Ch 9 – Warmth From the Firewhiskey
The early hours of Saturday morning found Severus Snape alone in the dim light of his personal laboratory, the only sounds the steady bubbling of cauldrons and the occasional soft hiss of steam. There was nothing he relished more than the sharp, acrid scent of a potent potion in the making, especially when it was one as complicated as Wolfsbane. It was a delicate brew, requiring precision and patience—qualities that Snape had in abundance.
Dumbledore had asked him to prepare a fresh batch for Lupin. Snape knew the werewolf's transformations were becoming increasingly dangerous, and without the potion, there was no telling what harm Lupin might cause, even if the man had no ill intentions. Still, Snape cared little for Lupin's personal welfare. What irked him more than anything was the fact that Lupin, a fellow member of the Order, was entirely dependent on him for this crucial remedy. It made Snape feel strangely powerful in a way that he rarely did outside the walls of Hogwarts.
The potion was nearly complete when a sudden flapping noise interrupted his concentration. He turned sharply, only to find Fawkes, the loyal phoenix, perched calmly on his desk, waiting with his usual serene presence. The bird had become the Order's clandestine messenger since the Owl Post had proven increasingly unreliable. Snape stood, his robes rustling as he moved to grab the large flask that rested on the workbench. He scooped the steaming contents into the flask with practiced hands, sealing it carefully.
From his robes, he produced a small, neatly folded note, scribbling a brief message:
Remus,
Cutting it a bit close, are you? Next time, give me more notice.
-S.S.
With a flick of his wrist, the letter was attached to the flask. Snape walked over to the desk where Fawkes waited. The bird looked up at him with its wise, golden eyes before extending its talon, grasping the flask gently. With a soft, ethereal cry, Fawkes soared from the window, disappearing into the sky.
As Snape stood there for a moment, an unexpected, almost absurd urge to add more to the letter gripped him. Why, after all these years, did he feel a compulsion to say more than the cold, curt message he had written? He dismissed it immediately. It was none of his business what was going on between Lupin and Tonks. That uneasy knot in his stomach, however, told him he was lying to himself. The thought of Tonks sent a shiver through him, a feeling he couldn't quite place, something that gnawed at him with an uncomfortable intensity.
Tonight.
The upcoming meeting with Tonks loomed over him like a storm cloud. He would have to confront the questions she was bound to ask. And Snape had no desire to answer any of them.
It wasn't just her questions that troubled him; it was the fact that, deep down, he wanted to respond. He wanted to reveal himself. But Snape had long ago built his walls, and those walls were not to be breached. Not for anyone. Certainly not for Tonks.
She had been a constant presence in the back of his mind ever since Dumbledore's words at the beginning of the term—words that now seemed to echo louder than ever.
"You are a great person, Severus. Why can't you make the best of the time you have left?" Dumbledore had asked gently.
"How am I to do that?" Snape had replied with a sneer.
"Well, for starters, you can talk to someone. Let someone besides me see the good in you." Dumbledore had said, his voice warm, full of a kindness that Snape neither understood nor wanted.
The best of the time you have left...
Snape's heart twisted at the thought. If he were to die in the coming months—when he died—would it matter if Tonks, or anyone for that matter, ever truly knew him? He doubted it. She would see him as a murderer, just like everyone else. The thought of being seen as anything less than the monster he had become—especially by someone like Tonks—was almost laughable.
But still...the question gnawed at him. Was it worth it? Was it worth this intrusion into his privacy? Snape had never yearned for companionship, and yet, part of him ached for connection—something deeper than the endless layers of facades he'd spent years building.
As the hours dragged on, each tick of the clock felt heavier. The secret passageway. His social isolation. And the terrifying prospect of finally letting someone, even for a moment, glimpse what lay beneath the surface.
Eventually, after an evening spent grading papers and keeping watch over the castle's shadows, Snape made his way to his chambers. He knew Tonks would be arriving soon. He didn't bother checking the time or wondering if she was running late. She was the one who had insisted on this ridiculous exchange, after all.
