The meeting proved to be a success: not only could nobody possibly suspect a thing, but if Snape had still been a little apprehensive as to what he and Miss Lovegood would talk about all evening after being robbed of the opportunity of pretending to search for a lost item when they had nothing to say, his fears were soon dispelled. Miss Lovegood, spurred on by his questions, spent the better part of the evening filling him in on random things concerning her holiday in France, while the Room of Requirement, whose ingenuity he could only marvel at, took care of the rest. As the girl had foreshadowed, it did indeed look like an art gallery, and so when they got tired of chatting over their tea, they simply walked around, admiring the paintings. Having never found the time to enjoy such luxuries of life as visiting art galleries, Snape was by no means an art expert, he either liked a painting or he did not, but Miss Lovegood, whom he knew to be a skilled painter herself, enthusiastically acquainted him with the most famous painters and the styles they used, which captured his attention so completely that it felt as if space and time ceased to exist. As such, it was almost curfew by the time they left the room, allowing for sufficiently long intervals in between, though Snape would have sworn they had only been there an hour or so. He certainly could not have wished for a better escape from reality if he tried. Not once had he thought about the world outside the room while he was there, and when he did finally step back out, it was with newly gained strength to face all that was to come. It was therefore no wonder that he did not hesitate a single moment and readily agreed to another meeting when Miss Lovegood suggested it, as well as to many others that followed. And while they were both more than happy to stick to the tried and tested idea of asking the room to look like various art galleries at first, as time went on they actually ventured to experiment a little, allowing themselves to relish things such as meandering through the Australian bush looking for Billywigs (Miss Lovegood's idea) or examining the exhibits at the British Museum (his idea).
For Snape it was all an entirely new experience. By agreeing to meet Miss Lovegood without any other reason than that he wanted to see her, he could now truly say he thought of her more as a friend than a student. And though he had already experienced friendship once in his life, with Lily, he could soon see that the friendship he had now was somehow different, both in the way Miss Lovegood treated him and in how they chose to spend their time. As he and Lily had been children when they met, they had mostly whiled away their days by hanging around the neighbourhood, hiding from Lily's annoying sister, Petunia, and experimenting with magic. Even later, he could not remember them ever doing anything together that did not involve school; now that he thought about it, it seemed to be the only thing that united them. Perhaps the problem was that, largely due to his dismal family background, he had never been like other children of his age: he did not watch TV, he did not own a bike, he was not a member of any clubs. It was only when he came to Hogwarts that he finally found a purpose in life, and so that was what he shared with Lily. He did not need anything more then. But in their third year he invited her to Hogsmeade, and he supposed that from her reaction he should have guessed that everything was not quite right between them, that they were no longer the best friends she had always claimed them to be. Apparently, she had already made plans to visit the village with her friends from Gryffindor – an excuse she repeated every time he asked. More and more he got the feeling that he was being pushed to the sidelines, but he refused to see it, let alone accept it. He had fallen hopelessly in love with her by then (for who would not?), and this love had completely clouded his judgement. He only came to his senses when Lily flat out told him to get out of her life once and for all, and even then he blamed only himself for what had happened, never her. She was perfect, he was not, it was that simple. He had not changed his view since.
With Miss Lovegood, on the other hand, there was no need to fight to get her attention. She always looked like nothing could please her more than to see him, and though she had finally found a few friends last year, he had never felt it affect their relationship, as he had, due to his bad experience with Lily, dreaded it would. Unlike Lily, she was also enthusiastic about everything he suggested they could do. He suspected that even if he asked her to travel to Mars with him, she would be eager to go. Not that she was far behind with her own ideas, either. Soon something like a competition developed between them as both racked their brains for new and original ways to spend their time. Consequently, Snape felt as if he had only now realised there was a whole world to discover outside the walls of Hogwarts (albeit merely projected by the Room of Requirement), and he could not get enough of it. The more he saw of it, the more he still craved to see, as he knew the time he and Miss Lovegood had together was not unlimited. All along he was painfully aware that once he killed Dumbledore, his bubble of temporary happiness would burst, there was no point convincing himself otherwise. In everyone's eyes he would become a murderer, a public enemy, and though it would tear him apart, he knew Miss Lovegood would be no different. After all, how could she guess that it would all be just a part of Dumbledore's plan, which counted on Snape gaining the Dark Lord's ultimate trust after the deed was done, trust so desperately needed to ensure that the Dark Lord put him, and none other, in charge of the school as Dumbledore's successor? Sometimes he fervently wished he could just confide in Miss Lovegood, or at least hint to her what was to come, but he knew he could not. The plan would remain between him and Dumbledore until the very end, for if word of it reached the Dark Lord's ears, all would be lost. Still, when he imagined how Miss Lovegood was bound to look at him when she found out what he had done, how her innocent blue eyes would fill with hatred every time their gazes met, he had half a mind to just go to Dumbledore and tell him to find someone else for the job. He did once, too, but Dumbledore just talked him down and that was the end of it.
