Snape In Love: Chasing Darkness Away

Chapter 17

Disintegration

By the time they arrived in the Great Hall, most of the staff had arrived, as had their guests. Tonks stood talking to Caius and Sirius, and turned to wave frantically as they walked along the length of the Hall to the far end.

"Don't look now, but I think she's seen us!" commented Severus dryly out of the side of his mouth, and Ella elbowed him in the ribs.

"Hello Snape! How's family life? I knew it'd all work out!" Tonks said enthusiastically as she bounced towards them. "And Ella! Wow, motherhood suits you, you look great! Love the hair!" She stopped short, and frowned. "Was it always like that?"

"Er...yes?" said Ella, puzzled. Severus took Ella's elbow and tried to guide her away, towards the relative safety of Professors McGonagall and Sprout, but it was too late. Tonks continued,

"Blimey, Snape, I got it completely wrong, didn't I? No wonder you sent me packing in the Leaky Cauldron that time! Remember, after Malfoy's trial?" Oblivious to Snape's look of horror and everybody else's incomprehension, she turned to Ella happily. "See, I got the style right but the colour was all wrong. No wonder he got so cross! Do you colour your hair?" she called after them as Severus steered Ella determinedly to the dining table.

"Severus, what is she talking about?" asked Ella in clipped tones.

"Nothing. Nothing at all," he replied grimly. Ella looked at him suspiciously, then across the room to where Tonks and Caius were sparring playfully. She frowned and then sat down beside Severus, who was staring down at his place setting as if the cutlery laid out there was an unfamiliar and fascinating sight.

"Severus, if you and Tonks have ever - "

His head snapped round and his eyes bored into hers fiercely.

"We haven't! Ever!"

"Fine! You can tell me all about what didn't happen later, can't you?" she hissed.

He scowled his assent and returned to his close scrutiny of the silverware. Ella had no reason to be jealous, although after witnessing her reaction to Miss Kovich at Malfoy's trial he knew very well that she had a tendency towards that trait. She must know that he could no more look at another woman than he could disown his daughter. He sighed inwardly. It was he who had reason to be jealous. His wife surely stole the heart of whomever she met, and he still itched to reach for his wand every time Sirius Black so much as smiled at her.

He was not looking forward to explaining to Ella about Tonks and how she misguidedly took it on herself to cheer him up after the trial, and for once he was grateful for Remus' and Hermione's company at the dinner table, for it distracted his wife and enabled him precious time in which to consider how best to explain, and how much to tell. After careful consideration he set down his knife and fork with a sigh. He would have to tell her it all, of course. She had a most disconcerting habit of knowing whenever he was economical with the truth and one benefit of being a Slytherin was to know when honesty was a more reliable option than running the risk of discovery with half truths. Besides, the whole point of these last few days was to share everything with her, quite apart from the fact that she had taken the emerald with her to France and for all he knew could have witnessed the entire woefully embarrassing business anyway.

Ella soon thawed in the company of her friends, and when she put her hand on his thigh as she leaned across the table the better to hear the punch line to a mildly amusing joke about werewolves and 'full moons', he covered it with his own. She did not withdraw it, so he lifted it and put it to his lips. She turned her brilliant smile on him, and put her hand to his cheek. A few months before and he would have removed her hand and become embarrassed at such a public display of affection. Now, he held her gaze, his eyes burning into hers, and turned his head to nip seductively at the soft flesh of the ball of her thumb. She shivered at the promise in his eyes, and flushed. Relieved that she had forgiven him for Tonks' runaway tongue he actually enjoyed the rest of his meal, despite the occasional braying from the far end of the table that reminded him of Tonks' presence among them and the inexorable countdown to the explanation he had to make.

He made their excuses as soon after the end of the meal as was practicable, prising his daughter from Minerva and Poppy and assuring Ella that he would be able to see Caius the following morning before he and Tonks set off on their trip to Ireland. Ella was quiet on their way back down to the dungeons, and he could tell that she was steeling herself for whatever he had to tell her and probably imagining the worst. He wished he could tell her not to worry, but he was aware from past experience that protestations of innocence would not wash until the full story had been told. He had suspected Sirius of seducing Ella in France, and the suspicion had eaten away at him until she had finally confessed to the one stolen kiss they had shared. Now, it was evident that Ella suspected him of turning to Tonks for comfort during their separation, as if that clumsy chit could even have begun to fill the void she had left in his life. He opened the door to their rooms and followed her inside, wondering where was the best place to begin.