The cold of the common room greeted him as he opened the door. He immediately waved his wand, and the hearth erupted in a sudden burst of flame, bathing the room in flickering orange light. The warmth of the fire cut through the gloom of his thoughts, and he sank into his leather chair with a deep, weary sigh.
The book on potions lay on the armrest, forgotten. He picked it up absently, opening it to a random page, but he didn't read a single word. His mind was elsewhere.
Tonks' heart was racing as she hurried down the castle's winding corridors. The full moon was rising—she could feel its pull, its weight—and all she could think about was Remus. Every month, the same fears crept into her heart. She had learned long ago to brace herself for the anxiety that consumed her whenever he transformed. But tonight was different; she felt a strange heaviness that refused to lift. Her thoughts were scattered, and the Firewhiskey bottle in her robes was the only thing that seemed to offer any comfort.
She arrived at Snape's door, breathless and frazzled, the excitement and dread mixing into a thick knot in her stomach. She knocked, her pulse quickening. The sound of her heartbeat was deafening in her ears, and she wondered if Snape would hear it too.
When the door opened, she was immediately struck by Snape's sharp gaze. His dark eyes flicked over her, immediately registering her discomfort. She could tell by the way his lips tightened, his face a mask of cold indifference, but there was an understanding in the way his brow furrowed. He had seen the signs before.
"You're late," he said flatly, his voice as cold as ever. He stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter.
Tonks, desperate to ease the tension, gave him a weak smile. "I left the Firewhiskey in my room and had to go get it. You know, to help make this conversation… endurable."
Snape's expression softened for a fraction of a second—just enough to let her know that he agreed with her assessment. He walked toward the liquor cabinet, and with a flick of his wand, summoned a bucket of ice, two hardball glasses, and a bottle of mead. As the items levitated over to the coffee table, he settled into his chair with a resigned sigh.
Tonks poured the Firewhiskey into their glasses, the amber liquid gleaming in the firelight. They both drank, the silence between them thick, until Snape broke it with a dry, cynical remark.
"To clarify, I'm going to answer ten questions about myself?" Snape asked, his tone distant and guarded. "And in exchange, you'll tell me the location of the secret passageway."
Tonks nodded, offering a small but determined smile. "Correct.
Snape raised an eyebrow. "You expect me to disclose private matters while you ask me about... my personal life?" His voice was tinged with scorn, but something in his gaze betrayed his unease.
"Yes, I do," she replied matter-of-factly. "You'll answer thoroughly, mind you."
Snape snorted in disbelief. "I'm not known for offering 'yes' or 'no' answers, Nymphadora."
Tonks rolled her eyes. "Come on, Snape. Is it so hard to believe that I actually want to know you?"
He stared at her, bewildered. No one had ever bothered to try to understand him, and the idea of Tonks wanting to pierce through the walls he'd spent a lifetime building was... unsettling. His throat tightened.
"Well, are you going to start anytime soon?" he muttered, desperately trying to regain control of the situation.
Tonks leaned forward, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Why do you teach, if you hate children so much?"
Snape's expression darkened. "I don't have a choice. It's part of being a double agent, part of my protection."
Tonks raised an eyebrow. "But you always have a choice."
Snape's voice grew colder. "I was fresh out of school when Dumbledore hired me to teach potions. I became a Death Eater, and the Dark Lord sent me here as a spy. Over time, I became a double agent. Now, I teach because I must."
Tonks processed this, understanding his deep resentment for being stuck in a place he had never wanted to be. "That sounds... terrible. What did you want to do before you became a professor?"
Snape took another swig of the Firewhiskey, his throat burning. "A Healer. Or a Potioneer."
Tonks laughed in surprise. "A Healer? I can't picture you being all nurturing." She finished off her glass. "I mean, you'd have terrible bedside manners."
A rare smirk tugged at Snape's lips. "That's because you don't know me, Nymphadora."
