Morgan Hunter was too angry, too frustrated to even keep her eyes open. She could have been teaching here, in this lovely classroom, the mid-day rays illuminating the stained glass of windows illustrating key potions ingredients and equipment. Cauldrons, burners, stirring wands, jars, leaves, entrails, mucus. She could almost smell the brewing. The shelves were stocked with books and hardware, the benches and chairs ready for students to occupy them, the lectern ready for an instructor, chalkboards clean and ready.
She waved her wand and muttered "Fenestrata." The windows slid smoothly open. The mid-day breeze began to fill the room, bringing with it more light. He had forced her to spend the year in the dungeons, cold, damp and dark, when this had been an alternative. Trapped from the sun, away from its warmth. Hypatia Alexander could have it. She pocketed her wand within the Solarium garment.
She'd remained at the Quidditch pitch only until she was sure Snape was not killed, then departed. Why she felt compelled to stop here before simply leaving, she didn't know. Perhaps another instance of her habit of wallowing in self-pity. Useless. Time to go. Her things would be simple to pack with a few waves of her wand. Just go now. Leave your things for the house elves to pack and send. Everyone is distracted by the duel. This is your best chance to escape. She'd wasted time coming here; there was no time to lose.
Severus Snape bounded up the stairs as though his life depended on it, as perhaps it did, his mind racing. His lungs tore at the air, his bones ached from the Blood-Builder. Corroded cauldrons, why couldn't Pomfrey have used Girding Potion or something else more useful, more rapid in its effect?
Everything had happened so fast, there had been no time for him to even retrieve the Felix Felicis he had been hoarding, just waiting for the right moment. Blasting Bludgers, every part of his plan was being destroyed. He was now in fully unplanned territory, making it up as he went.
How could he win her now? She apparently believed she was a captive (his choice to launch a Binding Hex on her now seemed a uniquely poor choice in hindsight), thought he was married to Trelawney, had publicly confirmed and quantified for her just how painfully poor he was and for how long his probation would last, and now thought he was in love with Hypatia Alexander. He'd given her all the gifts he could, the flowers and the potion, but he hadn't been able to show them to her before she'd jumped up. He'd shown his devotion at her bedside, but she'd been comatose. He would have to explain about Hypatia and the duel, but that would be simple, if he were ever able to explain it to her. He would make the job offer he'd been meaning to extend ever since he'd been informed of the donation. He could now offer her a permanent job because of her own generosity. The balance was not at all in his favor, mostly by his own doing. Nevertheless, he would persist.
He burst in, the door crashing to the wall. She was there. He wasn't too late.
"Morgan," he cried out breathlessly. "Let me explain, please!" He stood, clutching his chest, panting and sweating from his exertion, as she stood near the windows, her look of surprise followed all too quickly by a glare.
She already thinks of you as a threat, as someone who would keep her here against her will. Show her she can trust you. Disarm.
She'd waited too long. Croaking cactuses, how did he get here so fast after Winder nearly knocked him unconscious ? You've been a fool to wait so long, to underestimate him. He may be stronger than you think. He must be very motivated to stop you from leaving.
He was reaching for his wand. Never again.
"Expelliarmus!" she shouted, drawing her wand and launching the spell across the classroom.
He nearly lost his wand, had barely enough time to block the spell and deflect it into a nearby chair which sailed into the wall.
"I advised you to never raise your wand against me again, Snape." Her words chilled him to the bone, despite the warm breeze from the open windows combining with his own heat from the duel and his rush to find her. She cast a Binding Spell at him, ropes springing from her wand in a terrifying echo of his own previous spellwork. He quickly deflected them into a heap on the floor, as she launched a second spell.