***********************************************************

On the morning of Lucius Malfoy's trial he had awoken to find his cheek pressed against the oak counter of the Leaky Cauldron's main bar and his nose inches away from a large mug of hot, milky coffee. His back had protested as he straightened up, and he noticed Tom on the other side of the bar, watching him worriedly.

"I take my coffee black, and unsweetened," he had snarled.

"That's as maybe, Professor, but get that down you anyway. You've not chosen the most comfortable bed in the place for your night's sleep, so I reckon you could do with a pick-me-up. There's bacon and sausages on out back, I'd be willing to share. Now, see," he continued as Snape began to demur, "I don't offer this service to all my paying guests. But you've got a busy day ahead of you, I reckon."

Snape acknowledged the offer with a shrug, and slid stiffly from his stool. He followed Tom behind the bar into the back room.

Later, having washed and changed in the room he had been supposed to share with Lupin, Snape returned to the bar. The breakfast, while taken gratefully at the time, lay heavily in his churning stomach and did absolutely nothing for his nerves. Agitated, he could not settle, preferring to pace the room from end to end. As soon as Dumbledore came down the stairs, looking annoyingly well-rested and in good spirits, Snape snapped,

"I can't stay here, Albus." I can't have Ella see me like this. "I'm going to the Ministry now, to make sure everything's in place. I'll see you there."

"Of course, Severus, whatever you think is best. We'll all meet you there later."

Snape nodded and made for the fireplace, and an instant later he was gone.

Half an hour later, and Snape had done all that he could. He had examined the courtroom, paced the corridor, and now stood at one end of a long narrow room that housed a conference table and thirty two red velvet covered chairs. He had no timepiece, but nevertheless knew that his party would arrive soon, and that party would include his Ella. No, not his Ella any more.

He wondered how he would feel when he saw her and allowed a hollow laugh to echo into the empty vastness of the room. He knew that his self control would be sorely tested. Damn the woman for managing to burrow her way so deeply under his skin that she left poisoned barbs to fester there weeks after she had withdrawn.

He straightened his cuffs and his collar, making sure that all of the buttons on his black worsted frock coat were neatly fastened. He cut a formal and ascetic figure, he knew, armoured like this. If only people knew what roiling passions bubbled just below the surface. Ella had known. He had let her see. And she would know again, he was sure of it, however well he disguised it.

He stared out of the window, emptying his mind of all thought and emotion in the same way that he had done for years when the Dark Mark burned on his arm and he prostrated himself before the Dark Lord. His breathing slowed and steadied, and he was able to slump his shoulders and let his arms hang limply at his sides while he relaxed. He allowed the miasma of his conscious mind to be shuttered, enclosed and locked away, until all that was left was a grey, swirling emptiness and he was calm. Soon, however, his finely tuned hearing discerned the sound of many footfalls along the corridor outside, and all of his feelings and passions burst into life once more as he sensed her approach.

The door swung open with a creak, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to prickle. He did not turn round, he simply stood staring out at nothing, but his hands curled themselves into fists at his sides and he clenched his jaw tightly. He heard the Potter boy say,

"Ella, are you okay?"

Steeling himself, he turned and saw her and his heart broke again. She wore a velvet cloak of deepest claret over a long black gown. Her hair was loose and it fell over her shoulders in the lustrous curls that had so many times caressed his body and curtained their faces as they kissed.

"Ella?" Potter repeated.

"Mister Potter," he began in a low voice, "I think you'll find that Miss Redemte does not like to share her thoughts nowadays. Luckily for the prosecuting counsel, the Veritaserum should help to loosen her tongue!"

She was not wearing the emerald and as their eyes met he could sense her fear. He was not reading her, he could not; but her terror was written all over her face. He did not know whether it was because of him or the trial, and he did not want to know, but her eyes widened at his approach. She sank down into a chair, and he stopped a few feet away from her. Their eyes were locked and then all at once, she gasped and looked as if she was about to faint. Concerned, he began to reach out to her and had to draw back hurriedly before his weakness was noticed.

