Chapter Eight: A Broken Oath
Severus groaned long and low, trying to locate any part of him that didn't ache. The glaring pain in his head was the worst, though, and he carefully moved his eyes beneath the lids, hoping to avoid aggravating the headache to the point (not far away) which would cause him to be violently ill. What miniscule glimpses he caught of the world around him as he fluttered his eyes, then closed them again, gave him to know that he was still outside, most likely in the garden, with the sun very low in the sky, possibly even beginning to set, judging by the soft light.
Mab's heart, how long had he been unconscious? And where the bloody hell was Emily?
He uncurled his body to facilitate rising, but stopped cold. Bone scraped against bone and a nauseating pain shot through his body. Something was broken, his shoulder and a few ribs from the feel of things. Ah, yes. Something had crashed into his shoulder early on in that nightmare of a storm. Had it really been dislocated at that point? He had felt nothing, only the aggravation of being interrupted. It shouldn't surprise him. He knew all too well the fever that intense spell casting could cause, blocking out everything but the task at hand.
An unwelcome memory of that blasted Potter hanging onto his broom for dear life as it bucked in the air came rushing back. He had been completely absorbed with the task of deflecting the jinx at the time, and was furious that someone was in the vicinity whose dark power rivaled his own, for the counter curse he was chanting was not a spell of the light and would have shredded the opposing wizard had it been able to reach him. So involved had he been with his task that he hadn't even noticed when his robes had somehow caught fire. It was not until he had retired to his rooms to change the ruined clothes that he'd noticed the stinging pain in his leg. Carefully stripping away the cloth, he'd discovered a nasty, welting burn on his shin from the flames.
Cursing the memory, the father, and the boy in turn, as was his habit, he tried again to lift himself and succeeded. His wand, thankfully, had been pinned beneath him when he fell, thus it had not been blown away. Quickly, he repaired the most serious damage to his body, eyes searching all the while, through slightly hazy vision, for some sign of...
Ah.
Just there.
Something moved a few meters away, something feathery and red blowing in the light wind. Emily's hair. Struggling to his feet with a grimace and a foul oath, he made his way to the tiny, crumpled ball of robes.
She was bleeding from a nasty cut on her cheek, but was otherwise, thankfully, undamaged. He had just barely managed to throw a shielding charm in front of the screaming woman before the support beam had struck. Unfortunately, he was unable to cast a second spell for himself. Faster than he could react, the beam rebounded off of her ward, spun in the air like a muggle airplane propeller, and plowed into him.
He could only assume that she had finished her task after he'd been rendered insensible, then lost consciousness herself. He glanced at the ruin of the greenhouses, and the smoking, black crater which had once been the eastern rune, then smiled down at the pale, gaunt figure beside it. The woman was as strong as the girl had been - not physically of course. It would be a long while before she regained her former vigor, but her mind had lost none of its sharpness, nor her heart, its tenacious will which called forth such fierce magic.
Fondly, he brushed aside a lock of hair from her too-angular face.
"Emily," he called softly, not wanting to sully the moment with an enervating charm.
To his surprise, she responded to the sound of his voice, whispering his name, or her shortened version of it, into the earth. He placed his fingertips ever-so-gently on her cheek and spoke a quiet healing spell, closing the wicked gash on her face in an instant.
"Can you move?" he asked quietly, not wanting to make any jarring noise for the sake of his own aching head as well as whatever pain she might be feeling.
She gave a brief nod, then moaned lightly at the motion indicating that she was feeling just as unwell as he, his heart constricted at the sound. She deserved so much better than this, so much more than being an unwilling warrior in a battle that no longer had anything to do with her. Sixteen years in Azkaban. Sweet Merlin! She'd been free little more than a week and he'd nearly gotten her killed. Was this really the best he could offer her? He closed his eyes against the rapidly-swelling frustration, making a monumental effort to calm himself.
Of all the sounds he expected to hear, a soft, rasping laugh was the last. Nevertheless, it was distinct, the chuckle coming from the emaciated figure on the ground. He stared incredulously, unable to voice his disbelief at the sound. Then, her eyelids opened slowly and she trained her eyes on his.
"What in Merlin's name can you possibly find amusing about this?" he murmured, grimacing against the wildly-accelerating drumbeat in his head.
She squeezed her eyes closed again, suddenly taken over by her mirth, rolling on her side and stretching her hand to rest just on his knee - instinctively, it seemed, craving contact - as she continued to laugh.
"That was incredible," she managed to choke out when the merriment had subsided.
He merely shook his head. Never had he been able to fathom what amused that girl.
"That was damn near the death of both of us," he argued lightly.
