5. Sympathy
S.
The house was oddly quiet without Granger around to bludgeon the silence with her chaos. After twenty-five long minutes of fiddling about with the blasted remote control, Severus figured out how to change the channel on the television. He flicked through, and was surprised to learn that there were many more than when he was a boy. He came across one that played music with accompanying visual, but what the muggles were calling music was not quite to his taste. Nor was what the muggles seemed to consider fashionable. There was one channel that played only classical music, which was better, if not ideal. The instrument of the hour seemed to be the piano. He would have preferred a cello, but pianos have strings just the same.
Sitting on the edge of the sofa, he leant into the coffee table and set up the deck of cards to play Patience.
I'll have to teach this to Granger, he thought. Might keep her quiet for an hour or two.
But truthfully, he'd become somewhat accustomed to her constant chatter, as it helped him to escape the fear that had threatened to become intrusive.
It's fine, he told himself. You're fine. You're safe.
Still, Severus could not stop his thoughts from wandering to the Shrieking Shack. He kept seeing the snake lunge towards him. He had thought he was going to die. He had been sure of it. It was vicious. Not a single bite, as he had anticipated, but the damn thing had tried to rip his throat out. He ran his hands through his hair and clutched it into a ball. It was getting long now, soon it would be as long as Lucius'.
Maybe I'll wrap it in a pretty little bow, like that pretentious bastard.
Thoughts of Lucius came with a shock of sadness. Azkaban was not a place for the Malfoys. Lucius' last tenure in the prison had all but broken him, and Narcissa had hardly coped in his absence. He thought fondly of Narcissa. They had been close for many years, after all. She was the only person that he was sore to be without. He was fond Lucius too, of course, and Draco at a push, but it was Narcissa he longed to see.
Shoving a frozen pizza into the oven, Snape felt as though he was cheating a little, given that there were plenty of fresh ingredients in the fridge. It just felt so lonely, so pathetic, to cook for one. He had done it for many years, and hated it. He didn't want to be like that anymore.
Maybe, when I'm out of here, I'll get back out there and find somebody to cook for.
Dating had been such a disaster the first time around. Trying to find someone to share his life with was difficult given that he was not naturally prone to sharing. Particularly when it came to his space. He liked to be left alone. Which, it would turn out, didn't bode well for romantic attachment. It was why love had always felt so impossible. He had to compromise too much of himself to keep someone else happy. Between Lily, who chose James, and Narcissa who chose Lucius, he didn't have the best track record of keeping women. He could find them no problem. He wasn't conventionally handsome, but women didn't seem to mind too much. He was clean, mostly; able to turn the charm on when required, and he was clever. Women liked him... at first. They just didn't stick around too long.
Maybe this time will be different.
Setting the timer on the oven, he moved back towards the living room and recognised the song that played as one of his mother's favourites. It made him miss her. He hadn't thought fondly of his mother in years. She was long dead. So was his father. And good riddance. Severus was the last of the Snapes.
And the family tree will die with me, he thought.
He shrugged. If he needed companionship, he could always pay for it.
Wouldn't be the first time.
Snape settled on the sofa and flicked through the channels again until he settled on a quiz show that had been around since his childhood.
Oh shit.
He'd watched it with his father, only to be reprimanded if he didn't know the answers and mocked if he did. The words he had spoken to Hermione as a child rang in his head; he hadn't realised it at the time, but it was the perfect echo of his father. Her memory taunted him, as another memory flashed that did not taunt, but prodded, pulled and ripped right through him.
"Tell me, Son, do you take pride in being an insufferable know-it-all?"
He covered his mouth and ran to the bathroom, flipping up the toilet lid just in time to empty his stomach into the bowl. He sat beside it, feeling quite sorry for himself, and flushed it.
:
H.
Hermione sat between Ron and George at the Burrow. The seat beside George was empty, and it was the giant, grey elephant in the room. Everyone thinking about who was missing, but nobody daring to acknowledge it. From the moment she had arrived, the Burrow was hostile. It did not have the cosy, homely vibe that she was used to. In fact, it seemed that ever since they had moved back into the house, one Weasley short, it bricks and mortar, no longer a home. The palace was one jester short, and all of the laughter had died with him.
It was to be expected, she knew, but she didn't feel as though she belonged there. It was as though she was intruding on the family's grief. She would stay for dinner, she decided.
Then I'm going home.
