The Match and the Spark
20. Undisclosed Desires
He'd never visited the grave of Lily and James Potter before. In all honesty, the fear of what he might feel at seeing them buried side by side had kept him away. For he'd told himself he'd never stand by Lily's grave with thoughts of only hate, jealousy, and scorn. He considered he owed her better than that, and it was only now that he felt he could stand by with, if not a clear conscience, then at least a partial sense that he was deserving. As for Potter, well, he didn't have the same concerns about the rightness of his being at his graveside, but right now, he could not find it within himself to feel any emotion for Potter. And it was a relief, actually.
Severus let his chin sink onto his chest as he sighed down at the headstone. There was no denying she was his biggest regret of all. In his darker moments, he regretted ever meeting her at all… But he did not truly believe it was the truth of his feelings. He could not deny the impact she had had on his life had been a great one. What would have happened to him if they'd never become friends? Would he have been more or less likely to have taken the path to the Death Eaters?
Yet more answers he would never have.
But no, he knew the importance of her friendship and the mark it had left on him, and he did not mean the all-consuming love… Or maybe he did, it probably didn't matter. What he felt he could determine was that if he'd never met her, he could have so easily become as twisted and depraved as the rest of his fellow Death Eaters. For there had been no one else to show him what it was to care about another person. That her death had to be the catalyst for his returning to the right path was, again, painful irony at best.
He thought he felt the responsibility of her death more than he did Dumbledore's, which, logically, he knew was ridiculous, but there it was. Justice for Lily; for nearly twenty years, that's what he'd been striving for. Nothing more and nothing less. Who was he, really, to snort at Granger's ideals when he had fixated himself on justice for so long?
Maybe he was a hypocrite, after all.
She'd been one of the very few to, for a time, truly care about him, and he'd never forget it. Maybe if things had been different, if he'd been different… But they'd been children, and some things are just not meant to be. He had to accept it now. Better late than never, he supposed. It was all so long ago… He struggled to fathom where the years had gone. Nearly twenty of them had passed, and yet, he'd felt he'd lived only a fraction of them.
He looked away from the gravestone, rubbing his hand over his mouth.
He would accept it, if not ever forget it.
He felt it would be enough.
Severus had only come to Hogwarts to briefly check on the brews he had on the go. They were to remain bubbling away for a couple of days until he would add the final components, and he'd hoped to pop in and out of the school without fuss. But no sooner had he lifted the lid off one of the cauldrons, Minerva was poking her head around the door.
He swallowed a sigh. Ever since they'd talked, she wouldn't leave him alone.
"Stay for dinner, Severus."
"Stay for a drink, Severus."
"Come up to the staff room, Severus."
"Come and watch the Quidditch, Severus."
He never considered giving in to any such pointless requests.
She'd even invited herself along on a trip to Diagon Alley yesterday, much to his initial displeasure. She'd not turned out to be such a troublesome companion, however, and he had a certain fondness for her, of course, but she was still starting to set his teeth on edge. He had a sneaking feeling, though, that she knew exactly what she was doing in her badgering of him, which was all the more maddening.
She stood before him, and when he deigned to look at her, he was put out to see she was brazenly contemplating him.
'Problem?' he asked with a scowl, picking up his stirring rod and jabbing it into the cauldron.
She made a noise of denial, casually folding her arms and leaning against a table. 'Miss Granger's upstairs,' she said eventually, 'talking to Algernon.'
'Who?' asked Severus with a contemptuous frown. Who the hell was Algernon?
'Used to be an Auror, but teaches Defence now… Miss Granger's talking to him about Dark magic.'
He was slightly surprised to hear this. Why on earth was she consulting an Auror? Severus stirred the mixture in front of him with slow movements. 'She's wasting her time.'
'That's what I thought.'
He looked at Minerva and ceased stirring.
'But when I suggested she talk to you about Dark magic she seemed very reluctant, indeed. She rather thought she'd be wasting your time…' Her expression was hopeful of an explanation.
Severus shrugged, turning his attention to the second brew he had simmering away. 'What care I, Minerva, for Miss Granger's whims?'
'But why haven't you told her you are brewing potions for Mr Weasley?'
Severus fought not to groan loudly. 'Because, Minerva, I do not deal well with incessant questioning when I am trying to work.' He fixed her with a pointed look and she pursed her lips. 'The last thing I want or need is to have her pestering me about every little thing. Furthermore, there is nothing to say until the potions are complete, and even then, they may be useless.'
She said nothing—only looked at him as if she didn't quite agree with him.
'It's no secret, what I am doing. Run up and tell her if you feel it necessary,' he challenged.
She watched him a moment longer, but then with a quietly exasperated click of the tongue, she left the room.
Until the time came for him to depart, Severus continually glanced at the door, bracing himself for the possibility that Granger might come bounding through the door at any moment, demanding to know what he was doing.
But she never did, and he was grateful that Minerva had listened to him.
