Snape In Love: Chasing Darkness Away

Chapter 18

Justification

Ella woke suddenly with a snort to find an insistent rhythmic pressure on her left breast. Looking down, she saw Persephone suckling contentedly.

"Mmph. 'lo, Seffie..." she grunted, closing her eyes again, only to open them with a frown as she wondered why Persephone was not in her cot. As the rest of the room gradually came into focus she saw a tall form outlined against the window. Severus was dressed, and his long nimble fingers were working their way down the row of buttons on his frock coat.

"How delicately feminine you are in the mornings, my love," he said dryly. "And so communicative, too."

She propped her head up on her left hand and glared at him.

"Don't push your luck, Severus. I still haven't decided whether or not to forgive you for being so damned attractive to other women," she grumbled.

"Oh, I don't know, Ella," he replied casually, sauntering over to the side of their bed and hunkering down beside her. "You seemed fairly forgiving last night. You forgave me twice, as I recall," he smirked, leaning over to kiss his daughter's head, holding Ella's gaze as he did so.

"Do you have to be so smug about it?"

He cocked his head to one side to consider her question, and a smile twitched the corner of his mouth.

"Believe me, it's a rare enough occurrence to be worthy of note, and besides, I don't believe for one minute that Tonks found me attractive."

"Hmph. Tonks." Ella frowned. "I hope she doesn't see Caius as second best."

"I wouldn't worry about Caius, Ella. I don't." Ella raised her eyebrows noncommittally but said nothing. "Ella, she was doing it out of some misguided sense of - of duty, or pity, or - oh, I don't know what she was thinking, but love didn't have anything to do with it. And nor did Black, to my utter disbelief at the time."

"If you say so."

"I do," he said briskly, planting a kiss on her forehead. "Now get up, we need to see them off."

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

Week had followed dreary week. It was frightening, really, how quickly the time passed. Each individual day had dragged, of course, the lessons merging into one another to form one homogenous mass of dull repetition, while in the evenings time gained a peculiarly elastic quality, standing still for eternal moments while he wished for oblivious sleep, and yet hours passing in instants when he dwelt on the sculpture and the memories it evoked. But overall, the weeks had flown by until he had become more and more aware that he would soon have been without Ella for longer than they had been together. The realisation had been a sobering one that drove him ever more determinedly to the bottle and its ability to distance him from the pain that gnawed ceaselessly at his gut.

He spoke to no-one of his pain, not even the Headmaster. He guarded it jealously, the jigsaw pieces of his doomed love gathered together and clutched beneath his cloak, to be examined only through the distorting bottom of a whisky tumbler when he was alone by the fire in the deep of the night.

He became thin, and a little unkempt, but managed to maintain his well-practised façade each day. He would never let it be said that he was in any way derelict in his duty. He survived on a cocktail of whisky, Dreamless Sleep and Pepper-Up potions, and sheer bloody-mindedness, waiting for the fire in his soul to burn itself out. Waiting for her never to have existed, and never to have shown him what might have been.

Black followed her, of course. He only lasted a couple of weeks before he was hot on her heels. Snape would not stoop so low, no, not he. She had left him, and made her choice. He had no case to plead, and would not try. Let the dog go and sniff around her, if it must. Snape had his memories. Nevertheless, the news of Black's departure unsettled him, and he spent every evening thereafter imagining the two of them together, laughing and smiling and no doubt doing a good deal more than that. He would nurse his whisky as he stared at the moving sculpture until the image blurred before his eyes and he could stand it no more.

One day, Black returned. Snape watched jealously as he saw the familiar figure enter the Great Hall and stride between the gathered Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs on his way to the staff table. Nowadays he did not take his old place beside Snape, both parties concerned finding it far easier on their digestion when they sat at opposite ends of the staff table. He glanced quickly at Snape with an odd look in his eyes, but Snape was too full of sharp, hot hatred for the man to be able to interpret his expression. Once Black had taken his seat beside Madam Pomfrey and begun a whispered conversation with her, about Ella, no doubt, Snape scraped back his chair and left the Hall by means of the door behind his place. Back in his rooms once more he brooded into the fire, wondering what Black's return meant.

