Galileo jumped off the bed, the sudden movement waking her from her blissfully dreamless sleep. Judging from the faint light and the instinctive pull in her blood, it was close to sunset.
She'd slept for roughly eighteen hours.
Stretching, Selene noticed the cup left out. Another dose of the replenishment potion lay out for her to consume. Soon, she'd need to feed. She could feel the hunger growing in her belly. The thirst for a sweet tang and a warm trickle of blood sliding into her mouth, along her tongue, down her throat.
She loathed this side of her. This whole uncontrollable urge to sink her teeth into flesh, to drink the blood, to sate this craving that came to her every few weeks.
What I wouldn't give for any other life…
Selene quaffed the drink in seconds, setting the cup back down on the table before pushing the heavy blankets off of her. The chill in the air finally touched her, and Selene realized the blankets had been charmed to keep the December cold from slipping through the walls and touching her.
It was yet another small kindness he'd done for her, silently, without her knowledge.
Somehow, she was getting the impression the man rarely ever did anything overtly.
The black dress clung to her, and she stared into a small, cracked mirror above a dresser. Her hair hung limp around her face, shrouding her, casting shadows on the roman nose and cheekbones on her face. Her hands slid down, smoothing her clothing, realizing with a grimace that she'd lost weight in those four days. Her face was even paler than usual, and her eyes darker, crossing over into black.
Well, the twins would never confuse you and Mama now. You were already too thin as it was…
Her eyes were still swollen, her cheeks tight from the tears from the night before. The memory came back, images of Dementors and interrogations and cold darkness. The warm shoulder she cried into as she tried to let go of the memory.
That was brilliant, Selene. Because, of course, the Slytherin Head of House has women bawling their eyes out in his arms on a regular basis. Gods above and below, why couldn't you just keep it in until he left? Haven't you made enough of a fool of yourself in front of him the last few days? No, you just had to act hysterically, guilt him into taking care of you, asking if you were alright.
Her eyes fell on her hairbrush, left on the dresser top, along with some of her toiletries. Her perfume, scented with a rare evening jasmine, sat in its blue crystal bottle, along with her lotion, and the dragonfly clip she used sometimes in her hair. Either someone had brought them for her, or…
…her cheeks took on a slight tint of color as the thought went through her mind.
Don't get excited. Pomfrey could just as easily packed a bag on his request. Besides, you're assuming that his attentions are potentially more than just that necessary to ensure you survive. Remember, Dumbledore told him to bring you here. That doesn't necessarily mean he's caring for you for any reason beyond decent humanity.
The hunger grew in her stomach, her body craving, reaching inside her for what she needed to quench the burn. Staring back into the dusty mirror, she flicked her tongue over her teeth, catching the fangs, hanging slightly lower than the rest of her teeth, feeling the sharpness of their edge.
The fangs represented everything about herself that she resented.
Her hand almost shook as she pushed up the sleeve on her left arm, the black cloth covering the usual mark. She'd learned at Durmstrang that one set of puncture wounds were easier to hide and explain away than several, and since then, she'd kept her feeding consistent. The marks were healed over, more than usual, and a lurch in her body reminded her yet again that it'd been far too long since she'd fed.
He'd seen the marks. He knew what she was.
And yet, he still held you while you cried…
Did I give him much of a choice? Not if I remember it correctly.
You're a moroii, Selene. It's not a sin to live. Your mother would kill for the chance you seem determined to throw away.
What life? I have to hide in a tower to stay safe, in a world that persecutes my kind and assumes the worst of them. It's a lovely, comfortable prison, but it's a prison, nonetheless.
It doesn't have to be.
The tears threatened to come again, and her legs began to shake, so Selene made her way slowly to the bed again, sinking down onto the comfortable mattress, feeling the warmth of the blankets bunched beside her. Her fingers traced the puncture wounds a few more times, blinking as a drop splashed beside them.
A second quickly followed.
Tears and hunger fought for control as she raised her forearm to her mouth, settling her mouth perfectly over the marks, a movement as casual as any instinctive motion. Flesh parted and tore beneath the fangs, and warm blood splashed up into her mouth, coating her lips as she began to drink from her own body.
How can I live, when it means living like this?
How do I manage to live like this?
Severus added another ingredient to the brew in the cauldron, lowered the flame beneath it, and let it sit. He'd left a dose of the blood replenishment potion upstairs with Selene, who was still sleeping. Thank the gods. I don't think I could handle another emotional surge like that any time soon.
