November 7, 1976 – Hogwarts; continued.
Severus sat at the edge of the bed, watching, unable to tear his gaze away from Cassiopeia's pallid form. She looked like death warmed over, her chest barely rising and falling as she took in breath, and even that was preferable to the convulsing, choking image she had made yesterday, eyes crazed with agony. Infinitely more preferable.
They had wanted to take him away for questioning. The Aurors had been called, a Dearborn and Vance – surprising, for Dumbledore seemed too possessive over the school's affairs to allow any such interference, though the event had been witnessed by fifteen people – but they looked to be friendly with the Headmaster. And Severus had been almost certain that if he'd allowed himself to be led up to the office, waiting his turn to be questioned, that the blame would somehow be placed on him.
He would not go.
Sprinting with Cassiopeia in his arms to the Hospital Wing, once she had taken breath again, he had shackled himself to her in a fit of pique – Slughorn, when he came to fetch him for interrogation, was unable to remove the cuffs.
Over the next few hours, the entrance to the Infirmary was a rotating door, and Severus kept watch, possessiveness welling up within him; he had failed to protect her once, he would not do so again.
Then Pettigrew had been brought in by the female Auror, and if Severus had still not been bound to the girl on the bed he would have jumped up and killed him with his bare hands, but the Gryffindor's eyes were glazed over, and he was muttering to himself, whimpering.
Madam Pomfrey had taken one look at him before declaring her suspicion. "This is obliviation, certainly, but performed in a very amateur manner," she said, then tapped Pettigrew's shoulder. "Do you know your name, boy?"
"P-Peter," he mumbled, and the matron gave a nod.
"Whoever did this didn't manage to completely disarrange his mind. I'll make arrangements to transport him to St. Mungo's before the day is over."
"Thank you," Auror Vance said with a smile, but Pomfrey's answering expression was not so pleasant.
"He is the one under most suspicion for the poisoning, is he not?"
"Yes, though we're unsure yet if he was acting of his own free will," Vance admitted.
"I will be glad to know, then. But if he was – " the matron's gaze turned to Severus, who did not attempt to conceal that he had been listening," – it is not the type of act that should go unpunished."
"No, of course not," Vance reassured. "And is that Mr. Snape? I was asked to talk with him also."
"It is," Pomfrey disclosed with a little reluctance. "But I would ask you to keep it brief; the girl needs to rest."
"Of course."
Vance walked over to him then, a small, irritating smile on her face. "Emmeline Vance," she introduced herself. "I'm with the Aurors."
He just refrained from rolling his eyes, but it was a close thing. "Snape."
"I hear you saved Miss Nazyalensky's life there," she said apropos of nothing, regarding him thoughtfully. "It's fortunate you happened to have a bezoar on hand."
She was a Gryffindor, he decided then. Or maybe a Hufflepuff. Nobody else could be so unsubtle.
"I'm apprenticing for a Potions Master. I have made it a habit to carry some ingredients with me."
"Ah, I understand. And you've known Miss Nazyalensky for a long time?"
His mental sigh was long-suffering. "More than seven years. We're friends."
"You'll be glad to know then that Miss Nazyalensky seems poised for a full recovery, as far as I've been told," Vance said, and her tone was surprisingly kind. "I hope we'll be able to find proof of who caused this, and bring appropriate punishment."
"And what would that be?"
She raised her brows, but answered him. "If this was a student, acting entirely on their own? Expulsion from Hogwarts, at the least, but I would assume house-arrest, or magical monitoring would also be included."
It wasn't enough – not nearly enough. And knowing their luck, Pettigrew would managed to slither his way out of even those measly consequences.
"Thank you, Auror Vance."
She bestowed him a kindly smile. "Of course, Mr. Snape. I wish your friend well, and you good luck with the Apprenticeship."
November 8, 1976 – Hogwarts
She came to slowly, as if unwilling to return to awareness. For a while, she was in that place between sleep and wakefulness, her whole body heavy and numb, the whole world blanketed in peace and quiet. She could not move; could summon neither the physical nor mental energy to do so, yet there was no expected panic, only a sort of passive acceptance.
And then a throb of pain speared her head, shattering the illusion. Every muscle in her body was heavy with exhaustion but ached fiercely, and her throat was raw, as though she had screamed herself hoarse. It hurt to even deeply breathe.
She attempted to open her eyes, but the momentary flicker of light pained her immensely, and it took several long moments until she could blearily take in her surroundings. She was in the Hospital Wing; it was late evening, at the earliest.
