Relapse

This is a story by the great Marisol, a German FF writer whose stories can be found at http://www.harrypotter-xperts.de/fanfiction?author=17037

Translated from German into English by Muggline

Disclaimer: Neither Marisol nor Muggline are making any money out of this. Everything you recognise belongs to J.K. Rowling.

A/N: Once again, it was Professor M McGonagall who had to fight against my lack of punctuation and grammar skills. I'd be lost without you!

A/N from Marisol (she asked me to add this after reading some of the reviews I copied and emailed her): "To all the readers and reviewers: I just can't describe how much your comments and your support mean to me. When Muggline started posting The Godfather, I'd never have thought that so many of you would love this fic. I just want to let you know that every single review is highly appreciated. Thank you... Marisol".

Chapter 24 – Relapse

When the sound of singing birds from the open window awakened Hermione after a deep and dreamless sleep, it was already late in the morning. Her back and side hurt because of the coil springs that poked her skin through the upholstery of the sofa. This made her realize with a start where she was and why. Immediately, she was wide awake, straightened up and saw that she was alone in the sitting room.

Pictures of the night before flashed before her mind's eye, and she felt a soft blush creep over her naked skin. Single elements of reality were interwoven with dream-like sequences, and everything that had happened in the last few hours felt awkwardly unreal. However, the memories were too graphic to have been a dream. Not only were her burning lips and aching muscles proof of it, but she also felt something deep inside her core that she couldn't describe by any stretch of the imagination because she had never felt this way before. It reminded her of some kind of long-felt thirst that had suddenly been quenched, though she had never realised that she had been thirsty before.

She waited for something like remorse or embarrassment to kick in – but it didn't. Hesitatingly, she called Severus's name, but there was no answer. She asked herself when and why he had crept out of their makeshift bed without waking her. Finally, she decided that he probably wasn't used to sleeping next to another person and that he had probably gone to his bedroom because of it.

"Severus?" she asked again. Then she wrapped the threadbare blanket around her body and got up to proceed to the upper floor. She did not know what exactly she would tell him when she saw him, but she had no doubt that the words would come to her as soon as they faced each other. When she reached his bedroom, she peeked inside, but realised that his bed had remained untouched. Slowly, she went downstairs again and proceeded to the kitchen where she found a cup with some remaining coffee inside on the table.

Lost in her thoughts, she sat down. Instantly, a coffee pot came floating to the table and refilled the cup with steaming black liquid before Hermione had a chance to react. It was the kind of coffee that could keep a person awake all night if necessary. Hermione knew the brew very well because she had used it herself as a student whenever she had to prepare for an exam. It was very strong and tasted awful, but it was an excellent help to burn the midnight oil... or to make important decisions that needed to be thought over thoroughly. She swallowed, and for the first time since she had woken, there was an uncomfortable feeling that nagged her and would not go away.

Severus had obviously left the house, and she didn't need to be a Seer to feel that it must have something to do with the previous night. In her mind, she started imagining various scenarios of what he might be thinking right now. But she realised rather quickly that, even after these hours of shared intimacies, she could not tell Severus's thoughts. He was a closed book to her, now more than ever – a book that she could hold and look at, but whose contents she did not understand because it was written in a language she had not mastered. She felt a mixture of fear and frustration creep into the pit of her stomach.

For some strange reason, she suddenly thought of the fight between Harry and Voldemort so many years ago. Harry had thrown the truth about Severus and his love for Lily into Voldemort's face. "He desired her," Voldemort had said. "But after her death, he realised that there were other women."

Hermione felt a bout of nausea wash over her.

Was this what was happening right now?

Was she nothing but – another woman?

Severus had not given her any hint that he cared about her apart from her physical attractiveness. In a moment of horrible clarity she understood that she could not expect anything more from him. The thought made her angry and sad.

She did not know how long she had been sitting at the kitchen table when she heard the front door open with a small squeak and fall closed again. She stood immediately, crossed the kitchen in some fast strides and pushed the door towards the sitting room open. "Severus, I...," she started, but stopped as soon as she recognised her mistake.

It was not Severus standing in the doorway and staring at her with bulging eyes.

*~*~*~*~*

"Harry...," she gasped. She wrapped the blanket even tighter around her body in a vain attempt to not make it look like what it was.

"I knocked," he said flatly. "I thought he didn't hear me and just came in. I... What are you doing here, Hermione?" He said it in a tone of voice she had never heard before. Very strange and calm. Much too calm.

