Chapter 28

Severus heard the door bang shut and breathed deeply through his nose, heart pounding, like a fist trying to escape his chest, in raw anger. It took all of his will not to curse the Pensieve into pieces. Gritting his teeth, he withdrew his wand and blasted his coffee table with such force that it shattered against the wall, raining splinters.

What was she doing back? She wasn't due back until tomorrow! He glared at the Pensieve once more, pacing the lounge and running a hand through his thick black hair in anguish. The sight of the bowl reminded him of its owner and his benign, stupidly twinkling eyes. Dumbledore. Dumbledore and his good advice. That's what facing the past got me, you old bastard: shunned and ostracized all over again.

He snorted, drawing his hostility further around him like a cloak, his defences shutting down like a portcullis. The Mark on my arm may have gone, but you can't scrub away the stains from my soul, he thought bitterly. Stupid of me to think the last few weeks were anything more than a glorified holiday romance. It was inevitable that when the truth came out, she would turn away from me. And why wouldn't she? Who could truly love me, Severus Snape: rapist, murderer, and with a harsher temperament than a Scottish winter?

He would always pay for his mistakes, just like he'd been paying every day for twenty years. Fate had dealt him a particularly low blow this time, to get him so tantalisingly close to the love he craved and to whip it away in the most brutal way imaginable. Did he really deserve anything less? His crimes spoke for themselves, and whereas his actions in the war atoned for Lily, his distant past had been waiting all along for him, to trip him up and smother the last remaining hope out of him.

He had been foolish to let her get close to his poisonous heart because it was unavoidable that he would hurt her and fill her with nothing but revulsion, he decided. That was one of the reasons he'd kept people away from him for so long; he was tainted, and if people came close, they would be tainted, too. He thought of his heart as being like a decaying, mouldy apple with a fat, white maggot wriggling at its core.

It's probably for the best she knows the truth and to end it now, he thought, slumping onto the sofa with his head in his hands. It would be harder for her, the longer time went on. And for me also. Severus thought of her, then, thought of her careless laughter, and ceaseless curiosity, and the way she would look up at him, green eyes filled with tenderness and desire. Then he thought of the look of fear on her face when he had found her, the look that told him she saw him as the monster he truly was. He let out a sob and began to wail, a harsh, pitying howl, like a wounded animal, mourning the loss of the only good thing in his life.

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Sarah ran as fast as she could in her heels, the tears in her eyes blurring the streetlamps into misty smears, her throat burning with sobs, the sound of the slammed door still echoing in her ears. She'd never seen that look in his eyes before. It was a look akin to madness. Why had she looked at the bowl? Why had she come back at all? In the space of an hour, Severus had gone from hero to demon, and yet she still couldn't process what she had seen.

Shaking and weeping, she managed to somehow let herself into her cottage and shut the door with her back, sliding down it until she could cling to her knees. She began to rock back and forth, not understanding, not knowing who to turn to for help. Did Albus know about the rape? He was the one who knew Severus best. Did he know, and yet forgive? Why was Severus watching the memory? Did he enjoy it? Did he get a kick out of it? Sarah shuddered with another sob. No. Not my Severus. She thought of their love-making and how it was always her that initiated it. She thought of how, before the ritual, he'd asked her about five times if she really wanted to go through with it. She thought about how he would follow her lead when having sex, only getting harder and faster and rougher if she asked him to. She thought of his glittering black eyes, often so fathomless, but sometimes with a glitter of emotion in them just for her. She wept harder and harder then until her throat was raw, until there were no tears left to shed, until the whites of her eyes turned a damaged, bloodshot red.

Neither of them got to sleep that night. Between tears and the feeling of heart scraped away from bone, they were both broken and desolate, waiting for the small consolation of sunlight to banish the oppression of the night.

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Sarah awoke with her head at an awkward angle on her sofa, as Bernard marched across her chest with heavy paws, mewing impatiently. She opened her eyes. They felt dry and sore. She couldn't work out why it felt like she'd been beaten up until she remembered Severus and her heart sank once more. She could hear a scratching noise at the window, and Bernard mewed again, walking over her chest like a Roman foot soldier.

An owl? she thought fuzzily, shoving her cat gracelessly onto the floor and swinging her legs off the sofa. Bernard made a grumbling noise of discontent as she staggered towards the window.

Sure enough, a little white owl with yellow eyes and ruffled feathers peered up at her with a silent hoot as she withdrew the curtain. Leaning out enough to ensure Bernard was safely entrenched inside the cottage, she unpicked the little package from its leg and noticed the Hogwarts crest on the wax seal. Tearing the package open, she found the parchment and began to read:

Dear Miss Shaw,

Deputy Head, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

She almost dropped the parchment. It was from Severus! She read and re-read it, trying to glean some tiny gesture of affection from it. It was no use, of course. The letter was practical, perfunctory and professional. The little packet of Floo powder that accompanied the letter was a particularly violent shade of acid green with flames drawn up the side. The little owl hooted expectantly at Sarah, and she realised she needed to draft a reply.

She scrabbled around for a pen, hastily scrawling a response:

Dear Professor Snape,

Sarah Shaw

It feels so strange, writing to him so formally, she thought as she tucked the parchment back into the owl's pouch and watched as it took flight. It was as if last night had never happened. But of course, it had, and with that knowledge, Sarah turned with heavy heart away from the window and began to cry once more.

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Author's note: The name of the potion "Sanicurus" comes from Latin prefixes: "Sani-" (health) and "Cur-" (take care of).