Thank you to all the friendly reviewers. So here's another chapter, and yes, Mark Darcy, they go to Claire's place now.
Chapter Six
It was April, the last week of term. It was a wonderful, warm and sunny day with a blue sky, daffodils in the parks moving in the soft breeze. Claire was on her way home after school. The traffic was heavy as usual, but today she didn't mind. She had the window down and enjoyed as much of the spring air as was possible in the middle of London. Her thoughts were on the holidays. She had not planned anything so far, she toyed with the idea of going to France for a week, or to Scotland, or perhaps she would just stay at home doing nothing. The traffic lights changed from red to green and back again and Claire was able to drive a few yards, hoping to get across next time. Absent-mindedly she watched the pedestrians cross the street and wait at the bus stop. Everybody seemed to wear their new summer clothes and be in a good mood today. Her eyes fell on a figure stumbling across the street, holding on to the traffic-light post on the other side for support and doubling over as if in pain. The figure looked out of place on such a day, being covered in some tattered black garment, hood up to hide the head completely. "Drunk and homeless," Claire thought. The figure made a few staggering steps, collided with a youth on a skateboard and both collapsed on the pavement. The hood fell down and Claire could see long black hair and a prominent nose. It took only a moment to give a name to that face.
"Severus!" she exclaimed in horror.
The youngster picked himself up, shouted something rude at the black bundle and kicked him for good measure. Then he was gone. People stopped and stared, but nobody tried to help. The traffic lights changed to green and Claire drove into the bus stop, got out of the car and crouched next to the fallen man. It was Severus indeed, but in a very bad condition. He was thinner than she remembered him, he was dirty and he smelled of unwashed body. Blood was trickling from his nose and he certainly was in pain, his body shaking with spasms.
"Help me," Claire said to a tall man standing by, "I have to get him into the car."
"You know him? What's the matter with him? Is he drunk or ill?"
"Ill," Claire answered, trying to assume an official looking attitude, "I'm his social worker. I'm going to take him to a doctor."
The man directed a disgusted look at the prone figure, but he bent down and helped Claire to lift Severus, who was struggling against their grips. Together they managed to bundle him into the passenger seat of her car. Claire saw a bus approach the stop, hastily thanked the man and steered the car back into the traffic.
"Why didn't you …" Severus clenched his teeth when a spasm overcame him. Claire handed him a box of tissues for his nose.
"Why didn't you leave me alone?"
"You didn't leave me alone in the alley that night, did you?" Claire answered, concentrating on changing lanes.
"Now, where shall I take you? Your flat or a hospital?"
"Flat - doesn't exist any more," he said, exhaling painfully, "the Aurors found it."
All his books gone, she thought.
"So where do you live?"
"I have been sleeping rough for two months."
That explained the filth and the stench. Another spasm.
"So it's going to be a hospital," Claire stated.
"No!" he grabbed her arm, nearly causing her to collide with the car on her right. "Just, - just let me get out and leave me."
"Certainly not," Claire answered firmly, "I'll take you to my house."
"I don't need your pity!" he hissed.
"Fine, you won't get any. But you do need help. So stop arguing and don't interfere with my driving. There's an awful lot of traffic and I don't want to crash into a car because of you."
He snorted.
"You don't know what you are doing," he said through clenched teeth as another spasm hit him, "you – have – no idea – of the danger you're getting yourself into."
"Oh, I've been driving in London for twenty years, I know it's dangerous," she said lightly, deliberately misunderstanding him.
He sighed and muttered something under his breath that sounded like a curse.
The rest of the drive was done in silence. At home Claire got out to open the garage. She silently praised the architect for the idea of building a door connecting the garage and the hall, so that she could get her passenger into the house without presenting him to nosy neighbours.
Severus denied her offer of help and limped painfully into the house. Claire directed him upstairs to one of the spare bedrooms, while trying to breathe through her mouth to avoid his stench.
"Have you got any suggestion what we can do about your pains," she asked him when they had reached the top of the stairs, Severus clutching the banisters, beads of sweat glistening on his face, trying to regain his breath after his struggling ascend.
"Hot water – a bath would be best," he gasped.