"If you think for a moment you can stop me from leaving, you're a fool, Severus Snape. You have no right to keep me here." Her JellyLeg Jinx knocked him off balance as he fought to block it. He was positioned between her and the door, not a benign place to be. His only options were to walk forward (too aggressive) or backward toward the door, the left and right being blocked by desks and his having no time to move them aside as he fought to defend himself from her onslaught. He wished that the BloodBuilder spell Poppy had inflicted on him just now worked faster, or that he had requested the more rapid course. Despite his intentional loss to Parse Winder, he was still depleted and weaker than he should be. Morgan Hunter was proving to be a skilled duelist. Her feet were firmly planted, her wand moving through the air with speed and precision, her incantations uttered flawlessly.
He had never admired her more than in this instant, her hair flying, her spells and hexes skillfully launched and well-chosen. He drew forth every defensive dueling skill he had to avoid being smashed against the wall as a desk had following his deflection of her Ascendio spell. She was as equally talented in battle as she was in the Potions lab. His heart ached at the beauty of her wandwork, as his body ached from the effort of being the target of her wandwork. The scent of the spring meadow, her own lavender and rosemary, the new classroom, and the slightly toasted scent of incendiary spells made for a heady mix. The way the sun shone through the windows behind her, the dust from the destruction catching the rays. How lovely this would be to observe, if only she weren't trying to injure him.
He called out. "Morgan, please. I don't want to hurt you!"
Hunter did not relax her posture in the slightest. "I'll make sure I'm not hurt. Look out for yourself." She launched a Knockback Jinx, forcing him to quickly launch his own counter-jinx.
She was growing tired with her effort and he hadn't even launched an offensive spell at her. Despite her previously feeling in excellent form, it was clear to her now that she had not yet gained all of her strength back yet. He still had most of his strength, but she was beginning to lose hers. And he still hadn't moved from blocking the door. If there had been a broom about, the windows provided an easy escape, but none was here. She continued, now using jinxes to preserve herself until she was able to work back up to hexes.
He's not really all that much of a duelist, despite the stories of his taking on Minerva McGonagall and others. Not a single spell launched at you. Who knows what else about him was a lie? I never know what to believe, not even with my own eyes. You can't trust your own feelings with this one. There's too much confusion and too much unsettling about this man and what had gone on in the years before you arrived, never mind all you've seen for yourself.
Her intensity continued, and he began to face the reality that his defensive spells, deflections, and counter-jinxes would soon be insufficient. The effort that even the defensive spells required to handle her onslaught were exhausting. He needed to slow her down. That might require him to attack.
Her Knockback Jinx spell sailed over his shoulder, into a shelf of books, which then cascaded noisily to the floor.
How had it come to this? Only last evening, he'd been holding her hand quietly in the darkness, silently hoping for her recovery, envisioning himself kneeling at her feet, offering his apologies, presenting his gifts (modest though they were), offering her a permanent position with a more befitting title and increased pay, support for her research and travel, promising her this classroom and a different apartment. One with windows and the sunshine that she craved. Anything, anything at all that she needed or wanted, no matter if she were fully recovered or permanently disabled. His plan had only required her to remain in the infirmary until he cleaned up the mess with Hypatia and Parse. He believed he had the time, as he expected her to remain with Poppy for at least a few days, no matter when she woke up. Now, in a matter of only a few hours, he was here, fighting a pitched battle against the witch he loved, after she'd had to witness his theater of the absurd with the Minister of Magical Education and his deputy. Every plan he'd ever made to win her had invariably gone wrong in the most spectacular fashion. It seemed he lacked in luck as much as he lacked in skill in matters of the heart. He was perhaps further now from her love than he had ever been, despite his efforts.
His mind reeled, trying to devise a way that would allow him time to talk to her, to make his case. As much as he needed to send an offensive spell her way to stop her constant barrage of aggression, even more so, he simply could not. Nothing would destroy her trust faster than actions that might seem to confirm her suspicions of him. Moreover, he simply had no wish to hurt her. Ever. Even now. He'd managed to never fire a spell against Minerva in their duel, using only deflection and blocking; he must find a way today. Despite her skill and despite his growing exhaustion. Escape wouldn't solve his problem now. He needed to remain, needed her to remain.
