The Subtle Nature of Sin

Chapter 3: We Have A Problem

"Do not mistake consequence for fate."
-Kirstin Brown

Severus was sitting on a bench across the road, under a blown streetlamp, when she emerged from the back door of the club. Instead of going to meet her, he stayed where he was and watched her for a moment. She had a well-worn, gray gym bag slung over her left shoulder, and her previously untamed locks were now pulled back into a loose ponytail. She wore a black track suit and a pair of white trainers that had both seen better days. Even from across the street, he could still see the faint shimmer of glitter on her eyelids and cheekbones. Absently, he brushed at the front of his shirt, where some of the shining accessory still lingered from earlier.

He saw her look around, slowly scanning the street. Finally, her eyes locked on the dark patch of sidewalk where he sat. He thought he saw a look of relief cross her face for a moment. It passed too quickly for him to be certain. Instead, she looked troubled as she walked towards him.

"Still lurking in the dark, I see," she said irritably as she stepped lightly onto the curb.

"Still blatantly stating the obvious, I see," he shot back as he flicked his cigarette into the gutter.

She glared at him, but kept her mouth shut. This was going to be hard enough as it was. "So," she began, "your place or mine?"

He crossed his arms and looked up at her from beneath his raised brow. "I beg your pardon?"

Heaving a weary sigh, she crossed her arms, mirroring him. "I said, 'your place or mine?' Meaning, are we going to your flat to discuss this…" she waved a hand vaguely through the air, "whatever it is… or to mine?"

He chuckled darkly at her ire.

She watched him impatiently, tapping her foot as he contemplated for a moment. "As you wish," he said finally.

In a swirl of black trench coat, he stood gracefully and motioned for her to lead the way. She rolled her eyes as she turned and started walking quickly up the poorly lit street. Severus followed behind, stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. A scowl crept onto his face - this was definitely on his list of Things I Never Want To Do. He had avoided it – and her - for fifteen long years. He had known that eventually the past would catch up with him – with them.

As they walked, Severus thought back over the last several months – almost an entire year, actually – and the events that had lead up to this evening. Things were now starting to fall into place. He had been content at his small –if somewhat shabby – home in Spinner's End. A contract with a Muggle pharmaceuticals company kept him well-financed, and there were really no neighbors to speak of, so he was left in relative peace and quiet. Then one day, he suddenly started having this nagging feeling that he needed a fresh start, a new place to call home. He brushed it aside as a midlife crisis – he was almost 53 years old – and pushed it to the back of his mind. It stayed there, forgotten, for about a week.

Then, one day he was walking down the hallway on the second floor and suddenly found himself six inches shorter - his foot had fallen through a weak spot in the floorboards. He had cursed the derelict house as he carefully pulled his booted foot from the gaping hole. He would patch it up later. He then went downstairs to make a pot of tea, but strangely enough, the range had stopped working. He had choked it up to old age – the damn thing was a relic from the seventies, after all – and had settled for a glass of wine instead.

That would have been the last of it, except later that night he had turned on the shower, and had nearly been covered in foul-smelling, mud-colored water. He nearly broke his neck as he leapt away from the stinking stream.

So, unable to cook or bathe, he had called a contractor, who came by at the break of dawn the next morning and conducted a thorough inspection of the house. Four hours and one throbbing migraine later, Severus was sitting in his living room with a huge tumbler of whiskey, holding a contractors inspection bill, plus the estimates for all the repairs his home needed. He couldn't bear to look at the huge figure again – all the zeros made his head throb even harder. Tossing back the rest of his drink, he threw the estimates into the fireplace and snatched his jacket from the back of the couch. Fuck it - he had never liked this neighborhood anyway.

He was brought back to the here and now when he caught a whiff of Hermione's perfume – lavender, with a hint of vanilla - as the early fall breeze blew gently against his face. Her long ponytail bobbed in the evening gloom as she walked. Despite the circumstances, Severus could not help but watch her bottom appreciatively as it swayed beneath the cotton of her black track suit. He may have been on the darker side of fifty, but he was not dead. Not yet. Still… the night was young. If the current situation is any indicator of things to come, he thought snidely, perhaps I should compose an epitaph.