Ron rushed Hermione up to his room after dinner, and swept her into his arms. It had been days since they'd since each other, and before that there had been four years of romantic tension followed by one kiss in the middle of a battlefield. He kissed her again, as he had that day. Except without the imminent threat of death, it was not as urgent, and apparently, not as exciting. He moved his hands clumsily across her breasts and then he pulled her sweater over her head. She lay back on the bed and allowed him to climb on top of her and drive his grief into her over and over. She was a passive vessel for his relief, and he was clumsy; his hands like paws on her body. It was marginally better when she took the reins and moved on top, but less than a minute later, he reached his end, pushed her off him and flopped beside her.
"Wow", he panted.
And that was it. He was done.
"I can't believe I'm even entertaining his conversation", Snape said with a grimace so severe, Hermione thought he was in pain, "but, it will get better with time."
"I hope so."
He shifted as though he was uncomfortable, but he continued to humour her. He rolled his sleeves and avoided her eye as he spoke.
"Can I assume it was his first outing?"
"Yes", she said. "He's done stuff before with Lavender. Apparently, she spent the night once and they-"
She paused, and studied Snape's face. He was not yet absolutely horrified, but she imagined he teetered on the edge.
"I guess you don't want the details, huh?" she said, with a small, apologetic smile.
"Give me any bloody details and this conversation will finish quicker than your boyfriend."
There was a moment of silence before Hermione choked on her tea and Severus' pallid face flushed with colour.
"Sorry", she said, chewing on her thumb, disguising her face with her hand. "Yes, it was his first time."
"But not yours?"
"No, I lost-"
She caught his eye.
Right. No details.
"Viktor", she said, finally.
He raised his head and met her eyes.
"Krum?!"
"Yes..." she pursed her lips, defensively. "Why?"
"He's an idiot, Hermione."
She opened her mouth as though to protest, and then closed it, when a defence failed to materialise. Snape smiled and raised his eyebrows.
Okay. He wasn't the brightest.
"He was nice", she said eventually.
"You don't give it up for 'nice'. Jesus!"
"Who did you give it up for?" she asked, and bit her lower lip.
Snape raised an eyebrow.
"What makes you think that I would ever answer that question?"
She tilted her head and shrugged with one shoulder.
"Worth a shot", she said.
:
S.
She gave him a knowing look; bold and a little dubious. He didn't know what she knew, but he assumed he was about to find out.
"I spoke to Harry", she said. "He told me about... the pensieve... your memories".
"Of course he did."
It's a shame they're not quite true.
"You loved his mother?" she asked.
Severus considered how best to answer.
Honestly? I could answer honestly, I suppose.
"Yes."
"What? All your life?"
Not quite.
He gave her a stiff nod, unsure why he was uncomfortable with the lie. He'd lied to Harry... to Dumbledore... to the Dark bloody Lord. Why not Granger too?
"I don't believe you", she said.
"Why?"
She fiddled with her bracelet, as though she did not want to look at him.
"You were in love with a dead woman for your entire life and you didn't move on? You just let yourself be miserable and lonely?"
Well, those are two very different questions. Oh, piss it!
"Fine", Snape said, "you want the truth?"
Hermione moved forward on her chair.
"Yes, I really do".
He sighed.
"Lily and I... we were friends for a long time. We dated. She was my..."
Oh God, don't say it.
"She was my first love..."
Hermione's lips twitched and then curved into a smile.
"Was she the one you... gave it up for?"
"Oh shut it, you."
He grinned at her.
"Anyway, we were involved for about a year or so", he said, "and then she started to spend time with Potter. I guess I got a tad jealous. I thought there was something going on, which she said, emphatically, was not true, but then she ended things with me."
Why am I telling you this?
"And when we were over... who did she run to?"
"James", Hermione said, and pulled a face that made him want to laugh. "So, why did she end things?"
"My interest in dark magic... among other things."
"What other things?"
And that is where I draw my line.
"Too many to count. Anyway, I loved her, but I tried to move on. I dated someone else. An older girl... really beautiful, and bloody hell did she know it too. That didn't work out either. Surprise surprise."
Too vulnerable. Stop!
"I met her, then I met the Dark Lord. I became a Death Eater at nineteen years old, damn reckless and stupid as I was. Then Lily got pregnant with that snotty little friend of yours. When I heard the prophecy, I relayed it to the Dark Lord. I couldn't have known it'd be Lily's son. He was premature, due in August, not July-"
He began to rush his words, eager to end the story there; not sure why he continued to tell it.
Keep talking.
Stop talking.
Get it off your chest. You'll feel better.
Keep your damn mouth shut!
"The Dark Lord decided she would die. I begged for her life. He refused me."
Almost the truth. Good enough.
"I still cared for her; I still loved her even, I guess", he continued. "I don't let go of things very easily. I told Dumbledore what I knew and asked him to protect her. He said that he would, on the condition that I switched sides. And I did. I wasn't having much fun being a Death Eater anyway. It was a lot of kissing The Dark Lord's ring."