At that moment the door creaked open once more and Rowena Kovich entered the room. Remembering their encounter the day before, he wrenched his gaze from Ella and turned to greet her, setting his features into an appropriate expression of interest and giving the woman an expansive smile.

"This is Miss Kovich," said Snape in his silkiest voice. "She's been telling me all about what to expect today."

Introductions were made and he made sure that the Counsel for the Prosecution was once again given the impression that when the trial was over their relationship could become somewhat more personal. Glancing at Ella he was shocked but highly delighted to see anger flash from her eyes. Good, his green eyed angel had a little of the green eyed monster in her. He was pathetically relieved to see it, and resolved at the same time to capitalise on it at his earliest opportunity.

Miss Kovich opened her portfolio and flipped through some papers.

"Two representatives from the Ministry and the counsel for the defence will be here shortly to administer the Veritaserum," she said in a cut-glass accent that was far less friendly than the alluring one with which she had tried to seduce Snape the day before. "You will then be escorted to the courtroom. You will sit on the witness benches. You will not speak to one another at all until after you have given evidence and taken your place on the public benches."

"I trust that your questioning of our two star witnesses will not be too stringent?" Snape asked pleasantly, indicating Ella and Hermione. "They had to live through the episode not once, but twice, and then recount it several times, and since it is not Voldemort on trial here, but Malfoy, I sincerely hope, for their sake, that your questions will be confined to the actual event of their abduction, and not the terrible ordeal that ensued?" he finished, with raised eyebrows and another predatory smile. It would not hurt to remind her of the content of their conversation the day before, in case her mind had been elsewhere. Sure enough, she became flustered, and with her hand once again fluttering to her throat in a most unprofessional manner, she replied,

"Oh, no, of course, there is no need whatsoever...of course, I'm afraid I can't speak for my learned friend..."

"Of course!" finished Snape, turning his hungry gaze back to Ella for long moments before folding his arms and returning to the window.

They were soon joined by two Ministry officials, one bearing a tray of vials of Veritaserum, the other a clipboard. After all of the doses had been distributed and ingested and all of their names marked off the list, the party readied themselves for the trial. Snape waited by the door until Ella drew near and left the room beside her, falling into step with her. His intention had been to intimidate her into slowing her pace so that he could take advantage of a moment or two of privacy in which to ascertain how she felt about him. However, he was so exultant at her apparent jealousy over Miss Kovich that he could not resist needling her about it.

"This should be interesting!" he muttered maliciously in an undertone. "Tell me, what do you think of our esteemed counsel for the prosecution?"

"I loathe her, because I think she wants to sleep with you, and she mentally undresses you every time she looks at you." Ella replied unwillingly.

He laughed bitterly.

"And the thought of me with her upsets you, doesn't it?"

"Yes!" she snarled. "And will you? Will you sleep - have sex with her?"

Damn her, she knew exactly how to phrase her question in order to get the answer she so obviously wanted. He had not realised she was so very manipulative. He struggled not to answer but could not deny the truth potion.

"No!" he snarled, and cursed inwardly. What was the wretched pensieve for, what good did it do if he still felt this way? He stalked off towards the court room. They were nearly at the door now, and he had no more time to question her. He had allowed her to twist their conversation to suit her own ends while denying him the opportunity to do the same.

He sat directly behind her in the court room. Seats filled up all around him but he could not take his eyes off the back of her head. He had spent so many, many mornings staring at the back of her head, lying curled around her with the soft curve of her bottom pressing into his lap, his arm draped around her and cupping her breast, drawing her closer until he could bury his nose in those curls and simply breathe her. His hands gripped his knees until his knuckles turned white, as he tried to hold on to the last vestiges of his self control. Seeing her like this was harder than he had imagined. He had spent years as the proud master of his feelings, a prince of moderation and self control, but seeing Ella again was too much, too hard. No-one, no matter what their sin, should have to tolerate such bitter torment.

He tore his eyes away from her when the Counsels for the Defence and the Prosecution came in, forcing himself to turn the intensity of his gaze on to the Veela. He saw her flush, and smiled grimly to himself. She would carry out his wishes because she thought only of her reward. Let her think that way, he thought, if it suited his ends. More fool her.