"I had to shove a bezoar down your throat."
Somehow, Severus' voice to the left of her head was expected, even if the tightness in it wasn't. She turned her gaze to him as best she could – he was staring at her, something intent in his expression.
"Thank you."
He snarled then, all sharp fury. "You could have died."
"I feel it," she murmured.
"Cassiopeia – " he snapped, then cut himself off as if unsure what to say next. "I am never letting you out of my sight again."
She raised her brow slightly. "You were right next to me."
"Clearly, that wasn't close enough," he responded, and she smirked. He flushed, barely visible in the semi-darkness, but leaned closer to her, threading his fingers with hers. It was then that she noticed the heavy shackles on her wrist, but he was so close – their heartbeats mixing together in the quiet – that her mouth refused to form the words.
"I was scared," he whispered, his breath flitting across her skin. "Terrified."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Not your fault," he responded urgently, and in that moment he pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. "Never," he spoke against her skin.
Her heart threatened to burst from her chest.
"I'm so fucking glad you're alive."
She turned, pressing her lips to his. They were not soft, but rather rough – as though he'd worried at them for hours, yet they were warm, moving against her own. He had not pulled away.
Every delicate feeling she had held within her heart, the sparkling shards of glass which threatened to cut her at the smallest move, seemed to come together – still fragile but now mended.
She wasn't sure which one of them pulled away first, but they remained there, millimetres away, breaths ragged and heavy.
He stared into her eyes, as if unable to comprehend the sight before him. She compelled him to see the affection and care she held, ever-present, sometimes bringing her more pain than comfort, but remaining alight.
"I don't deserve you," he murmured, his voice rumbling through his chest. "Beautiful, forgiving, kind."
"I chose you. Out of all the others, I chose you. Years ago, now."
"I was a fool not to see it then, Cassiopeia. I would be a greater fool not to seize it now."
She smiled then, lifting a hand to entangle her fingers through his hair. It hurt, every movement hurt, but she refused to shatter the moment between them – fearful of what would happen once it was gone, when reality returned once more.
"I'm glad you're taking the initiative, then."
She wasn't sure what to do next, what to say, but there was a light in Severus' eyes which she very much liked, and he leaned down, his hair threatening to fall between them were she not holding it back.
"Can I kiss you again?"
"Of course."
This time, the press of his lips to hers was insistent, demanding, and she returned it with the same fervour, feeling their skin turn warm, almost feverish, flushing with emotion. Though unpracticed, Severus' touch was sweeter to her than Cailean's could have ever been; perhaps it was because she'd been waiting for the moment for so long, imagining it in her head for hours.
Reality surpassed expectation, at least in this regard.
"This – " she was breathless, but the words needed to be spoken between them. "What is this?"
"...Whatever you want it to be, Cas."
He seemed serious. "You should – not conform to my desires only."
"I know what I want," she said, assertive. "But what do you want? I need to know."
"If I could have you for the rest of my life, I would. I've already wasted five years in denial."
"And if this doesn't work out?"
His next smile was reassuring, an unpracticed expression on him. "I've spent ages thinking this through. I can't guarantee no hurt feelings, but we will be friends. That is non-negotiable."
"That's what I'm most afraid of losing."
His dark eyes were heavy. "Do not be," he said. "If you're to believe only one thing I say let it be: it will never happen again. I ruined two lives with my stupidity, I refuse to do it again."
"You're strong in your conviction."
"The thoughts have been in my mind for years now," he responded, looking away.
After a moment, Cassiopeia spoke again. "The shackles, Severus?"
He flushed, but a smirk curled around his lips. "I'll admit I was reluctant to be dragged off by the Aurors when you were still unwell."
"And this was the best solution?"
He shrugged. "Slughorn tried to get them off but couldn't, though that's not saying much. I don't think they truly suspected me, or else I wouldn't be here."
The manacles melted off their hands, disappearing as quickly as they had appeared, and Severus rubbed his wrist. "I shouldn't be bothering you – you're supposed to be resting."
"It's not that bad." The pain had abated slightly as they'd talked.
"I'm sure," he muttered sarcastically. "I have some potions for you. Not the swill I brew for the infirmary."
She was seized by a wave of affection. "Thank you. For everything."
"I couldn't let my – " he began brusquely, then cut himself off.
"...Girlfriend?" she supplied softly, an inquisitive tilt to her head.
He gave a single, resolute nod. "Couldn't let my… girlfriend die, obviously. It's the least I could do."
