Chapter Sixteen

Something terrible had happened.

Something so terrible that Severus could not talk about it. After the werewolf attack (it was impossible to dismiss it as an incident, even in her own mind), he had spoken to her, needed to put what had happened into words. This had to be something far, far worse.

Emma had finally recognised the Occlumency that closed him off from the outside world, and it had shocked her to her core. She knew there were a handful of wizards out there who could hide their thoughts from prying eyes, but she had only ever come across a couple of references to wizards who could shut the world out completely. It had to have been an act of complete desperation. And Occlumency alone could not explain the blood drying at the corners of his mouth or around his nostrils, nor the stains that had covered his sweat-soaked shirt.

The relief when he had murmured her name had been a very real, physical thing. She had been certain that she had felt her heart restart inside her chest, and a horrible, leaden weight had fallen from her limbs. She had practically collapsed in a heap on top of him when his eyes had finally focussed on hers. Unable to help the sob that had torn through her, clawing its way from her chest like a wild animal, she had buried her face in his dishevelled hair and held on to him for all she was worth, faint with relief that he was alive and that they were together.

The relief was short-lived. Something terrible had happened, and something terrible – or maybe even worse – was to come.

She had seen it in the set of his shoulders and in the hard line of his mouth as the wards began to drop from around his doorway. Something terrible was coming - and he had pushed her away rather than have her face it at his side. Was it selfish of her to feel so utterly wretched? To feel that her place should have been by his side, no matter who or what was to come through those doors?

She had known how much he had needed her as they sat hand in hand against the cold of the stone wall. Her being there had been important. More so that the night she had spent in his dormitory bed, far more so than the days she had spent with him down beside the canal or chasing pointlessly through Diagon Alley. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had needed her to be with him, that it was her turn to help him.

Yet he had pushed her away.

He had pushed her away and the horrid, spinning darkness had conspired to snatch her from him. It was the first time she had fought the spell, not just feebly struggling, but actively kicking and twisting against the darkness. But how do you fight against the tide, against a whirlpool? She was thrown this way and that, and when the spell finally released her, she was battered, exhausted, and thoroughly defeated.

She sank down, her head buried in the folds of the cloak, not caring where she might have been left this time. The horrible sick feeling was back, flooding her stomach with a twisting, terrifying sense of wrongness.

-x-

It wasn't until her teeth began to chatter violently that Emma realised she was back in the grey light of the bleak, snowy day. She pulled the cloak more tightly around herself, her numb fingers fumbling with the heavy wool as the sharp wind caused the flakes to dance around.

Severus was somewhere out there. He was out there somewhere beyond the snow, and she had no idea what had happened to him.

-x-

Although she had managed not to cry, Emma still felt ridiculously melodramatic and more than a little foolish. No amount of huddling miserably in alleyways was going to do anything to help Severus, and besides, the spell had deposited her less that a mile away from his house. There was a chance he might be home for the winter holiday, and if not, his parents would be able to tell her where he was. She had been wasting precious time when she could have been doing something. She clambered awkwardly upright and stamped her feet until some of their numbness receded.

She set off briskly, the cold muscles in her legs complaining after being still for so long, the old cloak flapping desultorily around her ankles. Like before, the grey streets were empty, and no cars disturbed the tiny drifts of snow that were starting to build at the edges of the road.

The cold air was making her cough by the time she reached the frozen playing field, and she crossed the grass carefully, remembering just how treacherous and icy it had been in places before. She was roughly half way across the Rec, sticking close to the line of bushes for shelter from the ever blustery weather, when she stopped. A sudden lull in the wind had carried a sound to her from closer than she had expected.

There it was again! Coming, she was certain, from the dense bushes to her right. A sad, desultory little sob.

She turned to study the hedgerow. There were narrow breaks in the foliage at irregular intervals, large enough for a child to crawl through to retrieve a lost football or to play at hide and seek. She took a step closer and felt the wind strike up again.

