Half a Life Without You

Chapter 4: Sleeping Beauty

Severus's POV:

As consciousness slowly returns, I become aware of a soft, soothing touch. A warm cloth moves gently across my skin, its rhythmic motion keeping me anchored in the haze of half-wakefulness. It quiets the storm of thoughts threatening to pull me into full awareness. Calm. Steady. Don't rush. I resist the urge to jolt fully awake, letting my sluggish mind adjust in its own time, the fog of sleep lifting gradually.

The heaviness surrounding me begins to dissipate, but as the fog clears, memories flood back, crashing over me with relentless force. Images flash—quick, brutal, unrelenting. I see them fall, one by one. I remember the surge of triumph as they hit the ground, the bitter satisfaction of seeing their pain. But now… now, trepidation grips me, twisting the victory into something bitter. What have I done? Regret? Guilt? I don't recognize the emotions swelling inside me, but they're there, unfamiliar and unwelcome. I only wanted to make it stop, to show them. But at what cost?

A soft brush of the cloth against my nose pulls me from the whirlpool of my thoughts, grounding me back in the present. The touch is gentle, careful. Madam Pomfrey wouldn't be this delicate, I think. Her hands are efficient, always brisk, and clinical. This touch is something else—someone else.

Curiosity tingles at the edge of my mind, stirring my instincts. Whoever this is, they're handling me with far too much care for Pomfrey's usual methods. I stay still, allowing my eyes to remain closed as I peek through my lashes, hoping to catch a glimpse of my mystery caretaker.

And then I see her.

The sight hits me harder than I expect. My breath hitches involuntarily as she comes into view.

Her.

I couldn't have torn my eyes away if I wanted to. She's unlike anyone I've ever seen—delicate, ethereal, as though she doesn't quite belong to this world. My eyes drink her in, unable to pull away. Her features are soft, almost otherworldly, but it's her eyes that ensnare me completely. Amber centers surrounded by silvery blue, darkening into the deepest shade of night. They seem to glow faintly, as if they hold entire galaxies within, captivating me, trapping me in their light.

Her hair—long, golden, with threads of sunlight woven through it—cascades over her shoulder in soft waves. One of those strands brushes lightly against my hand as she continues to carefully clean my face, unaware of the storm she's stirring within me.

I don't know how long I lie there, completely spellbound by her presence. My thoughts feel foreign, untethered. A possessive feeling blooms in my chest, Mine. Where did that come from? I shake the thought away, alarmed by it. I need to distance myself, need to break free from whatever hold she seems to have on me.

But then… I don't want to. I want to reach out, to run my fingers through her hair, to… No. No. This is wrong.

I force myself to act. "Who are you?" My voice comes out rough, and I see her jump in surprise. The cloth slips from her hand and hits my face, but I quickly grab her wrists, preventing her from pulling away. Her tiny wrists feel fragile, easily trapped in my grasp, reminding me how small she is compared to me. The protective urge rises again, and I curse myself for it.

Our eyes lock, her gaze digging into me, seeing too much. I want to invite her in, want her to see… Stop it, Severus. I force the dangerous thoughts away, shaking myself out of it. My voice hardens. "Who are you?" I growl.

She stammers out her name, "Everly. I'm Everly."

Her name is beautiful, just like her. Stop it. I fight to regain control, wrapping myself in the familiar cloak of disdain, the armor that has served me well for years. I need to protect myself from whatever this is. I think of Lily—of her turning her back on me—and I know this armor is the only thing that can keep me from being hurt again.

"This hardly tells me who you are," I sneer, releasing her wrists. I turn my head, needing to focus on something other than the way she looks at me. "Will they recover?" I ask, feigning indifference as I glance at the sleeping boys.

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey thinks most of them will be better by morning," she replies.

"Pity," I say, relieved but unwilling to show it.

She looks at me with disbelief. "You would wish them dead or dying, then?" There's accusation in her voice, sharp and cutting.

Anger flares in me. Who is she to judge me? "You don't get to judge me. You have no idea what they've put me through," I hiss, my voice laced with bitterness. But the anger quickly shifts, turning into something else, something darker. Years. Years of torment. Of pranks and humiliation. Of losing Lily to Potter.

