Disclaimer: I don't own Severus Snape or any other characters from the Harry Potter universe. They all belong to JK Rowling. I'm not making any money off this story, just weaving my own tale for one of her brilliant characters. The only person I own is Amelie.
Chapter Three
He could feel the painful squeeze as he was sucked into blackness, suffocating him and spitting him out in the middle of a snow-covered green.
Amelie was waiting patiently under a large tree, holding a brilliant blue light in the palm of her hands.
"Are you mad? Put that away, someone might see!" Snape called, rushing over to her and closing her palms for her. He saw her smirk. "Remind me why you wanted to come out here?" he asked as his body began to shiver.
"Because it's so beautiful right now," she whispered, and bounded out from under the tree and into the snow.
Snape watched her, mesmerized. Her hair streamed out behind her and her blue cloak was soon speckled with white flecks. She twirled around in circles, as if she had transformed from the mature young woman she was into a child; her robes fanned out like a gown as she danced in the wonderland the moonlight created for her.
He wanted to join her; God knows how he was aching to throw caution and pride to the wind and dance with her, but no. Snape remained in the shadow of the trees, watching from a distance as always.
"Come on, you goose!" she called to him.
"No, it's…it's ok. I'm fine here," he answered, shivering even more.
"It'll keep you warm!"
She had a point; anything besides standing still would create a little body heat. He groaned and stepped into the light, stalking ever so slowly towards her. She stretched her arms out towards him, her hands open and waiting for his to join them. Reluctantly, he placed his gloved hands in hers and she pulled him forward as she continued to dance.
"Dance!" she exclaimed when he didn't move.
"I don't dance," he muttered, drawing his scarf up over his lips. His nose was freezing; damn it for being as large as it was.
"You danced with her," she said bitterly, although she continued to twirl.
"What, did you follow us around like a little dog?" he spat, annoyed with this girl who seemed to have been at every meeting he and Lily ever had.
"I told you, that girl told me everything," she sang, lifting her gaze to the heavens. The long scar on her neck had once again revealed itself.
"Honestly, Amelie, what happened to your neck?" Snape asked. The wound looked rather new, like she had only received it a few months ago. But what – or who – in the world would do something like that?
She dropped her arms and stared at him blankly, although Snape was sure he saw a hint of shock move across her delicate features. Was it because he had finally used her name? He couldn't be sure.
"Why do you want to know?" she inquired, suspicious.
"It's only fair," he shrugged. "You seem to know so much about me and I so little about you, so…"
The woman traipsed through the snow to one of the benches along the walk, and with a wave of her hand, the snow cleared itself off and the wood was dry. She took a seat; Snape followed suit and sat next to her, curious as hell. She sighed, trying to find the right words, but there was silence for a few moments.
Snape watched her eagerly, the way her mind worked when she thought. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head, looking for a way to explain something that must have been quite a horrible ordeal. She looked so beautiful to him; her pale face seemed illuminated by the moonlight, and her freckles stood out in sharp contrast. There were tears forming near the edge of her eyes as she opened her mouth to speak.
"We had a fight near the end of school," she whispered, refusing to look him in the eye. "Lily shot a spell at me and it cut my neck. Madam Pomfrey couldn't understand it, but the scar wouldn't come off."
"What was the fight about?" Snape asked, intrigued.
Amelie shook her head and several snowflakes fell out of her hair. "No, I can't, you'll only think me a fool."
"I won't," he insisted, subtly moving a bit closer to her.
She looked up at him, a single tear streaking her perfect face, and sighed, "It was about you, Severus."
Snape was taken aback. "Me? Why in the world would you have a fight about me?"
She took a deep breath and replied, "Because I told her that I was hoping to get to know you better once school was over, and she got all huffy because she still cared about you."
His black eyes widened. "She…why…get to know me?" He stared at her, utterly shocked by this sudden rush of information.
"If it isn't already blatantly obvious, I was rather attracted to you during seventh year," she admitted.
Snow swirled around them and Snape had to tuck his hair behind his ear as he said, "You were?"
"Yes!" she sighed, exasperated. "And Lily said that I shouldn't even think about it, because you were turning sour and you were headed down a path I shouldn't follow. And I told her that I didn't give a damn, that she was just being selfish, and," she gulped, choking back more tears, "and she threw that spell at me."
Snape couldn't recall the last time he had ever been more confused by a woman, and was sure that this would be the last time it would ever happen. Lily had still cared about him, even after she had begun dating James? Then why did she marry him? Where was the sense in that? And what did she mean, "going down a path she shouldn't follow"? And why the bloody hell was this woman crying?
It was true. She was just sitting there, no longer able to keep the tears at bay. They were flowing down her cheeks and dripping off her chin into her lap. Snowflakes were sticking in the residue, but she made no move to wipe them from her face.