"Hello?" She edged closer to the hedge line, treading with greater care, conscious of how the churned up mud had formed into stiff, icy peaks.

-x-

Of course, her mind supplied, as she felt herself be dragged away from the hedgerow. The moment something is about to be revealed, I get pulled away. She had no will left to fight anymore. Resigned, she let herself be pulled limply along by the spell.

It would do whatever it wished, regardless.

-x-

She blinked in the sudden warm light, her nose wrinkling at the smell of watery decay.

-x-

She was by the canal.

And it was summer again.

Of all the places she could dream to be magically whisked away to, who would believe that she would set her heart on a litter-strewn pathway under a dank bridge beside a smelly, suspiciously brown canal? Yet here she was, already pulling the cloak from her shoulders and scrabbling up the bank, the smell of ducks heavy in the evening air.

"Please," she whispered as she reached the road, "please, please, please." She continued the hushed mantra as she rounded the corner, slowing when she hit the uneven cobbles. She wasn't certain to whom she was praying or what she was asking for other than that Severus would be home for the summer.

A barely formed thought kept threatening to bubble to the surface of her mind, but she shied away from it, not daring to give the tiny hope any chance to grow.

Could she be back in the first summer she had met Severus? Would she have a chance to warn him, to save him from whatever trauma lay ahead?

She pushed the idea aside ruthlessly. Her experiences with the spell that kept picking her up and throwing her through time gave her little reason to hope. Just seeing him again would be enough. She just had to know that he was safe.

She sped down the dusty path, wishing she had bothered to remove her jumper and jacket as well, the muggy air making her damp and breathless. The streets were busier than before, cars parked down one side and a steady stream of traffic filling the road. She slowed to a walk as she rounded the corner, conscious that she was drawing attention to herself, staggering along in her winter layers.

Nearing the house, she paused. She hadn't considered the likelihood that one of his parents might open the door, and she couldn't think of a plausible explanation for why she was there. Mrs Snape would be bound to recognise the cloak currently bundled up in her arms. Neither were likely to welcome her inside.

She stood to one side to allow two ladies in burkas to pass her and realised that, if nothing else, dithering on the doorstep would only start to attract attention from the neighbours – something the doubted any of the Snapes would thank her for. Fighting the urge to glance nervously over her shoulder, she knocked on the door. After a couple of minutes, she raised her hand to knock again, anxiety gnawing at her stomach. What if no one were to answer? She actually sighed in happy relief when the door swung inwards before her knuckles could connect with the faded paint.

Severus.

He stood aside to let her into the house, and she quickly glanced round the little room in interest. Most of the furniture had gone, making it seem larger. Bookshelves now covered much of the wall space and boxes of books filled the floor. There was a click as the door closed, and she looked up to find him watching her, his dark eyes shadowed.

She found herself disconcerted by his silence. He made no move to welcome her, and the adrenaline that had carried her here from the canal suddenly fell away, leaving an odd empty feeling in its place. She cleared her throat.

"Hello."

It seemed inadequate, especially given the state he had been in when they had last parted ways. There was no trace of any distress about him now, nor for that matter, any trace of the teenager she had been secretly hoping to find. Although he looked almost completely the same, the effect was entirely different. The air of slightly shabby unkemptness had gone, and he held himself differently. His hair, though still long, had more style to it, falling more softly round his face, and his clothes looked expensive and crisply tailored.

"You look good." It hadn't been what she'd meant to say, but it was the truth nonetheless. He had grown into his tall frame and no longer seemed awkward; indeed, he looked almost stately in his severely cut clothes. He'd almost grown into his nose.

Some of the darkness left his face with her simple, blurted compliment. "Hello, Emma," he returned, softly.

And with that, she was across the room and in his arms. "I missed you," she admitted to his waistcoat. "I was so worried."

"There was no need for you to worry about me," he chided, softly.

"But Dumbledore—"

"Is a good man, Emma," he interrupted firmly. "He was just looking out for me."

"I didn't want to leave you." She whispered, knowing her voice would betray her if she spoke aloud. "I would have stayed."