Tonks felt a pang of sympathy for him. The more she learned, the more she saw through the layers of coldness and bitterness. She was beginning to understand the man behind the harsh exterior, and it was making her respect him more.
"I'm trying to figure you out, Snape," she said earnestly, meeting his gaze. "I want to know the real you."
Snape's heart skipped a beat. His mind screamed at him to shut her out, to push her away. But something in her eyes, the sincerity of her words, made it so much harder to do so.
The next question came almost automatically. "Were you a troublemaker in school?" she asked playfully, her voice laced with the warmth of the Firewhiskey.
Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "No, not everyone is as immature as you, Nymphadora."
But even as he said the words, a part of him—one he'd long tried to bury—couldn't deny the strange, unexpected comfort of her company.
Tonks chuckled, shaking her head as she tried to make sense of Snape's cryptic words. "I don't understand. How does a rule-follower end up as a Death Eater? What made you become one?" she asked, her voice soft but probing.
Snape's face hardened, and his lips thinned into a grim line. He exhaled sharply, his eyes flickering with something darker. "I was naive, troubled, and full of angst. I didn't know any better at the time." He clenched the glass tightly in his hand, afraid that she might push further, asking for a depth he wasn't prepared to expose. Even as the alcohol muddled his mind, he refused to let go of the small slivers of control he still clung to. Snape lifted his glass and took another long drink of Firewhiskey, finishing off the second glass.
Tonks felt the heat of the alcohol creeping through her body. She flushed slightly, the warmth making her feel oddly free. "Phew… I'm burning up in here," she remarked, peeling off her traveling cloak. As she did, she revealed her outfit: a low-cut purple V-neck that hugged her curves, a short jean skirt with torn tights underneath, and black combat boots that clacked loudly against the floor.
Snape's gaze flickered to her for a moment longer than was proper. She noticed his eyes drifting down, and though she was used to her appearance being scrutinized, something about the way Snape was looking at her made her heart flutter uneasily. "They don't call it Firewhiskey for nothing, am I right?" she teased, trying to brush off the sudden tension she felt between them.
Snape blinked, realizing how long he had been staring. With a curt nod, he tore his eyes away from her body, focusing instead on his drink, taking another swig.
Tonks settled back down, the playful teasing fading from her voice as she leaned in slightly. "Do you regret it?" she asked softly.
Snape's eyes met hers, but there was something unreadable in them now. For a moment, he seemed lost, as though trying to collect himself from the haze of memories and alcohol clouding his thoughts. "Regret what? Becoming a Death Eater?" His voice came out almost distracted, as if the question itself was a fog that he couldn't fully understand. He tried to focus, but the alcohol was beginning to blur the lines. He could feel the weight of her gaze on him, but more than that, he could feel something else—something that made his usual defenses waver.
Tonks nodded, her expression serious, trying to catch a glimpse of the man beneath the bitterness.
"I regret a great deal of my past, primarily becoming a Death Eater." The words hung in the air, heavy and full of unsaid things. The shift in the atmosphere was palpable—Tonks could almost taste the bitterness of regret curling in his words. Snape's walls were beginning to crack, and something raw bled through. It was as though the alcohol, for all its disinhibiting effects, had loosened the tight grip he usually kept on his emotions.
Tonks leaned forward, sensing a rare opportunity to get through. "What's your biggest regret?" she asked, her voice gentle but insistent. She knew it was a dangerous question, but she had a feeling that tonight, Snape might just let something slip. "Besides becoming a Death Eater," she added quickly, anticipating his resistance.
The moment the words left her lips, Snape finished off his mead, the glass slamming down harder than necessary onto the table. He stared at it for a long moment, his expression conflicted. Finally, he filled the glass again, nearly to the rim, before lifting it to his lips. "You sure are enjoying yourself, aren't you, Nymphadora?" he sneered, masking the discomfort he felt.
Tonks, unphased, grinned widely. "Consider it payback after all these years."