Malfoy sauntered into the court room as if he owned the place. He was flanked by two aurors, and a third followed behind, but he might as well have been walking into the drawing room of Malfoy Manor as the gracious host of a cocktail party for all the remorse he showed. Snape saw him turn his head to look directly at Ella and then the bastard actually smiled at her. Snape drew in a breath as he saw Ella stiffen in horror, and she turned in her seat then and raised her head to look at him imploringly. Ah, those eyes, so full of pain and sorrow and need. She needed his comfort, but all that he could do was hope that his eyes would be adequate conduits of strength and support. He tried to read her, but still there was nothing.

Nevertheless, he saw the relief in her eyes, and a new resolve, and when she turned back to face the front, although he wanted to half rise in his seat and embrace her, he was comforted. She understood, and she would draw on his strength knowing that it stood hand in hand with her own.

He willed her on, all through her evidence. As soon as she left the stand, however, and took her place on the far side of the room directly in his line of sight, he had to break his gaze. He had done his duty to her, to Dumbledore, to justice and to himself. He had helped her through and he could bear it no longer. He looked away, and although he felt her eyes on him often as the hours passed, he tried to look no more.

Miss Kovich was as good as her word and he wondered at the ease with which she had allowed herself to be influenced. Not that it mattered in this instance, since it had worked to everyone's advantage and Malfoy was on his way to Azkaban, but it did little to bolster what little faith Snape had in the justice system. Once the trial was over and the assembled witches, wizards and witnesses had seen Malfoy taken away and begun to file out of the court room, she led their party back to the long room and simpered at him expectantly. He ignored her completely. He had no more reason to be civil to her and he certainly wanted nothing from her now. He was dimly aware of her disappointment and a flash of anger, but he barely noticed her leave. He was too busy trying to make Ella meet his gaze. He needed to talk to her while she was still under the influence of the Veritaserum. He had to speak to her alone. He had to know why she had left, and whether or not she still loved him at all.

"Professor Dumbledore, how long will it be before the Veritaserum wears off?" asked Hermione anxiously.

"Oh, any time now!" twinkled the Headmaster.

"In that case," said Snape, drawing closer to Ella, "now might be a good time for Ella and me to have a few moments alone!"

"Ah, no, Severus, I don't think so. We're all drained and in need of a good rest. I believe we should all go back to the Leaky Cauldron for butterbeer." Snape glared at the Headmaster, his mouth twisting in an unpleasant sneer as he turned on his heel and stalked back to the other end of the room.

"Shall we?" the Headmaster continued, and the party began to file into the corridor in order to floo back to the Leaky Cauldron. Snape followed, and caught up in time to see Ella step into the fireplace. Just then a voice called down the corridor,

"Ah, there you all are! So glad I caught you!"

Snape rolled his eyes. It was Fudge. Snape despised the officious little man and Fudge's less than enthusiastic reaction to the verdict on Malfoy had set off various mental alarm bells in Snape's head. He wanted to stay and see what the Minister would have to say, but he realised that he had been given an ideal opportunity to speak to Ella. Taking advantage of everyone's distraction, he elbowed his way past Granger and Potter and stepped determinedly into the fire.

She was still dusting herself down when he arrived in the bar.

"Ella, we need to talk!"

She whirled round and began to back away from him, her eyes wide with agitation. He could scarcely believe the change in her. He still remembered a time when they gravitated towards one another as if magnetic opposites, and he still felt her irresistible pull. As he advanced on her she found that he had backed her up against a wooden pillar that partitioned off the booths along one side of the bar.

"Oh, Severus, I don't - "

"There's nobody here to rescue you from me this time, Ella! Albus was sidetracked by Fudge, so don't bother looking round me for him!"

"I don't need anyone's help! I can look after myself, I always have!"

"Yes, and I know that's the truth! But I didn't think you wanted to live like that any more! Now, tell me the truth, Ella, do you still love me?"

"Yes!"

"Then come back with me!"

"I can't, Severus, I'm sorry - I just need time - "

"Time for what?" he expostulated, gripping her shoulders. He tried to catch her gaze, but she would not look him in the eye, preferring instead to fasten her gaze on to the row of fabric covered buttons on his frock coat.