He recognised Remus Lupin's self-effacing knock on his door later that evening, and chose not to acknowledge it. The knocking, and presumably the werewolf, went away after a while and Snape was able to sink into the fiery amber waters of Lethe, courtesy of several gills of Ogden's' single malt. That night, firewhisky was his sleeping draught and the armchair his bed, and his dreams, suppressed for many nights by his illicit supply of Dreamless Sleep Potion, were full of visions of firelight on entwined limbs and hair coiled across bare flesh, of moans of delight and tender, savage lips dragging across eager mouths. He woke in the cold grey light of dawn with a furred tongue and a head thick with loss and regret.

Dragging himself to his feet, he made stiffly for the bowl of floo powder on the mantel. He stepped into the fireplace muttering,

"Albus Dumbledore's office."

The usually warm, welcoming room was empty and cold, as he had expected. Albus was an early riser, he knew, but even he did not normally rise until the sun had cleared the horizon. Prepared to wait, Snape slumped into one of the overstuffed wing chairs by the fireplace, and stared bleakly into space.

After half an hour had passed he heard a soft, sleepy squawk, and turned his head slightly to see Fawkes' head emerge from under his wing. He blinked at Snape a few times, and then shifted on his perch, leaning forward as if he was stretching. When the phoenix looked over to the far end of the office, at the door to Dumbledore's private quarters, Snape knew that the Headmaster was on his way. A few moments later the door opened. The Headmaster did not seem surprised to see him.

"Ah, Severus, there you are! How about a cup of tea?"

Before Snape could demur, Dumbledore clapped his hands and his small, nervous occasional table appeared in front of Snape, bearing a tea tray on which stood a large china tea pot and two cups and saucers to match. Snape watched as the pot poured them each a steaming cup of tea, and found that he was most eager for it. He had not realised how thirsty the previous night's abuses had left him. Dumbledore sat in the chair opposite and took his own cup.

"Have you spoken to Sirius at all yet, Severus? Or Remus?"

"I'd rather slit my own throat," he replied coolly. The old man chuckled, but then became serious.

"Sirius leads me to believe that Ella is well, Severus."

"How nice for her!"

He took a sip of tea, and stared down at the willow pattern on the cup, not wanting to meet Dumbledore's gaze.

"She has suffered a great deal you know."

"She's suffered?" Snape gave a hollow laugh. "Well, I'm sure Black has taken great pleasure in kissing her all better!"

"Indeed? Hmm. And why would you think that, Severus?"

He peered at Snape over the top of his spectacles. Snape met his gaze this time, knowing that he could not disguise the bitterness in his eyes any more than he could prevent the scowl from marring his proud face.

"Sticking up for him again, Albus?"

The Headmaster replaced his cup and saucer on the occasional table and it thanked him diffidently, and then he sat back and steepled his fingers thoughtfully.

"Perhaps it's time you took a holiday, Severus. The Easter break is nearly upon us and I believe the climate in France is delightfully temperate at this time of year."

Snape's cup rattled as he put it back on its saucer.

"I see no reason to travel so far, Albus," he rasped. "No reason at all."

"Why did you come to see me this morning, old friend?"

"I don't know," he said hopelessly. How could he admit to either the Headmaster or himself that he had been desperate for any crumb of information regarding Ella?

"Would it help were I to tell you that Sirius Black and Ella are not romantically involved?"

"No, it wouldn't," he snorted, "since I wouldn't believe it for one minute!"

***

A week later, the owl post brought a letter. He had been sitting at breakfast, trying to empty his bowl of porridge despite his lack of appetite. He was aware, as were his colleagues, that he had become painfully thin, and had grown tired of their surreptitious glances and worried frowns, so although his attendance in the Great Hall grew ever more erratic, he endeavoured when he was there to at least try to do justice to his meals.