If he thought about it objectively and logically, the empathic storm that she projected made sense. Vampiric empathy wasn't common, but it wasn't unheard of either, and in times of stress or heightened emotional situations, those who possessed it were known to lose control over it. It could easily have influenced his actions in that moment. And learning that she had been interrogated by Ministry officials and guarded by Dementors…
Hell, I went through it. And I'd gladly trade that experience for any physical torture devised by Man. And that was only a day before Dumbledore got them to release me. She had three. And if it hadn't been for what we'd done…she didn't deserve that memory.
His guilt still ate at him for those years of stupidity and regret. The mistakes of youth.
He wiped his forehead with his sleeve, sweat from the fire and the boiling potion filling the small workroom. The tiny ventilation window didn't offer enough cold air to counter the heat, and as usual, he had insisted on dressing in both shirt and coat. The chance of him actually not retaining his formal appearance, even if there wasn't someone asleep upstairs, was nil.
Some habits would likely never be broken.
After he'd finally woken, his neck cramped from falling asleep in the bedside chair, Severus had crept out of the room, sneaking upstairs to leave the necessary potion, and retreated back downstairs. The awkwardness of the moment when she finally faced him again was one he wanted to avoid as long as theoretically possible. Just because he could rationalize her sudden breakdown didn't mean he could as easily explain his reaction to it.
Why in hell DID I ask her if she wanted to talk, anyway?
The simple explanation didn't do the moment justice. He simply wanted to know what had caused the panic attack she'd gone through. It made sense. He'd always been a logical, inquisitive person. He wanted to know the 'why' behind things, behind people and their motives. If something took place that didn't make sense, he wanted to get inside it, understand it, learn about it. It had been his talent and his curse ever since he could remember.
His mother's books that he'd found when he was a child was a prime example of that.
The potion turned a satisfying shade of red, and Severus stirred it precisely, adding one last ingredient and setting it to simmer for an hour. It wasn't necessary for him to work on this potion now; in fact, it could have waited, since he'd already brewed enough to last three days. However, potionswork had always served as a means of letting his mind wrap around complicated thoughts and puzzles. Somehow, the combination of his hands working so intently relaxed him to the point where he was free to work through the tangled web of ideas, questions, and concerns, and come to the conclusions he so desperately sought. It had been that way since his first year at Hogwarts, and had led to his success in the field.
But today, it wasn't working.
Throwing the door open, Severus stepped into his small living room, swallowing breaths of colder air as the sweat on his brow chilled. Sinking onto his couch, stretching in a rather undignified posture, he groaned, rubbing his temples. Selene Sinistra was getting under his skin in a way that he couldn't explain, and didn't like one damned bit. Sure, he could rationalize his interest in her nightmare last night as wanting a logical reason for an adult, controlled, intelligent woman falling apart like that, but that explanation sounded weak even to him.
Weak or not, it was partly the truth.
The other part unnerved him.
He wanted to end the nightmare for her.
That explanation chilled him far more than the cold winter air that slipped through cracks and drafts into his home.
Think, man. You're intelligent. Put things together logically. She's attractive, she's in need, and she's under your care for a few days. That alone would probably account for your irrationality where she's concerned. Add that to those moments you both have been sharing all term, and it makes even more sense. Dinner, coffee, a dance in front of the whole bloody school, a bottle of wine. Face it, Severus. She's intelligent, she's insightful, she's intriguing, and she doesn't treat you as either an inferior or something to be disdained. For those reasons by themselves, you'd probably consider letting your guard down. Add all of this together… it makes sense for you to have reacted like that.
It wasn't the answer he wanted.
Bollocks. How do I handle this?
That question wasn't about to be resolved as quickly.
The sound of glass breaking above his head got his attention.
Swearing under his breath, Severus ripped open the hidden upstairs door, taking the steps two at a time.
"Selene!"
He found her in the hallway, half in, half out, of the bathroom, a glass jar broken beside her, pushing herself up by her palms to a sitting position. Blood pooled down her left arm, resting at the heel of her hand. A roll of gauze was gripped in her right hand. She was glaring through a curtain of tangled black hair.
"Damn dizzy spell…"
A flick of his wand cleaned up the shattered glass. "I warned you they'd come and go for the next couple of days. Come on, up you go." He reached his hand out to hers.
Her eyes widened, shrinking away rather than reaching back.
"You can't stay on the floor."
"I'll get up on my own."
"Let me help you."
"No!" Her voice was adamant, and her eyes full of pain and shame. As the sound hit her ears, she dropped her voice, the words shaky. "Please. I'll be fine. Give me just a second or two…"
Damn prideful stubborn arrogant witch!
He turned on his heel, planning to give her the space she so clearly desired. Except he couldn't step away. An angry kneazle blocked his path. Claws extended, it bared its fangs at him, making her intent known.