She felt the sigh as it vibrated through his chest. "We agreed it was best for you to remain unseen. That room had been warded to keep me safe. We would have been hard-pressed to explain how you got past the enchantments of one of the greatest wizards alive. It was best that you left." He squeezed her shoulders gently. "How long ago did you last see me?"

"A couple of hours ago," she sniffed. "I got caught in the snow again. I – I was scared that I'd be stuck there." And that was the big fear, wasn't it? That she'd be stuck somewhere, unable to make her way back to him. When had Severus replaced home as her longed for destination? Was it simply that he was all she knew in this strange, disjointed world? "When did you last see me?"

"Nearly two years ago." She caught the scent of alcohol on his breath then and looked up, aware that she was still caught in his embrace. When did that change, too? There was nothing awkward about his holding her now. What had happened between them in that sparse office, just a few hours ago?

"The gaps are getting further apart," she noted quietly, disentangling herself from his arms, feeling suddenly unsure of herself. "I see you're redecorating," she nodded towards the bookshelves. "Do your parents not mind?"

He studied her quietly for a moment and she felt like squirming under his direct gaze. When had that changed, too? This new Severus, though much more tactile, was almost intimidating, with his silences and his unwavering eyes. She had never felt the need to make small talk before.

"Both my parents are gone," he informed her calmly. "My mother passed away a couple of months ago. This is my house now."

"Oh, Severus. I always choose the worst times to just turn up."

And it was true; every time something terrible happened, she was always there to provide an audience, no doubt when he most wanted to be left alone. She pulled further away from him, biting her lip, wondering if she should leave. He was too kind to ask her to go, but she knew she was intruding on something very personal. Correctly interpreting her gesture, he caught hold of her hand and pulled her further into the room.

"You do," he agreed, gravely. "For which I couldn't be more grateful."

He tugged her gently towards the sagging brown sofa and sat beside her, her hand still trapped in his. With his free hand, he gestured to the bottles on the coffee table. "I was just having a drink. Will you join me?" He summoned an extra glass from the kitchen and poured her a healthy measure of amber liquid. She sipped it cautiously, feeling the gentle burn as it hit the back of her throat.

"Do you recognise it?" he pressed. "It's the whisky you had that day we went to Diagon Alley."

There was something very earnest in his voice that she couldn't interpret. Feeling slightly lost by the conversation she nodded towards the second bottle. "What's in that one?" It was small and blue, made with thick, ridged glass.

He followed her gaze, a slight frown marring his face. "It's a potion I've been working on."

She looked up. "So you went into Potions after all?"

"I have my Mastership," he nodded, still somewhat grave.

She laughed. "Are you Master Snape now?"

He laughed as well, and she was relieved to see the last of the shadows leave his face. "It's ridiculous, isn't it?"

"I think it's wonderful," she told him truthfully, squeezing his hand. "I'm so proud of you; I know it couldn't have been easy." He gave her an odd sort of look, and she flushed, aware of how patronising she must have sounded.

He shrugged. "You told me I could do it."

-x-

Severus, she noticed, didn't seem to be suffering from any of the awkwardness that seemed to be crippling her. Nor, for that matter, did he seem to be suffering from any of the awkwardness that had plagued him as an adolescent. He was almost serene. She wasn't sure if he was Occluding again or if it was the whisky he had been drinking before her arrival. Whatever had caused this strange transformation in him didn't seem to be having any negative impact on his speech or movement, though. It was the very opposite, in fact.

Every move he made, especially the slight gestures he made with his hands, seemed precise and graceful, almost as if he was following the steps to a dance. He had always had a pleasant voice, even when it had occasionally wavered when he had been younger; now he had grown into it, much like he had grown into his tall, lithe frame, and it had a rich, warm quality, much like the whisky he poured for her.

And there it was again. The terrible feeling that he had grown out of her, that she still belonged to the summer they had met. It must have been years ago for him. He had grown into an accomplished young man. She was still the lost girl his parents had found in the gutter.

