AUTHOR'S WARNING: Near the end of this chapter, one of the characters has a dream, in which a rape is depicted. It is brief but somewhat violent, so if this will upset you, please skip it.
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it is at moments after i have dreamed
of the rare entertainment of your eyes,
when (being fool to fancy) i have deemed
with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise;
at moments when the glassy darkness holds
the genuine apparition of your smile
(it was through tears always) and silence moulds
such strangeness as was mine a little while;
moments when my once more illustrious arms
are filled with fascination, when my breast
wears the intolerant brightness of your charms:
one pierced moment whiter than the rest
--turning from the tremendous lie of sleep
i watch the roses of the day grow deep.
- e e cummings
Addy lay on her bed that night staring numbly at the ceiling, too angry to scream, too sad to cry.
By the time she and Snape had returned to the Hogwarts grounds, the moisture in the air had dissipated. The storm that had come and gone turned out to be a herald of fall weather, and the night breezes whispered rumors of smoky pine and rustling leaves.
They had left the station, turned down a deserted side street and once again disapparated in unison. Upon their arrival at the Hogwarts Gate, Snape changed them back to their school robes, and Addy, with shaking hands, withdrew the Invisibility Cloak from her purse and threw it over them for their walk across the school grounds. Not a word had been exchanged since they'd left the platform, yet they worked and moved fluently together like a well-oiled machine.
In palpable silence they crossed the lawn and approached the castle. Although they walked hand in hand, they were lost in their own separate orbits of thought, trying to make sense of the jumble of emotions the night had dealt them. Snape kept his eyes trained on the ground in front of him, never once looking at her, while Addy suffered the protracted ravings from the back of her mind:
'What in Hell do you think you were doing back there? You do know, don't you, that if Pugh had heard or seen you that would have been the death of both you AND your beloved Snape, BUT not before a little dose of Veritaserum had put an end to Dumbledore and the other members of the Order AS WELL. Do you WANT Voldemort to succeed? Is that what you'd like to see? Do you want the blood of countless other innocent witches and wizards on your hands? Haven't you had enough? The Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry gives you a much-UNdeserved second chance, and this is how you repay him? And all because you wanted a little kiss??? Of all the idiotic, self-indulgent, irresponsible…'
The old Voice inside her head had been going on in that vein, eroding her sense of equilibrium, since they'd left the platform, while her heart, her soul, every fiber of her human, female body burned in voiceless response for the tall, pale, black-robed Wizard striding alongside her.
Once, halfway to the castle, she chanced a quick look up at him. Snape did not return her glance. His stony gaze stayed fixed on an invisible point in front of him, but she could see the muscles working silently along his jaw line. As her eyes drifted forward again, he gave her hand an almost imperceptible squeeze. It could have been just a reflex, she thought, or perhaps even her imagination. She would have given anything to know what was going on in his head.
When they arrived back at his office, he unwarded the door, and stepped aside to let her in. Addy turned to see him place locking and silencing charms on it.
That's when he rounded on her, his beetle-black eyes clouded by the tempest within, and hissed, "WHAT ON EARTH WAS THAT?"
He'd caught her off guard, and she sputtered, "What???"
"Just what do you think you were doing back there in the station, Adelaide? How could you lose your head like that?" he demanded.
"If you recall, Snape, YOU'RE the one who kissed ME first!"
"You were supposed to be PRETENDING!"
"So were you!"
"I COULDN'T PRETEND!!!"
"WELL NEITHER COULD I!!!"
They were face to face, perched on the breath of the next moment, suspended in the struggle between resistance and surrender. But the current drawing them to one another was too strong, and in the next heartbeat they surged together like two waves in a stormy sea. Snape's tongue slipped effortlessly into the warm bed of her mouth. He splayed his hands underneath her buttocks, his fingertips maddeningly close to the sweet, wet spot that pulsated for his touch.
Addy wrapped one leg around him and nearly wept with desire when he moaned his approval into her mouth and lifted her to him. His powerful arms formed a cradle beneath her, and she wrapped the other leg around his waist, exulting in the sensation of his hardness nestled between her legs. It was all they could do to keep from consuming one another. She clutched at his robes and tangled her hands in his hair as they held on to each other for dear life.
"Snape," she managed in a throaty whisper, stealing kisses even as she spoke. "I need you."
A spark of understanding blazed between them--they shared a divine moment of inexorability…of coming home…of being home. Addy put her fingertips to his face and watched the lust in his eyes melt into wonder. For a short, blessed time, Snape stared at her as though he was holding a miracle in his arms.
Then, in the blink of an eye, she saw the wonder give way to sadness. The world felt like it was rushing away from her, as she watched his sadness crumble into defeat.
Snape closed his eyes and spoke in a voice ragged with loss and resignation.
"Addy. We can't."
