The Fragile, Beating Heart

As Minerva left, Morag picked up a big tapestry bag filled with healing supplies. "I'm late fer home visits. Are ye coming with me?" She regarded him expectantly. Severus looked away, overwhelmed by conflicting emotions.

"Not this time, Morag," he finally said. His reply was much more terse than he had intended, but he needed time alone to reflect on recent events.

The young healer grabbed her old-fashioned pinewood broom, gave his arm a short squeeze as she walked past him, and left.

A light drizzle was falling when Severus set off from Hogsmeade, but as he followed the winding road, the clouds gradually parted, revealing the azure skies. The walk, he had decided, might clear his head, and he needed to see the castle again before he could consider Minerva's offer properly. He reached the last bend in the road, and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry came into view.

It was the first time Severus had come back to the castle since the battle, and his breath caught in his throat. He remembered the magnificence of it, how the magic had seemed to ripple from every tower, and how the strong walls had offered unwavering protection to all who entered them. It had been a refuge during his teenage years, and had become his true home. Even though weeks of repair works had begun to improve the general appearance of things, the extend of the damage was almost too much to bear. The wizard felt like part of himself had been maimed.

He passed under the archway and made for the entrance to the Dungeons. That section, at least, had not suffered too much. The spiral staircase led him deep into the bowels of the castle, and he finally entered what had been his office for sixteen years. Severus sat behind his desk and let his gaze wander around the room. The fireplace lay cold and empty, framed by heavy stone carvings of the Slytherin snake. "Incendio," he muttered, and the warm light reflected on hundreds of jars and flasks, their contents shimmering like liquid silk. Surrounded by the familiar smell of the dungeons, Severus contemplated his future, which seemed hidden behind a thick curtain of fog. Remaining at Hogwarts to teach felt safe and comfortable in an odd way, and possibly the only viable option. He could simply not face living back in Spinner's End, that loathsome place he had grown up in, by himself. Besides, how would he make a living? His mind drifted to Morag again. He mused on the weeks spent with her: a fresh start of sorts, a chance to live differently. The young healer had tended to his wounds without any questions, then welcomed him into her life despite everything she had discovered. He longed for the wholesomeness of her company, and, if he was honest with himself, he also craved the closeness of her touch. He allowed his imagination to drift further into a possible partnership as healers, maybe more, yet such a drastic change still daunted him.

The sound of running footsteps, followed by angry shouts, interrupted his thoughts.

"Yeah, run back to your filthy dungeons, Malfoy. That's where you belong," a voice snarled.

Severus was out of his office in an instant to discover Seamus Finnigan, Terry Boots and Anthony Goldstein cornering Draco Malfoy at the end of the corridor, their backs to their former teacher. "Leave me alone," the blond boy hissed.

"What are you gonna do? Tell Daddy? Oh, wait, he's been disgraced, hasn't he? Filthy Death Eater that he was, and you're just as bad! We don't need the likes of you here, whatever McGonnagal might say."

"It's Professor McGonnagal to you, mister Boots," Severus snarled as he stepped out of the shadows.

The Ravenclaw boy spun around, his eyes pure venom. "Sorry, sir, but you no longer have any authority here."

"You will find, mister Boots, that you are very much mistaken. The Headmistress has offered me my teaching post back," Severus snapped back. "Although your courage led you to attack another student three against one, I am sure you will not feel quite so brave, now that the odds have been altered slightly."

"Go ahead, sir, fight us. I bet the Ministry would love to have another reason to lock you up," Boots sneered.

"Come on, mate, did you not hear what Harry said? Sn- Professor Snape has been cleared," Finnigan interjected. "Sorry, sir, won't happen again," he added, and, grabbing his friends' arms, he made a dash for the stairs.

Draco, still taken aback by the encounter, stared at his former Head of House, his eyes hopeful. "Is it true? Sir? Are you coming back to Hogwarts?"

"Has your hearing been impaired in the battle, mister Malfoy?" Severus grunted. "Now, I understand students have an important task to carry out. Do not let me detain you any longer."

Once the young wizard was gone, Severus made straight for Minerva's office, his way forward quite clear: Hogwarts needed him.

It was late afternoon when he made it back to Hogsmeade, having completed the necessary formalities for his appointment as Defence against the Dark Arts teacher. Severus reached the last houses of the village and came in view of the cottage. Morag was milking Jeannie, her head resting against the goat's flank, sitting on a three-legged stool. Severus slowed his pace, giving himself time to look at her. She had not seen him yet, focused on her task. As often, she was wearing plain muggle clothing, jeans and a navy knitted jumper with the sleeves rolled up. Her hair was tied in a loose plat that coiled on her shoulder, curving around her slender neck. Her hands moved up and down, rhythmically, each time releasing a squirt of frothy milk into the pail. Both woman and goat seemed relaxed, as comfortable in each other's company as old friends, and Severus almost felt like he was intruding as he walked up the stone steps. She looked up at him, then slowly rose from her stool, picking up the milk-filled pail. "Guid evening, Severus. Ye're just in time tae help me with the cheese."