It was so horribly, horribly sad. Oh, he had been pleased to see her, but it was obvious that he didn't need her at all any more. He was an adult now, collected and precise, while she was still the same as before. Creased clothes, wild hair, frantically falling from one place to the next. Relying on him for every little thing.

It didn't help her sudden nerves that he was watching her like a hawk. His black eyes seemed to follow every little move she made as she sat beside him, her legs tucked up underneath her, slowly nursing the single malt he had poured for her. She didn't really like the taste, but it seemed important to him that she enjoy it, so she sipped it appreciatively, revelling in the slight burn that warmed her throat and chest. After the cold of the snow and the upheaval of the last few hours, it was soothing, and she accepted the proffered refill gratefully.

They sat quietly as the evening sun dipped towards the horizon, filling the room with a muted golden light. Neither moved to switch the lamps on, and as the day darkened into twilight, Emma felt herself begin to relax. Perhaps it was the warmth of the evening, or maybe it was just the whisky, but as the silence stretched out between them, she gave up trying to think of things to say and became content to simply sit beside him. It helped that his hand returned to hers each time he refreshed their glasses, their fingers interlinking with the ease of old acquaintance.

She studied his hand in the little light that was left. There was a scar across the knuckle of his index finger. It looked recent, raised against the pale skin, yet smooth to the touch as she ran her thumb across it. There were a thousand daily risks in potions, what with the knives, naked flames, and boiling cauldrons; experimental potions had the added danger of almost complete unpredictability. Thinking about potions was reminding her of something else, but the memory drifted beyond her reach. Something to do with Severus.

Glancing up, she saw his eyes were also fixed upon their fingers and she realised that she was still brushing her thumb lightly over the back of his hand. She stopped guiltily, but he did not look up. Instead, he mimicked the gesture, his thumb tracing the same light pattern across her skin. She swallowed.

"Do you remember what you told me?" he asked. The sound of his voice was so unexpected in the quiet of the approaching night that she flinched. His eyes were still downcast as if he were addressing the question to her fingers. "That night in the dormitory? That it wouldn't matter if I practised the Dark Arts – or if I had been bitten by a werewolf – that I would still be Severus to you?"

He was holding himself completely still, and it took Emma a moment realise what it was he was asking. She felt the sudden wild urge to giggle, but quelled it instantly; this would be the worst time possible to laugh. Instead, she squeezed his fingers tightly.

"You'd still be my Severus," she corrected softly.

After that the silence didn't seem awkward at all.

-x-

She must have dozed off, because suddenly it was properly dark, and Severus was gently shaking her shoulder.

It was cooler now, but there was still the delicious warmth of the whisky in her belly. It was so lovely and relaxing to have been given the time just to sit with Severus without the sudden darkness sweeping round her. She let him pull her to her feet and followed him up the stairs, his wandlight leading the way, the silver white light throwing steep shadows across the hallway.

She wondered if he had taken over the main bedroom now that he was the owner of the house, but his eyes skipped straight past the door as he led her into his old room. The desk was tidy and there were more books stacked on top of the bookcase, but otherwise it seemed unchanged. It was dustier and had a slightly neglected air to it, but it felt a little bit like coming home. She looked around happily, yawning widely, reflecting that this was the only room she could remember having ever slept in.

Severus sat down on the bed, his posture still rigidly correct, rolling his wand idly between his fingers.

"Emma, will you stay?" he asked suddenly. Maybe it was the whisky or maybe she was just dog tired, but the question made no sense.

"Where else would I go to," she huffed. "Back out into the snow? I wouldn't have left last time if you'd let me stay," she added with some asperity.

He lifted his head, watching her again, the strange darkness back in his eyes. He held out his hand, and she was happy to link her fingers back with his as he pulled her down to sit beside him, the mattress creaking slightly under the added weight.

"I meant will you stay here, with me?"

Well, I did list this story as a Romance...

Sorry to end it there but this chapter is already ridiculously long. I'm actually having to split it into three parts.