Everybody in the Great Hall looked up as one as the beating of strong, wide wings alerted them to the arrival of the morning delivery. There were over a hundred, he estimated, probably bringing items left at home by accident over the recent Easter holidays. He was surprised to see a barn owl swoop down away from the others, heading determinedly for him. It dropped a letter on to the table in front of him and gave a soft hoot, before taking off for one of the high windows and the Owlery beyond. Puzzled, he picked it up and examined the handwriting.

"Professor Severus Snape, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

It was from Ella. Her handwriting, along with everything else about her, was unmistakeable to him. His hands shook, and he considered leaving the room and retreating to the dungeons to read it, but he could not wait the few minutes that that would require. His heart was beating wildly and he tore the envelope open hurriedly before realising that the last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself. Awkward questions might be asked, and he did not want to talk about her. He glared up and down the staff table suspiciously, to assure himself that he was not being watched, and then slowly withdrew the folded parchment. He did not raise it to his nose, to inhale her scent. Time enough for that later, when he was alone and knew what she had to say.

"Severus, I'm sorry. I love you and I miss you. I'll be home soon. Ella."

He stared down at the page. There were no hearts and flowers contained therein, no irritating declarations of endless love, but he knew the absolute truth of it. All that he had to do was work out why she had changed her mind. His heart wanted to reject her completely, his pain was still too new and too raw, but at the same time it wanted to sing. His head, too, urged caution. He had never been a man who trusted easily, and she had betrayed him most grievously.

Something must have happened in France to make her change her mind, perhaps something between her and Sirius, and he had no idea what it could be. He replaced the letter in the envelope and secreted it in his robes.

By the time he had returned to his office and taken the letter out once more, he had hardened his heart. He would not be so easily manipulated. She was up to something. He cast his mind back to their last encounter, immersing himself in the acid pain of it.

"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 - "

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

Well, it wasn't as if she hadn't been warned, he thought as he shaped his expression into a grim mask and flung open the door to his classroom, ready for his first class of the day.

That evening he composed his reply. It was short and to the point and needed no second draft since he had honed and polished it in his head throughout the day.

"Don't bother. I told you to stay away from me from now on."

He was a reasonable, careful man, so he made absolutely certain that he was doing the right thing before he sent it. He slept on it and did not take it to the Owlery until the following day. Choosing the same owl that had brought Ella's letter to him, he tied his missive to its leg and sent it on its way. He stood at one of the open windows as it took flight and watched until height and distance shrank it from his view. Soon he would have the answer he dreaded or the answer he craved. Either she would take his words to heart, or she would ignore them and, seeing beyond them, come back to him. And if she came back...

He found himself pondering that very question over the days and nights that followed. If she came back she would force him to open his heart to her again, and he did not want to do that because it had been in pieces since she had left. He would not allow himself the indignity of handing it to her on a silver platter a second time, not until he knew beyond all doubt that she would not leave him again. If she came back, he would make absolutely sure of her before he allowed her back into his life. Into his arms. The memory of what it felt like to hold her flooded all of his senses and he gasped at the intensity of it, his fists clenching at his sides as his body tingled. The sensation wore off too quickly, however, and he was left with the gnawing emptiness that had become achingly familiar since she had deserted him. Desert him she had, indeed, and he would surely be a fool if he were to allow her to do it again. He had trusted her and opened up to her as he had to no other, and he had been betrayed. He would not take her back.

Such thoughts drove him back to the comforting warmth of the firewhisky that was his constant companion, encouraging him as he played their sculpture over and over and flayed his soul with the sharp sting of his own memories.

She would not come back, ever. His culpability was too comprehensive for her to forgive. She knew something of his role in her parents' death and if she knew the whole of it she would never even contemplate a reconciliation. It would be better for them both if she took him at his word and never returned. Suffering the searing loss of her was still far less pain than was his due.

Thus justified, he withdrew even further into himself, if that were possible. His pensieves became filled to overflowing and still gave him no relief, and when he succumbed to the sometimes irresistible pull of their undertow he would plunge in and wallow there for hours, letting memories of her crash over him.