He needed time to talk to her, to explain the events of the day, to tell he how he felt, to ask her to stay, all the other things her wanted to ask her, to make his offers. She believed he was stopping her from leaving; he was between her and the door. He couldn't stop her from leaving, and yet she couldn't go. How would he explain if she left? How would he gain her trust if he forced her to remain? There was no solution to the puzzle.
The scent preceded the voice. The scent of destruction, rot and decay, and not the good kind, not the natural and transformative kind. Spoilage, like the reptile processing area after a few weeks of neglect. The voice contrasted with the smell only in tone. Silky and seductive, but with words of filth that always left him drained.
"Why would she choose you over Parse Winder? Handsome, athletic, strong, outgoing, just as she is. Well-placed, influential, and becoming more so, taking advantage of the opportunities opened up after the war. He has money. Most of all, freedom. You have none of these things. Skinny, ugly, poor, imprisoned. Solitary, abrasive."
Times like this, when he was fighting at the edge of his abilities, invariably summoned this creature to his side. He had to fight the daemon, even as he was fighting off Hunter's attacks. "Leave me, you foul spawn of death. I had enough of your words years ago."
"Severus, you and I have been such close friends for so long. Your efforts to abandon me have always failed, and they always will."
He deflected Hunter's Glacius Duo into a cabinet to his right, but it was close enough for him to feel the chill of the ice.
"She wants to go back to Sedona. You do understand what that means, don't you, Severus?"
He did, indeed. It meant his being alone, possibly forever, a condition he'd pictured any number of times since their split. Even if someone else came along, it simply wasn't possible that he would not compare them to her, just as he still thought of Lily every day. His loneliness would be doubled, if not tripled.
"It means she'd choose no one rather than be with you. You are not even better than no one, no better than loneliness itself."
He felt the daemon's grip slide around his neck, felt its fingers slide within his guts and twist them, making his Shield Charms more difficult to conjure.
"Let her go, Severus. You have no choice; she will go whether you wish to allow it or not. Watch her walk away. Then give yourself to me. Once I consume your soul, you'll live forever. I don't mind the damaged souls, the bruised ones like yours. Those are the ones that taste the best, the ones that fill me most. Aged, seasoned. Ready. Just like your Potions, the ones that are most difficult are the best in the end."
"Never." Snape attempted to shore himself up, to fend off Hunter's spells.
"You've been so close, so many times. Why do you tease me so, Severus? All your life, so close. So many times, I could nearly taste you. When you were 9 and your father beat your mother and there was nothing you could do but listen from the opposite side of the wall, your child's curses still too weak. Did you want to actually help her, or just hurt him? When Potter and Black tortured you, their idiotic pranks besting your skills. When Lily left you after your cruelty to her, only to choose Potter, the worst of the bunch. So many times, Severus, so close. Remember when she died? Dumbledore pulled you back from me. But there were so many other times, so many other deaths."
"Enough deaths, surely, to satisfy you. Leave me."
"How many were enough deaths for you, Severus? Your Potions, strengthening and healing the Death Eaters; poisons sold to any number of wizards with homicidal intent; ineffective antidotes reserved for your enemies. How many?" Its fingers released his guts and moved upward to his heart. "Very strong, despite it all. But once Morgan Hunter is gone, you'll be mine. I won't be merciful then. I'll simply reside within you, day and night. The poison is still in your cabinet. Can you hear it calling, as I can, waiting for me? The lake will be warm in summer and no one will even notice you are gone until September." The daemon's embrace grew stronger, its breath even closer, more foul than before. "Can you imagine the celebration? No more Bat from the Dungeons. No more detentions. No more endless lectures. Hogwarts will be a whole new school. Lots of money in the bank, and no Headmaster Snape to ruin things for everyone."
He was tiring now, the Blood Builder taking far longer than he needed it. Both in body and in soul, he fought on, silently begging for Hunter to have mercy. She showed no evidence of this, sending an expertly-cast Stupefy his way. He allowed it to come much too close. It struck the daemon full-on, but its grip on him was so strong, Snape himself was thrown against the wall with it, smashing the chalkboard behind him. Now having taken a direct hit, the daemon released him and crawled away, hissing its anger. He could still feel the impression of its grip on his heart. It would return in time.
