Poor Severus is depressed. Things never seem to go well for him, do they? The good news is that this is one of the last doom-and-gloom chapters for a while. I know I've been saying this for weeks now, but now we only have three miserable chapters to go through before things start looking up, so bear with me. It has to get worse before it gets better. Let me know what you think - reviews motivate me to write faster.
Great big massive thanks to my fantastic beta, FawkesyLady. She is living proof that witches live among us, and they are awesome!
Severus forced himself to stay awake despite the late hour. He avoided sleep, for the landscape of his dreaming mind was a frightening place, where all of his darkest fears came out to play, to taunt him with his own shortcomings. He was afraid to look them in the eye.
He was aware of what was wrong with him. He hadn't been himself since his last disastrous visit at Crowley's two weeks ago, and had gradually allowed himself to sink into depression since then, welcoming it like an old friend. He still functioned well enough - he answered the Dark Lord's Summons and took his punishment. He reported to Dumbledore and attended Order meetings. He ate when he remembered to and slept when he absolutely had to, and fantasised about it all coming to a sudden closure. Outwardly, he still maintained the iron grip on his self-control, but here, in the privacy of his childhood home's walls, he allowed himself to slip, too exhausted to bury his weaknesses in the depths of his soul.
He sat in his favourite armchair with the latest issue of Potions Weekly, attempting to focus on the fascinating article about the recently discovered, previously unknown uses of Acromantula venom, but the dull headache behind his eyes was making it difficult to read the tiny print. Yawning loudly, he rubbed his eyes, squinting against the fuzzy veil which had wrapped itself tightly around his brain, slowing down his thought processing abilities to a near-Longbottom pace.
'A recent accidental discovery by the French Potions Master Julien Clement suggests that Acromantula venom possesses paradoxical but undeniably favourable healing abilities when added to a mixture of Blood-Replenishing Potion and Pomegranate Juice. Although the exact proportions are not yet known, trials have shown promising results, particularly with regards to the treatment of the Blood-Borne Curse, also known as Blood Malediction, previously believed to be incurable.'
When Severus realised that he had read the same passage thrice, he tossed the journal aside irritatedly, admitting defeat. As he steepled his fingers on his stomach and stared into the fire burning in the grate, his mind veered, unbidden, to Dumbledore. Severus could not be bothered to stop the train of thought. He reflected on the man's odd behaviour, his red-rimmed eyes boring into the dancing flames as though they could give him some desperately coveted answers.
Albus had been strangely elusive, sometimes going missing for days on end, and Merlin himself knew where. He appeared only briefly at Order meetings, and would leave before anyone could catch a private word. Severus had every reason to believe that the Headmaster was actively avoiding him. To make things worse, Dumbledore was distracted and disinterested during his debriefings, dismissing Severus with only vague, make-work orders. He might as well have been talking about his own breakfast. Severus was unsupported, and his inability to produce valuable intelligence beyond the usual dissimulation put his life at a very serious risk. The Dark Lord was merciless, and Severus no longer possessed the strength to heal himself properly, and truth be told, he wasn't certain how much more he could take. He was painfully aware that before long, the favoured servant would become useless chattel to both of his fickle masters.
The frustration he felt breathed a rush of nervous energy into him, making him restless. Searching for something to occupy himself with, Severus walked over to the window, brushing the curtain aside to look out at the street. The weather outside was cold, dark and empty, a mirror image to his own emotional state.
He caught sight of Crowley's house in the near distance, a few doors down on the opposite side of the street. The light upstairs was on, a solitary bright spot among the overwhelming darkness. Severus brushed his fingers against the cold glass, wondering why she was up so late.
His heart lurched in his chest as his eyes fixated on the small square of light, and he entertained the idea of paying Crowley a visit. He could try to talk to her, explain and apologise, but bitter experience told him to stop fooling himself, that he would only end up turned down and ridiculed. He wouldn't be surprised if she had changed the wards to demand an even more ridiculous object. Decent tea, or fags for starters.
