His home was a bed-sit in a run-down housing estate. A high-rise from the 1970s, lift out of order, dirty, graffiti-covered staircase, prams on the landings, cooking smells and worse. He unlocked his door and sat her down in an old threadbare armchair. Claire looked round. The flat was small, and there was hardly anything in it except books. Stacks of books were everywhere along the walls. Everything from old, valuable leather-bound volumes to paperbacks. And the rest: A mattress in the corner with a sleeping bag and a blanket, a chair and a small table at the window and the armchair she was sitting in next to an old-fashioned reading lamp. A naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling, a dark-brown worn carpet on the floor. Snape was rummaging in the hall, which also served as a small kitchen. Then he appeared in the doorway.
"Do you mind eating with your fingers? I haven't got much cutlery."
Claire laughed. "No, I don't mind. Can I use your bathroom?"
"Of course, it's there." He indicated a door to his right. "And – wait – your dress…"
He went to a cupboard next to the mattress and handed her a t-shirt.
"You can put this on if you want to. It's clean."
Claire smiled a thank you and went to the bathroom.
"There's a clean towel on the top shelf," he called through the door.
"Oh, thank you."
She looked at her face in the small mirror over the washbasin. Two bruises began to show where she had been hit. She washed her face and her hands, ran her fingers through her hair and changed into the black t-shirt, which came down to her knees. The dizziness had gone and a strange feeling of unreality overcame her. What was she doing here in this mysterious man's bathroom? Was she really going to spend the night with him? She shook her head and went outside.
He had laid the table: The pizza carton in the middle, a glass and a mug, a bottle of red wine and some paper napkins. He carried the armchair to the table and motioned to her to sit in it.
"I'm afraid the pizza's cold. I can't re-heat it, the oven's out of order."
He poured the wine into the glass and the mug and sat down. Claire took a slice of pizza. It was cold, and she wasn't really hungry, besides, her lip hurt where she had been hit.
He raised the mug and toasted her. "To your rescue," he said ironically.
"To my rescuer," she answered, "the knight in shining armour."
He snorted. "I would be totally miscast in that role. However, a woman your age should have more sense, Mrs Saunders."
She nodded and shrugged. "After all that's happened, call me Claire. By the way, was that magic you used against these men?"
He looked at her thoughtfully. "I'm Severus. And, no, it wasn't magic, I told you I can't use it. It was a little display of martial arts."
They ate in silence. The wine was good, it soothed her over-wrought nerves. She felt oddly at peace now. There was nothing embarrassing in their lack of conversation; there was comfort in his silent presence. She let her head sink to the back of the chair.
"Are you tired?" he asked softly. She woke with a start, she hadn't realized that her eyelids had dropped.
"You can have the mattress."
She wanted to protest, but he raised his hand.
"It's OK, you are exhausted, lie down."
Gratefully she did so, covering herself with the blanket and fell asleep at once.
She was back in the foggy alley, black figures closing in on her, they were wearing hooded cloaks and masks covering their faces. They reached out at her with skeletal fingers, grabbing her clothes, her face, getting ever closer, suffocating her, taking away her breath, she wanted to scream…
Strong arms pulled her away, a calm voice repeated, "it's alright, you are safe", over and over again, until she finally emerged from the dream and found herself sitting on the mattress held by the arms of Severus Snape. The reading lamp was on and a book was open face down on the armchair.
"Sorry," she whispered, "bad dream."
"Obviously. Were you back in the alley?"
"Yes, but there were lots of black men, hooded and masked…"
He looked at her with narrowed eyes. "Hooded and masked, hm."
After a pause he shrugged.
"Well, dreams can run havoc. Do you want to go back to sleep?"
Claire shook her head. No, she shuddered; she didn't want to see those pictures again. He ran a hand over his face, obviously trying to think of something to do with her. His eyes fell on the book.
"Would you like to read?"
Claire couldn't help laughing. He looked offended and turned to get up.
"Severus, wait, I didn't want to be rude, reading is a good idea."
He made a sweeping gesture around the room.
"You're welcome."
Claire took the topmost book from the stack nearest to her. "Potions for every ailment." she read. She took the next one. "The correct use of love potions." She frowned and looked up. Snape had settled in the armchair and gone back to his book. She picked up the next volume, a very heavy one. "Potions through the ages." Curiously she turned the pages, reading some passages about the disastrous effects of the lack of cauldron hygiene in the Middle Ages.