Hot water certainly was a good idea. She led him into the bathroom and started running the bath. She doubted that he would be able to get into it on his own and told him to get undressed so that she could help him. He stared at her in horror.
"Oh, come on, do you think I don't know what a naked man looks like? You can't take a bath fully dressed, can you?"
With a shrug of defeat, he started unfastening the black cloak. Undressing was very slow and very hard work for him. He flinched when Claire took his arm to help him into the bath, but then he lay back in the hot water, closed his eyes and an expression of relief came over his face.
"Now, please don't drown, " Claire said. "I'm going to make your bed and fetch you some clothes. Yours need washing."
He didn't answer, so Claire went about her tasks. She gathered his clothes and put them into the washing machine. She dragged a large cardboard box full of her late husband's wardrobe from the corner of the utility room, selected some basic items of clothing and carried them upstairs. Then she made the bed, picked up a bathrobe and went back to the bathroom. She knocked on the door and when there was no answer, opened it and went in. Severus was asleep. She had a closer look at his body: Muscular, but very thin and covered with scars and bruises. An ugly-looking tattoo on the inside of his left forearm. Suddenly she became aware of what she was doing and how embarrassed he would be if he knew. She closed the door with a bang and he woke, looking confused.
"You shouldn't fall asleep in the bath, there's a bed waiting for you."
Claire smiled. "Shall I help you with the washing?"
He opened his mouth and looked as if he wanted to give an angry retort, but then thought better of it and simply nodded. Claire reached for the shampoo, squeezed some into her palm and started massaging the black head.
Half an hour later he was in bed, completely exhausted, and so was Claire. Despite his leanness it had been hard work getting him out of the bath and into the pyjamas. The spasms were still there, but less violent and less frequent. She had given him a hot water bottle and he had drifted off almost immediately.
Later, before going to bed herself, Claire looked after him again and found him still peacefully asleep. Maybe the first good sleep he's been having in two months she thought and went to her own bedroom.
He wasn't awake when she had to leave for school the next morning. She put some coffee in a thermos flask and made some sandwiches and put everything on the bedside table together with a note telling him he should feel at home and when she would be back.
She went through her lessons rather absent-mindedly, too occupied with what her guest might be doing. On her way home she did some shopping and arrived at her house rather late.
Leaving the car in the drive, she opened the front door.
There he was, sitting at the bottom of the stairs, head in hands, fully dressed in her husband's jeans and sweatshirt, shivering and trembling.
"Severus!" Claire exclaimed.
She put down her basket and sat next to him on the step.
"What has happened?" For an answer he uttered a low moan and shook his head. She looked at him thoughtfully. Then she understood.
"You tried to go away. You – you obstinate, stupid -, you…" "Bastard? Git?" he looked at her, defeat written all over his face.
"Well, as you can see, I didn't get very far, in fact, I became dizzy and fell down the stairs. I think I sprained my ankle," he said bitterly, hiding his face in his hands again.
"Let me have a look. Right or left?"
He raised his right foot and Claire gingerly removed his boot. The ankle was swollen. She sighed.
"Let me take you into the living-room." She helped him stand and they did their painful procession down the hall. She seated him on the sofa, covered him with a blanket and went to get some ice for his ankle.
"Don't do anything stupid for the next half hour or so. I will be in the kitchen, cooking dinner."
They didn't talk much during the meal, but when the plates were cleared away, Claire sat down again, determined to get some information.
"I don't want to intrude on your privacy, but would you mind telling me how you got into such a state?"
"Cruciatus-curse," he said curtly.
"Hm, right. I'm a Muggle, you know, I need some further explanation."
"It creates pain, it makes you writhe and scream with pain. And the longer you are exposed to it, the worse is the aftermath: Trembling and spasms. You can even go insane, if it is held for very long."
Claire felt a shudder creep down her spine. "Who would want to do such a thing?"
He sighed, "Nobody in their right mind, I suppose. It is one of the Unforgivable Curses, you go to prison if you use it. But it is popular among Death Eaters, they torture their victims, and the Dark Lord uses it on a regular basis to punish his followers."
"What? His followers? " Claire stared at him in horror.
"Oh yes, if you want absolute obedience, creating fear and terror probably is a necessity."