They continued to walk in silence, the only sound that of their shoes scraping the sidewalk. About a block from the club, Hermione abruptly stepped off the curb and crossed back to the other side of the street. She walked quickly into a nearly vacant lot that took up the entire corner of the street. It was surrounded by a decrepit chain-link fence which sagged in more places than not. Weeds grew up through the bottom, as well as through cracks in the potholed asphalt.

Severus looked around with disdain. His lip curled in disgust as he watched an emaciated dog rummage through a pile of trash at the corner of the lot. Police sirens whirred in the distance as he heard Hermione's voice. "Professor," she called expectantly.

Giving the dog one last disgusted glare, he turned his attention back to his current problem. She was standing next to a battered looking, non-descript, tan sedan. Severus raised his eyebrows at her. She just glared at him as she propped her elbow on top of the open driver's side door. "Unless you want to walk the fifteen miles to my flat, I suggest you get in." With that, she got in the car and slammed the door. The engine sprang to life with a squeal, and a small puff of smoke shot from the tailpipe.

When she put the car in reverse, he decided he should probably get in. What he couldn't decide on, as he opened the passenger side door and sat down, was whether or not he should tell her he lived only two blocks away.

In the end, Severus finally conceded to telling her that he lived just down the street. Mostly, it was to save himself the torture of her company for an extra fourteen and a half miles. Not to mention the fact that he would either have to ask her to take him home later that night, or walk. Neither option sat well with him.

So it was that they were now standing at the door to his flat. Hermione leaned against the wall, looking fairly uncomfortable as he pushed the key into the lock and opened the door. With a mock bow and a sweep of his arm, he gestured for her to enter first.

Once inside, he shut the door behind them with a slam. She started slightly and turned to glare at him, but he was already shrugging out of his coat at the other end of the room. She watched him toss the black duster over the back of a leather armchair situated beneath a large picture window, before moving to one of the adjacent rooms. The kitchen, she assumed.

A few moments later, the clink of cups and dishes confirmed her assumptions. Shaking her head at the absurdness of it all, she turned her attention back to the room she was standing in. There was a decent sized fire place on the wall facing the street. It was flanked on either side by two floor to ceiling windows, each covered in long black drapes. A matching sectional sofa sat in front of the fireplace, decorated here and there with pillows in muted earth tones. A small round table sat in the 'U' of the sofa. Hermione noticed several magazines: Science Weekly; Chemistry Today; and National Geographic. The corners of her mouth lifted in a small smile when she noticed the wire rimmed eyeglasses sitting atop one of the latest issues. Severus Snape wears reading glasses. How utterly… normal, she thought with a laugh.

She continued her perusal of his flat. It was sparsely decorated, but tastefully so. The back wall of the room contained two windows that mirrored those at the front, with a large mahogany desk situated between the two. The desk was littered with papers, documents, and manila folders. Surprisingly enough, a flat screen computer monitor sat to one side of the desk, its bottom edge lined with yellow sticky notes. As Hermione came closer, she could see that the sticky notes were covered in thin, spiky handwriting – his handwriting.

On the wall above the desk hung a painting: The Lady of Shallot. Hermione found herself thinking that she was the antithesis of the fictional woman in the portrait, who had died for her love of the knight Lancelot. Hermione huffed. She knew that love was overrated -- it only brought heartache and pain.

Sighing, she turned away from the portrait, back towards the front of the room. Her attention was drawn to the wall directly across from the entrance. Her mouth dropped open, and her feet moved of their own accord as she greedily eyed the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. They sagged in the middle, literally overflowing under the weight of hundreds of pounds of paper and binding. She ran her hands reverently over the leather and canvas spines, ticking off the gilded names in her head: Shakespeare; Hemingway; Austen; Bronte; Tolstoy; Machiavelli… just to name a few. She was seconds from pressing her nose to the bindings and inhaling the intoxicating scent when she heard Severus' voice:

"Find anything interesting?"

Hermione did not take her hand from the shelf as she turned to look at him. She smiled sadly. "Yes, actually – you have a marvelous collection, Professor." She turned her face back to the books, running her hand reverently over a leather-bound copy of The Divine Comedy.

