Scarred

Disclaimer: Hers.

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As Monday night became Tuesday morning, Hermione drifted to sleep in Gryffindor Tower, nestled into the crook of her lover's arm.

Deep in the dungeons, Severus had nearly followed suit when the nerve-stripping pain of a summons sent him stumbling out of bed, hands outstretched for the trousers draped over his bedroom chair and then, in a very few minutes, out into the springtime darkness towards the Apparition point.

He paused outside the school gates, working to get his mind right. Tonight it was... difficult... to shake off the soft languor of the lover and muster the hard alertness of the spy.

Through the rune-encrusted door of the Lestranges' Apparition chamber he walked, along the passage to the stairs, up one flight and out into the torchlit hall. His eyes slid over the by-now-familiar paintings as he walked towards the library. Rodolphus's grandparents had been collectors of Chinese art, and the walls of the first floor corridors were lined with the serene-faced portraits of someone else's ancestors, splendid in their brocaded silks.

A serpent-thin jade dragon writhed on its pedestal to the right of the library door, eyes bulging and teeth bared.

Just as Severus reached for the door handle, Nagini undulated into sight farther down the corridor, herself headed for the library, it seemed. Severus held the door open for the huge snake, but instead of passing through immediately, she reared up, and up some more, until she was looking down at him.

This close, Nagini smelt faintly of putrid flesh and almost-fresh blood, of mouldy stone and something like scorched metal. The snake's body was not resurrected from blood and bone and malice, but her scent was still the Dark, charnel-house reek of her master. She was entirely his creature in a way no human servant could be...not even Bellatrix.

Nagini held herself over Severus, her pale tongue flicking, for a long, intimidating moment before oozing leisurely down to the carpet and through the door. Pushing her head up over the back of the chair before the fire, she hissed and clacked in her master's ear.

'Severus. I hope I have not taken you away too soon from a more enjoyable activity?" Tom Riddle's smile was the usual ghastly rictus. 'Nagini tells me you smell of sex. Please tell me it's a story worth hearing. Did you manage to smuggle a whore into Hogwarts? Or have you breached Minerva McGonagall's plaid knickers?'

Severus knelt and kissed the desiccated hand. 'Neither, my lord. I'd just had a bit of a wank when the summons came.' He shrugged. 'One does, you know, from time to time.'

Bellatrix, who had been lounging at one side of the mantel pushing the point of a poker into her own palm, erupted with sudden laughter. 'Ikkle Sevvikins and his left hand! Call the Prophet...our Snapey's not a pathetic, dried-up wanker after all,' she crowed, singsong. 'He's a pathetic, mmmmmoooooiiissstt wanker.

'Tell me, Sevvie.' Bella's plush mouth curled into a moue. 'Do you have to get yourself a little... whiskeyish before you find the nerve to do it?' She darted her tongue out and flicked it back in. 'Because that's how I remember it. But once you got going... well.' She walked up to him and drew a fingernail down his cheek. He held himself still, loose-limbed and radiating boredom.

'The blood showed soooo nicely on your white young skin.' She leaned in still closer, stage-whispering in his ear now: 'Do you still have the scar? I have mine. Call me sentimental.' She licked his closed lips, then turned and sashayed back to the fireplace, dragging the sooty poker behind her across the carpet.

'Sentimental' was the last epithet Severus could ever assign to the mad girl who had relieved him of his virginity when he was seventeen, at a sort of infant Death Eater revel organised by Charles Mulciber.

That was back when taking the Mark had felt like being reborn into a life of possibility and power...the life that he deserved.

Children and their illusions.

He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his mouth. 'I'm touched,' he said in a tone that meant otherwise. Then he turned to Riddle. 'My lord, shall we get to business?' He extracted a roll of parchment from his pocket.

One good thing about Bella's theatrics: they had deflected Riddle's attention from the fact that Severus's 'wank' had been anything but.