Bloody annoying nursemaid feline.
Severus turned back, looking at the woman on the floor, seeing the crimson dying her arm, two tiny trails snaking down the skin. Her body shook with exertion as she tried to push herself upright again. "Oh, to hell with this." Without warning, he took her right hand and left elbow, pulling her to her feet in one smooth motion, supporting her as she swayed from the head rush caused by the sudden movement. "There. Now that you're on your feet, let's get you back to your bed."
"Yours, you mean." Dry sarcasm coated her words.
"Semantics, Professor."
"Reality, Professor."
He steered her back into his bedroom, helping her to the bed. "As much as I usually enjoy them, I'm not getting into a duel of sarcasm with you right now. You're still sick. You need sleep, you need your potions, and you need more sleep. In that order."
Selene glared. "It wasn't as if I was trying out to play keeper for the Siena Sgarristas. I just needed a bandage..."
Severus jerked the gauze from her hands, storming out of the room for a moment, returning with a warm wet cloth, taking her arm and gently cleaning the blood that had dried to her skin. With clinical patience and exact motions, he wrapped the puncture wounds in the gauze, settling a minor healing charm over it as he finished, never once flinching or paling as he cared for the self-inflicted injury. "You could have just asked for one."
Selene swallowed. Hard. "I…I'm not used to having anyone to ask."
He kept his eyes down, not meeting hers. "My apologies. I'm not being very sympathetic."
The tiniest hint of a smile twisted the corners of her mouth. "It's alright. You've done so much for me already. You've more than earned the right to call me on the carpet."
"For your stubbornness?"
"I was going to choose 'independent free-spiritness', myself."
He arched an eyebrow. "Stubborn suits you better." Rising to his feet, he finally looked at her. "I'll be back with more of the blood replenishment potion for you in a minute. Can you manage to stay in one place and not try to kill yourself until I return?"
She shot him a look, the humor softening the annoyance. "Yes, Professor."
When he returned moments later, Galileo had curled at her feet and she'd pulled the covers back over herself, settling into the bedding. Selene took the cup appreciatively, feeling slightly light-headed at the loss of even that little blood, the hunger that had caused the blood loss sated for now. "I'm the one who should apologize. I haven't exactly been appreciative of everything you've done."
Severus was taken aback by the expressed gratitude. "It's not necessary. You were ill. I couldn't, in good conscience, leave you to someone else's inferior care."
"Well, it is necessary. I can't think of anyone outside my family who would have done as much for me as you have." Selene grew shy, quiet, drawing in on herself again. "It means a great deal to me. Thank you."
"You're welcome." He took the empty cup from her, his knuckles grazing the gauze on her left wrist accidentally. "Sorry."
She jerked her arm back, cradling it, shielding it from his view, as if keeping him from seeing it would somehow make him forget what he saw. What he'd touched. "It's alright."
"Does it hurt?"
Her eyes mysteriously welled with tears. "Not often. Not anymore, at least."
Severus caught the pain in her voice. "I'll leave you to your rest."
Her hand shot out to stop him, of its own volition, judging from the look of shock on her face as her fingers brushed his wrist. They stared at each other, neither doing much of anything.
Memories of darkness, pain, isolation, all came back to his mind.
Memories that weren't his.
What is it McGonagall's always telling you? 'It won't kill you to show a slight bit of decency and compassion now and then. Even if you have to fake it.'
She's usually saying that after I've docked some Gryffindor 20 points or more.
But still… it applies here.
I can't believe I'm actually doing this…
"Um… maybe after your nightmare last night… you'd rather not be alone."
I'm tired of being alone, to be perfectly honest…
Some things, Selene knew she'd never be able to say aloud.
Instead, she weakly smiled, trying to turn it into a joke. "Do you mind? Just until I fall asleep? I know it's silly…"
Severus silenced her with a shake of his head, before picking up the book he had left there from the last time he sat vigil and finding his seat in the familiar chair at her bedside. "Close your eyes and sleep. I'm not tired yet anyway."
She watched the book open, chuckling lightly. "Do I get a bedtime story too?"
Instead, she got a dark glare.
The potion was making her drowsy, and Selene closed her eyes, trying to shut her mind off from the cycle of thoughts and fears that seemed to consume her.
After an awkward minute, Severus cleared his throat. "'During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback…'"
As his voice recited Poe's words, telling a tale she had read a dozen times with her own eyes, Selene drifted to sleep.
Severus kept reading the tale until the last line was spoken, then quietly left the room, leaving a pair of candles burning, crawling into the uncomfortable guest bed he loathed, not even taking the time to kick off his shoes before falling into a deep sleep of his own.