Silently Screaming

The start of the new school term provided the perfect opportunity for Snape to implement a self-protection strategy. He had not enjoyed the feelings the Auror had roused in him, and he decided the time had come to strengthen his armour and take control of their relationship again.

Overnight stays were one of the first things to change, they conveyed the wrong meaning and encouraged a closeness for which Snape had no need. Conveniently, such trysts would have been hindered by the presence of students in the castle and the prying eyes of a full complement of teachers, so no explanation to Tonks had been necessary.

However, in the early hours of one mid-January morning, Tonks was nestled in the crook of his shoulder, breathing warm breath onto his neck and playing idly with his sparse chest-hair. He had not got around to leaving and was staring through the window at the soft, plump snowflakes falling from the night sky. The room was lit by candles, and a heavy purple blanket twisted haphazardly around their bodies, showing the evidence of their recent union.

"Tell me something about yourself which no-one else knows," she whispered into his ear.

Snape felt as though his blood had stopped pumping and his heart-muscle had paralysed. He knew he must deflect this kind of question in a swift yet appropriate manner, and he considered several responses.

He settled on, "It's too late at night for playing games."

"It's not a game," Tonks replied indignantly.

"Why the sudden interest?"

"Well, you're so guarded," Tonks said, "and so elusive, and here we are being physically intimate, and I don't know anything about you."

"I was unaware that other types of intimacy would entail from our agreement."

"They wouldn't... not necessarily," Tonks said sullenly.

"So I repeat: why the sudden interest?"

"Because I want to get to know you and find out who you really are."

"You might not care for the answer."

"I'd still like to know."

"You are not taking the hint."

"Come on, Severus! Tell me why you became a Death Eater."

Snape flung the blanket to one side and got out of bed, pulling on his socks and trousers after locating them on the floor.

"Oh, please," Tonks moaned, "just talk to me."

"I am not prepared to discuss any of my reasons with you."

"Alright. Maybe, then, you could tell me why you left to serve Dumbledore?"

Snape did not reply, and he buttoned up his trousers.

"Everyone wonders, Severus."

"Then let them wonder. I have no intention of divulging anything."

A few seconds of silence passed, and then Tonks sat up in bed and spoke quietly. "Let me see it."

Snape halted as he fastened his belt. The Auror was staring at his shirt-clad left forearm with a sense of wistful longing. He suddenly realised what this was all about, and he did not like it at all.

"I am not some broken toy for you to fix, Nymphadora," he snapped. "That's what this is about, isn't it? You think you can heal my scars. I hate to disappoint your misguided altruism, but I do not require mending. I'm not some baby bird you can nurse back to health. Go and find someone else to take care of; I'm not interested."

His words were intended to wound, and wound her they did. She blanched away from him and gathered up the bed linen around her like a makeshift fortress.

Impulsively, Snape walked to her side of the four-poster bed and yanked up the left sleeve of his shirt. The black skull and serpent branded into the tender, pale skin of his inner arm flickered menacingly in the candlelight.

The ugly, disfiguring Dark Mark was the reason why he wore his sleeves so long, why his frock-coats were carefully tailored, and why he never removed his shirt in the presence of a woman. This symbol of servitude was abhorrent to all outside the Dark Lord's circle and widely despised for being synonymous with totalitarianism, eugenics and genocide.

At the tender age of seventeen, Snape had convinced himself that the worthy pursuit of power was reason enough to join the Dark Lord's regime, and he'd expected that, in time, the woman he loved would be won over. Whilst Snape could discard certain elements of his master's ideology, it eventually became apparent that Lily could not. Had he known that becoming a Death Eater meant she would turn her back on him forever, and he would be left with a lifetime of guilt and grief, and enslavement to two wizards more powerful than he, then Snape would never have taken the Mark. But, like many teenagers, he thought he knew all there was to know. He had, of course, been wrong, and he had spent the rest of his life paying the price.

Regardless, Snape had no wish to share his philosophical thoughts with Tonks, and he watched her closely for signs of distaste at the sight of the Dark Lord's Mark.

She appeared enthralled by the black imprint on his skin, and suddenly Snape realised her fascination with him mirrored her attraction to the werewolf; Lupin was damaged too. Tonks loved Lupin despite his lycanthropy, so perhaps she was captivated by men she yearned to fix, men whom she perceived to be broken.

But Snape knew there was no cure for a man branded with the Dark Mark. There was only the long, winding road to redemption – the path which Dumbledore had signposted on the night Lily died.

Tonks could not mend him; and Snape did not require saving. Salvation lay in his hands alone.

The Auror tentatively reached out to touch the blackened skin, and he snatched his hand away.

"You cannot save me," he stated.

"Save you from what?"

It was yet another question; a different approach in her quest to catch a glimpse of his soul, and he could not, would not, entertain her. Snape had learned long ago that knowledge was power, and he was not about to give his power away and expose himself to vulnerability.

He rolled down the sleeve of his shirt and buttoned up the cuffs. Tonks appeared dismayed, and she watched him shrug on his frock-coat and cloak.