An uncomfortable silence followed. After watching her for a moment – and feeling somewhat confused as to her behavior – Severus cleared his throat. "If you are quite done manhandling my possessions, I suggest we get on with our… discussion." He pushed away from the doorframe and walked to the fireplace. He knelt down and in only a few minutes, he had a small, cozy fire going. It was just enough to push out the chill of early fall, but not so much as to make it uncomfortable.

He stood and dusted his hands off before turning back to her. She was still looking around, ringing her hands and chewing on her lower lip, unsure of what she should do next. "You may sit you know. I'm not going to make you stand all night." He gestured at the sofa. She nodded a curt thank you and chose an end nearest the fire. Just then, Hermione heard the whistle of a kettle. "Pardon me for a moment," Severus said before walking off towards the kitchen.

Hermione sighed and laid her head against the back of the sofa. She was exhausted. She looked at her watch – it was midnight. "Wonderful," she said with sigh. She was really not in the mood to discuss… things… with this man, but it seemed that she really had no choice. Fate had finally caught up with them, after they had both run from it for so long. She snorted. Perhaps 'run from' was not the proper description. It was more like 'denied the very existence of.' She huffed again. "Like hell…"

The fire popped and she jumped. "Fuck," she cursed softly, sitting forward and putting her head in her hands. Her eyes fell closed as she massaged her temples – she was beginning to get a headache. All she wanted to do was go home, take a scalding hot shower and curl up in bed with Cheshire, her cat. She laughed darkly. How long had it been since she had actually done something she wanted to do? A couple of years at least – ever since she had moved into her current flat. Hard times came to everyone, but for Hermione they had become permanent house guests, and did not seem to be packing their bags any time soon.

She did not have time to linger on thoughts of all her misfortunes, because just then Severus returned with a tray of tea and scones. Her elbows were propped on her knees, and she raised her aching head as her hands slid down to cover her mouth, hiding a frown. She did not know if she could do this. Hermione was thirty-three years old. She had not seen Severus Snape since she was eighteen – just a child.

She watched as he sat the tray down on the table. His long, pale fingers wrapped around the plain white teapot. He lifted it and poured a thin stream of steaming brown liquid into both of the white teacups sitting next to it. He sat the pot down and gripped one of the cups by its rim with the tips of his fingers, before holding it gracefully out towards her. She looked at it for a moment before accepting it with a tight smile.

As he sat down and picked up his own cup, Hermione took a tentative sip of the dark brown liquid. It was good - very good actually. Her eyes closed as she let the warmth of the cup take the chill from her hands. The bitter taste of the tea mixed with the sweet tang of honey was wonderfully relaxing, and she found herself slightly less anxious about the coming conversation.

She took another sip before chancing a glance at Severus. He was sitting back in the cushions, his left arm across the back of the sofa, the right one holding his own cup to his lips. His right leg was propped on his left, ankle over knee, and he was staring straight ahead. All she could see of his profile was the tip of his long nose. It was strangely comforting.

Aside from the clothes – which were a shock in and of themselves – and his spacious flat, the dour man from her youth had not changed much. His countenance was just as scowling as she remembered; he was just as sour and mean; his temper was just as hot, and his tongue was just as sharp and sarcastic as in her school days.

There were a few things that Hermione noticed about him that were different. His hair for one: she remembered it being about shoulder length when she was in school. Now however, it fell down between his shoulder blades. It was still as black as pitch, with not a gray hair in sight, but instead of looking greasy and lanky, she could tell that it was most likely very soft and baby fine.

He was still thin and pale, but not to the extent she remembered. He seemed to have filled in a bit over the years, in a healthy way.

"See anything interesting?" he spoke quietly from behind his dark curtain of hair.

She paused for a moment, - a deer caught in the headlights - before sitting her cup down on the table. "I was just thinking about how little you've changed since I was in school."

His cup followed hers onto the table before he turned to face her. "Well, Hermione," he began, "I can hardly say the same for you." He raised an eyebrow as he let his eyes roam over her.