Snape's mouth twitched at the corners in something like a reluctant smile. "Touché." He sighed, staring into his drink as if it could offer him the comfort he so desperately craved. But deep down, he knew the worst regret was still too heavy to reveal. Still, he couldn't stop the impulse to speak. The floodgates had been cracked, and the words came out before he could stop them.
"All of my regrets stem from becoming a Death Eater," Snape continued, his voice rough and unsteady. "I have witnessed horrors you can scarcely imagine—things that you and the Order would never believe possible."
"I'm an Auror, Snape. I've seen some dark and twisted things," Tonks said, her voice steady but firm, trying to convince him that she wasn't so easily intimidated.
Her words hung in the air, challenging him, as if to say she had faced horrors far worse than whatever he could throw her way. The Firewhiskey burned in her veins, but there was a clarity to her tone that cut through the fog of their conversation. Snape's cold gaze flickered for a moment, the intensity of his stare not wavering for even a second. He could see the strength in her eyes, but there was something else there too—something that made him question if she truly understood the depths of the darkness he'd lived through.
Snape's lips curled into something that might have been a sneer, but it was hard to tell. "I'm sure you have, Nymphadora," he said quietly, almost too softly. "But some things are far more dangerous than what you've encountered as an Auror. You may not be frightened, but you should be."
Tonks met his gaze without hesitation, her heart pounding, but not from fear. She wasn't sure why, but she suddenly felt connected to him—like the pieces of their lives were closer than she had realized.
Tonks listened, her expression unreadable. She had heard the whispers, the rumors, the horror stories, but there was something about Snape's delivery that hit her differently—this was his truth.
Snape's gaze hardened, and for a moment, the room seemed to darken, the weight of his words pressing down on them both. He took a slow, measured breath, then spoke in a voice that was as cold and heavy as the stone walls around them.
"You have to remember, as an Auror, you only see the aftermath of the tragedy," Snape said, his voice low but filled with an edge of something raw. "You only see the bodies, the destruction. You don't witness it in real time—those moments when the air is thick with fear, the screams echoing, the torture…"
He stopped abruptly, his hand tightening around the glass in his hand as if trying to hold himself together. His expression shifted, darkening with a pain that he had long buried. The memories flooded to the surface uninvited, unrelenting.
The weight of it was almost too much to bear, but Snape forced himself to continue, his voice barely above a whisper. "Trust me," he said, his eyes flickering to hers. "One never gets numb to it… or forgets it."
The room grew quiet, the air thick with the heaviness of his confession. For the first time, Tonks could see the cracks in his façade, the tremors of a man who had lived through far more than anyone could imagine. His words were like a wound laid bare, and she could almost feel the scars beneath them, deep and unhealed.
Tonks didn't know what to say. She had heard of horrors, of suffering, but she had never truly understood the depth of it—until now. She could feel her chest tighten, an unfamiliar sensation of empathy and sorrow settling in her gut.
"Please," Tonks begged, her tone firm, yet gentle. "I want to know. What's the worst thing you've done? It might help you to tell someone."
Snape's lips tightened into a thin line. "Honestly, Nymphadora, I'm not comfortable answering that question. Next question." His voice was cold, but there was a slight tremor of something else beneath it, something deeper.
"Why not?" she pressed, unable to keep the teasing out of her voice. "Are you worried I'll hold it against you or something? I promise I won't tell anyone. You have my word."
He didn't respond immediately, instead choosing to down more of his mead. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension. Tonks tried again, leaning forward, pushing her luck.
"I'm not worried about your fragile heart, Nymphadora," Snape sneered, his gaze darkening, and the edge of his voice sharp as he regained his defensive composure. "Besides, it's none of your concern."
Tonks' face shifted slightly at his words, but she swallowed her irritation. "Fine then. Ask me something personal," she challenged, unwilling to back down.
Snape scowled, his expression sour. "We can finish this little chat another time," he declared, rising abruptly. "I've had enough." He strode to the door, clearly done with the conversation, but Tonks wasn't about to let him off the hook so easily.