He filed away the problem of Nagini and her olfactory gifts. Just another obstacle to overcome, and overcome it he would.

* * *

Bellatrix was waiting in the corridor when Severus left the library. The Dark Lord had dismissed her from the room when he and Severus began to speak of Dumbledore's comings and goings. Partly, Riddle knew Bella hated Severus and it amused him to exclude her from the conversation. But mostly, he liked to keep pieces of his operation from all his lieutenants, so that he alone saw the whole picture as it came together.

And it was coming together. Severus could sense it in Voldemort's mood, which was smooth and magnanimous. Riddle showed none of the peevish cruelty or paranoia he evinced when Things weren't Going His Way. The strings he had attached...to the Ministry, to Hogwarts, to Azkaban, to key commercial interests, to certain foreign governments, to the Daily Prophet, and to assorted nonhuman magical communities...were in his hands.

It was almost time. Which meant Severus's work for the night was far from over. He'd need to glean what he could from whomever was knocking around the Lestranges' tonight.

But first, here was Bella sprawled cross-legged on a low settee, the blackened poker across her lap leaving smudges on her red velvet evening robes. She scowled up at him from under a gleaming curl that dangled before her eyes. Then she rose and held out her hand to him.

'We missed you at dinner, Severus. Again. I shall begin to think you don't enjoy our company,' she simpered.

He bent over her hand and brushed the knuckles with his lips. Bella's mood changed constantly, but one thing stayed the same: her testing for weakness. Following her lead meant ceding power in this game, but at the moment he needed to remain in her house. So he played along, for now.

'Bellatrix, the food and the company in your house are without parallel. Sadly, so little of my time is my own, especially during the week. But,' he offered her his arm, 'I am eager to make up for it now. Is anyone at billiards, or...?'

She looked at him archly, still in her hostess role. 'Well, I think Alecto Carrow and Yaxley may be upstairs fucking, or whatever they do, but most of us are still down here. The Dark Lord is seeing people individually tonight so we're all keeping each other company. Billiards and brandy, very wholesome.' She held two fingers up to her mouth to stifle a fake yawn.

'Yes, the Dark Lord asked me to send in Yaxley,' Severus said.

'Oh, the Ministry report. This is apparently an evening of foreshortened pleasures.' She sighed theatrically and snapped her fingers. A surly looking house-elf Apparated in and bowed. 'Tosh. Find Mr Yaxley and tell him to take his tiny cock out of Miss Carrow's fat arse; he's needed in the library.' Tosh blanched, bowed again, and cracked away.

They were nearly at the door to the billiards room when Bellatrix stopped and dug her fingers into Severus's arm. He looked down at her, and didn't like what he saw.

'Se-ve-rus,' she whisper-sang. 'You know I hate you. You are and always have been a greasy, sneaky, lying, worthless little shit.' Her tone was caressing. She began scratching bloody little lines into the back of his hand with her fingernails. 'Let's have a fuck, shall we? For old times' sake? All this talk has me itchy.' She licked the blood from his hand and, dropping her poker, reached both of her arms up to pull his mouth down to hers. 'I could still make you scream, you know.' For the second time that evening she dragged her tongue across his lips, then thrust it between them and into his mouth. For the second time, he kept himself loose and unresponsive.

After an interminable second or two, she drew back and slapped him, hard, twice. 'You are a dried-up wanker,' she yowled, and let herself go into gales of laughter, doubling over and yodeling, 'Sevvie is a wan-ker, Sevvie is a wan-ker!' She'd reverted to some shrill playground version of herself.

He looked down at her flatly, then strode past her to open the door to the billiards room. He was done with this game.

The room and the adjoining drawing room were full of people, including... gods, is that...? two members of the Wizengamot Severus had never seen under the Lestranges' roof before. Truly, it's almost time.

Rodolphus was chalking his cue. Severus let him take his shot before announcing, in a carrying voice, 'Lestrange, your wife is in need of some attention.' He indicated the door he'd just entered by, through which hooting and screeching sounds filtered. 'You might take your cue with you. She's armed.'