Perhaps it would all have been easier if he had just let Miss Lovegood go immediately after he had caught the thieves, if he had never agreed to continue seeing her in the Room of Requirement in the first place. Then again, could he have resisted? He remembered only too well the despair that had led him to renew their meetings, and that was even before he knew what wonders awaited him in the room, which, as he had discovered, helped him to keep the demons lurking in the corners of his mind contained like nothing else could. What of it that there would come a time when these meetings came to an end? When Miss Lovegood would think him a monster? When he would have to face his demons alone again? All of that was in the future, but now was now, so he might as well make the most of it while it lasted.
What he did not count on, however, was that the future would catch up with him much sooner than he had expected, as he was to find out, quite unexpectedly, at Slughorn's Christmas party. Considering such events an utter waste of time, he naturally did not plan to attend, but Slughorn, the old fox, lured him there under the pretext of introducing him to his friend, a Potions legend whose articles Snape had always found deeply fascinating but whom he had never met in person. After nearly half an hour spent in an engaging debate with the man, Snape had to admit that he, probably for the first time in his life, did not regret accepting the invitation, and when, before finally excusing himself, said man offered to keep in touch with him to exchange their latest findings, he was in high spirits indeed. Unfortunately, before he had a chance to vanish from the party while his good mood lasted, he was scooped out of the crowd by Slughorn, who wanted his opinion as a Potions teacher on none other than Potter. That in itself would have been enough to ruin his day, but when he saw who was standing next to Potter, someone he had obviously brought to the party as his date, he felt like he had suddenly been thrown into a nightmare. As if he was gazing into a crystal ball, he could see the upcoming events unfolding before him: a radiant Miss Lovegood telling him she had found a boyfriend, Miss Lovegood looking apologetic as she explained that she had a date and therefore could not meet him in the Room of Requirement as usual, him wating in vain until she actually spared a moment for him in between all her dates, before finally giving up on her and letting his life spiral into darkness once more. And all because of Potter. Was he forever doomed to losing all that was dear to him to a Potter, whether father or son? He felt anger rising within him like a tidal wave, and he had to use every ounce of his self-control not to strangle the bespectacled idiot right then and there. He barely knew what he was saying; he vaguely remembered throwing an automatic insult at the boy, before the tension was broken by the arrival of an ecstatic-looking Filch, dragging behind him a rather less ecstatic-looking Draco, which gave Snape a welcome chance to escape the scene without resorting to anything rash.
It was only thanks to his carefully honed mental skills, frequently used to fool even the Dark Lord himself, that he was able to clear his mind of all dangerous thoughts and interrogate Draco without the boy suspecting anything was amiss. As he had expected, Draco did not seem to be making much progress with his task of killing Dumbledore. One clumsy failed attempt, which he, of course, denied having a hand in, and an alleged plan which did not seem to be going too well. On the whole, not very promising prospects, which only strengthened Snape's belief that in the end it would all be up to him. Not that it mattered so much now anyway, as his friendship with Miss Lovegood would be over long before Dumbledore's demise. He supposed, in a way, it would be better like that. With Potter in the game, the end of their meetings would come naturally, gradually. He would have time to adapt. Similarly, Miss Lovegood would not have to deal with the shock of losing a friend in the space of literally a few seconds. Yes, hard as it was to admit, perhaps Potter had done them both a favour.
Believing her relationship to be hot news, he half expected Miss Lovegood to cancel their next meeting so that she could spend every minute with her new boyfriend, and was therefore somewhat surprised when she did not. Come to think of it, in the days following Slughorn's party he had never even seen them together. In the Great Hall Miss Lovegood continued sitting at the Ravenclaw table, minding her business as usual, while Potter did not spare her as much as a single glance. Something did not add up. It seemed his only option was to ask Miss Lovegood herself how things were standing, but he could not quite imagine how to go about it without sounding overly curious. After all, what business was it of his who she was or was not dating? Mulling over it for some time and finding no satisfactory solution, he finally decided to simply improvise, as he had by now learned that with Miss Lovegood the conversation could stray in any direction at any given moment, rendering it useless to prepare a script beforehand. Therefore, as they met in the Room of Requirement (this time enchanted to look like a pharaoh's tomb they wanted to inspect for hidden curses), he deliberately avoided the topic of Slughorn's party, hoping Miss Lovegood would eventually get there herself. Luckily, he did not have to wait long, as the girl was obviously bursting to share her experiences with him.