"For pity's sake, tell me!" he rasped, unable to keep the anguish from his voice. "What's going on?"

"I need time on my own, to think..."

"About what?"

She would not answer, and he realised that she had overcome the last traces of the potion.

"Oh, fine, don't tell me!"

There was little point in continuing their conversation. There was little point in anything. Unable to pound any more against the immovable wall of her rejection, he released her roughly and pushed himself away from her. Running his hand through his hair in agitation, he stalked out of the room, muttering harshly with a catch in his throat,

"Consider that your last chance. Stay away from me from now on."

He walked blindly from the bar and stood at the end of the small yard, beside the wall whose shifting bricks concealed the entrance to Diagon Alley. He leaned against it and took great gulps of air, bent double. There was no-one there to see him, and he needed to collect himself. He supposed that Dumbledore and the others would have returned by now, and perhaps if he went back into the bar he would overhear Ella talking about him and explaining why things had gone so horribly wrong. He knew that his behaviour was pathetically needy, but he hurried back inside all the same.

He was just in time to see her walk into the massive stone fireplace, turn around and lock sad eyes on to his, and then she was gone. Bleak with despair, he did not move. He stared into the empty fireplace, willing her to reappear and run to him, telling him it had all been a terrible mistake, or an elaborate joke, and that she would be going home with him. But only Dumbledore spoke to him, standing between him and the fireplace, breaking Snape's disbelieving concentration.

"Severus? Shall we retire to the snug? I believe the others will be here shortly."

"What? Oh, the meeting. Yes, of course."

Dumbledore smiled sadly and Snape stood aside distractedly while he passed into the snug. He followed him automatically and took a seat in the darkest corner of the small room, where he hoped to remain undisturbed. Lupin sat beside him but Snape did not even bother to glare. In fact, as the room began to fill up with their small group and certain other members of the Order, including Tonks and Shacklebolt, he was grateful for Lupin's silent, unobtrusive company, for it prevented anybody else from inflicting themselves on him. He withdrew into himself and when the meeting began the words washed over him unnoticed. They were speaking of Cornelius Fudge and his trustworthiness or otherwise, and while Snape had very definite opinions he kept his peace. He had failed and she had gone, he had tried but she had left him again, and nothing else mattered. Once the meeting was over he left without a word to anyone save Professor Dumbledore, who granted him a leave of absence from Hogwarts until the following Monday, and sought out Tom the barkeep.

"I want a room, Tom, for the next few days."

"Certainly, Professor Snape. Your room's free till next Tuesday, sir, so you can keep it on, no trouble at all."

"No, I want a particular room. I want the room Miss Redemte has just left."

"Room ten? Right-o then, let me see...yes, that'll be fine. Edie's just gone up there now to clean, it should be ready in half an hour or so..."

He trailed off as Snape scowled at him and made for the stairs at a run.

Snape reached Ella's door to find it ajar. Bursting in, he startled the elderly maid with a strangled

"No!" grabbing her arm in a desperate lunge to stop her removing the linen from the bed. She screamed, and he hissed "Leave it! Leave it all! Don't touch anything, I want it all to be left!" She nodded at him fearfully, evidently questioning his sanity, and began to back out of the room. She was too slow, for he continued hoarsely, "Now get out! Get out!" and practically pushed her out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her. He turned round and leaned against it, panting, taking in the details of the room his love had just left.

Gods, her scent filled the room. He could almost feel her presence. It was the same room she had stayed in just seven months before, when he had found her and sent her back to Hogwarts. He crossed over to the fireplace and ran his hand along the mantelpiece, remembering. The kiss they had shared that fateful night had been the beginning of something he had never thought to have. He walked across to the sink. It was still wet, and he trailed his fingers along the bowl, imagining her washing over it that morning. One of her hairs, long and dark, was curled against the porcelain, and he plucked it out and held it, examining it closely, holding it in his palm and watching the candlelight pick out its redness. She had left a glass of water on her bedside table, so he picked that up too and saw the imprint of her lower lip around its rim. His face crumpled and he sat down heavily on the unmade bed, his shoulders shaking as he replaced the glass. Then he turned and put his hand on her pillow, feeling the slight indentation her head had made. That was too much for him, and he lay down and buried his face in it, muffling the anguish that wracked his body.