Over two weeks passed before he had the two brews ready. The modified Invigoration draught contained an element of questionable magic, although not anything he could reasonably be sent to Azkaban for. He had cursed the potion, and he hoped the curse would seek out and combine with the rest of the Dark magic in Weasley's body. The second potion was the strongest antidote he knew for dealing with potions of a Dark nature. He knew for a fact that it would neutralise the effects of the modified Invigoration draught, so Weasley would not be unduly harmed for taking the potions if they failed in altering his condition.
He ladled the potions into separate phials and strongly warded both the phials and the cauldrons which retained leftover potion. It would not do to have some idiot child come in and imbibe them. He just might end up in Azkaban for that.
All that was left for him was to take the phials to the hospital, and it was rather a sticking point for him.
His immediate instinct was that he should prefer not to have to deliver them himself… and yet, and yet, if he was so preoccupied with the idea of doing something good, he should not then feel embarrassed about it, should he? That would be to make it into something more than it was. All he'd done was brew some potions—something he was rather known for, after all.
He'd give them to Weasley's Healer; that would do. He'd already spoken to the Healer on a previous occasion about his intentions. There was no reason why he should have to speak to anyone else.
It was decided.
He threw on his coat, left Hogwarts, and Apparated directly to London. As soon as he entered St. Mungo's, he wished he hadn't. He hated the place. He felt he stood out starkly against the whiteness of the building and the garish green of the robes of the medical professionals. Hardly anyone, however, paid him any attention as he made his way to the ward where Weasley was being treated.
Get in and get out, Snape; get in and get out.
It was a pointless mantra to recite. He'd only got a few steps from the lift when he came smack bang face-to-face with Arthur Weasley, of all people.
'Severus!' said Arthur, with a good deal of surprise. 'What are you doing here? Not ill, I hope?'
Severus tried to keep his expression as neutral as possible, but it was hard. He'd always found Arthur Weasley's effortless sociability difficult to deal with and now was no exception. As such, he dithered and it allowed Arthur the opportunity to continue talking.
'Actually, Severus, I never got a chance to thank you for—'
'I'm here about your son, Arthur,' Severus interrupted quickly. 'A potion, ah… I have a couple of potions I believe could aid Ronald's recovery…'
The wide-eyed look on the other man's face perturbed Severus, and so he busied himself with producing the phials.
If anything, Arthur's eyes became only wider as he stared at the two potions. 'Well, I… Good gracious me, I don't know what to say! You must come and speak to—'
Severus thrust out the phials. 'I'd rather you just take them, Arthur, and—'
'Nonsense! Wait until Molly hears this!'
Alarmed, Severus felt a hand on his shoulder and then he was being frogmarched into a nearby room. A room, to his eternal dismay, which appeared to be full of his former students. Clearly, he'd been sent to Hell, after all.
'Listen to this everyone!' Arthur beamed to the room at large and turned expectantly to Severus.
For his own part, Severus could have hexed Arthur. All eyes looked at him with surprise, especially Granger's, whose hand, he noted, rested on Weasley's. He quickly turned his eyes elsewhere, his fingers clutching the phials tighter.
A wave of self-consciousness passed over him as he became aware that he must appear a little unkempt—a little unlike what they were used to seeing him as, with his old Muggle clothes, and his… Well, what did it matter what they thought? There was no need for him to care.
He spoke in flat voice. 'I've brewed a couple of potions I believe may aide Mr Weasley. They are not tested, but I am confident that even if they prove useless with regard to his condition, they will not worsen it. Still, it is up to you whether you wish to try them. The Healer will explain what is involved.'
There was a deafening silence following his words, and Severus looked around, wishing someone would just take the damned phials off him so he could leave.
The silence was eventually broken by a loud sniff. Suddenly, Hermione Granger was rushing past him, frantically wiping away tears. The door closed behind her with a loud click, leaving everyone else slightly startled by her behaviour.
Severus blinked. 'Forgive me; I was under the impression Miss Granger desired Mr Weasley's return to health.'
The silence fell again once more, and still no one would take the phials off him.
Potter stood up quickly and Severus felt himself tense; what for, he didn't know, and he hoped no one had noticed. Ginevra Weasley clasped Potter's arm, forestalling him.
'Leave her be, Harry. Hermione's been a little wrung out lately,' said the youngest Weasley by way of explanation. 'She'll be fine in a bit.'
Severus decided he could stand no more of this. 'Well then,' said he briskly, finally opting to place the phials on the table across the bottom of Weasley's bed. 'Good luck.'
His hand was on the door when he realised Molly Weasley was rushing after him. 'Thank you, Severus! I'm … What can I say… ?'
Nothing.
'It's fine—it may not even work.' With that lacklustre vote of confidence, Severus quickly disappeared through the door, breathing a sigh of relief. Only problem was, his exit was blocked by Granger standing in the corridor like some automaton. She stared into the ether, looking like she was transfixed. Maybe he could sidle past without her even registering it.
But he knew nothing was ever that straightforward for him, so he would take matters into his own hands instead, for a change
'Get a grip, Granger,' he said, not entirely unkindly as he approached her. He thought he might actually be able to walk past her without further ado, but as he passed, she stirred and cleared her throat.
