, that all Snape could do was sit back and listen in shock and something approaching awe, as the mysterious person played and played and played.
And then it faded into a gentle, drifting, nostalgic mood. It was beautiful and tragic and yearning. It brought up half forgotten memories of a certain girl's smile. Of lost Summers when everything had been fresh and new. Of the first moments he saw the different, swirling ingredients melt together, as the perfect potion was created.
He'd heard music before. He'd heard music played live before. But He had never heard so much soul poured into a piece of wood and strings. He didn't feel he could move. He'd never felt music stir him so much before.
Music and magic. Magic and music. Which, in the end, was more powerful?
Finally the music stopped. And then he stood and could only wander home in a daze. How, and who, and why?
********************
She was begging him to stop, but he wouldn't, oh he wouldn't! The Cruciatus curse flowed through her veins and blood and nerves. It made her scream and howl! It made her tear at her skin and try to rip it off!
Stop stop please stop please please!
But maybe she had gone past the point of screaming? Maybe the words were only really in her brain, maybe they weren't leaving her mouth! Maybe that's why he wouldn't stop!
STOP! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE! STOP!
It wouldn't stop!
And then she was suddenly somewhere else, but still in so much pain! Where was she? She couldn't see! Why? Why couldn't she see? There was a fog in front of her eyes! She could smell death, flesh rotting in the gloom. There was a man laughing somewhere, she stumbled towards it, and then fell as the hand grabbed her face and punched it over and over again. "Worthless, worthless, stupid, bitch, stupid brat, stupid girl!" Blood exploding in her nose, in her mouth, cheek bones shattering.
From somewhere, from him, his stinking breath on her face, someone's tongue in her mouth, hands ripping off her skirt, blood running from her wrists, falling from the sky as her wings refused to fly!
She was awake. And lying on something? Something soft? Carpet? Yes, carpet! She was awake! Faith's eyes snapped open and she realised she was on the floor. The panic was still surging through her, she was trembling and couldn't stand without hurting even more!
So hurt, so much pain still. She could feel the Cruciatus and the Nocthorrifica inside her like little pins under her skin. She fell towards the drinks cabinet. She had to make it stop, she had to make it stop!
Snape! Snape had a potion to make it stop!
She spun round and grabbed her invisibility cloak, so no one would see her and curse her, and fled to his rooms. She flew through the corridors, the stone was so cold on her bare feet, and then fell against his door, pounding desperately against the wood.
The door creaked open and Snape stood there in the light.
"Yes, who's there?"
Oh God, yes, she still had the cloak on!
Her fingers trembled as she tried to undo the clasp, but it finally fell down, and it took some ridiculous amount of strength just to keep it hooked on the tips of her fingers.
She was swaying, and tried to explain, but her mouth was full of something thick that tasted like bile.
"Miss, Ms, Faith, what are you doing here? What's happened to you?"
Her neck was full of lead, but she managed to look up.
"Curse, you had potion, curse, hurts."
"Oh God, yes, um, come in."
He opened the door wider for her, but she only managed a few steps before she fell against him. She yelped in pain and jumped back. The contact against her arm felt like being burnt.
She lent against the door frame, and then felt fingers tentatively reach round her and guide her through the rooms to a sofa and a fire place. It hurt, but not as much, it was human contact, that was worth pain.
He knelt in front of her, and said quietly,
"Faith, I'm going to make up the potion, it just needs reheating." She raised her aching eyes to his face, trying to make him realise that he couldn't leave her, that the horrible people would come back.
He whispered softly, "You're shivering, I'll light the fire." He moved and his presence was lost to her. She reached out to find him, but her fingers went through air.
A fire burst into life, and she realised she was cold, the chill seemed to have seeped into her bones.
There was some amount of time, she didn't know how long it was, when she could only sit with her knees hunched up to her chest, staring into the wicked, leaping flames.
A hand held out a glass. It was filled with a pale blue liquid that was scatted with darting sparks of pink and green and gold.
"Drink." Words, a voice in the air.
She followed the instruction. It tasted like Summer, like Sunshine and like rainbows reflected in raindrops.
A hand, probably the same one, closed round her fingers and took the glass. She closed her eyes and lay back on the sofa. She could feel it running through her blood, and cleansing her body.
She opened her eyes and Snape came into focus.
"Feel better?"
She didn't really know the answer, possibly yes. The lingering effects of the Cruciatus were fading, and she felt warm, slowly and gently warmed. It felt nice.
"Yes." Her voice sounded distant.
He gave her a sceptical look and moved away. She meant to turn towards him, panicked and afraid, but whatever was calming her made it seem unnecessary, so she just sat back and stared into the fire.
So cold again. But the warmth was fighting it. But the cold lay on her skin. Oh of course, she was only wearing her nightgown. One of the ridiculously skimpy ones too. She slid from the sofa to curl up in front of the fire on the soft, plush rug. Hopefully he wouldn't mind too much she wasn't wearing any clothes.
The fog in her mind seemed to be clearing, and she managed to look round. This was a different room to the one she'd been in before. It was more homely, more personal.
Something still hurt, her arms, the pain felt real, physical not magical. She looked down and winced. They were covered in small scratches. She must have tried to. Oh she didn't want to know! She scratched herself very, very cruelly though. She hadn't done this to herself for ages, things had been getting better, hadn't they?
The gashes were small but clear. Little wells of dried red blood in the corners of the cuts. Some were turning black. There were several deep purple bruises.
"Severus?"
"Yes?" The soft voice floated from the shadows and knelt down next to her.
Faith realised he looked less formal than she had seen him before. Just a dark, green shirt, with strings at the top. The kind she loved to play with. Black trousers, no shoes. Her eyes ran over his bare, naked feet.