Hermione pulled a face and wiggled her eyebrows.
"Jesus wept. Not like that! Although... For some, it happened that way."
She let slip a short burst of laughter, but his scowl quietened her. She nodded apologetically, and bid him to continue.
"Well, as you know, Dumbledore's protection was worthless because Pettigrew betrayed them all and Lily died anyway. I blamed myself for her death. It was my fault after all. It... it broke me. I was never the same."
Enough! Stop it. Now.
"I did see other women", he said. "I well and truly moved on, but I still owed her. I promised myself I would see out my debt to her and then, finally, I would be free of her. I just didn't anticipate it taking twenty bloody years to fulfil my vow."
She nodded.
"Yep. That makes sense", she said. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For telling me the truth... Now", she said, flashing a cheeky grin. "Tell me about this older woman..."
"Not a chance."
:
H.
Hermione returned to the Burrow the next morning, and as Severus had said, the second time with Ron was somewhat better than the first. If it continued to improve in such an upward trend, by the end of the month she might actually enjoy herself.
Molly and Arthur headed out to Diagon Alley to buy decorations for the wake. It didn't seem right to dress in black and mourn Fred's passing, they said. They should celebrate his life.
"It's not what Fred would have wanted", Arthur said.
"Really?" George snapped. "That's what he would have wanted, is it? Because I think he'd want to be alive!"
"Come on now, George", Molly urged. "Get some breakfast in you and you'll feel better."
:
S.
Severus awoke feeling out of sorts; his chest was tight and his palms felt clammy. He hadn't slept well, waking every hour or so, sticking to his sheets, drenched in his own sweat; sure that he'd just had a nightmare that he couldn't recollect. As he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, his eyes fell to the scars on his throat. They had dulled to pink now, and the bruises that surrounded it were a green, almost yellow colour.
He prodded at it, without thinking, and a clip of pain nipped at his spine. He'd done more damage than he'd thought, which would explain why it took him so damn long to move around freely. He was better, he thought.
I'm doing better. It's fine. I'm fine.
But his heart hammered in his chest and he felt something in the pit of his stomach, like foreboding.
I don't feel good, he thought. I need to drink.
Snape cupped his hands under the running tap water and drank, but his mouth and his throat still felt dry and scratchy. The more he thought about it, the drier it became. No amount of water could soothe it.
Fuck, okay. I shouldn't have poked it. What did I do to the wound? Did I dislodge something?
His heart rattled and his chest became tight as though it was trying to constrict to keep his heart still. His hands tingled under the water, and then he began to lose sensation; only the prickle of pins and needles remained.
Fuck! Okay. I'm breathing. Can I breathe? Oh God, I can't breathe.
Like a self-fulfilling prophecy, Severus' breathing became more shallow and he fought to catch his breath. It hitched and broke, and increased on every inhale, and again on each exhale.
Breathe, you fucking idiot.
He clutched his hand to his heart, as the pain in his chest worsened.
Is this a heart attack?
He rifled through the medicine cabinet, hoping that he would find something that would help ease his situation. His hands trembled as he searched, and the packets and bottles began to drop one by one from the shelves as he knocked about inside.
Fuck!
He flung his shaking hands across the whole cabinet, dislodging everything, bringing it all crashing down to the ground around him. He dropped the floor and put his head between his knees to stop the nausea. He grabbed his wand from his pocket and shot out his silver doe, then dropped his head into his trembling hands and sobbed.
:
H.
"Severus?"
Snape sat with his back to the tub; his head in his hands. She moved cautiously towards him and gently lifted his chin. He snapped his head down, covering his face with his hair so that she couldn't look at him. She sat beside him and placed a hand of comfort on his knee.
"Your Patronus... It sounded urgent... I thought you were dying."
"So did I", he said, in a pathetic voice that was not his own. "I couldn't breathe, my chest hurt... my hands wouldn't stop fucking shaking..."
"A panic attack?"
He lifted his head a fraction so that he could peek at her from behind his hair. His eyes were bloodshot, and the dark circles around his eyes spoke volumes.
"Did you get any sleep?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"Right, then you need to rest", she said, patting his knee. "But first... you need to eat. I'll bring something up to you, just get into bed whenever you're ready."
Hermione left him on the floor of the bathroom and it physically hurt her to do so, but she knew that she needed to give him as much space as possible. It was important, too, that she acted like it was perfectly normal, because it was perfectly normal. However Severus was neither perfect nor normal, and she imagined that he would be more susceptible than most to the shame that often followed in the aftershocks of an attack.
