Chapter Eleven

Fifteen years later...

Severus Snape sat in is office, staring blankly down at the essays before him. He should have been marking them, he knew he should. The sixth years would need them back come Monday morning and it was highly likely that the Dark Lord would call him at any moment, wanting the latest update on Draco's progress with his assignment.

Damn that assignment!

Why had he ever agreed to that Unbreakable Vow?

Why had he made that promise to Dumbledore, the self-sacrificing fool?

Why the hell had he got out of bed this morning?

He rubbed at the bridge of his overly large nose in frustration.

He sunk back in his chair, and took a long, not-quite-calming drink from his glass of Firewhisky.

Finally, he picked up the top essay with a sigh. They weren't going to mark themselves. Glancing down at the neat, minuscule writing, he froze. Miss Granger's essay.

And why wouldn't she just go away? He added that to his list of internal pondering for later. Much later.

Now was not the time to have his mind dawdling over that high-intellect, that incessant questioning, that persistent perfection, that horrid, disgusting, appalling, offensive way his traitorous mind kept drifting to her. Drifting to her and enjoying it!

As if he didn't have enough reason to loathe himself already without lusting after a student.

But this war had done something to her; she had grown so much over the past years. Or perhaps he'd grown to tolerate her. Well, not tolerate her, hate her less.

Especially when she smiled.

He crumpled her essay into a ball in his fist and threw it across the room.

Staring at the spot where the parchment had hit the wall, Severus found the dire need to sober up. Shoving the tumbler of alcohol to the far side of his desk, he contemplated pushing it right off the edge to smash into a million pieces on the ground. So tempting. But no, that would bring the house-elves and right now he did not want company. He never wanted company.

He pulled open his desk drawer and, lifting a carefully placed stack of papers on the history of Pepperup Potion, enough to bore any prying eyes from delving further, he pulled out the photograph.

Lily. Dear Lily. She stood smiling next to him. They were fifteen. Between them they held the trophy from the Potions contest in their fourth year. There'd been no contest really, Lily and he had won hands down, their poison antidote outshining all others. Even to this day, he had to smile. No one seemed to have noticed the great lumps of bezoars in the otherwise useless potion. No one else seemed to think of the obvious.

And in the photograph, Lily was smiling. And next to her, Severus was too. It was one of those rare moments; Severus couldn't remember the last time he'd really smiled. He looked relaxed, occasionally glancing at Lily, staring at her, before turning back to the camera. But she was beautiful, as stunning as ever, with that pretty smile, her inner perfection brought to life in the sparkle of her eyes.

But she wasn't alive. He'd lost her in the cave, and the world had lost her at Godric's Hollow.

He'd loved her. He still loved her; his heart ached for her. His entire being ached for her. And he had the scars to prove it, the suffering he'd endured over the years all for her – for her and she was dead.

He was not going through that again.

Not that love was what he felt for Miss Granger, certainly not. More of an infatuation. Yes, an infatuation with a bushy haired pain in the arse who was possibly the only woman on the planet who might want him, and only then because she had no other options. An infatuation stemmed from the fact that he hadn't had sex in nineteen years. It was bound to drive any warm-blooded male just slightly mad.

He'd done it to himself, though. Nineteen years and each time the infrequent offers came in he'd pushed them away. He just couldn't bare the thought of being with anyone but Lily, as if it would erase the memory of her. Silly, really, since he'd spent nineteen years trying to forget her.

Another few months and he would make it to a full two decades of abstinence.

Maybe it was time he wiped the slate clean.

After all, what could Dumbledore do? He couldn't put him through hell any further than he already was. The Headmaster had practically condemned him to a life in Azkaban anyway, consorting with a student wouldn't make the slightest bit of difference.

Maybe that could go onto his 'things to dwell upon later' list. Maybe.

Severus grabbed up his quill, dipped it harshly in the bottle of red ink, splashing a great pool of the blood-thick liquid over his desk. With a flick of his wand, the scroll of parchment flew back to his desk and smoothed back out, and without so much as reading a line, he marked it with T. He was being petty, and he knew it, but who cared? It wasn't like he would be teaching here for much longer anyway.

He turned to the next essay. Potter. Blast, the heavens seemed to be working against him today!

Everything seemed to be working against him. Even Dumbledore.

"Oh, Lily," he muttered, looking back at her photograph. "Why?"

He needed a break.

He needed to remember why. Why he was putting himself through all this torment.

*****

Severus wasn't surprised to find Dungeon Five dark and vacant. Partly because nothing seemed to surprise him anymore, but mostly because Slytherin had just taken a beating from the Gryffindor Quidditch team, so Slughorn was most likely off congratulating the Gryffindors. Well, at least those he thought worthy of his presence. The thought brought a sneer to Severus' lips.

However, as he reached the inside of the storeroom, he paused. The dust along the edges of the shelves had been disturbed, recently, apparently, given that tiny particles still floated in the air around his head caught in the light of his wand.

