Warning

This story is not suitable for readers under the age of sixteen. It contains sexual content, including some non-consensual, and may offend some readers. If this subject is offensive to you, please do not read this story.

Chapter 28 – The Letter

Many miles from Hogwarts, the last light of a glowing sun lit up the tops of the trees, bathing them in a golden light as they swayed in the wind. The lake, until a few minutes ago, touched by that same light, lay dark and restless. The wind played with the surface, picking up the top layer and whipping up small waves to dash against the rocky bank. Something large – a stag, maybe – turned from where it drank, hidden by thick bushes at the edge of the water, startled by a heavy fall of snow sliding from the branch of a tree as it reached over the water, and slipped silently back into the protection of the trees. The ray of sunlight rested, momentarily, on a drifting bank of snow at the top of the slope above an old stone house, then winked out as the sun finally slid beneath the horizon.

Inside the house, the dimming sky, reflecting off the snow-covered landscape, provided enough light to see a dark figure seated, unmoving, in a large chair. No candles were lit, and the empty grate could provide neither light nor warmth to the room or the man. He had watched the light of the sun through the window, falling on the wall opposite, and had followed its path across the floor and back up the wall at the other side, before disappearing and leaving the room in shadow. An owl flew overhead, dropped a carefully sealed scroll into the chimney, then disappeared over the trees, glad to be rid of the heavy load. The scroll slid easily down the chimney into the grate, and rolled to the floor, coming to rest touching the foot of Severus Snape.

He stared at it for many minutes before calling it to his hand. Even then, he held it for a long time before pulling at the ribbon around it, and breaking the seal. Without the crudity of words or wand, he flicked the candles into flame, and looked down at Hermione's elegant hand – a little less precise than usual, maybe. The address at the top was a muggle town, but not her home. She must have gone with her parents to her relative's place for Christmas. It was dated December 25th – she must have written it today, and arranged a special delivery to ensure he got it.

My Darling Severus, it began. He drew in his breath, and moved to re-seal it. He couldn't read this, but then... he couldn't put it aside, either. Having no other option, he opened it in front of him and read.

December 25

My Darling Severus,

I don't know what is going on right now, and it hurts me very much. Whatever the problem is, it was wrong of you to leave like that, without at least talking to me. I have no idea where you are, or what you are thinking, so all I can do is write this and hope that it brings you to your senses.

Something tells me that there is more to your behavior over the incident with the rose than just jealousy. I really do not believe that you think I would be seeing anyone else – or even want to. Whatever it is, I wish that you would tell me, so we can talk about it, rather than bottling it up inside. There is something that has caused a rift between us – in your mind, at least – but how can I fight against something that I can't see? The only thing I can think of is to tell you how I feel about you and hope that you can see the truth in it.

When I first started spending time in the dungeon with you, I saw a side to you that I had never known existed. All my life, I have felt apart from everyone else. I've always been different. I had magical abilities from being very young, even though no-one recognized them as magic. My parents have no magic in them, so they don't really understand me. At school – even Hogwarts – I've always been apart from my friends. I love Harry and Ron, but their interests are different from mine, and academically, I don't want to boast, but I know that I'm ahead of the rest of the year. I love learning, but it does make it difficult for me to find anyone to relate to. When we started spending time together, I gradually realized that I had found someone I could really talk to. Someone who understood me, and whose company I found myself wanting more and more of.

Then you raped me. It was painful and degrading, and very frightening. I've never been so frightened, and yet, physically, you aroused me and made me feel things I have never known before. I do not know why I don't hate you for what you did, but I don't – though I can't pretend it doesn't still scare me to think about it. You are a passionate man, but you keep your emotions very tightly under control. There are things in your past that we don't talk about and that I could never understand, and I know that I saw some of that, that night. If I thought that that was the real Severus Snape, I wouldn't have hesitated in going straight to Professor McGonagall, or Professor Dumbledore, but I really don't believe that. You are not that man any more, Severus – that night was the last vestige of what you used to be.

I wish your passion had surfaced in some other way – if that night had never happened, I am sure that we would still have realized our true feelings, and we would still have enjoyed these last three months together – but the past cannot be changed, and it is part of our history. I have forgiven you for this, and I carry it with me, as much a part of us as every other moment we have spent together.

What I would have difficulty in forgiving you for, though, would be if you continued with this lack of trust in me, after I have shown so much faith in you. I know you too well to believe that this is about my fidelity to you, but the fact that you didn't tell me – and that you left the way you did – still proves that you don't believe in me, and that hurts. After what I have just told you, surely you realize that nothing would alter the way I feel about you? Professor Dumbledore is right – I'm strong and know my own mind, and I know without question that we should be together.

Please, Severus – tell me where you are, so I can come to you. Being apart from you is killing me, wondering where you are, and what you are feeling.

I love you, Severus.