"I used to teach potions."
She jumped when he suddenly spoke.
"You used to teach? Where?"
"At Hogwarts, the school for wizards."
"Why did you give it up?"
"I had to. I killed the headmaster."
Claire laughed, "Oh, yes, that's what we all would like to…. do from time to time," she had wanted to say, but stopped in the middle of the sentence. He had got up and was standing in front of the window now, his back to her, and she realized that he'd really meant it. He had said that he was wanted for murder at their first meeting, so that was it. Killed the headmaster.
"Oh," she said in a small voice, staring at his rigid back and at his clenched fists. "Why?"
The question escaped her without thinking.
He spun round, glaring at her, obviously angry with himself for having revealed so much. "That's none of your business. I'm not going to tell you the story of my life, it doesn't concern you at all," he shouted.
"I'm sorry," she said, looking away from his livid face, back to the book in her lap. She kept on reading without taking in any of the words. Finally he sighed and sat down again in the armchair.
"I apologize," he said hoarsely.
Claire looked up and smiled. Their eyes met and her mind was drawn to his. A feeling of utter despair and loneliness overcame her. He jerked his head away, panting like after a long run. Claire felt her cheeks become hot and she bent over her book again. She tried to concentrate on the text whilelistening to his breathing going back to normal, casting furtive glances at him, looking away as soon as she felt his eyes upon her. They did not speak to each other any more that night.
Claire awoke with a splitting headache to the smell of coffee permeating the room. She was lying on the mattress, covered with the blanket. She couldn't remember having fallen asleep. She stretched and got up. He was in the kitchen, making toast.
"Good morning," he said, when she appeared in the doorway, "breakfast is nearly ready."
She yawned, he appeared calm and polite, had he forgotten the events of last night or had she just imagined them? She went into the bathroom. The mirror showed her a pale face with two bruises now clearly visible and a swollen lip. She grimaced and had a shower, first hot, then cold, hoping she would feel and look better afterwards.
When she had finished, breakfast was ready. "How do you like your coffee?" he asked. "Black and no sugar."
"Good, because we have to share a mug. Do you mind?"
She shook her head and they sat down once again at the small table, facing each other over toast and the shared mug of coffee.
"You don't have many guests," Claire remarked, reaching for the coffee mug.
"None," he replied. "I'm hiding from the Aurors. And I don't like company."
He stared at her defiantly, blocking any further comments with his hard eyes. She blushed and fell silent.
"These bruises are not very becoming", he finally said. He got up, fetched a small glass jar from the bathroom and applied a sweet-smelling cream to her cheek and her lip. Claire felt an odd sensation in the depth of her stomach when his cool finger gently stroked her face. The pain lessened almost at once. She swallowed and tried to control her breathing.
"I'll walk you to your car later, we're not going to take any risks. This area is not very nice even in daylight."
Claire finished her toast, changed back into her torn dress and her coat and declared herself ready to go. He put on an ancient-looking waxed jacket and they walked to the car park in silence. Claire cleared her throat.
"I guess we stay out of each other's lives again," she finally said when they had almost reached her car.
"Yes, we do," he answered, his voice cold, stopping to face her. "We have to. And continue using Occlumency. It works, you're really very good at it."
Claire gave a wry smile. "Don't worry, I'll do my best. Thank you for everything."
She extended a cold hand and he held it for a moment in his, which was equally cold. Then he turned and left without looking back once.
Claire sighed and unlocked the car.
"Now what do you think you're doing?" she asked herself. "You're a sensible 36 year old widowed teacher. You don't fall in love with a mysterious, dark, brooding stranger like a 16 year old girl from a Victorian novel."
She started the engine and put her foot on the accelerator rather too violently.
Severus Snape returned to his flat. He cleared the table and washed the dishes. Then he collected the towel and the t-shirt Claire had used. He held the t-shirt in his hands, looked at it, then brought it up to his face, trying to find her scent. For several minutes he stood like this, lost in thought. Then he shook himself and tossed the t-shirt into the carrier bag containing his dirty laundry.
"Sentimental fool. What do you think you're doing?" he said angrily, picked up the bag and left the flat for a launderette.
Thanks to JKR for the inspiring characters.