Chapter One
Author's Note: Dedicated to Storm, cause she's so darn impatient!
* * *
For the fifth time that night, Severus Snape paced his bedroom. What he wouldn't give for a Sleeping Potion right now. He brushed back his slick hair from his forehead. He would sell his soul for just one sip. But he hadn't seen a single potion in three years. Three damn long years. One would think he would grow used to the lack of magic. But he hadn't... not quite.
He had been living among the Muggles for the entirety of the three years that had passed since he had left Hogwarts. It was winter once again, and snow was blowing softly against his window. It reminded him of his last minutes at Hogwarts. So many memories were held in that place. Memories of his years as a teacher, and even of himself as a student, sullen and brooding.
He passed a mirror and caught a glance at his frowning face. His long hair fell in sharp contrast to the white bedshirt he wore, and his arms crossed across his broad chest. A chuckle almost escaped his lips. Not much had changed, that much was apparent.
Pale light from the dimly lit moon cascaded through the window, softly illuminating the woman who lay across the bed. At the sight of her peaceful form, he smiled, something he had been doing more and more often.
It was a strange thing to be happy, to be accepted... to be loved. And admittedly, he loved her back. Why else would he, Severus Snape of all people, have asked her to wear the diamond ring that now adorned her left hand?
She was so beautiful... he still couldn't quite believe that she was his, that she had given herself willingly to him. Sometimes as she slept, he still had to touch her face to be sure she was not a mere hallucination, to be certain that the love they had just made had been as tangible as he thought it was.
He pushed away the memories of his past and turned instead to those of the present and future, those of Alexia. He crawled back beneath the covers, pressing a gentle kiss to the nape of her neck. The flowery scent of her auburn hair tickled his nose and he smiled into her skin.
She stirred, turning slightly to regard him. "Still can't sleep, love?" Her gentle hand came up to caress his jawline, playing with his hair.
He turned his head to kiss her palm. "I don't know why."
A knowing smile slid across her face. "It's tomorrow, Severus. You should be nervous."
"I'm not nervous, love, I'm not. I just... can't shake this feeling I have." He knew she didn't understand. How could she when he himself did not know why he felt so uneasy? Something was amiss somewhere, but what it was he didn't know.
"Well, whatever it is, you need your sleep."
He raised an eyebrow suggestively. "And what if I do not want to sleep?"
The smile on her face grew as she tangled her hand in his hair, pulling him in for a deep, warm kiss. "Then I suppose we could occupy ourselves in some other way."
"That would be..." he tugged at her lip with his teeth, "delightful." Within minutes, they fell into their passion, lost in each other's eyes and bodies, limbs entangled in a mess of sheets. They fell asleep still tangled in each other, waiting for the morning which would make them husband and wife for the rest of their days.
But first, they must make it through the night.
* * *
A few hours later, a sharp burning shot up Severus' left arm, focusing around the damned Mark. Snape let out a muffled cry, biting down hard on his lip against the pain. He rolled from the bed, landing hard on the wooden floor as he clutched at his arm, willing to do anything to get rid of the horrid burning.
A drop of blood blossomed on his lip from where he bit, tainting his tongue with the coppery taste. Once he was able to stand the pain, he opened his eyes and stared down in horror at his arm.
After Voldemort's death, the Dark Mark had faded until it was barely visible. It was still there, a constant reminder of his past sins, but it was no longer the deep black it had been. But now, as he looked at it, it had flourished to a livid raven-black, rising slightly from his skin and burning fiercely, as fresh as it had been the day he had been Branded.
The information refused to register in his brain. Voldemort was... "Dead," he whispered, as if the words would become reality. "He is dead. I saw him." Tom Riddle, what was left of the actual man, had died beside Albus three years ago. Hundreds had been witness to it.
But if Voldemort was dead... why was his arm burning? Only the Dark Lord could call him. None of his followers had the power or ability.
He shook his head frantically, violently. "No... no... He's dead..." Scrambling to his feet, he ran from the room after wrapping a robe around his slim form, dizzy with pain and confusion.
He could not be called... he had given up that life. Three years ago he had left the wizarding world forever. It was no longer a part of him.
And yet, it was always a part of him, always haunting him from the eyes of that horrid black skull. Alexia had always wondered about the Mark... he had told her that it was a tattoo, something stupid that he had done in younger days. In part, it was the truth. But she was a mere Muggle... he could not have told her the entire truth. She couldn't, wouldn't, understand.
He tore through the house, frantic from the pain, dashing up the stairs to the attic and climbing through the trapdoor to the musty space between ceiling and roof. There were hidden his secrets... the only reminders from his life as a wizard, the only proof that he had ever been Potions Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
He had wanted to destroy it all, to burn every last part of that life. But something had prevented him from thrusting cloak, wand, and potions books into the inferno that blazed in the fireplace. Somehow, he had known all along that it was not truly over.
Would it ever be?
All he had wanted was to escape... to run away and leave his miserable life behind him and be free to start over. And he had. He had found love, acceptance, happiness... all the things that he had always thought had been denied him. He had found his world, his Alexia. He was going to be married that morning, for Merlin's sake!
He should have known that it had been all too easy.
Slowly, he picked up the locked trunk that lay buried beneath boxes and layers of dust. What lay inside was his past, the past that had finally caught up with him. But for the life of him, he did not want to confront it again.
But still his shaky hand reached for the lock. He couldn't run away any longer.