Still cradled in his arms, she held his face and studied him, painstakingly drinking in every angle, line, and curve, sensing this might be the last time she would see him like this, this close, for a long while. He seemed to know it too, and breathed her in deeply, trying to internalize her, to memorize her.
Biting her lower lip, Addy tenderly brushed a stray hair from his sweaty brow, and with a tearful smile, she quietly replied, "I know."
She untwined herself from him until her feet were once again on the floor. His hands dropped to his sides and he turned his back, unable to face her when he softly declared, "I want to."
"I know."
"But it's too dangerous. There is too much at stake."
"I know."
"The mission is the most important thing…it's the only thing that can matter right now."
"I know."
"We'd be risking everything."
"I know."
"If either of us---"
"I KNOW! I KNOW! I KNOW!!!" she screamed at the black wall of his back, his body absorbing her waves of bitterness and frustration. She knew it all…she'd been telling herself the same damned things over and over since the platform. Closing her eyes and collecting herself with a deep breath, she repeated softly, "I know."
In the hollow silence that followed, Addy felt she ought to do something--throw herself on him, or storm out, or scream, or at least say something besides "I know." But she was afraid to move, afraid to break what was left of the connection between them, not knowing when or if the Fates would grace them with another glimpse of intimacy.
"Snape—"
"Just go, Addy."
She didn't go. He didn't turn around.
"I'm sorry…I—"
"You have nothing to be sorry about, Adelaide. I should not have started something I could not possibly finish. I'm the one who ought to apologize."
"Listen, Snape…look at me—", she pleaded.
But his only movement was the further slumping of his shoulders, as though another large weight had just been added to them. When he spoke again, it was in a soft, shattered, voice, choked with sorrow:
"Addy. Please. Just. Go."
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Although it hadn't been easy, she had broken free of the invisible tentacles that had held her like Devil's Snare, rooted to the spot, and forced her feet to carry her through the door and out of his office and away from the potential of all they could have been to one another. Trudging blindly up to her room, she felt her body drain and deaden, numbing itself to any and all feelings for the sake of smothering the ache in her heart.
She had crawled on to her bed fully dressed. That had been an hour ago, but still she stared wide-awake at the ceiling, struggling to forget…to erase the feeling of his body from her body. A single tear rolled out of the corner of her eye and trickled past her ear. Before it could splash down on her pillow, Addy swiped it away furiously and rolled over onto her side, swearing that it would be the last tear she would shed until Voldemort was demolished. With that, she fell into a fitful slumber. The last thing she heard was the soft, sympathetic "tsk, tsk, tsk" of her clock.
Both Addy and Snape dreamt of the Underground that night.
In HER dream, they were back on the platform, her face cupped blissfully in his hands. Snape was about to kiss her when the telltale odor of Marlin Pugh washed over her. The next thing Addy knew, two large, hammy hands clamped down on Snape's shoulders from behind, dragging him backwards. Pugh was pulling him toward the open doors of a train that had just arrived at the station. Addy lunged for Snape, but the ends of his robe fluttered mockingly through her fingertips.
Pugh leapt onto the train with Snape clamped in his vise-like arms, and the doors slid closed with a slippery hiss before Addy could reach them. She was left calling for Snape, pounding on the window, and stumbling along side the train as it pulled away from the station and hurtled into the unknown blackness of the tunnel, carrying its precious cargo away.
At the same time several floors below, Snape dozed in a stiff chair in front of the massive fireplace in his private chamber. Even as his eyelids twitched in active slumber, however, his other hand clutched a sheaf of parchments that were just beginning to yellow with age.
He hadn't dared go to bed, desperate to avoid another night of torment, seeing Addy's swirling curls in the brocade of his bed curtains. He couldn't take it again…not this night.
He couldn't think about her…mustn't think about her. She was a distraction…a dangerous delusion…and ultimately, an impossibility. He'd be better off directing his energies toward other things, like defeating Voldemort for example.
Then…
perhaps.
But now…
just work.
So he had gathered up his old notes on the "Snakebite" formula and settled himself in a hard, straight-backed chair, to contemplate a response to the second planned attack that Addy had mentioned: the poisoning of the Minister of Magic. The "Snakebite" was a complex poison, one that he had created back when his young mind had reeled with the reckless intoxication of ambition, without concern for how his ingenious creations might be put to use.
He had poured himself a drink and sat down to study and think. But, even as he tried to concentrate, the dancing fire caught his eye, and in its licks and curls of amber flame he saw her inescapable image. When he closed his eyes, it was as though the picture of her cradled in his arms was burned onto the back of his lids.
With a heavy sigh, he gazed at the liquor cabinet.
"Accio Firewhiskey."
He was only human, after all, and he had a lot to forget.