As he swept over to join the group around one of the Wizengamot members, he felt a phantom hand on his cheek. Without breaking stride, he mentally closed his finger and thumb over Hermione's earlobe...their signal for not safe. Her touch left him, and he held out his hand for Dolores Umbridge to shake.

* * *

The road just outside the school gates was shaded on one side by tall, old trees; the other side was edged by a meadow that sloped down to the edge of the lake, which was close in here. In late spring, the early morning sun raised a low mist over lake, meadow, road, and wood before its growing strength at midmorning melted the vapours away.

Severus paused at the gate after Apparating. Luminous mists swirled around his knees, but his upper body and face were in clear light as he looked out over the lake. Wavelets lapped the spot on the grassy shore where he'd lain cold and broken in December; where, for a moment, he'd almost given up.

Choosing life then had been almost purely an act of rage. He hadn't been willing to freeze in the mud like an animal, like... some miserable Muggle without the power or the sense to save himself.

He slipped in through the gates and, plunging into dimness as trees closed ranks on both sides of the road, began to make his way up towards the castle. He was spent...mentally, spiritually, physically exhausted. His watch told him he'd missed his appointment with Minerva; he'd apologise at breakfast...if he made it to breakfast. First he would need to get up to Dumbledore's office and make his report. So little time.

A little brown songbird...a skylark...skimmed out of the trees in front of him and flew trilling into the open sky overhead. It was a male looking for his mate. Severus's heart began to beat faster, and he felt his magic welling up in him and singing along his skin.

And sure enough, here she came around a bend in the road, pink and panting, with her hair scraped back into a high ponytail. He stopped short...his heart might really be about to burst.

'Severus!' Her greeting was pure joy and surprise, and she pelted into his arms. 'What are you doing out here at this hour and...' she drew back, wrinkling her nose and her brow 'in yesterday's clothes? Oh, you look done in! Oh!' Her horror was written across her face. 'Last night, you... You've been out! To, to, there! To THEM!'

She stepped away the better to look at him, frantically running her gaze over him. 'Are you hurt?' She seized his hand, where Bella's scratches had crusted over with dried blood. 'Your poor hand.' She cradled it in both hers, gently kissing the hurts, and he felt a tear fall on his skin.

That broke him. Growling, he seized her hand and pulled her roughly up the embankment and into the wood. As soon as they were out of sight of the road, he slammed her back against a tall elm and, imprisoning her between his arms and the tree, began to kiss her brutally.

Tense and stunned for a minute, she pushed at him and tried to twist her face away from his onslaught. He held her still and plunged his tongue into her mouth over and over, scraped his teeth over her lips, mashed his mouth into hers until she could, surely, hardly catch breath.

Finally, he let her push him back a fraction. He caught her head between his hands and thrust his face into hers. 'Kissing it...better...doesn't...make it...better,' he ground out.

As soon as he said it he knew it was a lie. And he wanted to howl in despair at the look on her face. Hurt. Betrayal. Fear.

Then she flushed with anger. She pushed him far enough away that she could begin pounding on his chest.

'Never! Do that! Again! Never! Never! Never! Do that to me! Ever!' She shoved him and he fell back a step. She shoved him again, then wrapped her arms around herself and began to sob.

What... am I doing? What have I done? Severus stood and watched Hermione cry. He wanted to bolt. Fucked it all up now, you have. You're done. He wanted to fall on his knees and beg her forgiveness, swear he'd never do it again. Need her; I can't lose her now. He wanted the last ten minutes not to have happened; he wanted to have met her tenderness with something that was not insanity. He wanted to understand what had just happened. How could he swear he wouldn't do that again if he didn't even know why he did it once?

Tell her the truth. It was the softest of voices in his mind.