"So he punished you? Why?"
"I couldn't fulfil a task he gave me in time. And he doesn't really trust me, he suspects me of being a traitor," Severus said calmly.
"Are you?" Claire asked.
He played with a stray pea on the table and shrugged, his eyes on the small green ball. Claire said nothing, she watched the movements of his fingers.
Suddenly he broke the silence, grabbed her hand and leaned closer to her.
"Do you understand now why I wanted to leave your house? The Dark Lord let me go away yesterday, but if his wrath increases I won't be so lucky next time he summons me. And if they find me here, it will be death for both of us. Death and – worse."
She met his gaze, then turned away and ran her free hand through her hair. This was the 21st century, the age of social security, computers, mobile phones and the internet – and here was someone telling her about torture curses and Dark Lords, sounding like the plot of a fantasy novel. It couldn't be reality, and yet – his pain had been real, there was no doubt about that.
He let go of her hand and sat back.
"You don't believe me." His face looked very pale and drawn.
"I wish we would never have met again. I wish I could go, I don't want to be a nuisance, I don't want to be a burden to you."
His voice sounded desperate.
"You are too weak to go," Claire said softly. She got up and went over to him.
"And as for meeting again – you certainly are a not an easy man to know, you do have a temper, you are ill, you need care – but I rather like you."
She grinned as he stared at her, obviously trying very hard to find something to retort.
His voice was barely a whisper: "You can't really mean that."
"What? That you need care or that I like you?"
"Nobody likes me. People tolerate me, because they need me, use me; students hate me, fear me, most of the Wizarding community despise me, there is nobody who likes me, do you hear me, nobody at all."
He had become very agitated, had risen from his chair and was now towering over her.
"I'm not a nice man, I totally lack good looks and social skills, I have a dreadful temper – and I've never made an effort hiding my dislike for other people's company. So the feeling' s mutual."
He still spoke in a whisper, but his voice was full of contempt and bitterness.
"What you feel is pity, because I'm injured and weak, incapable of looking after myself, typical female helper's syndrome, that's what it is, you certainly DO NOT LIKE ME."
He took a deep shuddering breath and had to clutch at the back of the chair for support. He glared at her and Claire held his gaze. Again she could sense the despair and loneliness behind his angry stare.
She blinked to get rid of the tears she felt coming and forced her vocal chords to work normally and make her voice sound matter-of-fact.
"It's late. Shall I indulge in my helper's syndrome then and assist you on your way upstairs?" It came out more sniding than she had intended, but she did not mind. Severus swallowed very hard, he looked at if he wanted to say something, but then just scowled and moved towards the door. She helped him upstairs, left him on the landing in reach of his bedroom door.
"You know where everything is, I presume. I bought you a toothbrush. It's on the bathroom shelf. Call me if you need more help," she added, knowing perfectly well he wouldn't. Without looking back she went downstairs and busied herself in the kitchen.
Severus went about his nighttime routine very slowly and painfully. After he had finally limped from the bathroom back to the bedroom, he sank down on his bed exhaustedly.
He buried his face in the pillow, cursing his weakness and cursing his behaviour towards Claire. Damn his temper and his pride, had he just insulted the only friend he had in the world? She was a Muggle, still widely ignorant of the problems of the Wizarding world and of his roles in its society. Could it be that somehow she only saw the man Severus Snape, not the ugly bullied schoolboy, not the strict and sarcastic teacher, not the Death Eater, not the spy, not Dumbledore's killer? Had she been sincere in saying that she liked him? Something deep inside him, something buried under layers and layers of self-control and anti-social nastiness desperately hoped for it to be true. And he had turned her away… But he couldn't let this happen, he couldn't allow himself to lose control over his emotions, he couldn't let anybody get close to him, let alone a Muggle. He didn't depend on anyone's affection, he hadn't done so all his life, no reason to start now, when circumstances had become more difficult than ever before. And after all her concern was most probably just the result of the blasted blood transfusion, without it she would never have developed sympathies for him.
He turned over and stared into the darkness. Slowly he started to rebuild the stonewall around his heart, forcing emotion and love far away from himself.
Thanks to JKR for the inspiring characters.