She made up some toast, and then pulled out a jar of chocolate spread from the back of the cabinet. It must have been over a year old, but it tasted fine. It was what Lupin had said all those years ago on the Hogwarts Express, that had made her reach for the chocolate. Because really how different was a panic attack from a Dementor? They were both terrifying. Both imposing and aching to suck the very life out of the beholder. They both left you exhausted and feeling as though you would never feel joy again. She wondered if, actually, it was fear that gave Dementors their power.
"Hermione, why is there shit on my sandwich?" Snape asked.
You feel better then. Good. You had me worried.
"It's chocolate. Eat it," she said, with a smile just for herself. "You'll feel better."
:
S.
Hermione didn't seem too bothered by his so-called 'panic attack', in fact, she took it in her stride. It was as though it was perfectly ordinary to shit your pants for no reason.
At least I didn't actually shit my pants this time.
He sat on the bed, and she moved in beside him, crossing her legs underneath her and fiddled with a ring on her left hand.
She's quite extraordinary, really. Not at all the person I thought she was.
Severus made a double take when he realised on which finger the ring sat.
No. What? No!
"He asked you to marry him?" he asked.
"Yep."
"You can't marry him!"
"Why not?"
She didn't sound offended, she was curious. She really wanted to know.
"For a start, you're only eighteen! You have your whole life to make ridiculous, life-altering decisions. Save some for later."
She nodded as though she agreed.
"I haven't given him an answer".
"But you're wearing the ring?"
She ran her thumb across the tiny diamond and twisted it between her thumb and index finger.
"He gave it to me. I thought I'd try it on and see how I felt..."
He met her eyes. She was serious.
"And?" he asked.
"I think it's too soon and it feels almost... possessive."
Of course, he's possessive! Weasley couldn't land another girl like you if he searched for a hundred years.
"I don't think I want to get married just yet", she said. "Like you said, I'm eighteen."
"Wait ten years", he said. "At least!"
As she removed the ring and shoved it into her pocket, he caught sight of the scar that crossed her forearm. She'd seen him looking, and she elbowed him gently.
"Are you feeling unnecessarily guilty again?" she asked.
There is nothing 'unnecessary' about my guilt.
"Perhaps".
"Don't", she said kindly. "I'm okay. And that's how I know you will be too. I was scared all the time, but it's manageable now."
"I'm not scared."
"Maybe you aren't... but your subconscious is."
He opened his mouth, but she glared at him, facetiously, as she intercepted the argument.
"And you're not in control of that, by the way, so it's not a reflection of your courage or character... okay?"
"Fine", he said. "And you're certain you're doing better now?"
I won't be this pitiful forever?
"Yes", Hermione said. "I mean, at the time, it was awful. It was so demeaning... with everyone watching... and I was screaming. I thought I was going to die."
"I know."
She tilted her head softly and her hair fell down her shoulders.
"How do you know?" she asked.
Show her the scar.
"I know what they are capable of."
She's already seen it. Show her. She wants to know.
"Because you've witnessed it? Or because you've lived it?"
I've never shown anyone.
"... Both."
Just show her the damn scar, already.
"Fine."
Snape unbuttoned his shirt sleeve, that was always purposely fastened down to his hands for this exact reason, and he rolled it up to the ditch of his elbow. He held out his arm for her to see for herself. Where Hermione's scars were red and itchy, his were faded to a silvery pink, hardly visible with skin as pale as his, but if you looked closely, you could read it. He looked at it every day.
"Sympathiser?" she asked.
"A gift from the Dark Lord" - he swallowed his discomfort - "when I asked him to spare Lily's life."
"Oh."
Just 'oh'? No judgment? No cringing? No pity? No tears?
"He tortured me, as Bellatrix tortured you. Then, as I lay sobbing and bleeding, covered in my own shit, he carved that into my arm to remind me never to make the same mistake again. I learned my lesson."
Her face had remained stoic and unchanged throughout his whole sorry tale, but as he nodded with a singular jerk of his head to indicate the story was finished, a small tear formed in the corner of her eye, in a perfect sphere, like a droplet of dew on a blade of grass.
She rested her head on his shoulder, and he allowed her to stay like that, waiting for it to become uncomfortable. But the discomfort never came. In fact, he felt quite at ease, as though it was perfectly natural. Like she quite belonged in his personal space.
Like I would share it with you.
She ran her fingers across his scar. It was gentle and empathetic; there was no judgment in her face or fear in her touch because she knew exactly what he had gone through. He felt heard and understood. For the first time all day, all year perhaps, he felt quite safe, quite sound; quite... whole.
AN: With apologies to my next door neighbours who definitely heard how hard I laughed at my own silly joke, as I wrote the line 'give me any bloody details and this conversation will finish quicker than your boyfriend'.