When night fell he got up, but only in order to strip off his clothing and crawl beneath the sheets that had so recently covered her, clutching them to him and whispering her name. He might as well have been ten years old again, bewildered and lost in the funfair and crying hoarsely for his mother. He was adrift, confused and alone, and he missed Ella so much that he thought he would die from it.

He did not emerge from her room for several days. After the first day, Tom began to send trays of food as well whenever Snape called for more firewhisky to be brought. Sometimes he picked at it, trying to assuage the gnawing ache in his stomach, but for the most part he left it untouched. The hunger could never be appeased anyway, nor could the pain in his heart and the despair in his soul be eased. This was far, far worse than the first time. When she had left after the Valentine's Ball he had been devastated, but had managed to rationalise her behaviour by telling himself that she had acted in the heat of the moment and that when tempers had cooled she would gain a little perspective and he would be able to talk her into coming home. Now he had been forced to realise that he had deluded himself. Their time apart had merely made matters worse because she had obviously had the time to consider his many crimes and personal failings and realise that she was far better off without him. She had come to her senses and finished something that ought never to have been started, and all that remained was for him to come to terms with it and forget her.

He drifted between sleep and wakefulness, oblivion and cold sobriety, and so the days passed. The day before he was due to return to the school there was a knock on his door. He ignored it. He still had half a bottle of firewhisky left, and no other reason to open the door. He was not expecting company. At the second knock, he said thickly,

"Go away."

"Can't do that, Snape, sorry!" a cheerful voice replied.

Tonks.

"Go away."

"Look, there are two ways we can do this. You can let me in, or I can go and get Tom and tell him I'm on official Ministry business. He knows I'm an auror, he'll come up here and let me in."

Snape rolled on to his back and groaned. He fumbled for his wand and summoned his trousers and frock coat from the chair, and pulled them on, then held his shirt together across his chest as he rose to his feet and staggered the few steps to the door. Leaning on it with his head resting on his forearm, he said,

"What do you want, Tonks?"

"I want to come in, of course!"

Rolling his eyes and then grimacing as sharp needles of pain pricked in his head, he unlocked the door and then turned back to the bed. Behind him, Tonks entered the room, made a small sound of disgust at its condition and picked her way over several discarded bottles until she reached the chair.

"Gods, Snape, you don't look too good!" she exclaimed as he raised bloodshot eyes to meet hers. His head was too thick to come up with a suitably sarcastic response, so instead he simply glared at her. "Are you going back to Hogwarts any time soon? Only no-one's heard from you since the trial..."

"I'll be there in the morning."

"Oh. Right, good. Sirius flooed me and told me you were still down here and people were getting worried about you."

"Oh yes, I'm sure dear Sirius is worried!"

"Well, I think he wondered if you'd be back for classes tomorrow."

"You can tell your darling cousin that his services won't be required," he slurred bitterly, his usually nimble fingers fumbling to fasten the buttons of his frock coat. Tonks leaned forward and reached out to help, her open face furrowed with sympathy.

"Here, let me help - "

"Don't touch me!" he spat, recoiling from her and clutching his coat around himself.

"You miss her, don't you?" Tonks said softly.

"None of your business."

"Maybe not," she shrugged, "but I'm concerned anyway."

"Don't waste your concern on me. I don't want it."

"Tough, it's there."

"Will you please go now? As you can see, I am absolutely fine and I'll be back at Hogwarts by morning."

"Seeing Ella again didn't go too well, did it?" Tonks continued, unfazed. Snape toyed with the idea of hexing her but he could not trust his alcohol-slackened mouth to form the correct incantation. Physically removing her was not an option either, since he seemed to remember that all aurors were well trained in the Muggle art of self defence. In the end he chose not to reply, which was unfortunate as she seemed to see this as an invitation to make herself more comfortable and curled her legs under her.

Ella used to sit like that.

"You need to get her out of your system."

"I thought I told you it was none of your business."

"Look, Snape, I've known you a long time, and I'd like to think we were mates - "

"Well, we aren't!"

" - And I want to help you get through this!"

"Just leave."