Strange Snape really having skin, he always seemed so swamped in layers of cloth, protection.
Damn foggy head! What was it? Yes!
"Do you have some sort of healing cream? My, um, arms."
He looked down and hissed.
"Yes, I do."
Faith hunched her legs up to her chest and closed her eyes, just enjoying listening to Snape, Severus, whatever, moving around. The sound of cupboards being opened and closed, glass being moved, the rustle of his clothes.
"Here."
She looked up at him and took the pot with a smile.
"One of the unfortunate side effects to Nocthorrifica is being unable to have long nails."
He face twisted but he didn't reply.
She smeared a huge dollop of cream onto her fingers and spread it over her arms. Oh, it was so cold! So soothing! It felt really gentle, caressing too. The cuts healed, the blood disappeared, and the skin knitted together.
When she was done a towel was waved in front of her face. She wiped her hands free of the white cream and smiled up at him awkwardly. He sat back on the sofa behind her.
There was a long silence. It didn't really seem to matter to Faith. She felt safe. It was just the potion, but she felt calm and content to sit here, it was amazing the amount of things that didn't matter.
Then something caught her eye. A vase on the hearth. Absolutely exquisite. Black and green swirls with fine strands of silver running through them. You could stare at them and the interlocking mysterious patterns for ever.
She edged closer, beautiful, beautiful thing! It looked like Transylvanian glass, but couldn't be! The idea that someone could just keep a piece down in some school dungeons was bizarre. Faith had only ever seen pieces in museums, or in the Malfoy's mansion.
"Is that.?"
"Transylvanian? Yes."
"Can I touch it?" Her voice was excited and breathless.
A long pause, then, "Yes."
She stood up slowly and then bent down to pick it up. Gorgeous, simply gorgeous.
"My ambition is to own one of these one day."
He had moved and was suddenly standing so close to her she jumped and could feel his breath on her neck, she could hear him breathing and sense his chest moving.
"I see it's pointless asking if you like it."
"Yes."
What a ridiculously velvet voice he had. Ridiculous.
"It was made in compete darkness. Only when there is no light in the room at all does the silver shine."
Hands reached round her and the back of one of them brushed over the silk. She felt herself shiver at the touch on her skin.
"It's over five hundred years old." As he took it from her, his fingers closed around hers for a few brief seconds. Then the weight was gone and he moved away.
"Few people can truly appreciate it." He stared at her, his eyes seemed to burn.
"I do."
"I know."
They stayed like that for what felt like ages. Faith didn't want to go home. She wanted to stay here, in this warm room with Transylvanian glass and this voice like velvet.
But as well as giving her this dopey, swimming head the potion was making her so sleepy. Her eyelids began to close and she had to fight to keep them open. She had to lean on the mantle piece.
He caught her arm very, very tightly.
"I will have more potion for you in a few days. Now get out of here and go to bed."
"Thank you."
He threw floo powder into the fire and tugged her roughly towards it.
"You won't have to bother me in the middle of the night then."
"Sorry. Sorry Severus."
She smiled up at him. Wonderful name, matched his voice.
"Right. Go to bed."
She stepped into the fire, fell onto her own floor, and tripped into bed.
When had she ever felt this sweetly drowsy and calm before? Wonderful potion, wonderful glass, wonderful.
But she was asleep before she could finish the thought.
**********************
Severus Snape knocked back the whisky in one go. Then another. Then another half just to be on the safe side.
Oh. My. God.
He could still smell her in the air, still sense her everywhere.
Oh. My. God.
He sat down. In the she had been sitting, no reclining, lying back, looking so unbelievably warm and. Really he couldn't think of any words that wouldn't have him running for a cold shower. Not that that would probably do any good at all.
In a twisted way it had been better when she'd first turned up. At least then her grey skin, white lips flecked with blood and sheer bloody terror hadn't been remotely sexy.
It had been shocking though. He hadn't actually seen anyone under the influence of the curse before, and her incredible weakness and distress had been awful. She'd been some horrible spectre of the woman he knew.
But then she'd drunk the damn potion, and then he'd realised just how skimpy and revealing that nightdress was. How it showed so much skin, but not quite enough. How easy it would be to snap those tiny strings that held it up!
He needed more whisky.
And the smell of her. The sweat and fear, and the soft flowery scents left over from the bath or shower. The mix was so potent, so intensely arousing.
It really wasn't fair.
And then she had asked for that cream. He'd actually been almost been horrified by the horrible cuts all over her arms. But then she'd started rubbing, massaging the cream into her skin, and enjoying it so damn much!
But that really wasn't his fault. It really wasn't his fault if people rubbing glistening creams onto skin had other, connotations. Or if the little sighs of pleasure she'd made went straight to his libido. Oh Gods, he'd have killed to have been able to rub that cream all over her arms himself!
The towel had been his fault though. It had seemed like a sensible thing to do. Excess cream, therefore she needed something to wipe it off with, that preferably wasn't his extremely expensive Indian rug, or that wonderful, midnight blue nightdress. But the sight of her wiping sticky white stuff off her hands, had also had other, connotations.
Oh he really was doomed, the fucking bitch! Why did she have to come down here, in the middle of the night with that silk gown, sticking, yes sticking, to her skin. It was not fair.
More whisky, Snape thought, desperately need more whisky.
And all those doped out little smiles. She hardly ever smiled nicely. But all those little smiles, all coming from the cannabis in the potion of course, had been, just, oh. There weren't words. She would never smile at him like that again. Or laugh.
The glass dropped from his hands onto the rug.
He was so tired, but would never sleep. He could predict his dreams too accurately.
Horrible curse, horrible. How it turned her so vulnerable. Big eyes that were so scared. Should have turned her away, he thought as the whisky began to dissolve his still functioning brain cells.
Life wasn't fair.