His heart skipped a beat or two. Someone had found his sanctuary. Someone who was probably searching through all the vials of his memories right now. Someone who most certainly shouldn't be there!

Fury raged in him, those were his memories. His! Not for prying eyes, not for anyone!

He moved stealthily down the cave, ducking to miss smacking his head in places. Finally, temper at an all time high, fists clenched so hard they hurt, wand gripped so tightly he wondered if it would splinter, he reached the end of the tunnel. He froze for a moment in his steps. The door to the cave lay open just a crack, and beyond he could see light. Candles were lit, and the blue glow of the fire, of Lily's fire, was just visible.

How dare someone waste Lily's fire!

He crept forward, wand ready, and slowly pushed the door open. His Pensieve lay on one pumpkin fizz box, as it always did. But inside, inside he could see colour emanating from the basin, could see the glow of candlelight flickering within.

Someone – someone was in his memories!

He lowered his wand, darted across the room and peered into the basin. There, beneath the surface, was the image of the cave. But the pumpkin fizz boxes were gone; instead there was a bed. And on the bed, two bodies writhing. That night with Lily, that only night with Lily.

Severus heart swelled until it burst.

She'd been so beautiful, that porcelain skin, that deep red hair. And the look on her face as she watched him pleasure her–

But he knew what was to come. The look on her face when she saw the Dark Mark. That look of horror, disgust and loathing.

Stupid. He'd been so stupid.

He couldn't keep watching this, it tortured him. But they weren't there yet, still they pulsed together on the bed, still he was making her happy – or at least he hoped he was.

He averted his eyes. He couldn't look anymore, it hurt too much, but, out the corner of his eye, he saw a figure silhouetted by Lily's fire. A bushy-haired shadow.

Miss Granger. What the hell?

Severus leant forward and dropped himself quietly into the whispering swirl of his own memories.

He stood right behind her, watching her watching him. Watching him make love to Lily.

A flush crept up Severus' face, but he forced it away. No, it would be Miss Granger who would be embarrassed over this, not him.

Severus opened his mouth to snarl something cruel, to tell her she should take in every moment of it for she certainly would never get anything like that from a boy, but she made him stop. Or at least the short, sharp intake of breath and the heated colour of her skin made him stop.

She was enjoying it.

A little moan came from her throat.

Enjoying it very much.

How very interesting, how very interesting indeed.

He should stop her, wrench her from his memory now. But something made him pause. He told himself it would be worth letting her continue, to let her keep watching, to pull her out just before– just before Lily left, when her humiliation at being caught would be at its peak. Deep inside, though, there was the need to simply keep watching her. Severus closed his mouth and silently scrutinised her.

He could see her shoulders rising and falling with each deep breath, hear the little gasps as she watched him and Lily on the bed, but when her hands moved, sliding over her clothes, up her sides from her thighs to barely touching the sides of her breasts, it was he who suddenly found his breath vaporised. And she continued, brushing one finger over her lips as his image kissed Lily's. Never did she go so far as fondling herself, always just small touches, barely-there brushes, but Severus had to fight not to reach out and touch her himself.

He could hear the ecstasy-heated words coming from the image of himself, coming from Lily. But they were merely an echo in the background, a worn-out recording. His eyes were still locked on Hermione, still watching her as she slid her hands over herself, as she tilted her head back. In this light, she really did look quite beautiful.

He heard her gasp, heard the room turn suddenly silent.

A sharp crack resounded through the room. Severus' head snapped up, staring at the past. Staring as Lily withdrew her hand from slapping him.

"How dare you? How dare you?!" Lily's shrill voice bit through the room, stabbing him in the chest.

Like watching someone get splinched, he couldn't turn away.

"Let me explain!" Gods, his younger self sounded pathetic.

He watched as she spelled her clothes back on, watched the sodden material drip onto the waterlogged cave floor.

"There is nothing to explain, Severus," Lily said coldly. "It's over."

The echo of the door slamming shut felt as if it were bursting his eardrums.

He kept watching himself, watching himself sit there, stunned. He heard himself scream in anger, claw desperately at the Dark Mark, as if he could remove it. Silly twit!

And to think he'd taken the Mark for her. What had he been thinking? As if the Dark Lord would have cared to whom Mudbloods were attached to; wives of Death Eaters or Muggles, unless they were of use, they were still to be eradicated. All done in order to keep her safe, and, in the end, it was what had killed her. If he'd never overheard that prophecy, if he'd not run to tell the Dark Lord like a pathetically faithful sycophant–

Oh, the hours he'd spent reliving this memory, standing here, screaming at his image to do something, anything. It had all been fruitless, of course. They were just shadows of his past.

The movement next to him startled him. Miss Granger, he'd forgotten she was there. She moved forward, over towards the memory of Severus. She reached out, her hand hovering near younger Severus' arm. His image just sat there, staring at the door, he couldn't see her, of course.

"What did you do?"

Enough!