***

Nobody had seen fit to tell him that Black had gone back to France. He still made himself attend one meal a day in the Great Hall, but the last time he had seen Black had been at breakfast several days before when he had noticed Black looking at him in a curious, resigned way. His stomach heaved and bile burned the back of his throat as he dwelt on where he could have, must have gone, and what it might mean. A belligerent sneer greeted Lupin's attempt to enlighten him over dinner one evening but unfortunately the werewolf was not easily put off.

"Sirius has been gone for a few days now," he ventured. Snape, hunched jealously over his meal although he was not eating it, did not bother to turn to look at him, snarling,

"Your powers of observation are unparalleled."

"He's gone to France again."

Snape's voice was low and dripped venom.

"What makes you think I want to know?" he said slowly. Lupin shuddered; Snape knew this for he saw his hands shake. "What makes you think I want to know!" His voice had increased in pitch and the general hubbub of the Hall quieted as conversations were suspended and faces were turned towards the source of the threatening words.

Raising his head to cast, through his curtain of hair, a menacing glare that encompassed the expanse of the room and every individual in it, he straightened and gave Lupin a contemptuous sneer. Then he rose from his seat and swept from the Great Hall before he betrayed any more of his feelings to the silent owners of all those pairs of avid, knowing eyes.

He fancied that he heard their chatter follow him as he descended to the safe depths of his private sanctuary. It grew louder and more scandalised as he grasped one of the half-empty bottles on his sideboard and he tried to drown it out with a roar of frustration as he hurled the bottle into the fire where its contents combusted with a sizzling whoosh.

He was alone with his thoughts again, and he sank into the protesting depths of his leather armchair and hid his face in his hand. Black had usurped him. She was his now.

Hours later a different sound began to whisper to him from the dying embers of his fire. It was a whizzing that became louder as the spinning head whose arrival it heralded grew larger and began to slow.

It was Black.

"What in Hell do you want?" snarled Snape, filled with loathing and a jealousy that drew the bile to his mouth as if it were a magnet.

"I want you to come to the kitchens."

"It's the middle of the night, Black. Whyever would I want to do that?"

"There's someone here I think you need to see." Black paused, and then said gruffly, "I've brought her back, Snape."

There was silence as the two men glared at one another for a moment, and then Black's image disappeared.

Snape stared at the after image until the colours had greyed. He blinked, but did not move.

Ella.

She had ignored his words and she had come back, and he knew that he had to face her and hear her out, just in case there was a slim chance that she had come back for him. His brows knitted together and he stood slowly, turned stiffly and began to walk to the door with jerky, uncoordinated steps, like a marionette. Or like a man under the influence of Imperius, unable to resist, except this compulsion was stronger and far more painful.

Ella.

He wondered why she had come back. Despite her letter he still dared not hope that it was for him, although a small, secret part of him that he feared to acknowledge knew that it was, and rejoiced. Then again, perhaps he would be greeted by Ella and Black, side by side with his arm possessively around her while they announced their engagement. Yes, perhaps that was it. Perhaps they had decided to humiliate him by witnessing his breakdown in a nauseating show of togetherness. Snape knew well the irrepressible glow of new love and it would be blazing from them while they pulverised to dust the brittle shards of his heart.

Ella. No.

Surely she could never be so cruel, even to such an undeserving wretch as he. He credited her with finer sensibilities than to subject him to that, and then there had been her letter to him.

"Severus, I'm sorry. I love you and I miss you. I'll be home soon. Ella."

No, she had not come back to tell him she had lost her heart to Sirius Black. She had come back for him, because she loved him and she wanted him back. He wondered what her reasons would be for having left him in the first place, although there was nothing she could say that would convince him to trust her again.

Ella.

Halfway to the kitchens he regained sufficient presence of mind to realise that he could have flooed directly to her but, as he walked on, Hogwarts worked its deep magic on his composure, soothing him as it always did, and he began to feel thankful that he was allowing himself a small amount of time to accustom himself to the idea of her return. He wondered how she would look, how she would be, what he would feel when he saw her again.