The light in Crowley's window flickered out, and Severus found himself isolated and hopeless once again, staring at the empty street in the dead of night. As rain started pattering against the window, he felt the familiar pang of another old friend, regret. 'Good work, old chap, you have masterfully managed to alienate the only person who was prepared to give you the time of day. Bravo.'
He was shivering, as though the cold wind whistling outside had somehow penetrated the brick walls of the building and slipped under his skin, chilling the very marrow of his bones. Severus walked over to his liquor cabinet and filled a dusty glass with a hefty amount of brandy, wincing as he necked it in one go. The alcohol burned his throat as it went down, but did nothing to warm him up. Returning to his chair, he leaned forward, close enough to the fire to make the skin on his face burn, but the cold he felt was a different kind - it came from the depths of his very soul, and neither the fire nor the brandy helped ease the ache.
Looking about the living room, his eyes fell on his collection of books, stacked in neat rows in the floor-to-ceiling bookcases he had had fitted in his early twenties. His personal library was his pride and joy, and he reflected gloomily that those dusty tomes were the most stalwart friends he had. They never judged him, and were always right where he left them, full of answers. Tonight, the answers he sought could not be found between those covers. Neither were they in the covers of Madam Clementines. His eye was drawn back over his shoulder to the darkened window once more. The house down the road might have held answers to the questions asked by his heart. Why go on? What do I stand for? Am I doing the right thing? Would anyone notice if I disappeared tomorrow?
Severus reached out to pick up his cigarettes, ignoring the stacks of dirty plates scattered all around, and the numerous ashtrays placed on the low table and the armrest of his chair, filthy and overflowing with hundreds of butt-ends. He didn't care. He hadn't even had a proper wash in days, never mind looking after the house. What was the point? Even his owl preferred to be out and about nowadays, and rarely came home.
He took a deep drag, mulling over the newest bane of his life that was Alice Crowley for what seemed like the millionth time in the past two weeks. He had dissected their last confrontation minute by minute, and it still wouldn't leave him alone. The spectacular fiasco replayed itself in an endless loop, his mind's eye mercilessly presenting him with vivid memories of his failure over and over again. He didn't even try to stop it anymore, embracing these memories in ritualistic self-flagellation.
He had tried to convince himself that he was better after his session with the prostitute, whose name and face he had forgotten as soon as he was out of the door. It wasn't that she was bad - after all, she did a good enough job of bringing him to completion, but she was… wrong. Yes, that was a better word. Her hair, as blonde as Crowley's, was not the soft ribbons of golden silk he wanted to slide between his fingers. It felt like bundles of straw, bristly and coarse to the touch. Her hands, with their long, red fingernails, were rough and chapped - far from the smooth, delicate hands he imagined, lovingly caressing his cock in his wildest dreams.
Ultimately, Madam Clementine's girls could not bring him the release he needed. He had gone back to the brothel twice, but each time he returned home more frustrated than before. The whores lacked veracity - every movement, every sound was carefully scripted and rehearsed for maximum effect. Severus had never noticed it before, but now it was obvious that the women he bought were merely skilled actresses. Their lust was an illusion. Their bodies were tools, used in the same way he would use a cauldron or a ladle. He could see it now, and felt like a fool.
And Crowley… Crowley had been drunk, that was true. But one quick look inside her mind confirmed that in that moment, her desire for him was sincere. In a split second, she had managed to turn everything he accepted as truth on its head. For the first time in his life, Severus Snape understood what it felt like to be desired by a woman for himself, regardless of the money in his pocket. He was worthy of a woman's attention. He struggled with this new concept, his heart crying out for this connection it desperately needed, whilst his mind refused to accept that any witch would find him, sour man that he is, remotely appealing.
For that very reason, he needed to distance himself, to put her back in her place as Just Another Gryffindor and bolster his authority as the Professor. Truly, his intention was only to ascertain what, if anything, Crowley remembered of the previous night. He was prepared to do damage control, if need be. Instead, he made a bigger mess of things. The deliberately cruel way in which he addressed her was merely self-defense, a necessary evil done to protect his own sanity when he realised that, even with his passion spent, he still desired her. That even hungover and covered in suds, she still aroused him in ways that she had no right to. And then he panicked.