As Harry ran up the stairs, he pondered his godfather. Just when he thought Severus Snape had shown some openness, some honesty, some small insight into his inner workings, everything fell apart. He thought he understood about Morgan Hunter, about Snape's love and admiration for her. He thought he had an inkling, some small moment of a true secret shared. Snape had opened up to him, shown something of himself, or so he was led to believe. This wizard who could duel McGonagall, who could survive Voldemort, who could fly without a broom, had been cast on his backside by Parse Winder, who may have been only one step above Gilderoy Lockhart in his dueling skills. He agreed with Dean Thomas, who had been embarrassed to watch the event.
Why would Snape have led him to believe he was in love with Morgan Hunter when he was in fact angling for the love of Hypatia Alexander? If Professor Hunter seemed so unlike him, at least she was both smart and skilled with Potions. For Alexander, he could find no common ground with the Headmaster. He didn't know much about her, but she seemed to have the build of a Beater, not the mind of a Chaser. He considered how little he really knew about Severus Snape, despite his memories. Those were in the past, and many things had happened since his student days. Perhaps he was a wholly different man now. Harry certainly didn't know what to think now.
Reaching his destination at last, his legs aching the whole way down this rarely-used corridor, he tore open the classroom door.
He hit the floor and rolled across the corridor as a LegLock Hex sailed out, crashing into the far wall, leaving a pock mark in the stone opposite the door.
He waited a few moments. Hearing no further spell-casting, he drew his own wand and cautiously peeked a single eye around the door jamb.
It took more than a few moments of silence for his mind to process the scene.
Snape, just inside the door, was splayed against the wall, his wand held in front of him in a defensive posture. It was easy to see why, as Dr. Hunter stood on opposite side of Slughorn's old classroom, her wand drawn and pointing threateningly at Snape, her face transformed with a look of cold determination. The objects in the room bore witness to the vociferousness of their battle. Desks were rent in two, chairs overturned, chalkboards cracked, and dust still in the air. Snape had the same look on his face as he'd had in the Battle in the Great Hall with Professor McGonagall, as though he were just about to fly from the room.
In deference to him, neither moved nor cast additional spells. Neither did they lower their wands, however.
"Professor Snape," Harry said, once he was finally able to speak. "It's Janiss. She was found unconscious in her room, with an unlabeled vial nearby. Madame Pomfrey thinks she might have been exposed to scorpion venom. She needs your antidote."
For one of the first times he could recall, Severus Snape was deeply grateful for an interruption from Harry Potter. If not for him, then at least for the safety of a student, Morgan Hunter had stopped firing spells at him, at least for the moment. Harry had given him the opening he'd been unable to muster without casting hexes at Morgan. Keeping his eyes on Morgan Hunter and her wand as he spoke, Snape fought to keep his voice steady despite his breathlessness. "Dr. Hunter, I am going to disarm. I will place my wand on a desk and walk away from it. I will then get some vials from my pockets. I ask you not to hex me or Mr. Potter." He didn't lower his wand instantly, but waited. Slowly, Morgan Hunter lowered her wand as Snape did likewise in near-perfect synchronicity. He rose uncomfortably and slowly moved to a desk by the wall and laid his wand there, keeping his eyes on her at all times.
Harry looked on in slack-jawed amazement. Snape hadn't pocketed his wand. He was now completely disarmed and immensely vulnerable. Anyone could easily cast a minor spell, and Snape would have few options to defend himself.
Snape walked back to Harry, keeping his eyes on Dr. Hunter, who had lowered her wand, but not pocketed it. Harry had little time to really look at her, but noticed she was breathing hard and her hair was wild. Hadn't she been in the hospital only yesterday?