Hermione

Snape read the letter three times, scrutinizing every word for its full meaning. He knew her voice so well that with her words in front of him, he could hear her, and almost feel her next to him.

Every word that she had written made perfect sense to him, but for one sentence, which stood apart from the rest and rang through his mind over and over again.

'You are a passionate man, but you keep your emotions very tightly under control.'

No, Hermione, he whispered aloud to the empty room. That's just the point. I don't. I can't.

One thing that he had always prided himself on was his control. Without it, he could not have survived his time with the Death Eaters, or his double life between Voldemort and the other side. Fear, pain, anger and disgust had all had to be kept under a tight rein.

Hermione had changed all that. From the moment that he had first reached out to take her into his arms, he had lost that carefully nurtured control. His emotions had taken over from his senses, and they had ruled his life ever since. He had raped her – violated and terrified her. All the control that she accredited him with had gone completely by the wayside when he had felt her warm body in his arms, her lips responding to his, and when he had heard her moaning his name.

Since then, he had been able to reclaim only a little of that control. The night of the fight with Potter, he had managed to keep it in check at first. He had kept himself from smashing that young face, so like his father's, and had held himself back because of Hermione. But as soon as she had gone, his rage had been set loose. Dumbledore had witnessed it, and Hermione had seen the results. Why did that not set alarm bells ringing for her, when she saw the smashed bottles he had thrown? He knew that she had seen them, but she had said nothing. She was far too trusting of him for her own good. She would have been better to run.

But the last incident had terrified him more than anything else ever had. He closed his eyes and thought back to the scene. The two figures close, parting from a kiss. The gentle voice. Snape knew that it had meant nothing. Hermione would never be unfaithful to him, and although he had some small doubts until he heard her confirm it, in his soul he knew that there could be nothing going on. And yet, just for a moment, he had felt that rage again – worse than he could possibly have imagined. It had been burning and consuming – a blaze ripping through mind, body and soul – and he had wanted to lash out. He had wanted to smash everything within his reach, to drive his fists into the walls of the dungeon, to scream out in fury at her betrayal of him. For a terrible second, he had wanted to hurt them – both of them. He had envisioned himself lashing out at her – venting his rage. He had seen himself smashing the head of her supposed lover on the hard stone of the dungeon, and wanted to harm them, the way he had harmed so many during the darker days of his past.

He had even killed in his past. At that moment when his rage had been so intense, would he have been capable of it, he wondered?

The rage had passed him, and he had forced his mind to take control over his emotions, but it was the intensity of the reaction that had terrified him. What if, next time, he was unable to check his anger? What if he allowed himself to play out his momentary visions in the heat of passion, as he had done when he had taken Hermione by force?

If he allowed the relationship to continue, there would be many times when his love for her would drive him to anger. A wrong word that hurt him, or a misunderstanding like the last. What if he was unable to live up to her vision of a man in control? He was capable of great evil and malice – he had proved that in the past – and the only way to protect his beautiful, darling, Hermione, was to make sure that he never again put her in danger from himself. That was the reason they could never be together. He was not a man to be trusted around something so beautiful.

However much misplaced trust Hermione put in him, he could never have so much faith in himself. Knowing that he had harmed her would be worse than the hell he would live without her. He loved her with all his being, and had to protect her from the one man from whom she refused to protect herself.

He held the scroll in his outstretched palm, about to turn it to flame, but at the last second seemed to feel a hand reaching out to stop him.

"Don't I get a say in this?" Hermione's voice whispered into his mind.

He knew what her arguments would be – that even if he had considered harming her, the fact that he managed to control himself showed that he was no longer under the influence of the evil that had once consumed him. It was evidence that he did have the ability to control himself, even if the feelings of violence were still there.

"I love you, Severus." Again, the voice.

She would learn to live without him. It may be painful, at first, but she would get over it. Whether she believed it or not, leaving her would cause her less pain in the end.

"Our love is worth the risk!"

Why was she doing this to him, damn it? It was just another example of his lack of control. He knew what he should do, but his emotions would not leave him in peace!

Once again, he held out the scroll, knowing that it was the moment of decision.

If he wanted to ensure her safety from him, he had to convince her of his jealousy – make her hate him – to spare her as much pain as possible. Then he had to find a way to live without her – a way to fill the hole that she would leave in his being.

If he bowed to her wishes – gave in and indulged his own weakness, drew her to him and showed her his love – he would have to live with the consequences. He would have to force his fervent emotions into check, or risk destroying the angel he loved with such burning obsession.

Slowly, his fingers curled around the scroll, and he drew it to his lips. Opening it once again, he read the words, cherishing every sentence of the only love letter he had ever received. His gaze was drawn to the address at the top of the page, then fell on the gift that had lain, untouched, on the table since he had arrived there.

Maybe he still had time to give Hermione her Christmas Present on Christmas Day!