The deepest, most desperate desire of his heart.

Ella.

He poked a desultory finger at the fruit in the still life that guarded the door to the realm of the house elves of Hogwarts. The door opened too slowly so he stepped through, impatiently pushing it ajar. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to school his features into something resembling impassivity, but as soon as he rounded the corner and saw her sitting at the end of one of the four long tables, he was lost. Her face was full of love and hope, and he wanted to weep. As she looked at him her expression changed to one of concern, and he realised what a sorry state he was in. He remembered that he had not shaved since the day before, nor had he washed his hair. He made no effort to brush it from his face now, preferring to peer at her through the concealing stray locks. He used to delight in her caress as she brushed his hair from his face. He found his voice and rasped,

"So you've come crawling back. What's the matter, were you expecting someone different?"

"Severus, you look terrible!"

He had dreamed of her voice. Tremulous now, but otherwise always so calm and soothing, loving and warm, music to his ears, its cadences never failed to send shivers along his spine. He could not show her how affecting he found just those few words, so instead he made a hasty retreat and barricaded himself securely behind the tall, reliably sturdy double doors of sarcasm and bitterness.

"Well? What do you want?" he snarled. "And where's your boyfriend gone?"

"Sirius was never my boyfriend, Severus. Please, come and sit down."

He glared at her, hating her for the way she made him love her so. He walked towards her between the two centre tables, their eyes locked. Hers entreated him to hear her out, and he did not dwell on the probable weaknesses that his own laid bare.

"I need to talk to you. There are things I need to tell you," she implored.

"Ah, but what makes you think I need to hear them? Or want to?"

Uncertainty flitted across her face and he was glad of it. She evidently felt the need to explain her appalling betrayal, and was worried that he would not allow her the opportunity. Good. Nevertheless, he pulled out the chair opposite hers and dragged it back up to the table with a loud scrape as he sat down.

"Well? I'm waiting. This had better be good!" he said balefully. He saw no reason to make any of this easy for her, although despite his cold anger he was curious as to the excuses she would offer.

"When I left you, Severus, in February, I was ill. Mentally ill, I mean. I'm better now."

His eyes narrowed and he snarled,

"Well that's all right, then! Good for you!" leaning forward as he spoke, his words dripping with sarcasm.

"Please, Severus, let me explain!"

His lip curled unpleasantly. Mentally ill, indeed! She would have to come up with something better than that facile excuse. He did not see why she could not simply confess that she was now fully cognizant of his sins and could not bear to be near him. That much he would be able to understand, and know there would be no fighting against it. What was done could not be undone. Still, she needed to speak.

"All right. I'm listening," he said, leaning back again and folding his arms, affecting boredom, his face mask-like.

"When I was captured by Voldemort - and you died - Hermione and I never told you the real reason why Voldemort actually cast the Killing Curse on you."

"I killed his pet snake!" he reminded her coldly, wondering where this was leading.

"No, he only used Cruciatus on you then. And - after that - he showed us something. Oh, this is so difficult, please don't look at me like that! He - he- plucked an image, a picture, from inside me, and he threw it into the air...it was a picture of a baby. Our baby."

Well.

Of all the things he had expected her to say, an announcement of pregnancy had not been among them. He was surprised, shocked even, and her words failed to make the emotional impact on him that he sensed they should. She continued to speak, haltingly now. She was evidently finding it difficult and he felt a fierce flash of dark pleasure at her discomposure.

"It was six weeks old. He- he made a grasping movement with his hand, and the image crumpled, into his fist, just like a piece of tissue paper. I was in agony- and then he just threw it away, like a ball, over the edge of the precipice, into the abyss, and I felt the blood gushing out of me, down my legs, and I knew I'd lost it! I knew I'd lost our child, Severus!"

A muscle twitched repeatedly in his cheek as his jaw clenched. He could almost see a picture of what she described in his mind's eye and he knew that she spoke the truth and that what he saw was almost an echo cast forward through time. He stared at the emerald on her chest, watching the whitening of her knuckles as she clutched it. Distancing himself from her words, whose content was still far too much for him to comprehend, he would not meet her gaze.