He cupped her small face in his hands and wiped a tear away, smiling kindheartedly. He felt pity for her, he felt compassion for her. And in that moment, he kissed her. He felt her instantly respond to his touch; her hand traveled up his arm and over his shoulder, her long fingers entwining themselves in his hair. He pulled her closer and felt her lips part. She seemed to want it even more than he did, and for a brief moment, he saw her thoughts; she clearly wanted him. Badly.
He broke the kiss, much to her disappointment. "Come on, it's getting cold," he whispered. "Let's…let's just go back."
She smiled faintly at him and took his hand. They walked in silence down the snow-covered path and crossed the street back onto Charing Cross. Snow continued to fall at an increased rate, and the bitter wind kicked it up and swirled it around them, but neither of them seemed to feel it. Their hands were entwined and they each had a blush on their cheeks, whether from the cold or from their emotions, they couldn't be sure.
There was a lone shop open on the corner, a regular Muggle newsagent run by a Muggle family. This, however, seemed to pique Amelie's interest, because she let go of Snape's hand and dashed inside only to return moments later with something wrapped in her hands. She handed it to him and smiled again.
"What…what is this for?" he asked, confused, as they continued to walk.
"Well I know it isn't Honeydukes, but," she blushed a deep crimson, "happy birthday, Severus."
Snape felt a foreign wave of happiness rush through him as he stared at her, blinking like an idiot. It was the first birthday present he had received in a long time…he couldn't even remember the last gift he got for his birthday had been, although it mustn't have been all that amazing.
"Amelie…I…" he stuttered. "Thank you." He looked back down at the chocolate bar, forcing back the smile that was creeping across his pale face.
The young witch blushed again as she continued to walk back to the Leaky Cauldron. Snape followed her, clutching the candy in his gloved hands. He wasn't sure if he should eat it or not. Should he just hold onto it forever, as a memory of her? No, that would be idiotic. A waste of a perfectly good chocolate bar.
Not that he really liked chocolate all that much, but a little bit here and there wouldn't hurt.
The grimy façade of the pub loomed in front of them, and Snape held the door open for Amelie as a rush of warm, welcoming air greeted them. Tom appeared from a door behind the bar, expecting a new customer, but when he realized it was just Snape and the girl, he returned to his private rooms.
He didn't know what to do at that point. Say goodnight? Talk some more? What was there to do? Snape felt very confused at this point, and he didn't like it one bit. He liked being in control of a situation, and confusion only aided in losing that control.
"Erm……yes…well…" He scratched behind his ear with his free hand and looked anywhere except into the amber eyes of the witch in front of him. "Goodnight, I guess."
He saw her eyes fall. He practically saw her heart sink within her chest. He began to climb the creaky wooden stairs, a comfortable bed waiting for him only yards away.
And a beautiful woman obviously yearning to share that comfortable bed standing not ten feet from him.
"Do…" he began, and watched her eyes light up. "Do you want to come up?"
Amelie practically leapt up the stairs. She hitched her robes and rushed up with him; the door threw itself open and the fire magicked to life.
"Amelie, I –"
She placed a slender finger on his lips and silenced him with a gentle "Shh."
His hands somehow managed to find their way to her face, again cupping it and pulling it close to his own. Their lips met; Snape felt a fire he rarely felt suddenly erupt below his navel, and was only too sure she had felt it as well. The kiss deepened as they pulled themselves closer to each other, all too aware of how desperately they yearned for the skin underneath each other's robes.
Their embrace reached fever pitch, and Amelie began to claw at Snape's robes in a frantic attempt to come in contact with the skin underneath. He found his own hands following suit; they deftly removed the blue robes she was wearing and felt her balmy, delicate skin underneath his palms. She continued to tear away at his own robes, throwing them carelessly to the corner of the room and collapsing into him, gracing his neck and shoulders with soft kisses that sent shivers through his body.
He caressed her arms, but stopped when he felt a rather crude tourniquet wrapped around her left forearm. He raised his eyebrows and began to ask, "What –"
She promptly stopped his words from coming out by planting another kiss on his lips. She pulled him toward her while she backed up, and gracefully fell onto the dark covers of the four-poster. He hesitated, glancing again at the wrapping on her forearm, before the hungry gleam in her eyes won him over, and he joined her as the hangings magicked themselves shut.
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A/N: Would Snape ever ignore such a sign as a bandage on the left forearm of a woman he just met? Never in a million years. Why, you might ask, did I write it this way? Because it has to do with one of the ways I think Snape might have become the mean, crusty, apathetic man that he is today. And because God gave men only enough blood to run their brain or there….well you get the point. :)