Only the Lonely

The Great Hall was decorated with twelve colossal Christmas trees, each one sparkling and shimmering underneath the light of Everlasting Candles, suspended in mid-air. Hagrid had coloured his beard white and wore an enormous Santa hat for the Christmas Day feast.

Snape stood with his arms crossed against his chest, wrapped tightly in his cloak, in a shadowy corner of the Great Hall, watching Minerva McGonagall and Filius Flitwick retrieving chocolate Galleons from the trees. Pomona Sprout was happily adorning the small dining table with holly and ivy.

He counted twelve seats. Snape knew that only five students resided in Hogwarts for the Christmas holiday, and he began to wonder who the twelfth guest was likely to be. Had Sybill Trelawney decided to join them once again for Christmas lunch?

Although the Divination professor was an eccentric crackpot, Snape rather enjoyed listening to the verbal sparring between her and McGonagall; it had kept him mordantly amused when she attended the Christmas Day feast a few years previously. Trelawney's company would be preferential to that of another aloof witch whom he had not seen since Slughorn's Christmas party.

Five students of varying ages shuffled into the hall and joined the hunt for the golden chocolate Galleons. Snape tapped the toe of his boot on the stone floor. Where on Earth was Dumbledore? The Headmaster was supposed to be hosting the festive feast, and Snape knew the old wizard had returned to Hogwarts that very morning – he had seen Fawkes flying around the castle grounds at breakfast-time.

Presently, the double doors of the Great Hall swung open, and Dumbledore arrived in flamboyant fashion, wearing his best purple robes and shouting 'Merry Christmas!' at the gathering throng. Professor Sprout beamed, hugging the white-bearded wizard when he joined her beside the table festooned with liberal sprigs of holly and ivy.

The Headmaster beckoned the small Christmas party forward and led them in an ebullient Christmas carol.

"Deck the halls with boughs of holly

Fa la la la la, la la la la."

The students, who had first looked embarrassed when they'd started to sing, soon seemed heartened by Dumbledore's presence. The Headmaster had been absent for large segments of the academic year, and Snape found himself somewhat awestruck that the old man could have such a positive effect on the morale of the school. His awe was drowned out, however, by his discomfiture. Not wishing to be seen by the cheerful carollers, he slunk further into his quiet corner, hoping to evade notice.

Snape was forced to endure this dichotomy each Christmas: to tolerate the enforced merriment of the festive season, or spend it alone at Spinner's End. Hogwarts won every time, but not, as he was experiencing now, without a price.

Dumbledore frowned slightly as he began the fifth verse of 'Deck the Halls', and he turned to the door, beckoning another person to enter the hall with a wave of encouragement. Snape leaned forward and noticed for the first time a young woman lingering in the shadows of the archway; she stood hesitatingly uncomfortable, with her arms folded in the same manner as Snape's.

"Come on in, my dear girl," Dumbledore boomed over the raucous singing. "Come and join our merry throng! You shouldn't be alone at Christmas!"

The figure at the door stepped apprehensively into the room, glancing around timidly and forcing a smile at the carollers. The knot in Snape's stomach tightened with dread.

When her eyes swept the room and located Snape, Tonks grimaced and tripped over her own feet.

Shortly after the turkey had been eaten, the Christmas crackers were pulled and produced an assortment of ridiculous headwear, which was then cheerfully worn by several of the diners. Dumbledore was sporting a garish orange bobble-hat complete with ear flaps.

Snape was thankful that Tonks had shown no outward signs of hostility at the dinner table, and his awkwardness had lessened when Tonks relieved him of his incumbent duty; she now suffered the indignity of wearing a black top-hat, complete with a white bunny-rabbit flopping around its rim.

Christmas pudding arrived, and Snape watched the Auror seated diagonally across from him, seemingly queasy, poking her custard half-heartedly with a spoon. He understood her incongruent behaviour – she didn't want to be there. She was forced to conceal her empty heart with a cheerful smile for the benefit of others. He knew the experience was joyless and tiring.

"Eaten too much?" Snape asked her.

Tonks returned his gaze warily and nodded.

Snape tapped his pudding bowl with his wand and it Vanished. He arose from his chair, hoping she would agree to his offer of escape. "Allow me to accompany you back to Hogsmeade; we could both use the fresh air," he said with a tone of formality.

Tonks appeared relieved at the reprieve from the festivities, yet equally torn with reticence.

Dumbledore assessed the pair shrewdly. "A walk in the snow will do you good, Tonks. Go and get some colour in your pretty cheeks!"

She nodded resignedly, dropped her napkin and hat onto the table, and left the Great Hall with Snape.

The sun was dipping towards the horizon as Snape and Tonks made their way through the cold, still air. The silence between them underwent a metamorphosis; it began as empty and uncomfortable, and gradually became more open and laissez-faire.

The snow was a couple of days old, and it crunched slightly underfoot. Snape enjoyed the child-like satisfaction of trudging his boots through the unsullied snow, and eventually the tranquillity of the midwinter day lent a peaceful disposition to the two walking companions.