Together, they walked in the shed adjacent to the cottage, where she had already filled an old stone sink with warm water. She placed the pail of milk in the water. Several small round cheeses were ripening on a tray.

"Give me yon jar, Severus," she said, nodding to a small glass container on the shelf, labelled "Rennet". She added it to the milk. Next, she picked up a pot and placed a muslin over it. Pointing to the thick, lumpy liquid inside another pail, she asked, "Can ye pour this in my pot?"

"Have ye got anything ye'd like tae say tae me, Severus?" she asked with a smile while he complied.

"What am I supposed to say to you?" he asked uncertainly.

"Oor conversation was interrupted this morning. I just wondered if there was anything else ye needed tae say."

"I … am grateful to you for everything you did, Morag," he said stiffly. "I am not sure what else you are expecting."

The smile left her lips, and Severus felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

"I'm sorry, Morag" he finally said, placing the empty pail on the floor. He paused and rubbed his face with his palms, trying to focus his thoughts, to translate them into words. "I spent my youth loving a woman I could never have, and my adult life protecting her son, only to find out he was supposed to be killed. I did not think beyond the task that had been given me by Albus Dumbledore: help Potter defeat the Dark Lord once for all. I did not expect to survive the war. I did not expect any of this."

"What was it ye didnae expect, Severus?" the healer asked softly.

"You," he finally admitted, as much to himself as to her. "I did not expect you." Voicing his feelings was terrifying.

As if she could sense this, the young witch asked, "What are ye so afeared of?"

"I suppose I am afraid of taking off the armour you talked about, of being vulnerable."

She held his hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Aye, ye will be. If ye open up yer heart again, ye're running the risk of getting hurt fer sure. But that's the price ye pay fer living. If ye leave yer heart locked up, eventually it'll become hard and cold as a stone."

"Is my heart already cold, Morag? Sometimes I fear it might be." His voice broke.

"Frae what I've seen in ye, Severus, yer heart is warm and beating, I have nae doot aboot that," the young witch murmured, wrapping her arms around him. Severus buried his face in her neck.

He had not allowed anyone to see him cry since that fateful day in Dumbledore's office, when the Headmaster had confirmed Lily's death. For most of his life, his tears had been few, and private: he knew how easily they could be used against him. He remembered Tobias Snape, fist raised against Eileen, barking to his son, "F'r ev'ry fuckin' whine I hear from ya, boy, yer bitch o' a mother gets another beating. Got it?" After that, he had been guarded with his emotions, and had started teaching himself Occlumency in his third year at Hogwarts, after finding a book about it in the Restricted Section of the library.

From the depths of his chest, a great sob shook his body. Morag's embrace felt heartbreakingly safe, and long-repressed tears came, soaking his face and her shoulder. Severus cried for Eileen, for Lily, for Albus, for himself, as the healer of Hogsmeade ran her fingers through his hair, humming a soft tune.

After a while, his sobs lessened, and eventually, he let go of her.

She picked up a cheese from the left-hand-side of the tray and led the wizard inside the cottage, where she set the cheese on the table with some bread. They ate in silence, greedily, and he watched as she licked the last of the cheese off her fingers. She looked up, kept her gaze on him, and his chest felt too small for his heart. He remembered, even though he could not see them in the growing darkness of dusk, that her brown eyes were speckled with golden flecks, just as her face and neck were dotted with freckles. A shiver ran up his spine as he recalled, too, the velvety feel of her skin, and he immediately shut down the thought. Suddenly, she threw her head back and her clear laughter rang in the room.

"What is so amusing, pray?"

"You are, Severus," she chuckled, enunciating the you more clearly than her usual Scottish drawl. "Ye're playing that trick again : trying tae keep yer feelings under lock and key. They'll suffocate ye, eventually, ye ken."

She lit a few candles, sending shadows dancing on the walls, then, sitting closer to him, she took his hand and cleaned the cheese off his fingers in the same way she'd done for her own. Severus felt a jolt of arousal surge through him.

"What exactly are you trying to do, witch?" he groaned.

"Well, as I was a wee bit pished last night, I want tae check if I enjoy it just as much when I'm sober," she said with a mischievous smile.

He pulled her unto his lap and brought his lips to hers. The previous night had been feverish; he would take it slow this time, and enjoy every inch of her.

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable." ― C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

Glossary

aboot – about
afeared – afraid
arenae/couldnae/didnae/dinnae/isnae/shouldnae/willnae – aren't/couldn't/didn't/don't/isn't/shouldn't/won't
aye – yes
doot – doubt
fer – for
frae – from
guid – good
ken – know
nae – no, not
oor – our
rennet – enzymes produced in the stomachs of ruminant mammals and is used to curdle milk in order to produce cheese.
pished – pissed (British slang for "drunk")
tae – to
wee – little
ye/yer/yers – you/your/yours
yon – that [thing] over there