Glass after glass, he tried to shut out the distracting, visions in the fire—phantom images of what might have been, rollicking among the flames. Just as he would get focused on his work, he'd catch a glimpse them out of the corner of his eye, and they would tauntingly lure his attention away. But as soon as he looked up, an exploding ember would blow them to bits and they'd vanish up the chimney in a pop of sparks.
The inevitable, soporific effects of the liquor finally put an end to his misery, and his head nodded down onto his chest.
In his sleep, Snape was riding the Underground, and as his train pulled in to the Kings Cross platform, he saw a couple locked in an embrace near the bottom of the stairs. A tall man was huddled over the body of a small woman, who had her arms around him and her back pressed up against the wall.
The subway car stopped and he stood to exit, but the doors did not open. Through the glass, Snape could see the tall man pressing in on the woman, pinning her to the wall. He saw her begin to struggle, trying in vain to push him off, as he hiked up the skirt of her familiar black dress. She began to thrash about behind him, her fingernails clutching and scratching at the air, her screams muffled inside the subway car.
With a mechanical brutality, he drove himself inside her, slamming her body against the wall repeatedly. Her feet lifted off the floor and twitched grotesquely with each pounding invasion of her body. Snape threw himself against the doors of the car, and clawed at them with all his might, trying to pry them apart. But they did not budge, and he remained a trapped, helpless spectator.
With a final, conquering shudder, the tall man on the platform went still, and the subway doors opened. Snape staggered out onto the platform, and when the tall man turned around, Snape found himself face to face with Voldemort, whose black, diamond-shaped pupils dilated with recognition. When Voldemort opened his mouth in a high-pitched cackle, Snape saw blood dripping from his reptilian fangs…the same blood that was gushing from the wounds on Addy's body, as her lifeless form slid down the wall and crumpled to the floor.
Snape charged at him, but when he raised his arm to strike, Voldemort twitched his head with the speed of a cobra and plunged his fangs into Snape's hand. The Potions Master felt the venom surge into his bloodstream, and knew it was the "Snakebite" from the signature red glow that could be seen just under the surface of his skin, snaking its way through his arteries as it followed the course of the poison.
He fell down in the quickly spreading pool of Addy's blood and crawled over to her dead body, laying his head in her lap as Voldemort vanished in a wisp of green smoke. The world was fading to white as the sound of heavy footsteps descending the stairs echoed through the empty platform.
He awoke with a start. It was daybreak outside, though no sunlight ever made its way into his private chambers, buried as they were in the bowels of the castle. The fire had gone out, leaving behind a pile of sooty, gray ashes that reminded Snape of the color of Voldemort's lips, streaked with crimson rivulets of Addy's blood.
There was a strange sound in his ears, and something in the room was dripping. Soon, the realization of what it was pierced his sleep-addled mind. He had been crying in his sleep. The dripping sound was tears—his tears--falling onto the parchments clutched in his white-knuckled left hand. Great Merlin's Beard! How long had it been since he'd shed a tear?
There was something else smudged on the parchments beside his tears—something staining them. Fresh blood. And his hand ached in the spot where Voldemort had bitten him in his dream.
As the waking world came fully into focus, Snape realized that in his sleep, he had crushed his empty glass in his right hand. A large shard had pierced the center of his palm, and the lap of his robe was soaked with his own blood.
Sighing heavily, he carefully set aside his notes so as not to soil them further, then reached into his pocket for his handkerchief. It wasn't there—he remembered with a pang that he had given it to Addy. Instead, he used the back of his good hand to wipe the wetness from his face, then plucked the shard of glass from his other hand, wincing. He wrapped his gushing wound in the corner of his robe and headed for his potions cabinet.
As he cleansed the gash and daubed at it with stinging remedies, a half-memory from his dream triggered a question in his mind, one that had troubled him earlier that night but had been relegated to a corner of his consciousness: How had Addy known that Pugh was at the station before she saw him? Before he had even arrived? Frowning, Snape magically sealed the laceration and dressed it in sterile bandages, grimacing more at the thought of what an inconvenience it would pose, and the irritating whispers that would spread like wildfire through the school at the sight of his bandaged hand, than at the pain of dealing with it. Stretching stiffly, he checked the clock, trying to shove the question back into its corner as he got ready for the day ahead.
At about the same time, Addy was sitting up in bed, still feeling unsettled from the unremembered nightmare she'd had. She had awoken to find herself tangled in her school robes and bed covers, drenched in sweat, her legs kicking, her hands pounding at the air, and Snape's name on her lips. And she had been clutching something in her hand—something she'd stowed in her pocket and had forgotten about: a Slytherin-crested, green, silk handkerchief.
To be continued…
Author's Note: Sorry, kids, but The-Thing-One-Can-Not-Have has an irresistible allure, in my humble opinion, so Snape and Addy will remain taboo to one another for the time being. Why not express your feelings about this in a review? (Just, please don't hate me.)