"Where are you staying?" Snape asked, when they were within a quarter of a mile of Hogsmeade.

"The Hog's Head," Tonks replied.

Snape frowned. She was residing in the least salubrious lodgings in the entire wizarding village.

"Why did you choose that grimy fleapit?"

Tonks sighed, focusing on the white path upon which they treaded. "It was the only place available when I arrived, and I haven't had time or inclination to move."

"I hope you debugged the bed before sleeping on it."

"Yes," Tonks replied morosely.

"And you'd rather spend Christmas alone in your hovel of a room than in the company of others?" Snape surmised.

Tonks cast him a critical look, as if he had trodden upon her very soul. She abruptly changed the subject.

"What would you have done?" she asked pensively.

"What, at Christmas?"

"No. What would you have done if I'd been pregnant?"

Snape almost broke pace and stopped walking, but he realised the discussion would be easier with his eyes focused on the snowy ground and his legs propelling him forwards, relieving painful gaps in the conversation.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know," he answered quietly.

There was a long pause, and Snape wondered how the Auror would have reacted to a request to abort the pregnancy.

"What if I'd chosen to keep the baby?" Tonks pondered out loud.

Snape's answer was swift, unrehearsed, and came as a total surprise. "Then, of course, I would have supported you," he said. "Married you, even."

The clenched fist contracting around the hot stone of his stomach was nothing compared to the look of shock on Tonks' face when she stopped walking and turned to face him. Snape wondered why he would contemplate either of these actions and risk his reputation with the Dark Lord. The Slytherin inside him hissed at the paradox.

"Married me?" she asked tremulously.

Snape cleared his throat. "Yes," he said. The word took him by surprise a second time. The thought of a Death Eater marrying an Auror seemed supremely absurd.

"Why?"

The witch asked a very good question, and he took a moment to consider his answer. "Because we'd be having a child. It's the right thing to do."

Tonks' eyes widened, and she shook her head slightly. "The right thing for who?"

Snape stepped back in puzzlement, and a low laugh escaped from Tonks' petite frame.

"You're really quite conservative and old fashioned, aren't you, Severus?" She turned and continued her ascent to Hogsmeade.

"I suppose I am," he muttered at her back, feeling relieved that a marriage proposal would have met with Tonks' refusal.

"So, what did you mean when you spoke of living with consequences?" Snape asked when he caught up with her on the path.

Tonks' expression crumpled sadly. "I meant living with the guilt," she said simply. She stared at the outline of houses and shops ahead. "I'm in love with Remus."

Snape flinched before he could stop himself.

"Don't pretend you don't know it, Severus."

But Snape hadn't recoiled at her declaration of love for another man. Tonks did not know that Severus Snape had loved Lily Evans from the moment he'd laid eyes upon her, and every time he had sex with another woman, he felt as if he was betraying Lily and his love for her.

As a result, Snape would punish himself, hate himself, and vow to live like a monk for months upon end. His abstinence sometimes lasted for years, such was his self-reproach. He cared not that it made him an embittered and vicious man, that his students suffered his cruelty, and that his acquaintances held themselves at a safe distance; they did not know the pain he endured, day after day, year after year, its end as arcane as a lightning bolt from the clear sky above.

But, of course, living like a monk was unsustainable in the long term; eventually his resolve would crack and he would undertake meaningless sexual intercourse, most usually paid for, to release his tension. The moment of liberation was usually short-lived, however, and he would return to his self-imposed flagellation with renewed vigour; the whole cycle would begin again.

He knew guilt.

He lived with it every day.

But what he hadn't known until now was Tonks felt that same guilt. They had more in common than Snape had recognised.

Before he knew it they were standing outside the Hog's Head, and suddenly he realised he didn't want to lose this singular moment of contact with another human being. He didn't want to let her go.

"I shall escort you inside," Snape stated curtly. "I wish to ensure Aberforth is providing satisfactory accommodation. If not, we shall proceed to the Three Broomsticks and secure new lodgings."

Together they ascended the rickety staircase behind the bar. Tonks allowed Snape to step inside the guestroom, and he noted her quarters appeared adequate; it was plain that the Auror had indeed cleaned the place prior to checking in, and whilst the fixtures and fittings were old and worn, they were serviceable and moderately hygienic.

A small double bed was shoved up against one wall, and it showed signs of recent habitation. Apparently, Dumbledore had woken Tonks and persuaded her to get out of bed, in order to attend the Christmas Day feast. This struck a chord with Snape. There had been a great many days when he had not wished to face the world; it would require too much energy... too much effort.

Naturally, his teaching position had put paid to that; he could no longer afford the luxury of lazing languorously in bed. He now had a reason to get up in the morning, for at least five days a week. A reason to live. If you could call it 'living'.

Tonks followed him into the room and stared at the unmade bed. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Snape felt a twitch between his shoulder blades. "Nothing," he replied. He then shook his head, staring at the threadbare, carpeted floor. "Everything," he mumbled to himself.