"You were- you were distraught," she continued. "You cast the Killing Curse on him then, but he was ready for you and it rebounded back on to you. And so I lost you as well!"

She was sobbing freely now, he noticed idly. He toyed with the idea of conjuring a handkerchief, or perhaps transfiguring a tea towel, but decided against such a gesture of concern. He did not trust himself to be kind to her in her distress. It would not be in his best interests to fall weeping at her feet and beg her to love him and never to leave him again, particularly when he loathed her.

"I wanted to die too," she continued. "I couldn't bear it. I hadn't even known I was pregnant, Severus, I would have told you!"

He could not look at her, so he watched his fingers trace the knots and whorls of the grain in the oak table. She had been pregnant, and Voldemort had damaged her more than Snape had ever realised. He had to know, now. His eyebrow lifting almost imperceptibly, he said carefully,

"And when you went back?"

"The baby was saved too."

Moments passed. The tension in the air was tangible, swirling and curling around them like a blizzard. He did not feel inclined to relieve it by opening his mouth and passing opinion on what she had said; indeed, he had no opinion to speak of. It was likely that if the baby had been saved by their use of the time turner, it survived still, unless something had happened to her during her prolonged sojourn in France. A child would exist that was of his flesh, and the notion was so foreign to him that he could feel nothing. The Mirror had shown him the deepest, most desperate desire of his heart, and now Ella was dangling it before him like a carrot on a stick before a recalcitrant mule. He still did not trust himself to look at her but sensed that she was waiting for him to speak, and wondered what she expected him to say.

"I see," he said neutrally at last. "And you told me nothing about it."

"I was scared to, at first."

"Scared...of me?"

"Yes..."

"Hah!"

"No, not of you...not at first, anyway. I was scared of your reaction. Scared you wouldn't want it," - at this his eyebrow arched high on his brow and a sharp, searing pain twisted in his breast as he realised at last the enormity of her revelation - "I wanted more time with you, before I told you, because I didn't want it to spoil what we had together, Severus, it was so good!"

Oh, this was too much. He could not stand to listen to this, and when she leaned across the table to try to reach out for his hand, he leapt backwards and sent his chair clattering to the floor behind him. Don't touch me! Can't you see, I couldn't bear it!

"Good? Good, was it?" he shouted incredulously. "Oh yes, I remember it well. So good that it sent you running off to another man's arms!"

"No, you don't understand! There's nothing between me and Sirius, there never was!"

"Are you still pregnant?" he shouted, desperate as the yearning to believe her overwhelmed him and his mind's eye filled once more with the vision in the Mirror of Erised, where he held a baby in his arms and smiled with such pure, sweet joy that it made his soul cry to remember it.

"Yes! Yes. Twenty eight weeks now."

She was carrying his child. His child. Their child. He was to be a father, and yet she had fled from him, knowing that his child was growing in her womb. He could not comprehend how Ella, his love, his own sweet Ella, could have been so mendacious, so cruel. He was breathing heavily, his hair askew and his eyes wild. All pretence at detachment was gone. He looked down at her, finding that her robes did too good a job of disguising her condition, and he knew that he had to hurt her. He could not help himself, and he was compelled to lash out with the most effective weapon he had at his disposal; his own bitterness. His hands clenching and unclenching, he said sardonically,

"Are you sure it's mine?"

"Oh Severus, please don't do this-"

"I only ask, because, you see, it's all rather difficult to believe! I mean, who in their right mind would do what you've done?"

"That's the whole point! I'm trying to explain to you, Severus, I wasn't in my right mind!"

"And now you are? How convenient!"

"Yes! Now I am! Will you just sit back down and let me explain?"

He glared at her coldly, but complied. Her explanation would be interesting.

"We were so happy, and I was just waiting for the right moment to tell you. And then I started throwing up every morning, and I thought you'd notice for yourself."