"If I leave now, I'll add five more questions," she said with a grin. "We're only halfway through, so I'd advise you not to dismiss me just yet."
Snape's face twisted in loathing as he took a deep breath to calm himself. Tonks saw the rage building inside him, but she could see that something had shifted—a part of him was fighting with the walls he'd built over the years. Just as he reached for the door handle, he turned back around.
To her surprise, he didn't grab his empty glass. Instead, he grabbed the fresh bottle of mead, uncorked it, and poured himself another generous drink. He didn't speak as he sat down on the couch across from her, the silence thickening with unspoken words.
"What's the worst thing you've done?" Snape's voice dropped to a low hiss, his eyes burning into hers as he leaned over the middle of the couch. "So appalling that the mere thought of it haunts you. I want to know. And if your answer doesn't satisfy me…" He paused, his voice turning cold as ice, "...you'll give me the location now. Is that understood?"
Tonks felt a chill run through her, his eyes searing into hers like black holes pulling her in. She couldn't tear her gaze away. An unfamiliar sensation shivered down her spine, but she masked her unease with a shaky laugh.
"Then you won't mind if I finish off that bottle of Firewhiskey," she shot back, her voice teasing, but a little unsteady.
"Any means necessary," Snape replied, his tone a bit too casual.
Tonks took a swig of Firewhiskey, then, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, began. "Alright then… Here goes."
"I was in fifth year, just like every other girl in school, drooling over Phillip Deidrick…"
Snape's lips twitched as he remembered the arrogant Hufflepuff student. Tonks continued, though, her voice becoming softer with vulnerability.
Tonks shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her usually vibrant hair dulling to a mousy brown – a telltale sign of her distress. The fact that she was about to bare her soul to Severus Snape of all people made her stomach twist into knots. The Firewhiskey bottle between them seemed like her only ally in this moment.
"He was dating Bernice Baton then," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "Perfect, beautiful Bernice with her golden curls and china-doll features. She'd strut through the common room, letting everyone know just how wonderful Phillip was – as a boyfriend, as a lover, as everything." Tonks' fingers drummed nervously against her glass. "Back then, it felt like every Hufflepuff girl was discovering love, exploring relationships, giggling about stolen kisses in empty corridors. Everyone except me."
She paused, watching the amber liquid swirl in her glass. "I saved myself because of Phillip. Merlin, I was so infatuated with him that other boys might as well have been furniture. But looking at Bernice – her perfect smile, her confidence, her grace – I knew he'd never look twice at a clumsy metamorphmagus who couldn't even keep her hair color consistent for a full day."
The confession burned her cheeks crimson. Across the table, Snape was clearly struggling with the intimate nature of the conversation, his long fingers wrapped tightly around his mead glass as if it were a lifeline. The usual sharp criticism in his dark eyes had softened to something almost like discomfort.
Taking another burning sip of Firewhiskey for courage, Tonks pressed on. "The day before Christmas break changed everything. Phillip came to our dormitory when I was alone, clutching a note for Bernice." Her voice grew hollow. "Meet me in the Trophy room at midnight. Such simple words, but they haunted me for the next twelve hours."
She closed her eyes, remembering. "At eleven-thirty, I found myself in the bathroom, staring at my reflection. Then suddenly, it wasn't my reflection anymore – it was Bernice's. Perfect, beautiful Bernice. I told myself I'd just go look, just see what he wanted to tell her. But deep down, I knew better."
Tonks' hands began to tremble. "I almost ran when I got there. But then he appeared, and before I could move, his hands were on me. His kiss..." She touched her lips unconsciously. "It was aggressive, demanding, passionate – everything I'd dreamed of. But it wasn't for me. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word was meant for her. I let myself drown in the fantasy, desperate to feel wanted, to feel beautiful. Instead, I felt hollow."
Her voice cracked. "After that night, something broke inside me. I stopped caring about who I was with or what they thought of me. It became a blur of meaningless encounters, boys who saw me as convenient but never really saw me at all. Not until Charlie." A ghost of a smile flickered across her face before fading. "But that first time... being with someone who thought I was someone else... what kind of person does that make me?"