'Thanks, ah, for not telling me what you were doing—the anticipation would have driven me nuts, I'm sure.'
And by extension, me, added Severus wryly to himself.
'And you, I expect,' she said, with a brittle laugh.
Now he felt uncomfortable.
'Thank you, though…' she continued quietly with a deep breath and a slowly spreading wide smile. Before he could confess himself taken aback by it, she stepped towards him, lifting her hands. He registered the movement with an almost involuntary sense of horror, and he gave a small flinch, stepping backwards.
He pretended not to see her suddenly pink cheeks. 'Good day,' he said tightly, when nothing else would come to mind, and he hurried off towards the lift.
He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he left the hospital, and sucked in the cold air with relief. Maybe he'd stop off for a quick one in the Leaky Cauldron before going home. He felt like he needed it.
He ended up having more than one, however, and it was a mistake. The whiskies had only hastened a deterioration of his mood, as he'd known they would.
But he'd realised something, while standing at the bar in the pub and trying not to think about how charming Granger had looked when she'd smiled at him.
He'd realised he was not a man built for doing good deeds or being altruistic.
Upon that peculiarly sobering realisation, Severus left the pub and Apparated into his living room. He pulled the scarf from his neck and touched his cold fingertips pensively to the scars on his neck—a habit he'd thought he'd managed to lose of late.
No; he wasn't built for doing good deeds. If he were, he wouldn't be so selfishly preoccupied with the effects on himself. He knew it in his bones that his potions would work. It was not arrogance that made him think it—he just knew. And yet he did not feel content that he had procured the means for the survival of another person. If anything, he felt emptier than he had before.
That was exactly it—he felt so bloody empty.
What is there for you?
That's what she'd asked him when they'd caught Selwyn. And what the hell was left for him? He knew the answer; it was nothing.
He was Severus Snape and he had nothing—no job, no family, no prospects, no life…
It made him feel suddenly apprehensive and confused, and he spun on his heel, rushing up the stairs to his bedroom, as if the quick movement would dislodge the thoughts from his mind. It didn't.
In the fading daylight that shone through the curtains, he stood in the doorway of his bedroom and grimaced.
But, Merlin, he was so sick of feeling like this. He might very well have nothing, but he was damned if he was going to continue to let everyone else know it. Angrily, he flung his coat in the direction of the bed, and then with a sharp tug, he opened the door to his wardrobe and looked at his reflection in the mirror that hung on the inside.
He lifted a hand and ran it over the stubble on the lower half of his face. He should finally try and claw back some self-respect from somewhere, he thought. Taking out his wand, he aimed it at his jaw until it became smooth once more. Then, he grasped the bottom of his jumper and wrenched it up over his head. Letting it drop to the floor, he reached blindly inside the wardrobe and pulled out the first robes he found.
Roughly buttoning up a shirt, he tugged the robes on and surveyed the outcome with shallow breaths. His hair… Well, it would have to do—there was not much else for it. He pushed the wardrobe door shut with a weary sigh, feeling his fragile determination already beginning to break.
Because the question was, what now?
He sat on the bed and put his chin in hand, contemplating his shoes. Maybe he should have upped sticks and left all those months ago. Was he wrong to have dismissed leaving his small, cramped, stifling house and to head for pastures new? Perhaps foreign climes wouldn't transpire to be as bad as he considered them to be. Nowhere hot, though. Perhaps he'd do a moonlight flit and go far north to somewhere as cold and empty and barren as he was himself.
And then he snorted. The ridiculousness of such a melodramatic thought brought the clarity needed to clear the mist in his mind. There would be no fanciful moonlight flit. But there would need to be something, and it wasn't only about establishing a routine, as Minerva had suggested. He needed to do more; he needed change. And now he recognised it, he just needed to work out precisely what that change would constitute.
There was no need to rush into anything, however. He had to sort things out properly, and properly is how he would do them.
Feeling a little more settled than he had earlier on, he was about to take himself downstairs, when the silver light of a Patronus appeared before him. It was Minerva's Patronus, and her voice spoke out into the room.
'Severus! You did it! I have just heard that Mr Weasley has opened his eyes!'
Severus ignored whatever remained of her message and closed his eyes. There it was then—done. He clasped his hands together in his lap and imagined how the scene must have unfolded at the hospital. It wasn't hard to picture it.
It was an odd feeling he had with the knowledge that it was he who had brought about what was a joyous occasion for many people. It was not a responsibility he could say he had much experience with, and he was unsure how to regard it. In the end, he decided he did not want to dwell on it. He did not want to imagine how wide Miss Granger's smile must be now.
Severus sprang to his feet and headed downstairs. He had other things to focus his mind on and he would not spend his time lost in abstractions. He had indulged that far too easily in the past and he had to work to change that now
Therefore, he ignored any thoughts about the success of his potions—about the final solving of the puzzle he had been presented with many weeks ago.
And most of all, he ignored why his heart should continue to beat with such a stinging pleasure well into the night.
AN: Thanks for reading : )