He tried to reason with himself, that he was doing it for their mutual safety. That he was a doomed man, and any association of his with her would shorten her future - acutely so if she attracted the attention of Lord Voldemort. Even then, his explanations fell flat and he could hardly believe in his own words. If his motives were so noble, why was he agonising over what he had done to her? The image of her crestfallen face would not leave his mind's eye, it ached as though it had been burned into his heart with a branding iron. It reminded him too much of another wounded soul, doubly painful, for it echoed back and forth. It was all too much.
With a deep sigh, he crossed the room to pour himself another drink. This web he had found himself caught in was becoming too tangled, the emotional rope around his neck tightening with every breath he took. He could not believe that he was comparing Alice Crowley to Lily. He had hurt them both, but Lily was his friend, his best friend, and the secret love of his life. Crowley was, for all intents and purposes, a stranger. She was one of his students, and yet he knew next to nothing about her. How could the two be compared?
He felt pathetic, drowning his sorrows in a glass like a maudlin, love-sick idiot as he continued his pointless argument with his conscience. Alice Crowley had stolen his thoughts in the day, and haunted his dreams at night. Those dreams frightened and disturbed him to the point of near-madness, as though the Dark Lord himself planted them there to torture him. Severus knew that as soon as he closed his eyes, she would be there, waiting in her little lair within his mind.
He wanted to go and throw himself at her feet and beg forgiveness. He wanted to wipe her off the face of the Earth. He wanted to kiss her and keep her, and to chase her away with his venom in the next breath.
These circular arguments meant nothing. The damage was done. Hateful words struck home with cruel accuracy. There is no counterspell to recall them, no way to vanish the rift he had forged between them that day.
Crowley would probably hex him on sight. Even if her amorous feelings were merely the result of the wine, she could have been... a friend. She understood his position, and Merlin forgive him, she seemed to be in her own inescapable predicament. He had been tasked to help her, and instead she wanted to help him. She could see through his facade.
He gripped at his hair, pulling on it in distress. Instead of accepting her hand, which she had extended to support him, he had bitten it, burned it, and flung it away. Another opportunity like that was unlikely to come his way again. He laughed bitterly, relaxing his grip on his head. Soon enough he'd be dead, surely. Even if he could repair the gap, she would be better off without him lurking in her shadow.
No, he must forget her.
He initiated one of his standard meditative exercises, imagining himself to be the nothingness in the belly of a starving wolf. Gradually, without meaning to, Severus slipped into sleep. The hunger stared back.
He was in the kitchen. Their kitchen. It was warm and airy, and he was sitting at the table with a cup of Earl Grey, enjoying the quiet serenity of early morning. The first rays of sunshine were peeking in through the window nets, and Severus closed his eyes as he soaked it in, its warmth as soft and gentle on his face as his woman's caressing hand. Here, he was safe, and it was easy to breathe.
There were no Dark Lords, Death Eaters or Dumbledores. The monsters were gone, kept at bay by the purple-wrapped chocolate bar that appeared on the table next to the saucer, and he knew that She would chase them away should they ever rear their ugly heads again. He was a free man, unchained. The sensation was alien, yet exhilarating.
When he opened his eyes, She was there, standing in the doorway in her sleepy-eyed, messy-haired glory. She stood silently, leaning against the doorframe with one hand on her hip, a small smile tugging her lips upward as she regarded him carefully with a glint of mischief glittering in her eyes. Severus could feel the weight of gaze, sliding slowly down his face and chest, causing the fine hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. She looked… inclined, and he felt his heartbeat quicken in response to the woman's appraisal.
Without so much as a 'good morning', she stepped inside the kitchen, and brought her hands to the belt of her short dressing gown, untying the ribbon slowly, deliberately. Severus swallowed thickly, his breathing becoming increasingly deeper as she approached with dainty steps, filling the room with her presence. He had to lean back in his chair for support, his lips parting in wonder as she locked her hungry gaze with his.