She laid a hand on his arm gently.

"I'm alright, Severus," she whispered. "I'm surviving."

Surviving, but not living, he thought. They both were – simultaneously alive and dead inside.

"You look so sad," Tonks murmured. "Don't be sad for me; I can't bear it."

But Snape didn't feel sad. He felt touched. Touched by another who knew his sadness. Knew it and experienced it every day and lived with its consequences.

Snape turned to see Tonks' face full of concern. Concern for him. It was plain she didn't know how to be concerned for herself; her loneliness excluded everything: self-preservation, hope, and dignity. Yet her love remained, and it enabled her to prevail. As did his.

His hands found their way to her heart-shaped face, and he held her head softly, tenderly, with a depth of understanding previously unknown. His heart, oftentimes so cold and merciless, now throbbed with new-found life.

And he kissed her.

He didn't know why.

Only that he needed to feel connected, if only to himself, just for a time, just for now.

She reached up and stroked his cheek, relaxing into their union, and their tongues entwined as their bodies pressed together, blissfully, enticingly warm. It wasn't long before Tonks was closing the door with the flick of her wand, removing her cloak and boots, and inviting Snape into her bed.

They removed each other's clothing with more care than speed, piling the garments into a heap on the floor. Snape retained his shirt (as was his custom) and then, gloriously, she was naked and lying on top of him, her supple, sensuous skin sliding against his legs, his chest, and his abdomen. Her kisses were soft and wet on his neck, his collarbone, his stomach.

Tonks brushed against his arousal with her cheek, and then licked his length slowly, delicately pausing over the glistening head and breathing warm air onto the tip. Snape couldn't restrain his hips, and he bucked, forcing himself into her mouth. It did not matter; she took him, hard and whole, her lips applying ripples of pleasure, her tongue rubbing against his circumference. He surrendered to sensation, losing track of space and time, lost inside a new reality of connectivity and tenderness.

She seemed to sense his climax building and her ministrations paused, appearing to seek his permission to continue, or wait for her presence to be requested elsewhere. He grasped her head, pulled her towards his mouth, and kissed her. He suckled gently on her tongue, tasting his own salty tang on her lips, and shifted his weight so that she fell back onto the bed, trapped between his body and the cold, bare wall.

His mouth claimed her breasts, and his teeth nibbled at her taut, peachy-pink nipples, making her shudder and squirm. Her skin felt exquisite, her body was nubile, and his lips explored her silky-smooth stomach as he slid further down the bed. When Snape parted her legs she gasped with nervous excitement, and when his tongue rubbed against her core Tonks sighed and her legs relaxed. She was beautifully warm and wet, like his own taste, only sweeter, and she moaned softly at his touch.

It had been a long time since Snape had pleasured a woman. Most of his liaisons had been hurried, in an attempt to lessen his guilt. But it seemed that here, with this young Auror, he was free to explore himself again and put into practice long-ago learned skills.

He was aware that Tonks didn't love him, and Snape knew he didn't love her. Somehow, it didn't matter. They could each give the other something they longed for, and break out of their world of unrelenting bleakness – the world only the lonely knew.

Tonks was fast approaching orgasm, and she ran her fingers through his long hair, pulling at his head, and then at his shirt collar, trying to drag him away. Her legs wriggled beneath him, attempting to dislodge him from her core. He gave her nub one last stroke of his tongue and rose above her onto his hands and knees, to look down at her pretty, flushed face, and into her pale brown eyes.

"Let's finish this," she suggested breathlessly.

This time, he would not take any chances. "Have you cast a charm?"

"Yes," she replied, with a glimmer of a smile.

Snape pushed her legs wider, raised her knees to meet him, and entered her carefully, tenderly, until he filled her completely. Her warmth enveloped and welcomed him. Tonks closed her eyes and arched her back, and together they moved as one: gentle, instinctive, reunited.

Climax did not take long for either of them to find. Neurons fired in Snape's lower back in a symphony of pleasure, showering the rest of his body in shuddering tingles, until he was left with the delicate sensation of faeries' footsteps upon his spine.

He collapsed in a heap at her side, and Tonks curled into a foetal position, her hand on his arm, and her forehead against his shoulder. She remained there, peaceful and still, for a long, long time.

It was over an hour later when Snape awoke from a post-coital haze, to find her curled in the same place beside him, half awake, seemingly content, yet also vulnerable. He placed his arm underneath her head and coaxed her into his embrace.

"When you said 'let's finish this', did you mean for this to end here?" he asked, breathing softly into her mousey-brown hair.

She nuzzled into the crook of his neck but did not reply.

"Because now would be the time to tell me," he exhorted more firmly.

Tonks remained silent for a long minute, and Snape had to be patient and wait for her reply. He didn't know what he wanted her answer to be; his only wish for now was to know, one way or another.

"Whatever 'this' is," she said eventually, "I don't want it to end just yet."