"True," she returned, a bit more soberly. Unable to tamp down the emotion, though, her face split into a wide grin once again. "But, it wasn't." A brittle-looking hand reached up and touched his face. "You were amazing, Sev," she whispered, seemingly in awe.
For just a moment, he smirked at how closely the remark resembled something one would say after an intimate encounter, but the stray thought was quickly brushed aside by others. "I performed as necessary to fulfill my duty, Emily. Nothing more."
The comment had not been intended to sting, but he could tell that it had. One irritated sigh later, he tried again. "I was unable to protect you as I should have."
She struggled to a sitting position and then to her feet, eyes focused resolutely on some point in the distance. "No, Sev, really. You performed as necessary. No need to apologize."
She managed only a few steps toward the castle before his hand found the curve of her back, and to his amazement she halted at the light touch. Damn it, he was not a convivial man! Couldn't she understand how difficult this kind of communication was for him? He hadn't said a truly kind word to anyone in almost twenty years.
How to begin?
"I'm sorry, Emily," he said soberly, stepping as closely as he dared, but drawing his hand away from her body. "I didn't intend to hurt you."
She released a sigh into the wind and turned, searching his face for a moment before replying. "Who are you?"
His surprise was absolute. What kind of question was that?
Thankfully, before he could find a response, she elaborated. "Where did this..." she seemed to struggle for the right words... "cold, hard, shell come from? I hate it." A light touch of her hand on his chest gave him an inexplicable shiver. "I miss you, Severus." She opened her mouth to continue, but closed it again, dropping her head forward to rest on the spot held by her hand a moment before. "I never thought I'd ever feel this way with you."
"How is that?" he whispered.
She raised her face to his, and he was struck by the sudden severity of pain he saw there. "Completely alone," she managed before the tears came.
This was the part he hated. Anything but this! In the past two weeks he'd seen her cry twice and those were more tears than he'd witnessed from her in the lifetime they'd been together... before she joined the unholy ranks of Death Eaters. For him, those tears could not be quenched quickly enough.
"Emily, please don't," he murmured into her hair, stroking her head softly. "I didn't intend...." You have already indicated that, Severus Snape. He sighed, collected his thoughts, and began again. "I am ever your Severus. Much has changed, but not that. Never that." His hands fell away from her head and wrapped around her frail form. For a while, he held her, just as he had when she'd first recognized him.
"Emily, look at me," he said at last.
A muffled sniff came from somewhere below and she took a few deep, shuddering breaths, trying to calm herself. Finally, she stepped back a bit and raised her red, swollen eyes to his.
"The Headmaster asked me, nearly commanded me, to rescind my offer to take this assignment, afraid that our friendship would overshadow my sense of duty to the Order. However, Lupin was the only other member who offered. I was not about to trust him with the freedom the Ministry had given us to take your life at the slightest provocation." Her eyes widened at that, and he let the implicit warning sink in before he continued. "I doubt that he would have deliberately murdered you, but his hatred of you is such that he would not have protected you as I felt I could." He traced her face with the back of a long forefinger. "Imagine my frustration at not being strong enough to do what I promised you I could," he finished, the bitterness he felt bypassing his emotional filter and slipping out with the words. "I failed you, Emily, and that is unacceptable to me."
"You didn't fail me, Sev," she protested, seeming to understand at last. "We survived. I believe I pointed that out earlier." She took his hand in hers, casually interlacing their fingers as she began to stroll back to the castle, and he tried to seem less backward than he felt. "If I'd been as strong as I used to be, I would've toasted that rune before your ward even began to waver. So, really, you could blame me... if you truly feel the need to assign fault."
"That is not the case."
"It certainly seems to be," she said tiredly.
A few steps were taken in silence.
"My head hurts, Sev."
"I shall remedy that expediently."
She shot him a sidelong glance, and he pointedly ignored it, knowing that she was waiting for more emotional revelations of his most heartfelt feelings. She would not be getting them. He had told her more than enough already, and what he was about to do... He didn't even like to think about it. Better to just have done with it as quickly as possible and see to the consequences as they presented themselves.
At long last, they reached the dungeons where he administered a palliative potion to both of them, then ordered her to shower and change into something presentable.
"Are we going out?" she asked teasingly.
"After a fashion, yes," he replied without even a hint of mirth. "Do hurry, please."
Half an hour later, they stood outside the gates of the castle. He, still mentally reviewing his justification for doing this and she, wondering what was going on. The look of puzzlement on her features had grown more intense with each quiet order, but she seemed determined to prove her trust by not questioning him. When he commanded her to pull her hood up and keep it there, her resolve finally broke.
"Why?" she asked, crossing her arms stubbornly as he reached out and pulled the hood up for her. "Where are we going?"