She rolled her shoulders back, allowing the piece of dark blue satin to fall down onto the floor in one fluid movement. A strangled groan escaped Severus' mouth as she stood naked before him, her lithe form exposed to his lustful gaze. In that moment, she looked like a goddess, the contours of her delectable body illuminated by the golden light of the sun behind her back. Her face seemed to glow from within, radiating warmth of unconditional love, and the smile she bestowed upon him could not be mistaken for anything other than an invitation.
Severus did indulge, allowing his eyes to slide lasciviously down her body. He would never get enough of the gentle slope of her narrow shoulders, and the two tiny, perky breasts with their dusky pink nipples, jutting out proudly under his appreciative gaze. He growled in the back of his throat, a low, dangerous sound, as his gaze slithered across her flat stomach, and the dip of her waist, so small that he could almost encircle it with his hands. It was incredible how she could affect him so, awakening his passion just by presenting him with the wonder of her nakedness.
He felt his cock twitch in his trousers, hard as steel and aching for her touch. He wanted to reach out and seize her, and lay her down on the table, and ravish her right there and then. Instead, he stretched his control that little bit further, wishing to sate his eyes fully, for she was a feast, a feast she had laid out for him alone.
She turned sideways slightly, allowing Severus to catch a glimpse of her sweet arse, revelling in her own femininity, her body relaxed, her posture indicating an easy confidence that showed Severus just how comfortable they were around one another. Her amused smirk told him that she knew the effect she had on him far too well - she could just stand there, naked and silent, and watch him combust.
It was clear that she, too, was beginning to lose control. The flush that coloured her face and neck in a lovely shade of pink indicated that his undivided attention aroused her, and her chest rose and fell slowly and heavily, as though she struggled to rein in her lust. The air around them was dense, crackling like electricity that threatened to go up in flames at the smallest hint of a spark and reduce them both to a pile of ash. Severus' restrain began to crumble, and he realised that he was grasping the edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip. He rose from his seat, slowly and gracefully like a panther, his teeth bared, his movements fluid, predatory. When the woman's eyes flew wide open and she exhaled audibly, he knew it was Time.
He gave her a split-second warning before he strode over and pounced. Grasping her waist, he lifted her off the ground as though she was as light as a feather. His mind was hazy, clouded over by scorching, all-consuming hunger, his instincts screaming at him to possess her, to fuck her senseless, to claim her as his. He needed her. Now. Splaying his hand across her lower back, he began rocking his hips, grinding his confined erection against her exposed sex.
She had wrapped her legs around his middle, mewling and panting as she met each of his thrusts with one of her own. She was liquid in his arms, malleable, warm and willing, her body undulating alongside his frantically, her desire for him etched across her face. As Severus navigated the kitchen, walking towards the table with his arms full of wanton witch, she placed her hand on the back of his neck and pulled him down for a passionate kiss, causing him to nearly lose his balance. Severus held her tightly, as though she was the world's most precious treasure, and groaned as she nipped his lower lip with her teeth. She sucked it into her mouth, flicking her tongue across it, her kisses growing in force and urgency as she buried her hands in his hair and raked her nails across his scalp. Severus lunged forward and placed her on the table, hooking his arms around her knees to bring her closer to its edge, and she arched her back, supporting herself on her arms. Looming over her, he returned her kisses, continuously rubbing his groin against her sex, twisting and turning his hips with unrestrained fervour. The sensation of her lips against his was exquisite, her sweet, pleading noises causing a rush of masculine power to surge in his chest.
Severus grunted, and captured her head in his hands. Seizing control, he claimed her swollen lips in a deep, possessive kiss, fucking it with his tongue, languidly sliding it in and out of her mouth. He reached down to undo his trousers with one hand, making a strangled noise in his throat as his cock sprung free.
As he pulled back to gulp for air, something tickled at his face and neck. His eyes snapped open, and in place of his lover, reclined Albus Dumbledore in his arms. With a yelp, Severus jumped back, swearing profusely. "Bloody hell, what the FUCK is this?" The Headmaster's trunk was largely obscured by his long beard, but his bandy legs were encased in black leather thigh-highs. The image burned into his mind.
Burning...