Snape withdrew two vials from a pocket deep in his jacket. He handed them to Harry with great care. "Put these in your pocket, Harry, a very secure one. I have only two more left after these. Have Madame Pomfrey give her one as soon as possible, then a second as soon as she can swallow it. Go quickly, Harry, but not so fast you break the vials. They cannot easily be replaced."
"Yes, sir," Harry replied, slipping them into the most secure pocket he had.
"Also, find someone to secure the vial that was near Miss Ames, someone responsible and talented. They will need use dragonhide gloves. Have them save the vial and any other residue for my inspection."
"Yes, sir." Harry looked back at the room questioningly.
"Go, Harry," Snape said, more tiredly than testily. Harry turned to go.
"Did you see her, Harry? How does she seem?" Dr. Hunter had spoken at last. The aggression she'd shown only moment before was now transformed into worry. Harry turned back in surprise.
"She was still breathing when I saw her, but Madame Pomfrey was very agitated. Sorry, I need to go." He hated to just leave her there, concerned, but time was of the essence. He was sure she would understand his haste. He set his feet towards the Hospital Wing.
As she watched the young wizard's robes vanish out the door and heard his footsteps descending the stairs, Morgan Hunter felt much of the fight leave her. Janiss may have been exposed to Scorpion Venom, no doubt taken from Ethinian without the proper seals. She was a smart girl, she would have known the risks. She may have had an accident, but maybe it was purposeful. Her father was dead, and now the same fate might await Janiss, too. She raised her gaze to Severus, who stood by the door. Her breathing had slowed to a normal rate now, but her heart still beat strongly.
"I will step away from the door, Morgan, with your permission." She eyed him suspiciously. "Away from my wand," he confirmed. She gave a small nod and he stepped away further from his wand.
How had it come to this? Not so long since she'd been bemoaning foolish wizards to duel over a witch, here she was, having duelled a former lover. He had disarmed and was no longer blocking the door. She was free to go. It was long past time. The next train from Hogsmeade would leave in the afternoon, around 5:30pm, getting into London around 10:30pm. She could then get the next Portkey to Stonehenge, probably in the morning. Then the Portal, then Sedona by the afternoon. The very thought of the desert sun in the afternoon warmed her from the inside.
She'd arrived only months ago, pleased to be away from Sedona, pleased to have a new goal, a new plan. She would focus on her career, build an international reputation, perform fantastic research, and eventually, with time, heal from her losses.
None of that had happened. She'd begun so well, only to allow herself to be distracted, damaged further by what had seemed like love, love with a wizard who'd seemed to be her equal, seemed to have a strong heart. Their few weeks of being together (had it really only been a matter of weeks?) had been wonderful, then fallen apart so stunningly. Then gone from bad to worse as darkness set upon her again. Every effort she'd made to reconnect somehow had only resulted in greater heartbreak, greater disappointment that he was not at all who she believed him to be. The only greater disappointment was with herself, for having been blinded.
As usual, his presence began to erode her resolve. She'd been utterly determined to leave, but now, she lamented her losses. If only he had been the lover she'd believed him to be, rather than another lying, deceptive snake. He was brilliant, handsome, ambitious, vexing, and unpredictable, but also deceitful, untrusting, and confusing. She had to remind herself that she had thought through her decision many times before. No matter your wishes, he is both married AND not an honorable man, having been dueling for the affections of another witch. Go, now. Don't agonize a moment longer.
She headed for the door.
"Morgan, please don't go. Allow me to explain. I beg you," he said, but softly. He didn't move.
She regarded him with what she hoped looked like disgust, to mask her disappointment. "I have already wasted too much of my time here. Every lying, cheating wizard always has some explanation for his actions. I have no interest in the hearing more of your lies, Snape. If you feel compelled to tell me anything further, you may write me. I'll be at the Three Broomsticks tonight, then back in Sedona by tomorrow evening. I'll send a forwarding address."
She was leaving, her steps aimed at the door. His wand was across the room. It would be a simple task to retrieve it. He could chase her down the halls, lock the gates, confirm every imaginable suspicion she had of him. She couldn't go, and he could not stop her from going.