He held out his hand silently and she just looked at it.
"Do you not trust me?" he asked sarcastically, producing a caustic look from her.
"About as much as you trust me," she answered angrily.
He smiled down at the sour face she'd turned up at him.
"How appropriate," he whispered, snatching her forward and wrapping her in his arms. They arrived at their intended destination before she could even issue a squeak of protest.
She pulled away as soon as his grip lessened, straightening her robes haughtily.
"Honestly!" she fumed. "Whisked away like some untrained child! I don't know what possesses you some...." her protest was cut off as her eyes adjusted to the gloom of Knockturn Alley. Instinctively, she gave her hood a tug, making certain that it covered her features completely, and he nodded approvingly, doing the same.
"Come."
She followed obediently, but he kept a grip on her robe's sleeve as a precautionary measure. "It's just here," he whispered, sliding into a dark doorway, and shoving her urgently through the entrance.
The shop was shadowy, but not gloomy, lit by a multitude of hovering, bejeweled, brilliantly-colored candles, the walls lined with narrow, familiar-looking boxes, and a host of silken, heavily-embroidered scarves graced almost every surface. Actually, to Severus, it had always looked like a gypsy tent. Real gypsies, of course, not those carnival side-show freaks that muggles liked to display. The owner was of gypsy ancestry, he was certain, though they'd never discussed it. But, then again, they'd never discussed much of anything.
"Well, well," came a sultry, slippery voice from the shadows, "if it isn't the good professor."
It was impossible to not notice the dangerous narrowing of Emily's eyes as a slinky, half-dressed, raven-haired beauty came slithering out from the direction of the voice and stopped only a breath away from Severus, placing a long-fingered hand with blood-red nails upon his chest with an unmistakable familiarity. He cringed, knowing that there was no way to lessen his friend's discomfort with the obvious role this woman played in his life.
"Oh, aren't we tense?" she purred, her hands immediately snaking up to massage his shoulders.
He disengaged them gently. "I am here on business, Isabelle."
"Not pleasure?" she pouted. "Are you sure? Perhaps we can discuss business later?" With that, her roving hands slipped beneath his cloak and below his waist. His sharp intake of breath betrayed the destination of that wandering hand.
"Isabelle!" he hissed sharply. "Not now."
She grinned evilly. "You can bring your friend." A shifty glance, the first she'd bothered to give, took in Emily's scowling form. "She doesn't look very inviting, though."
"My friend would likely cut your throat if you bared it," he warned, drawing a suspicious glare from Emily. Come on, Emily. Just play along. "This is Lady Emily Grey," he said pointedly, drawing her gaze away from him to gawk with new interest at the newcomer.
Severus smiled over the shopkeeper's head at his friend.
"She has need of a wand."
Author's note: Sorry if the review answers are a bit shorter than usual. I have a wicked tummy bug and have worked all day with a fever. I'll be more talkative next time, I promise.
Sesshomaru's Angel: I'm pleased that you're enjoying the story, and thank you for returning. I know I've mentioned this before, but I am going to R&R your story. Please forgive my slacking off lately. Soon, I promise.
Elessar Evenstar: I think that the idea of Severus in AA is hilarious in a very perverse kind of way. The pictures and quotes it brings to mind are just too much! I'm pleased that you enjoyed the chapter. It gave me a hell of a time, so the ease with which this one flowed was quite a relief! Hope you like it. Your essay sound like a real pisser. Sorry about that.
Kitty: Intense, huh? That has a nice ring to it. Thanks! It's a relief to know that my OC is not offensive to you. I do my very best to write about unique situations so that a character can develop. The concept of an OC who is revealed to be perfect, especially in the first chapter, is just perverse. There's really nowhere to go from there.
Silverthreads: Umm... Thanks?
Intel Ewok: Oohh.. brilliant? Really? Wow, thanks! That makes my tummy feel a bit better. Hope the resolution came quickly enough for you. Portugal sounds interesting. I'm very envious. I'm quite well traveled within the US, but have never been able to travel abroad. It's most distressing. Hope you had a wonderful time!
Captain Oblivious: I'll take that as a compliment, then, and hope that you continue to read. You have the right idea, by the way. Severus and Emily have never been intimate. They were only ever good friends... until he jilted her in their fifth year. Things kind of went to Hades after that. I'll explain more as the story progresses. There's a huge chunk of their history coming up in the next chapter, in fact.
Quietude: Hope I pulled you up from the cliff quickly enough. I love to leave people hanging, admittedly, but not for too long. That's just nasty. I've gotten quite a few comments on the fact that Severus knows Emily so well, and am relieved that it is so well accepted. I can see her black-hearted spite being endearing to very few... but every pot has its lid.