The truth. 'Hermione. I am so sorry. I... don't understand why I did that. It's true I've been with,' he swallowed, 'with my colleagues all night. I'm tired and' frightened 'worried. And I... when I go there, I make myself hard and cold. When I come back, I have to... readjust to a slightly more civilised style.

'This is...' he shifted his weight and ran a hand through his lank hair, 'this is no excuse. There's no excuse for that kind of behaviour. Especially. Ahm. Especially aimed at you, from me. I think, I think I don't yet know how to square you with that.' He waved his hand back towards the gates. 'You are its antithesis. The way you make me feel is the antithesis of how I am when I am... out there.'

Some light was starting to fall on the problem as he talked. And she had raised her head and was looking at him searchingly, her face raddled with crying and spent anger.

'That can't happen again,' she said, and snuffled.

'No,' he said, and waited.

She stepped closer to him and, once again, took his hand in both hers. She raised it to her lips and kissed the broken skin, then looked up at him with a frown. 'Kissing DOES make it better,' she admonished him. 'This.' She kissed the back of his hand again, gently, then turned it over and kissed his palm. 'Not whatever you were doing over there.' She gestured towards the tree. Then she folded his hand up to his chest and left it there, resting over his heart.

'I'm, I'm going to go now,' she said. 'I'll see you this evening, and we'll talk more.'

'Yes,' he said.

She walked a few steps, then stopped and turned. 'You should know... my, my heart is with you. Remember that.' She turned again and ran off through the trees to the road, her ponytail swinging.

His wounded hand clutched convulsively at his waistcoat as he watched her go.

* * *

'Dolores Umbridge and Cathal Symmes. I see.' Albus looked grim and tired, but unsurprised at the news. 'The end of our days, Severus. I need... if I can hold on for another few weeks, I'm almost...' He trailed off, sighed.

Severus stood up and walked around the desk to kneel beside Albus's chair. 'Let me see it.' He carefully lifted the old wizard's dead hand and pushed the sleeve up. 'Best to take this off, please.' Albus stood and shrugged out of his heavy robes, letting them fall on his chair. He rolled up his shirtsleeve and sat down again.

The curse had blackened the arm up past the elbow, and tendrils of darkness were beginning to snake up into the still-living flesh of Albus's upper arm and shoulder. Severus took out his wand and, gathering his intention, sang a verse or two of the healing charm from between parched lips. 'It holds. Mostly. As I'm sure you know. I'll bring you more potion in the morning; it's nearly ready.'

He rocked back on his heels, and Albus laid a finger on the back of his left hand. 'What's this?'

Severus almost laughed. 'As you can see, those are a few superficial scratches. Not important how I got them, and they'll be gone in two days.'

Albus raised a bushy white eyebrow. 'I see. I can see you're thirsty, too.' He rose and plucked a crystal glass from a shelf behind his desk. He filled it and, as Severus drank, he walked over to Fawkes's perch and exchanged a bit of song with the phoenix.

Severus set the empty glass on Albus's desk and raised his eyes to see Fawkes picking his way over parchments and books to stand before him and fix him with his golden eye.

The phoenix trilled low in its throat, a single throbbing cellolike note, and snaked its head closer and still closer to Severus's face. A tear dropped from the bird's beak and splashed on the back of Severus's hand, sending warmth radiating up into his arm and the rest of his body.

'Thank you, Fawkes,' Severus said, his mouth gone suddenly dry again. He looked down at his hand, coarsened with old scars and smooth with the new skin wrought by the phoenix's tear. It was absurd that this most inconsequential of wounds should receive so much care. And yet. He felt profoundly grateful that it should be so.

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A/N: Hi beloved readers. Well, that put some of the 'angst' back in 'angsty romance.' Makes me want to cry, 'Why does everything have to be so hard for them? Why can't they just be happy?', and I'm writing this thing. And yet, I love the angst. Obviously. ☺

Thanks to hechicera and lifeasanamazon, stalwarts and dear friends, who once again turned this chapter around on a dime.