Before I can sink further into the bitterness, I feel her hand gently take mine. The softness of her touch stuns me. "I'm sorry. You're right. I have no place to judge." Her voice is a whisper, but it cuts through my defenses with ease.

I stare at her, surprised by her compassion. No one's ever spoken to me like this. I don't know what to say. My shield falls, and I'm left standing, exposed, with nothing to protect me. She continues to wipe my face gently, her eyes full of something I can't understand. "Who are you?" I whisper, almost to myself, unable to tear my gaze away from hers.

We sit there, frozen in time, the air between us crackling with an intensity I can't ignore. What if… The thought comes unbidden. What would happen if I leaned forward, if I kissed her? But before I can act—or stop myself—Madam Pomfrey's entrance shatters the moment, and the tension evaporates like smoke.

I jerk back, pulling myself into composure as the older woman moves toward us, her steps slow but purposeful. I watch as she approaches, feeling irritation bubble to the surface, but I force it down. Good. I needed the interruption. I remind myself sternly.

"Thank you, Everly," Madam Pomfrey says, her voice a mixture of tiredness and kindness. "For your help tonight."

Everly looks reluctant to leave but nods. Pomfrey presses a small bottle into her hands. "Drink this. You need rest too. It's been a long night, and I'll take care of young Severus."

I feel a stab of annoyance at that, but it's mixed with something softer—disappointment, perhaps. I almost regret losing Everly's presence at my side. Almost. Get a grip, Severus, I scold myself.

Everly lifts the bottle to her lips and drinks, her eyes briefly meeting mine again before Madam Pomfrey positions herself between us. "Off to bed with you, now," Pomfrey adds, her tone leaving no room for argument as she hands Everly a clean set of nightclothes and ushers her away toward her own bed.

I catch a glimpse of Everly's face before the privacy screen is pulled between us, separating her from my view. She's already retreating from my reach, and I feel a strange sense of loss. I want to stop her, but I don't. I can't.

Pomfrey fusses over me next, her touch more brisk than gentle, as if to make up for the tenderness Everly showed me. "This boy's still a mess," she mutters under her breath as she wipes away the last remnants of blood. The roughness of her treatment makes my nose throb, and I grit my teeth against the discomfort.

"Drink this, Severus," she orders, holding a small vial toward me. "A sleeping tonic. You'll need it after the night you've had."

I take it from her but don't drink. As soon as her back is turned, I spit it out into my hand, careful not to make a sound. I'm not staying here. Not tonight. Not with them.

Pomfrey continues her rounds, checking on the other boys, and I wait—impatiently. She finally finishes, casting one last glance in my direction before whispering, "Nox," and plunging the room into darkness.

I don't trust them—Potter, Black. If I stay, they'll retaliate while I sleep. No. I've done enough damage tonight, but I refuse to be vulnerable around them, even for a second.

With the room silent and shrouded in darkness, I throw the covers off and stand, determined not to spend another minute in this place. Madam Pomfrey will be livid in the morning, but right now, I don't care. My nose still aches from her "care," and I can't help but think how much softer Everly's touch had been. She didn't rush or scold. She treated me like I mattered.

My Everly? The thought strikes me again, unbidden, and I shake it off. I can't afford to entertain such ridiculous notions. A girl like that could never want someone like me.

But still, I glance toward the privacy screen, hesitating. My feet move before my brain can stop them, and I find myself standing over her bed. In the pale moonlight streaming through the window, she looks peaceful—like something out of a dream. Sleeping Beauty.

I almost laugh at the absurdity of the thought. Hardly. I'm no prince in this story, I think bitterly. I'm the monster.

Even so, I can't help myself. My hand moves on its own, brushing the hair from her face, my fingers tracing the softness of her cheek. For just a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like if she were mine—if she could be mine.

But it's foolish. I pull away, placing the privacy screen back between us, the barrier as much for me as for her. I can't do this.

I walk to the door, glancing back only once before slipping into the dark corridor.