"I know how much you loved her, and - "

"Love? Hah! What would you know? How could you possibly have any idea?" he muttered, his shoulders slumping and his hair hiding his face.

"If it hurts this much," she began hesitantly, "maybe you should try comfrey?"

He snorted in disgust and shook his head.

"To treat an "affair of the heart"? Are you sure you passed auror training?"

"I thought it helped to clean wounds," she said, sliding from the chair until she had taken up a kneeling position at his feet. "It stings at first, but then the wound heals. Clean. And - and here's the leaf, sitting right in front of you."

He raised his head to look at her incredulously. Was this some kind of sick joke?

"What?"

"Would this help?" She screwed her face up and he watched as her short spiky hair grew long and lustrous until it fell almost to her waist. Her slight, boyish figure ripened and swelled until her robes strained at the seams. Her mouth changed its shape and her face gradually relaxed into Ella's, and when she opened her eyes he saw that they were no longer violet but the clearest green.

Ella...

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded roughly, shaken to the core at the facsimile that knelt at his feet, just as Ella had knelt at his feet that night in his office and he had cupped her cheek, when it had all begun.

She stood, trampling on his bare foot in the process, and placed her hands on his shoulders as if to push him backwards on to the bed.

"I could help you."

He brushed her hands away angrily.

"What is this, your noble sacrifice for the cause? I bet this was Black's idea, the bastard! Fob me off with a pale imitation while he goes after the real thing! Get away from me!"

"No, Snape, it isn't like that!" she protested as he shoved her away from him and rose to his feet unsteadily. "Let me help you get through this, Snape. Let me help you forget, for a little while..."

Her arms snaked around his neck and Ella's face drew closer and closer to his until her lips grazed against his jaw and kissed him. He sobbed in despair as he felt her lush body mould itself to his, her breasts pressing into his chest, and then her hair was in his hands, running through his fingers as he let himself kiss her. The kiss was desperate and hard and he crushed her to him, seeking out his lost love as if his passion would infuse this echo of her with life and transfigure her into Ella. But this was not Ella. This did not taste like Ella or smell like her and after only a few moments he realised he did not have the stomach to keep up the pretence. He pushed her from him roughly and turned his back on her, resting his hands on the mantelpiece.

"Get out!" he rasped.

"Seduction doesn't agree with you, does it, Snape?" Tonks sighed ruefully.

He felt her hand on his shoulder. It felt like Ella's, through his clothes. He doubted that it would feel the same against his skin.

"I just thought - "

"You stupid, stupid girl!You didn't think! Don't you see? I can't stand to look at you!"

She withdrew her hand and he heard her take a deep breath and hold it in. When she finally exhaled he knew she had transformed back, and he scowled at her as he swung round to face her.

"I'm sorry, Snape."

"Fuck off, Tonks."

"I know how you must feel..."

"No, you don't," he said, his voice dangerously low. "How could you possibly understand? How could anyone understand what I've lost?" He raised his eyes to glare at her menacingly. "Leave. And if you ever dare to take such liberties with me again, or tell anybody about my - moment of weakness - I swear I will kill you."

Tonks blanched. She had been on the receiving end of his sharp tongue many times before and was annoyingly inured to it, but he could tell that he was scaring her now. Stupid girl, as if she was worth going to Azkaban for. On the other hand, even a Dementor's kiss was preferable to suffering such as this.

He closed the door behind her and locked it, before turning to survey the wreckage of his room. The thought of Azkaban was a sobering one, and he had the notion that he really should make sure he put all his affairs in order back at Hogwarts before considering taking steps to end his life. Ever mindful of his duty to his students and his Headmaster, he scoffed. How maudlin, and how cowardly. He would no more take his life than he would bother to kill that silly little metamorphmagus. He had enough blood on his hands without adding his own to the mix, and if he died, then his suffering would end and he did not deserve Death's release. No, no suicide he.

He bent over the sink and turned the tap, splashing his face with cold water then patting it dry. His cursory ablutions complete, he finally finished buttoning his frock coat and sat down heavily on the bed to put on his socks and boots, looking around him sadly. There was nothing of Ella left in this room now. Her signature scent of sweet, feminine jasmine had been replaced by the reek of whisky and misery. He buried his head in his hands. She was gone.