November 9, 1976 – Hogwarts
When Cassiopeia awoke an indeterminable time later, there was light flooding through the tall windows of the Infirmary, and Severus was absent from her side. The indent of the covers, where he had sat until the Dreamless Sleep took effect, was still present, and she traced it absently as she read the note he had left on the bedside table.
Cassiopeia –
I'm sorry I had to leave, but I need to brew another dose of antidote before tomorrow. I'll be back to visit you as soon as I'm able.
– Severus
There was an indent before the 'S,' as though he had hesitated for a moment on what to write. She wondered if he would ever sign off his letters 'Love, Severus,' before deciding it was too… romantic for him. But would she ever write her own equivalent? It seemed like something she might do.
There was a noise outside the door, and she hastily brought the note underneath her covers. A moment later, the entrance opened, and a tiny Slytherin student appeared, meeting her gaze shyly across the room.
"Apprentice Nazyalensky?"
Cassiopeia gave her a bemused smile, recognising the girl as one she had taught in Minerva's class. "Yes?"
She took a few steps closer to the bed. "I wanted to make sure you were alright. The older students were talking about how a Gryffindor poisoned you."
"We're not yet sure who it was," she explained for the sake of whatever legality there might be, even if she was certain – beyond certain – that it was Pettigrew. Who else could it be?"
The girl shrugged, tucking her caramel hair behind her ear. "They're convinced it was a Gryff, and they're plotting their revenge. Reg was talking about it."
She wanted to groan, even if the thought that her housemates cared about her enough to exact vengeance filled her with warmth. This would complicate things only further – especially if the sixth and seventh years got involved. "Well, I am feeling better, certainly, and I'm hoping Madam Pomfrey will let me leave in a day or two."
"That's good," she replied. "The House will be glad to have you back."
With that, the girl turned around and left, leaving Cassiopeia to shake her head slightly at her retreating form, amused.
November 10, 1976 – Hogwarts
"You're back," Aurora spoke, a wide smile gracing her face. The dark-skinned girl embraced Cassiopeia, meeting Severus' gaze over her shoulder with an inquisitive furrow of her brow as she noticed their joined hands.
Severus rolled his eyes, and Aurora laughed with delight, moving to look Cassiopeia in the eyes. "Finally made a move, did you?"
"Severus did… somewhat."
"Took you both long enough," she pronounced, and it was somehow – unexpectedly – so incredibly freeing to be accepted. "Come, I can't keep you all to myself."
Aurora sat them both in the middle of the common room, the younger years especially gathering around them like royal subjects. Regulus emerged from the veritable crowd, his smile belying the spark of anger in his eyes.
"He'll pay for what he did," the younger boy whispered to them, before moving away. There was a stiffness in his stance.
Augustus came over to them next.
"Severus was sick with worry," he told Cassiopeia, his manner exuding weariness. "We all were."
"I hope no drastic action was taken to avenge me?"
"None that I know of," he shook his head, before gesturing to the seventh-years in the corner of the room. "I cannot speak for the others. They may have… informed… someone of the occurrence."
"I expected as much," she sighed, then embraced him lightly. Severus barely heard the words exchanged, save for a '... holding up well?' and '... talk later.' He expected some jealousy – Cassiopeia and he were dating now, no matter how strange the phrase sounded in his mouth – but none appeared. Augustus was too enamoured with Aurora to even consider the possibility.
The next half-hour was spent fielding questions about the poison, about his rescue, and about their newfound connection – the revelation of which was met mostly with the same reaction that Rory had exhibited. It seemed their House felt they had been 'dancing around each other' – in the words of Auberon – for ages.
The publicity of the knowledge caused him some amount of discomfort, but Cassiopeia seemed to revel in it, smiling brightly and bringing him closer whenever a comment was made regarding them.
It was why he was surprised, when they sat together in front of the dying fire, that she declared her true feelings. "That was… exhausting. The little ones especially – I don't think they understand the meaning of privacy."
Inside, he was overjoyed that she shared his sentiment. "Not at all. We indulged them this once, I think the next time someone asks how long we've been in love I'll be obligated to hex them."
"You have my blessing," she laughed lightly, before resting her head against his chest. "...These past few days... I think the emotion hasn't caught up to me yet. I still feel so... numb sometimes, when I should be angry. I am angry. I'm just also exhausted."
"I think you're allowed to feel that after a near-death experience."
She smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Let's hope it doesn't last long, then."