"I saw you at Professor Slughorn's Christmas party," she began excitedly, settling on a huge stone block that must have, in the course of the centuries, come loose from the ceiling. "Wasn't it magnificent? I loved the fairies in the lamp, they were so cute. But the mistletoe was full of Nargles, anyone could see that."
"I am glad I avoided it, then," said Snape, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he sat down next to his friend. He doubted there was anyone who could describe the party as originally as she could.
"Oh yes, so did I. One can never be too careful with Nargles."
"Indeed. Though I suppose Potter might have been disappointed." There. The bait was set.
Miss Lovegood, however, only looked at him uncomprehendingly. "Disappointed? Why?"
Snape heaved an inward sigh; the girl was certainly not making it any easier for him. "I merely assumed," he said slowly, "since he had brought you as his date, that he would have expected ... what is generally expected to be done under a sprig of mistletoe."
Miss Lovegood let out a ringing laugh. "Oh, but Harry didn't bring me as his date, Professor!" she exclaimed. "He asked me to come as a friend. I thought it was really nice of him. I'd never been to a party with a friend before."
This time Snape sighed with relief; he was glad to have got this awkward conversation over and done with. When it came to what he had learned, however, he did not quite know how to feel. In his heart he was content: Miss Lovegood would still be there for him since Potter was obviously not a threat, but his mind was clouded with shadow. He had barely come to terms with losing his friend sooner than he had anticipated when it all turned around again and he was back to where he had started. Sometime in the course of the following few months he would have to kill Dumbledore and-
And then something in his brain snapped, and the hopelessness of the future events that he had been painstakingly suppressing for so long suddenly enveloped him like a black duvet. For once, he felt his self-control slipping as he fought back tears that seemed to have come out of nowhere. He quickly turned away from Miss Lovegood, hoping to hide his moment of weakness, but it was too late, she had already noticed.
"Professor?" she asked, her voice filled with concern. "Are you all right?"
Her solicitude, an emotion he had so often seen aimed at others but never at him, was the trigger that ultimately caused his tears to fall. Pretending anything was obviously not an option anymore, so he merely looked at her and shook his head.
"Would you like a hug?"
Had anyone asked him this question at any other time, he would have thought them crazy. It was true he had already hugged Miss Lovegood once in the past, but that was because she had been the one that had needed comforting, not him. His meticulously built image was that of a strong, emotionless man, the last person in the world one would ever think of hugging. And though Miss Lovegood was one of the few people he had allowed to see glimpses of who he really was, he had always been careful to maintain an aura of authority, a slight distance between them that not even she could cross, friends though they were. Now that she had seen him in such a state, however, he was past trying to save his dignity. If anything, the question made him cry even harder, and so, in between sobs, he sent all his inhibitions to hell and gave an almost imperceptible nod. Thereupon she shuffled closer to him on the stone block and tenderly put her arms around him, while he buried his head in her shoulder and wept like he had not in years. It was as if all the emotions that had been threatening to overcome him for the past few months went into those tears, until, at last, his brain felt strangely empty, as though somebody had gone over it with a vacuum cleaner. That was when even his crying finally subsided, so he slowly extricated himself from Miss Lovegood's embrace to conjure a handkerchief with which to wipe his eyes and nose. Only then did he look at his friend, who was eyeing him with a compassionate smile.
"Better now, isn't it?" she asked.
He merely gave a weak nod, his thinking still too fuzzy to allow him to speak.
"Dad says everyone should have a good cry sometimes. It's healthy. You actually look younger now. And much more relaxed, too. Maybe you should cry more often."
The absurdity of what she was suggesting finally caused Snape to regain his wits. Now that he had overcome his emotional overload, his first instinct was to lash out at the girl; it was his defence mechanism whenever he felt vulnerable, but then he remembered what had happened the last time he had insulted a friend who was trying to help him and quickly bit his tongue, choosing to use a much milder tone instead.
"I..." Finding his voice still hoarse from the tears, he cleared his throat, then started again. "I hope that will not be necessary. I would prefer if it did not become a habit. But ... I owe you my thanks for today. You are right, I do feel much better."
He wished he could say exactly how he felt, how, despite his shame at having the girl witness his moment of crisis, grateful he was that she had been there for him when he needed her, that she had made the situation at least a little less awkward by being wise enough not to ask any uncomfortable questions. But he was not used to expressing his feelings, so all he could do was hope that she understood his simple 'thank you' to mean more than it seemed to.
"Anytime, Professor. I just helped a friend, that's all."
Snape used all of his willpower not to think about how much longer their friendship would last, or else he might have started crying again.