He frowned distantly, remembering. Waking up to find her nestled in his arms, her soft snores making him smile into her hair; other mornings waking to find his arms empty and her place beside him still warm so that he would bury his face in her fragrant pillow. Half asleep and feeling her crawl back into his arms and the contentment it would bring.

"Every morning?" he wondered out loud.

"Yes, but you were usually asleep. Anyway, then the nightmares started. They just got worse and worse, and they were always the same. It got so that I couldn't look you in the eye, in case I saw an echo there of - well, of what you used to be. I kept thinking about my parents and Phoebe."

Ah, he had known. He had always known that his past would drive her away. He had been right all along. She had come to tell him about the baby and then leave once more, and even the joyous despair of setting eyes on her this one last time was more than a wretch such as he deserved. She continued,

"My hormones were in overdrive because of the baby, and they sent me haywire. I couldn't think straight. I thought everyone was against me, I was completely paranoid."

"Why didn't you confide in me? Didn't you know you could tell me anything?" He was unable to prevent a plaintive note from creeping into his voice, although he knew she would notice.

"You -I -I - I wanted to tell you so many times. When I was feeling okay. But then, more and more, I managed to convince myself that - that - oh, Severus, I'm so sorry!"

She began to cry again, taking deep, gulping breaths.

"That what?" he asked impatiently.

"That - that you were trying to kill our child! You were always brewing potions and I thought you were plotting with Madam Pomfrey to poison me - "

Why on earth would he do that? How could she think that? Was she mad? Had she never known his heart at all?

He flung his hands in the air in exasperation.

"Poison you?"

" - So I stopped going to see her. I couldn't tell anyone, if I had they might have realised how ill I'd become, and none of this would have happened."

"And why would I want to kill my own child? Why would I want to harm you, of all people?"

Don't you know I'd die for you, even now?

She shrugged helplessly.

"Because you killed the rest of my family, so why not finish the job?"

"What?"

"It made perfect sense to me at the time! I know how it must sound to you now, it sounds crazy to me too, but you have to understand, Severus! I felt so guilty about loving you so much! And then, you'd spent so many years on your own, I really believed you wouldn't want to have to adjust to having a baby, as well as me..."

"No, of course!" he laughed bitterly. "Why on earth would I want a normal, happy life? I was made to be alone, wasn't I? Well, that's exactly what I am. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've heard enough of this drivel! I have a bottle of Ogden's waiting for me..."

He made as if to stand up once more. She had told him that she had known she was pregnant with his child since days before their perfect Christmas, and she had not told him. They had exchanged gifts on Christmas morning, and yet she had concealed from him knowledge of the greatest gift she could ever give him. He could not understand how she could have treated him so ill. He could scarcely believe what he was hearing, and could stomach no more of it tonight.

"Where are you going?" she asked tremulously. "Don't go!"

"I said, I've heard enough!"

It was true. His mind was reeling and he needed to retreat and regroup. His heart was awash with seething emotion and he hardly knew from one moment to the next how he felt. Driftwood taken by the waves to be dashed against the rocks would fare better than he. The only thing of which he was certain was that he could not afford to risk her closing in for the kill, his heart would not bear it; so instead he fired off a parting salvo by continuing,

"And I have my position here to consider. I think you'd better go now, don't you? It wouldn't be seemly for people to see you in your...condition. Go and carry on your new life with your new boyfriend," He leaned across the table to spit the venom of his words into her face and relished every moment. He would rather die than harm a hair on her head but that did not mean that he did not want her to fully empathise with the extent of his suffering and what better way than to inflict it on her? Her eyes widened in desperation as she realised that he meant what he said.

"Severus, please! How many more times do I have to say this? I don't want Sirius, I want you! It's always been you! I was ill, I couldn't help it! I am so sorry!"

She shouted after him as he strode out of the room and her words made him falter inside, but he did not stop. Let her dwell on his words, let them roil in her gut and fester until the bile rose to her throat and choked her with the same bitterness he had endured. She deserved nothing less.

Once outside in the dark, lonely corridor, he forced himself to increase his pace as he made for the dungeons even though every step he took put a greater distance between them.