Snape fastened his boots and left her alone in her bed without another word.

January's snow melted into a cold, damp and dreary February. The return of the sunlight and the promise of spring did little to cheer the wizarding community; more and more people were disappearing and paranoia was spreading. The Order knew of some families who had gone into hiding, but those were not the only ones to vanish, and Hogwarts was under increasing pressure to provide a safe haven for its students.

Snape's attempts to assist Draco Malfoy in his mission had been woefully unsuccessful. The sixth-year Slytherin could not be persuaded to reveal his plans, and the clock continued to tick away the remaining months of Dumbledore's life.

The Headmaster was spending numerous evenings with Harry Potter, and Snape was more annoyed than usual about the amount of faith Dumbledore had in the boy. It incensed Snape that Potter was deemed worthy of such trust, and he wished Dumbledore could trust him as much as a sixteen-year-old juvenile incapable of casting a non-verbal spell.

Apparition lessons on Saturday afternoons provided yet another opportunity for Snape to observe the Chosen One's mediocrity. Not that he had minded too much; supervising additional lessons for the sixth-years had been an excuse to get away from Tonks. The Auror had become quite troublesome in recent weeks, intent upon prying into his private life with constant quizzing and demands for his time. Dodging her questions was tiresome, and her expectation that he should have feelings and, worse still, that he should want to talk about such feelings was irritating beyond belief.

Snape had spent his entire adult life summarily hiding feelings away, a process made more efficient when Dumbledore taught him Occlumency. He had no wish to open that box again. The only feelings which he knew to exist were those which caused him pain: they were the ones that seeped out at night during nightmares, exacerbated his insomnia, and caused his viciousness and loss of temper. He had no use for such feelings, and he preferred to keep them locked away.

As such, Snape was not about to hand Tonks the key and allow her to lift the lid on his emotions. Aside from his fear of experiencing the full force of his grief, loss and pain, he was also scared that these powerful feelings might escape, evade recapture, and assume control of his life. He couldn't face an existence dominated by parlous emotions. Worse still, once those agonising and crippling emotions were released, he might find the bottom of the box to be empty. It was, therefore, infinitely preferable to keep the lid rammed down and the key hidden away.

Each time Tonks tried to pick the lock, Snape retreated further into himself. He fortified his defences, ignoring the silent scream of his heart.

"Why aren't you happy now you're the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor?" Tonks asked one Sunday evening in February. "Everyone knows it's the job you've always wanted, but I've noticed you don't seem to like it much."

Snape sighed and wished fervently that he had enough desire and energy to mount a sexual encore to distract the Auror, but their evening's coupling had drained him, and his usual method of self-defence was not at his command.

He was tired. Tired of teaching, tired of deceiving, tired of spying. Tired of living. Tonks had been a welcome diversion from his lonely life, but even this relationship was souring each time he saw her.

When he didn't answer her enquiry, she nudged him gently. The bed sheets rustled as she propped herself up on her elbow.

He wondered if he could get away with half an answer. Would it satiate her need, or would it encourage her to further probing?

"Do you even enjoy teaching?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Irritation spiked like a skewer piercing his gut; she had pre-empted his planned reply, and he had grown tired of her impatience, her expectations, and her erroneous insights into his behaviour.

Tonks sighed and flopped down onto the bed. "You'd tell me if there was something wrong between us, wouldn't you?"

Snape gave a cursory nod, but in truth he knew his answer was 'no'. Entering into a discussion about their relationship might reveal that he did in fact have feelings, albeit unconstructive ones. This was not beneficial when he professed to have none.

To Snape, feelings of any kind were worthless; they only served to impede him and expose him to vulnerability and weakness. He would not, therefore, be coerced into expressing himself, and he began to realise that spending more time with Tonks would increase the likelihood of slipping on the slope of emotions. It was a terrifying prospect, and he needed to maintain his foothold whilst he still could.

A heavy weight pressed into his temples and made his head pound. He did not need to be encumbered by an additional burden; life was complex enough already.

"You can trust me, Severus," Tonks whispered into the darkening room.

Trust.

Such an illusory word.

So many layers, so many nuances, and so much potential for loss. It was an unaffordable luxury.

Snape had spent fifteen years earning Dumbledore's trust, proving his worth, towing the line, endangering his life. The Headmaster professed to trust him; he had shown this when he appointed the twenty-one-year-old Potions master, spoken to the Wizengamot at Snape's hearing, and told countless Order members of the reformed Death Eater's loyalty. Yet still Snape was dissatisfied. He wanted more.

Snape wanted Dumbledore to trust him with everything. He needed his acceptance like he needed air in his lungs. He needed to feel worthy. If he could prove his worth to Lily, then one day he might redeem himself.

And, if he won the implicit trust of one of the greatest wizards alive, someday Snape might learn to trust himself again.

So, Tonks' declaration of trustworthiness meant nothing to him. How could he trust her, when he could not even trust himself?

He didn't answer any of her questions. He didn't see the point. Their relationship was going nowhere, and he needed to assert himself and restate his purpose in life.

It was time to confront Dumbledore.