"If I were you," he said in his Darkest voice, "I would be far more concerned with what I am going to do."

Her head jerked up, and with wide eyes, mouth hanging open, she stared back at him.

"S–Sorry," she stuttered.

Severus felt himself rise up, out of the Pensieve, back into the cave, the cave without the bed, without the echo of having lost Lily. His memory had vanished; it was a pity he couldn't put the gut wrenching feeling of having watched Lily leave him again so easily out of his mind. Nineteen years and it still hurt like it was yesterday. And it was her fault, Miss Granger's fault, if she hadn't been there he wouldn't have had to witness his torment over Lily walking out of his life, wouldn't have had to relive the horror of losing her again.

Hermione went to push passed him, run for the door. He wasn't letting her get away that easily, letting her walk out of here with such intimate knowledge of him. He stepped into her path, not letting her pass.

"Don't you dare mention this to anyone," he hissed at her, purposefully pulling himself more upright, straightening out his shoulders that had slumped in defeat at the sight of Lily's retreat.

"N–No. I won't."

She side-stepped him, but he reached out and grabbed her arm, spinning her around.

"No one! If you so much as–" But his fingers had connected with her skin, and suddenly all thought left him. She felt so wonderful, so soft. It had been too long, way too long. And all those little fantasies that had tormented him for the last who-knew-how-long rushed through his mind. He was alone with her, deep beneath the lake where no one could see, not even Dumbledore and his ever-watchful gaze.

It was tempting, so tempting.

And the way she'd tried to comfort his memory-self; maybe she did care. Maybe she pitied him.

Maybe he just didn't care any more, he was doomed anyway.

And she was staring up at him with big brown eyes, the smallest of nervous smiles on her face, curving her lips in the way he found so desirable. More importantly, she wasn't screaming bloody murder and running for her life.

To hell with it all, he deserved this.

With one hand under her chin, tilting her face back just a little more, he scrutinised her. Her eyes opened further in surprise, but still she didn't run.

His lips met hers, and, despite himself, he kissed her gently, tentatively. Her lips were full under his, soft. When she didn't pull back, didn't bolt from the room, he buried his hands in her mop of hair, pulling her closer to him. She felt so wonderful, smelled so good. She filled all of his senses, left his mind overwhelmed. Hermione let out a little moan and, as her mouth opened, he delved his tongue inside, restraint completely lost. She was kissing him back! Her tongue duelled with his, her lips gliding over his; she held her own, meeting him move for move.

But instead of satiating his desire, Severus felt it grow, felt the need to have more of her, all of her. It had been too long, far too long, since he'd last done this. Since he'd first done this.

He moved one hand down her back, crushing her against him. He felt her gasp against his lips as his painfully hard erection pressed through his trousers and against her stomach. He heard his own moan of desire, so alien to his ears, echo around the cave.

"Lily," he murmured against her mouth.

Hermione leapt back, pushing him fiercely away.

It took him a moment to realise what was wrong, but he could practically still hear Lily's name echoing around the stone walls.

"Hermione," he corrected, but it was too late. It sounded pathetic even to his ears.

"I have to go."

And she left, bolted from the cave.

The second woman to walk out of his life. A miserable score, he thought bitterly, two out of two.

Severus sat down on the pumpkin fizz box and ran his hands through his greasy hair.

What had he done?

*****

Lily hid in the shadows, James'– no, it was Harry's now –'borrowed' invisibility cloak pulled tightly around her. He wouldn't miss it for the moment, he was off celebrating Gryffindor's win over Slytherin – and quite a celebration it would be! She longed for a moment that she'd been there to witness the party, but something had drawn her down to the dungeons. She watched and waited, then waited some more. But even then, Severus didn't come out of Dungeon Five. What was taking him so long? Hermione had left nearly an hour ago, and now Lily's legs were aching and she wasn't sure she could stay still for much longer. She was going to have to move, to sit down.

Lily almost jumped when the classroom door finally clicked open. Severus stepped out into the corridor looking worried, more worried than she'd seen him in the longest time, even recently, and it was more than obvious that something had been tormenting him of late.

She longed to go to him, to soothe him, to find out what was wrong, just as much as she longed to give him another decent slap for being such a fool. But she could do neither, to do so would put Harry in jeopardy, would put the whole battle against Lord Voldemort at risk.

He went to make his way up the corridor, passing her by. She relaxed. The danger had passed.

He stopped suddenly, turned around.

She held her breath.

He stared straight at her.

No, not straight at her, through her. But still, he seemed to sense something. His eyes darted around the small alcove in which she hid, not moving at all, not even a rise of his chest. For a moment he looked as if he would step forward.

He was close enough to touch. If she wanted, she could reach out and feel him, his chest beneath her fingers, his arms, his fingers, run her hands over his hallowed face, just touch him. But then, suddenly, he shook his head, spun around, and headed off up the corridor.

Lily closed her eyes and sunk to the floor.

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AN: Hugs and pumpkin fizz to my wonderful beta :-)