"Yes, well, we aren't all so fortunate, Severus." He had fired her temper again. Good. He liked a little fight in a woman. It made things interesting. Although, if he were honest, the situation really did not require any assistance – it was complex enough without his help.

A small smirk crept up the corners of his mouth. "So… shall we avoid the inevitable for the rest of the night, or shall we 'get down to it,' as they say?"

She glanced at her watch again. "Let's get this over with so I can leave. I have to be at work at seven."

He raised an eyebrow. "Were you not just at work?"

An angry huff exited her nose. "Yes, I was. I have to be at my other job at seven."

His other eyebrow joined the first. "I see," was all he said.

"Do you?" she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Because I really don't think you have a fucking clue." She stood then, pacing angrily in front of the fireplace. Severus watched her. His index finger rubbed anxiously at his bottom lip, but he said nothing.

Finally, she stopped, and her head fell into her hands. For a few moments, she stood there silently, but then that silence was interrupted by a heavy sigh… and a defeated sob. Tears were streaming down her face when she looked up. Severus' brow came together in confusion.

"For fifteen years," she began, swiping angrily at the moisture rolling down her face, "I've dealt with… this!" She gestured between the two of them. "Every night in my dreams - my nightmares - I… see… you!" She pointed a finger angrily at him.

His lips parted in genuine surprise.

She slowly continued her story. "I see your face… your eyes…" Her voice trailed off. For a moment, she simply stood and stared into those eyes, the black pools of liquid obsidian that had haunted her for almost half her life. She looked away when she spoke again. "But most of all I see your hands – my hands – covered in your blood. So much blood…" Her eyes went out of focus as she trailed off once more.

Involuntarily, Severus' hand moved to the twin scars on his neck. Slowly, he stood and walked towards her. She seemed not to notice him as he came to stand beside her. It was not until he took her by the elbow that she realized he had even moved.

"Look," he commanded softly. She turned her tear swollen face up to his, her brow furrowed in confusion. His dark eyes glittered, but not with anger or hatred. No, it was something deeper than that. When she didn't move, he swiftly reached out and took her hand. "Look," he commanded again, in the stern voice she remembered from her childhood. Slowly, he brought her hand to his neck. When her knuckles brushed his jaw, he released her. Unsure of what to do next, she pulled away slightly, looking at him for guidance.

Severus' lips were pressed tightly together as he tilted his head to the side. He turned his head away and his eyes closed as he exposed the pale line of his neck. Gathering her courage, Hermione slowly reached back towards him. A lock of his dark hair had fallen forward, obscuring her view, so she brushed it back behind the open collar of his shirt. The dark strands were soft and very fine, just like she had imagined.

Pushing thoughts of his hair aside, she turned back to his neck. There it was, standing out in jagged white lines, even against the paleness of his skin: Nagini's mark. Slowly, ever so slowly, she reached out and ran her fingers lightly over the raised skin of the scar that bound the two of them.

Severus was warm, but Hermione saw goosebumps rise on his heated skin at her touch. She could feel the heavy pulse of his life's blood as it coursed beneath his skin. That same blood had once covered her hands as it pumped from his body onto the floor of a derelict building in Scotland, taking with it any second chance he may have had… any hopes or dreams.

She traced the glistening white lines once more, before letting her hand slip down over his collarbone. She felt the coarse hair of his chest brush against her fingertips as her hand fell back to her side.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, still staring at his neck.

Looking at her once more, he adjusted his collar. "Do not be."

"Why?"

He stared at her for a moment. "Because I'm not."

Again, she was confused. He stepped past her, returning to his place on the sofa. Sitting heavily, he leaned forward, running his hands through his hair before clasping them in front of him, elbows on his knees. "When I realized," he began softly, looking up at her, "that the Dark Lord knew the Elder Wand would never work for him, I knew my life was forfeit - I knew it was the end."

She remained motionless.

He sighed. "Please sit. I'd rather not have you hovering over me while I spill my soul, as it were." She sat, never taking her eyes from him.

His next words were nearly inaudible as he cast his gaze to the floor: "I almost welcomed it… death."

Her breath hitched in her throat, and she had to cover her mouth with a hand to hold in a fresh sob.

