The Sickness

Narcissa slowly eased into waking the next morning. Her senses were dulled. Without opening her eyes, she extended her arm to touch the cold, depressed pillow beside her. The touch seemed to drive a crack into the dam of repression and a flood of memories sufficated her morning buzz. She felt like crying. Her throat was tight. She fought to keep control. She didn't know if she was alone or not. The night before she could not believe. Snape had wanted her. He undressed her and kissed her with such lust it would make her feel filthy. She remembered the feeling of his large hand running over her chest. She lifted her opposite hand to her breast as to disperse the phantom. He had stopped, she thought. The conversation had gently drifted back into her conciousness.

"I can't do this..." he whispered. Severus averted his eyes from her bearness while handing her her strewn garments. Narcissa clutched the wrinkled fabric against her body to cover her shame. "I--I'm sorry, Cissy..." She only stared at him with tears and scorn. " You don't deserve this," he began. "It's just...It's just that...I've loved you. I've loved you since we walked the halls of this horrid school for our mediocre educations. I saw the oppurtunity and..."

"Don't call me by that name," she forced through gritted teeth.

"Cissy, please..."

"I said 'don't call me that name'!" she screeched.

"Narcissa, I-- please--" he began to plead. He attempted an embrace to calm her down.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" She raised her hand and flew it across his face. A loud cracking sound broke the air into silence; a fleeting silence. With down-casted eyes, Severus stood from his kneeling position beside the bed and slowly walked to his desk. She watched him. Before he could sit, she was over come by a violent fit of hot tears. She held nothing back.

That was all that she could remember. Her eyes shot open. She bolted upright. She was still in Snapes room; in his bed; topless. Snape was at his desk; his head down. Narcissa threw on her clothes as quietly as possible. Her feet lightly brushed against the cold stone floor as she quickened her pace for the fire place. She threw a pinch of floo powder into the red tongues. She tried to jump into the inviting green dancers of the hearth but Severus's cold hand held her back. Without words, she struggled against him but he turned her to face him. She couldn't look at him in the eye as he attempted to do.

"I'll do whatever it takes to help your son." His voice cracked as he knew this would be the last time he could ever speak civil words with this creature of white. He looked her over. Her streaming, blonde hair was contorted about her slender frame. Her eyes were red from crying. He could even smell the salt of those tears. She shook with what Snape could not fathom. The look of this broken woman broke his pathetic heart. He hated himself for what he had done to the woman he loved. Knowing it could never be the same, he let her go. He let her go into those flames; those flames that can never be doused; flames he had set alight around her. His eyes stung at the sight of her departure. He fell to his knees infront of the burning of her pain; her red hot flames. He hung his head between his palms. He rubbed his wet shame from his eyes for hours that morning. When he finally lifted his gleeming face to the dying fire, he raised his wand to the mocking embers. Water spewed from the tip, choking the taunts of the fire. Snape stood infront of the blackened fireplace with his shaking arm before him. He shot a descusted look at the soot. He hated it. He hated that black. He hated this man in black. Now there was nothing. Nothing remained in him but the hate of himself. He could never burn with anything other than hate; as well as the fire place. From that day, no fire graced his hearth.