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Chapter 5
I'm forced into inaction and that is not good. Plenty of free time means I also have plenty of time to think. I don't want that. It hasn't been a week yet since I've been made to take a vacation and I feel as though I'm going crazy. Long days and even longer nights. The nights are the worst. After two nights staring at the ceiling I decided to let Padfoot run loose in the Forbidden Forrest. I got back to my rooms at the crack of dawn and slept until noon.
Harry knows I hate having nothing to do. He comes and visits me every day. Now that Ron and Hermione are officially a couple he often feels like a third wheel. Visiting me serves the dual purpose of cheering me up and giving them some privacy. He will not tell me anything about his romantic involvements and I'm not one to pry, afraid that he may do the same. I think that he doesn't really have anything to share. We only talk about inoffensive subjects, his day, Quidditch and I rake my memory and occasionally find a story about his parents that he hasn't heard. The seventeen year old saviour of the wizarding world doesn't tire of them, he drinks them up, his eyes burning behind his glasses.
This afternoon I'm in a melancholy mood. I told him that I didn't want to depress him but he didn't leave. Raking my memory has not produced any story about the glorious Marauders or the Lily and James romance. I find myself turning my attention more and more to the few snippets of memory I have of someone else. A pale boy who I'd thought had looked young for his age but had in fact started school two years ahead of everybody else. A boy that I'd disliked at first sight just as Remus had warmed up to him and tried to take him under his wing. But the little boy had been prickly and quick to hex and getting sorted into Slytherin hadn't helped matters any. And I hadn't helped matters any. Slytherin and pureblood, son of one of the greatest Potion makers in Europe who'd also been a Grindelwald sympathiser but had gotten away with a slap on the wrist. The wizarding world had overlooked the foolishness of Morten Snape's youth lest his Potions making genius be wasted in Azkaban. Like father, like son, like all the other purebloods, like all the other Slytherins it had been in my black and white Gryffindor mind.
Remus had tried to look at the boy and I had stayed at the name. In the end, we'd both hurt little Severus Snape. Remus with his kindness that he couldn't follow through, with his secrets that he couldn't share, with his love for me that hadn't let him belong entirely to the boy even for one second. My sins against Severus Snape had been far less subtle.
Harry studied Sirius' expression. In an odd way it was similar to the expression Snape had been wearing in Potions last Friday When he'd been so lost in his thoughts he hadn't even heard the bell ring or seen the little notes that had been travelling across half the class the go from Parvati Patil to Dean Thomas and vice versa.
The similarities between his godfather and his least favourite teacher struck him again. Tall and dark, though handsome strictly applied only to Sirius, brave and loyal, children of the same generation that had been raised during the horror that Voldemort had been. Yet they'd spent the better part of their lives hating each other.
"Are you thinking about Remus?"
Sirius kept his eyes on the weak setting sun. "Yes," he said softly, admitting half the truth.
Neither spoke for a little while.
"Snape was very distracted the other day in class."
Sirius pretended not to notice the non sequitur and what its hidden meaning might be.
"I think you know the reason he's been distracted," Sirius said neutrally, inwardly wincing at where he was leading the conversation.
Harry did not go there. He couldn't begin to understand what had happened between the three men, or rather, he had an idea but didn't want to think about it much.
Hoping that Ron and Hermione had snogged enough to get it out of their system and would spare him the display he gave his godfather a brief hug before leaving him. He gave one last look to the man who had closed his eyes bathed in the warm golden light of the sunset that was hitting his rooms up on Gryffindor Tower.
I was relieved when Harry left but also vaguely saddened. I would have liked to be able to discuss what is happening. Dumbledore knows more or less but I feel as though he's cast me as the villain in this. Perhaps I'm unfair. Perhaps I expect too much. I do know that I'm lonely.
The old dream came to me again that night. A Dementor, up close, slowly raising his hood. And when he did and leaned for a kiss it wasn't a Dementor at all. It was Severus and he would suck my soul out, or rather, he already had.
They're almost extinct now, these hideous creatures that had automatically joined Voldemort. They're out in the wild, soul-sucking at will. I amuse myself with the thought that I may encounter one in my nocturnal wanderings in the Forbidden Forrest and suffer the fate I'd been spared in Azkaban.
At breakfast I avoided Snape as he'd told me but I could feel his eyes on me. I couldn't eat. There were other eyes on me too. I could practically hear McGonagall thinking: The poor boy is grieving. She's always had a soft spot for me.
I controlled my urge to leave the table before everyone was finished. I was heading for the Tower, to my hours of forced idleness when Snape caught up with me.
"Black, a word if I may."
The same voice that had whispered my name as he lay on top of me, the same man who used to chase the bad dreams away instead of starring in them. I turned to face him.
"I wasn't looking at you," I murmured.
"What the hell have you told that meddlesome godson of yours?"
I raised my head to meet his eyes, the force of my nightmare making me take a step back.
"Harry? What makes you think I've told Harry anything?"
He grabbed my arm. I jerked away from his touch.
"Don't make a scene!" he hissed.
"Don't touch me!" I hissed back. There was confusion in the dark eyes. And perhaps… had that been hurt? Maybe I was fooling myself but I think he hadn't been expecting that from the lovesick puppy.
He crossed his arms in front of his chest. He looked around as students scattered about all going back to minding their own business.
"Potter has been watching me like a hawk all week. He's been acting as though he's concerned for me," he said with disgust.
"How dare he!"
"It's not funny! What did you tell him?"
"I didn't have to tell him anything. The boy's not blind! He'd seen you with Remus."
He blanched. He looked paler than any vampire I've ever seen.
"What do you mean?" he whispered, "what did Ha… what did Potter see?"
So fiercely private. So terrified of anyone finding out he's human. He was bracing himself, shoulders stooped and, my dream forgotten, I had a hard time resisting the urge to draw him in my arms. Out in public he'd hex me for sure. He wouldn't even need his wand to do it as I know from bitter childhood experience.
The tenderness I couldn't show crept in my voice. "You stayed with Remus more than you normally would one afternoon and Harry came to visit after class. He found us both with Remus. The way you were with him would leave no doubt…"
He cut me off with a curt gesture. "Didn't he ask for an explanation?" Snape addressed the tiled floor, his voice hardly more than a whisper.
"No. All he told me yesterday was that you seem distracted in class," I said neutrally.
Severus sighed. "Tell him to stop looking at me."
"Because you're just fine?"
"Because it's none of his business, how I am. It's none of your business either." He kept his voice low but he was trembling with anger. We had attracted a fair number of curious gazes again.
"I gave a promise to Remus…"
"Don't! Don't even say his name!"
"Severus, now you are making a scene…"
His eyes were feverish behind the curtain of lank black hair. He drew in a sharp breath.
"I just want to be left alone, Black. I don't want your concern, or Potter's! The war is over. Remus is dead and I'm not forced to tolerate your presence anymore," he spat.
I somehow managed to reign in my anger. I focussed on his eyes that belied the harsh words he had literally spat at me. Unless it was my undying optimism that made me see vulnerability in them.
I shook my head ruefully. "You're a pathetic excuse for a human being, Snape." And, Merlin help me, I love you so. "Rewrite what happened in your mind if you must but I know just how well you tolerated my presence." I pushed him aside and left in long purposeful strides. I kept my cool until I reached my room. Once inside, I rested my back against the door and slowly sank to the floor. There was not enough air. A knife was ripping me open. How did I let this happen to me?
Banging my head against the door did not give me an answer nor did it bring me back to my senses. I simply got a headache to match my heartache.