"Almost," he emphasized, lifting his head to gaze at her again.

"Almost?"

"Yes. For a moment, I felt… relieved… that I wouldn't have to worry anymore – about anything. I welcomed the coming oblivion with open arms. Then a thought crossed my mind: I had committed almost my entire life to protecting this… boy… and now that it came to the final hour, I'd never know whether or not my efforts would bear fruit, so to speak."

She dipped her head into her hands again.

"That was about the time that you and your little rabble showed up," he said. His voice was soft - the condescending tone she had expected was not there.

Her voice was muffled from between her hands: "And then you gave Harry your memories." She looked up at him again, and a single tear slid down her cheek. "And I saved your life."

He nodded.

She returned the nod. "And now… since we've avoided speaking of it – let alone doing anything about it - for over a decade, it has called itself into play."

"Yes."

"Fuck!" she cursed, slamming her palms against her legs.

"Indeed," was his only reply.

"That's all you have to say?" Her breathing was coming faster as she raised an accusing finger at him again. "I have to live the rest of my life with your image in my head! I… feel you… every single minute of every single day! I have to drug myself to sleep, because if I don't I wake up every single night from nightmares so vivid that I cannot sleep for fear of them!"

She lowered her shaking hand back to her lap. She waited on the string of harsh words and cruel chastisements. It never came.

Instead, Severus broke eye contact and lowered his head. He ran his hands through his dark hair before slowly beginning to speak. "Hermione… it is not without… difficulty… that I am telling you this. It is not in my nature to admit my shortcomings. You literally held my fate in your hands. You chose to give me life, even after nearly seven years of my prejudice and hatred. When that night was over, and I had recovered enough of my senses to realize what had actually happened, I became… desperate for a second chance. A second chance at…something… anything."

"Severus, I--"

He did not let her finish. "What happened between us was a mistake, Hermione. I know that, in my desperation, I took something very precious from you all those years ago. I cannot give it back, no matter how much I may wish it so. It never should have happened, and I live with that fact every single day of my life."

His words sobered her a bit. "Make no mistake, Severus. You took nothing from me that wasn't willingly given. I agree that what occurred between the two of us -- the night you came home from St. Mungo's -- should never have happened, but that doesn't change to fact that it did! No matter how precious that part of me was, nothing is more precious than life, Severus. I gave you that! I gave you that when no one else would! You owe me a life debt!"

"Yes."

"Stop doing that! Must you be so insufferable?!" She shoved up from the couch, her patience at its end. "I've got to go. It's a long drive back, and I'm exhausted. Thank you for the tea and for… being honest."

She was making her way to the door when he grabbed her by the arm, spinning her around to face him. "Let go!" she growled as she tried to pull her arm from his grasp.

He ignored her and tightened his grip. "It's not going to go away, Hermione. Like you said, no matter what happened between us all those years ago, I still owe you. Magic does not forget… no matter how hard we may try to."

"I don't want – or need -- your help! Or anyone's!" She snatched her arm again, and this time he let her go. "I said I would talk to you and we talked. I… cannot… deal with this right now. I'll come by next week sometime." She made it to the door, but her hand paused on the knob. She spoke softly, her head bowed. "We've waited fifteen years, Severus. What's another day or two?" And she was gone.

Severus stood there staring at the door. Her parting words rang in his ears: another day or two? If he was correct – and he knew he was – then another day or two would only make things worse, not better. There was also the matter of their little escapade at The Diamond Doll, and the circumstances which brought it about. He would find out what was going on there, that much was certain. As for the current situation, well, he would just have to wait and see.

He didn't have to wait long. Less than five minutes later, just as he was putting away his tea things, someone knocked on his door. He walked over quickly and looked through the peephole.

He frowned. What in the world…?

He stepped into the hall to find Hermione sitting on the floor next to the door, her left hand clasped tightly against her forehead. As he watched, a small trickle of blood made its way from underneath that hand. It ran down the side of her nose and down her cheek to her jaw, where it started dripping onto her chest.

She looked up at him, and he could see the desperation and fear shining in her soft brown eyes. "We have a problem."

He sighed and ran a hand over his face. God, he hated being right all the time.

~TBC