The last words hung heavy in the air between them. Tonks felt the weight of her confession lift slightly, even as shame colored her cheeks. The relief of finally speaking these words aloud warred with the humiliation of laying bare her deepest regret to the most unlikely of confidants.
Tonks noticed something in Snape's black eyes—something she had seen only once before, a long time ago. It wasn't pity. It wasn't judgment. It was understanding.
For a fleeting moment, she realized that Snape, of all people, understood. There was something in the way his gaze softened, something raw and unspoken. He didn't look at her like she was weak or foolish. He saw her, truly saw her, in a way that made her feel... less alone in this.
A small, quiet ache settled in her chest as she realized the depth of his empathy. It wasn't hard to imagine that if Snape had the chance, he'd do anything to morph into James Potter, just to feel Lily's love and respect one last time. He would've done it without a second thought.
"You would be surprised just how normal that sounds to me," Snape's voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried an undeniable weight. "The lengths that people will take to feel wanted."
Tonks swallowed hard. His words cut deeper than she expected, reverberating inside her chest with a painful resonance. It was as if he wasn't just speaking about her—he was speaking about himself, too. His whole life, shrouded in bitterness and regret, was all about wanting to be seen, wanting to be loved, wanting to be enough. And maybe, just maybe, it was that shared longing that created a strange bond between them.
She tried to find her voice again, but it felt like the weight of his understanding wrapped around her chest, making it difficult to breathe. What was it about the darkness that made them both feel so desperate for something—anything—familiar? Something to hold onto, even if it wasn't real.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Tonks didn't feel the need to hide behind her words, to protect herself with humor or sarcasm. Snape had let her see a part of him, a part he rarely showed, and in that moment, she could almost understand the depth of his suffering.
And perhaps, just for tonight, they could share their pain without having to carry it alone.
"I have never told anyone this before," Tonks said softly, her voice almost breaking under the weight of her confession. She took a long, deep sip of Firewhiskey, the warmth of the liquid burning down her throat. "Especially not Remus. My whole life... I never felt wanted, never felt beautiful, until I met him. And look how that turned out." She let out a bitter laugh, the sound empty and hollow. "I guess it comes with the curse of being what I am. When you can change your appearance at will, when you can be anyone but yourself, why would anyone ever want to see the real you?"
Snape, who had been sitting across from her, was struck silent. He had never expected such raw honesty from Tonks. She had always seemed so carefree, optimistic, even with the dark undertones of her work as an Auror. To see her this vulnerable—this broken—shook him. He had never seen the cracks in her armor. He hadn't thought there would be any. He could only offer a slight shrug, unsure of what to say, his mind scrambling to find some comforting words that would never come.
Tonks met his gaze, her expression softening just slightly. "I feel... relieved," she whispered, almost to herself. "To finally get it off my chest." She blinked rapidly, trying to keep her composure. To her surprise, Snape hadn't had a single cruel word to say. He had listened without mockery or derision, something that was rare, especially from him.
She took another long drink, feeling the warmth spread through her limbs. It helped, even if only a little. She leaned forward, eyes now locked with his. "Now it's your turn. What's the worst thing you've done?"
Snape's eyes flickered, a brief flash of hesitation crossing his face. It wasn't like him to open up, to expose himself. But the vulnerability in Tonks' eyes, the quiet anguish that reflected his own, tugged at something deep within him. A sigh escaped his lips, heavy with the weight of old regrets.
"Of all the terrible actions I participated in and allowed to happen," Snape began, his voice hoarse, "nothing compares to what I did... a reckless choice I made sixteen years ago." He paused, his fingers tightening around his glass of mead. The memory was like a dark cloud, always hovering, never leaving.
He ran a hand over his face, the weight of exhaustion pulling at his features. "The worst thing I've done…" he trailed off, unable to find the words at first. His gaze dropped to the floor, the shame in his eyes unmistakable. "...led to the loss of the only woman I will ever love."