END CHAPTER ONE
Author's Note: Dedicated to Storm, cause she's so darn impatient!
* * *
For the fifth time that night, Severus Snape paced his bedroom. What he wouldn't give for a Sleeping Potion right now. He brushed back his slick hair from his forehead. He would sell his soul for just one sip. But he hadn't seen a single potion in three years. Three damn long years. One would think he would grow used to the lack of magic. But he hadn't... not quite.
He had been living among the Muggles for the entirety of the three years that had passed since he had left Hogwarts. It was winter once again, and snow was blowing softly against his window. It reminded him of his last minutes at Hogwarts. So many memories were held in that place. Memories of his years as a teacher, and even of himself as a student, sullen and brooding.
He passed a mirror and caught a glance at his frowning face. His long hair fell in sharp contrast to the white bedshirt he wore, and his arms crossed across his broad chest. A chuckle almost escaped his lips. Not much had changed, that much was apparent.
Pale light from the dimly lit moon cascaded through the window, softly illuminating the woman who lay across the bed. At the sight of her peaceful form, he smiled, something he had been doing more and more often.
It was a strange thing to be happy, to be accepted... to be loved. And admittedly, he loved her back. Why else would he, Severus Snape of all people, have asked her to wear the diamond ring that now adorned her left hand?
She was so beautiful... he still couldn't quite believe that she was his, that she had given herself willingly to him. Sometimes as she slept, he still had to touch her face to be sure she was not a mere hallucination, to be certain that the love they had just made had been as tangible as he thought it was.
He pushed away the memories of his past and turned instead to those of the present and future, those of Alexia. He crawled back beneath the covers, pressing a gentle kiss to the nape of her neck. The flowery scent of her auburn hair tickled his nose and he smiled into her skin.
She stirred, turning slightly to regard him. "Still can't sleep, love?" Her gentle hand came up to caress his jawline, playing with his hair.
He turned his head to kiss her palm. "I don't know why."
A knowing smile slid across her face. "It's tomorrow, Severus. You should be nervous."
"I'm not nervous, love, I'm not. I just... can't shake this feeling I have." He knew she didn't understand. How could she when he himself did not know why he felt so uneasy? Something was amiss somewhere, but what it was he didn't know.
"Well, whatever it is, you need your sleep."
He raised an eyebrow suggestively. "And what if I do not want to sleep?"
The smile on her face grew as she tangled her hand in his hair, pulling him in for a deep, warm kiss. "Then I suppose we could occupy ourselves in some other way."
"That would be..." he tugged at her lip with his teeth, "delightful." Within minutes, they fell into their passion, lost in each other's eyes and bodies, limbs entangled in a mess of sheets. They fell asleep still tangled in each other, waiting for the morning which would make them husband and wife for the rest of their days.
But first, they must make it through the night.
* * *
A few hours later, a sharp burning shot up Severus' left arm, focusing around the damned Mark. Snape let out a muffled cry, biting down hard on his lip against the pain. He rolled from the bed, landing hard on the wooden floor as he clutched at his arm, willing to do anything to get rid of the horrid burning.
A drop of blood blossomed on his lip from where he bit, tainting his tongue with the coppery taste. Once he was able to stand the pain, he opened his eyes and stared down in horror at his arm.
After Voldemort's death, the Dark Mark had faded until it was barely visible. It was still there, a constant reminder of his past sins, but it was no longer the deep black it had been. But now, as he looked at it, it had flourished to a livid raven-black, rising slightly from his skin and burning fiercely, as fresh as it had been the day he had been Branded.
The information refused to register in his brain. Voldemort was... "Dead," he whispered, as if the words would become reality. "He is dead. I saw him." Tom Riddle, what was left of the actual man, had died beside Albus three years ago. Hundreds had been witness to it.
But if Voldemort was dead... why was his arm burning? Only the Dark Lord could call him. None of his followers had the power or ability.
He shook his head frantically, violently. "No... no... He's dead..." Scrambling to his feet, he ran from the room after wrapping a robe around his slim form, dizzy with pain and confusion.
He could not be called... he had given up that life. Three years ago he had left the wizarding world forever. It was no longer a part of him.
And yet, it was always a part of him, always haunting him from the eyes of that horrid black skull. Alexia had always wondered about the Mark... he had told her that it was a tattoo, something stupid that he had done in younger days. In part, it was the truth. But she was a mere Muggle... he could not have told her the entire truth. She couldn't, wouldn't, understand.
He tore through the house, frantic from the pain, dashing up the stairs to the attic and climbing through the trapdoor to the musty space between ceiling and roof. There were hidden his secrets... the only reminders from his life as a wizard, the only proof that he had ever been Potions Professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
He had wanted to destroy it all, to burn every last part of that life. But something had prevented him from thrusting cloak, wand, and potions books into the inferno that blazed in the fireplace. Somehow, he had known all along that it was not truly over.
Would it ever be?
All he had wanted was to escape... to run away and leave his miserable life behind him and be free to start over. And he had. He had found love, acceptance, happiness... all the things that he had always thought had been denied him. He had found his world, his Alexia. He was going to be married that morning, for Merlin's sake!
He should have known that it had been all too easy.
Slowly, he picked up the locked trunk that lay buried beneath boxes and layers of dust. What lay inside was his past, the past that had finally caught up with him. But for the life of him, he did not want to confront it again.
But still his shaky hand reached for the lock. He couldn't run away any longer.
END CHAPTER ONE