Tonks' heart clenched at the rawness in his voice. She hadn't expected this. The anger and bitterness that typically colored his words seemed to have receded, leaving a depth of sorrow and remorse she had never anticipated. She swallowed hard, her own heart aching for him.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, the words almost too quiet to reach him. But they were enough. Because the moment he spoke those words, the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. Everything about Snape—the coldness, the bitterness, the loneliness—suddenly made sense. The mystery that had hung over him for years was being unraveled, and it was as if the weight of his secret had just been laid bare in front of her.
"Old history, Nymphadora," Snape muttered, his voice rough and tired. "But not a day goes by that the pain doesn't gnaw at me."
Tonks' breath caught in her throat. She could feel his words like a physical blow. He had loved someone. And in loving her, he had lost her. That loss—she could feel it in every syllable, in the way his shoulders slumped, in the way his eyes seemed to see something far away, lost to him forever.
"What happened?" she asked, her voice small but urgent, the question slipping out before she could stop herself. She could feel that this was it—this was the moment, the one she had been waiting for. She needed to know.
Snape hesitated, his gaze flicking towards the floor again as if the weight of the past was too heavy to bear. But then, something in him seemed to shift. He had shared so much with her already, a vulnerability he rarely allowed anyone to witness. For some reason, tonight, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he could trust her too.
"I notified the Dark Lord about conspiracies against him," Snape said, his voice quieter now, his words hesitant as if even speaking them aloud could bring the memories to life once more. "I didn't know who was all involved. But that decision led to the murder of..." He stopped abruptly, eyes widening for a brief moment, as if he had almost let slip too much. He felt a sharp pang of fear, a coldness creeping up his spine. He had come too close. Too close to revealing too much.
Tonks was stunned, her mind scrambling to piece everything together. She could sense the tension in his voice, the way he had almost said something, but had stopped himself. She couldn't push him further. She knew there was something more—something he couldn't say. And somehow, she understood why.
"What was she like?" Tonks asked cautiously, her voice quiet and tentative, as if she were walking on fragile ground. She didn't want to hurt him, didn't want to push him away. But she had to know. She had to understand him, at least a little bit. She was finally seeing the man behind the scorn, the bitterness.
A wistful expression passed over Snape's face, one that Tonks had never seen before. It was like he was seeing her again, as though he were talking to her, reliving the past. "She was perfect in every sense of the word," Snape said, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes shining faintly with something like admiration—or maybe grief. "There isn't a person who would disagree. Optimism flowed from her, leaving a permanent mark on everyone she met. She had the rare gift of seeing the beauty in the world... in people. Even those who didn't deserve it."
Tonks watched as his features softened, his lips curling into a sad smile. It was like a window opening to a different side of him. A side she hadn't known existed. She could feel the love in his words, the deep ache, the longing that had never truly faded.
"She was uncommonly kind, even to those who hurt her. She had a glowing splendor that could stop you in your tracks. Her presence... was like sunlight after a storm. Her lips were warmer than the sun's rays on a summer morning." Snape's voice softened further, and Tonks could see the way his eyes shone, the way the years seemed to melt away as he spoke about her. It was as if he had never had the chance to speak of her, never had the opportunity to truly share the love he had felt for her.
Tonks' heart swelled in a way she didn't expect. She had never imagined Snape capable of such tenderness, of such feeling. For a moment, she couldn't help but feel honored that he had chosen to share this with her. "She sounds... remarkable," Tonks said softly, her voice laced with awe. "What a blessing it must have been to be loved by someone so brilliant."
"A blessing indeed," Snape muttered, his voice thick, almost bitter. "If only I were so lucky."
Tonks frowned, confused. "What do you mean?" she asked, the words slipping out before she could stop them. She needed to know what he meant. Why did he speak so sadly about something so pure?
Snape chuckled, but it was bitter, mocking. "I never stood a chance with her. We were best friends, at one point we could've been more. But like always, I pushed her away because of my own insecurities, my foolishness. I let her go." His face hardened then, his mask slipping back into place. "In the end, it didn't matter. I was her ruin. And she... she was my redemption. Her love could have saved me from myself. But my love... it led to her death."
Tonks stared at him, her heart aching for him. The pain in his words was unbearable. "Isn't it amazing," she said quietly, as if talking to herself, "how one person can change everything? How quickly a life can shift? How one person can affect everything?"
Snape didn't respond. There was nothing to say.
Tonks finished the last of her Firewhiskey and set the glass down with a shaky hand. She couldn't hold it in anymore. She stood up and moved to the window, staring out at the full moon, its pale light filtering through the glass. It should have been calming, but instead, it felt suffocating. Her heart was a storm, a chaos of grief and fury.
"How dare they," she whispered, almost drunkenly, her words coming faster now. "How dare they have this control over us. We both deserve better, don't we? Is it so hard for someone to love us in return? To see us for who we truly are? You let them in, and they destroy you. I'm so sick of it, Snape. I just want to scream. I want to cry until it all leaves me, because holding onto this rage... it's killing me inside."
Tears welled in her eyes. Before she knew it, a sob escaped her, deep and guttural, shaking her entire body. The rawness of it startled her, but it was too late to stop now.
Snape stood up and walked toward her. He stood beside her, the silence between them thick and full of understanding. The full moon barely peeked out from the clouds, its light dim and fleeting. But still, he spoke, his voice a quiet murmur in the heavy stillness. "It's a shame. No matter how much pain we are in, we can't help but think of them."
Tonks wiped her eyes quickly, trying to gather herself. "I know. I just... I just hope he's safe."
Snape placed a hand gently on her shoulder. It was awkward, unpracticed, but it was something. "I assure you," he said softly, "he is."
Tonks turned toward him, her voice fragile as she looked up at him, the trust in her eyes unmistakable. "How can you be so sure?"
Snape's voice grew quieter, a sense of finality to it. "I've been sending him Wolfsbane during his mission."
Before Snape could react, Tonks had wrapped her arms around his neck in an unexpected, tight embrace. She buried her face against his shoulder, her sobs muffled. "Thank you," she managed to say, her voice breaking, her words raw and desperate.
Snape, caught off guard, stood still, unsure of what to do. It had been so long since anyone had thanked him for anything, let alone embraced him like this. He patted her back awkwardly, before gently pulling away, the warmth of the moment fading as quickly as it had come.
Tonks wiped her eyes and stood up, straightening her shoulders as if ready to leave. Snape followed her, walking her to the door.
"Before I go," she said, her voice steady now, though there was still a hint of emotion in her tone. "I have an idea."
Snape raised an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "What might that be?"
"You still have four questions to answer," she said with a sly smile. Snape nodded, giving a small gesture of acknowledgment. "If you tell me the name of your mystery girl, I'll forget the other three questions. And I'll give you the location now."
Snape studied her carefully, suspicion flickering in his eyes. "How do I know this isn't a hoax?"
Tonks grinned, her eyes twinkling. "Third Floor corridor, hidden in the statue of Gunhilda of Gorsemoor. I'll give you the password after you tell me her name."
Snape hesitated. The weight of the decision pressed down on him, the danger of revealing too much, of trusting someone else with Lily's name, her memory. But he thought about what he had learned about Tonks tonight—about her sincerity, her loyalty. She had shared her heart with him, her pain, her secrets.
And so, with a final glance at her, he made the decision. "Lily. Her name was Lily."
Tonks' face softened, her smile gentle. "What a beautiful name," she said quietly. "The password is Dissendium. See you tomorrow night."
They shared a nod of understanding before Tonks turned and left, disappearing into the corridors.
Snape stood alone in his chambers, his mind swirling with the unspoken, the dangerous knowledge he had just given away. And somewhere, in another part of the castle, Tonks lay awake, restless and uncertain, repeating the same question over and over in her head: Surely he isn't talking about Lily Potter. He can't be, could he?