Harry had never been one to see through other people's behaviour at once, but this situation was much too obvious to be misinterpreted, even for him. The fact that Hermione was in Snape's house at this time of day, wearing nothing but a blanket that was somehow wrapped around her naked body while her clothes were lying next to the sofa – it could not be misunderstood.

"I guess you are able to put two and two together," she said quietly. Then she bent to retrieve her clothes with burning cheeks. Her voice trembled when she asked him to turn around while she dressed. Even when she was fully clothed, it did not help to suppress the bitter embarrassment she felt.

Harry started to sit down on the sofa, but changed his mind and sat on the far end of the armrest instead. He looked at her silently.

"Say something," she implored.

The silence between them was uncomfortable. They were only a few steps apart, but to Hermione, it felt as if there were worlds between them.

"When did this start?" he asked, looking at her face as if he saw her for the very first time.

"I don't know," she answered. "I cannot tell exactly when I started seeing Severus through different eyes, but this...," she emphasised the word this, which was quite unnecessary, as Harry had already understood.

She paused. "Yesterday evening," she whispered, almost inaudibly. Hermione and Harry had never talked about intimate things, and she felt oppressively embarrassed.

"I didn't choose this, Harry," she said. "Some things just cannot be controlled."

He shook his head and got up slowly. "I just can't believe that you, of all people – you, who usually weighs and ponders every decision – just... stumbled into something like this."

"Weigh and ponder?" In spite of the embarrassment, Hermione's anger built and slowly crept towards the surface. "Surprise, surprise! My life isn't just an endless string of calculations and logic conclusions, Harry! Guess what – I'm human! Just like you! Believe it or not, I actually do have feelings and instincts! They're inside me, and I can't just get rid of them by... weighing and pondering, as you so eloquently put it! Anyway... how dare you condemn me, Harry? You made Severus the godfather of your son, but then he's not good enough for me?"

"But I don't condemn you, Hermione." With a tired gesture, he ran his right hand through his hair. She suddenly saw the deep concern in his eyes.

"It's just... I wanted more for you than this. You deserve someone to make you happy." He came close and took both her hands. "If it were up to me, only the best is good enough for you" he said in an almost whisper, and she felt the tears well up in her eyes. "I value and respect Severus greatly. But if I may ask you something..."

She looked up to him and seemed rather insecure while she tried to blink the tears away.

"Do you think that he can make you happy, just as you hope?"

She thought of Severus's inability to forgive himself, of the pain and the guilt that kept eating at him from the inside. She thought about the fact that he still preferred the shadows over the light, maybe because he did not consider himself worthy enough, and her voice was heavy with sadness when she answered, "I don't know what I'm hoping for, Harry. And I don't know whether he can make me happy... or if he even wants to."

Without a word, Harry pulled her in his arms, and somehow this comforting gesture made things even worse.

*~*~*~*~*

Shortly after Harry had succumbed to her wishes and left her alone, the door opened again. This time, it was indeed Severus who entered the sitting room and regarded her with a frown.

"Where have you been?" she asked flatly. She looked up at him and desperately tried to see behind his usual unapproachable façade.

"In my laboratory," he answered and showed her a small vial with some yellow liquid as if he wanted to prove it.

Of course, she thought. Once again you prove how well you know him, Hermione. As it was easier to talk about such meaningless things than about the thoughts that burned her soul, she asked, "What's that?"

"A potion for my personal needs," he answered, and she recognised the first signs of impatience in his voice.

She swallowed heavily, kneaded her hands and began, "Severus, listen, I..."

"Frankly speaking, I am slightly irritated that you are still here, Hermione."

These words surprised and angered her, and she could not come up with a real answer except a soft, "You are?"

"Yes. I thought that you would be gone."

"Do you take it for granted that people run away immediately after spending the night together?"

"Now that you're asking, yes," came his plain answer.

Hermione's guts constricted when she heard these words, and before she could manage to stop herself, she heard herself say, "So why did you make love to me in the first place, Severus?"

"Why?" A thin smile without the faintest trace of humour spread on his face while he made a few steps in her direction.

"Because I am an egoistical man, Hermione. Because, I have to admit, it has been a very long time since I had the opportunity to be with a young, attractive woman and because I am a person who knows when to seize opportunities."

She flinched as if he had clipped her around the ears although he was more than an arm's length away.

"Shocked?" he asked in a pitying voice, interpreting her expression correctly. "Come on... I thought you had enough insight into human nature to know what you were getting into."

Hermione wrapped her arms around her body as if she wanted to protect herself from his verbal assault, but of course she could not avert the pain that his words caused. "So I got myself a quick fuck, yes?" she asked with a trembling voice while all colour suddenly drained from her face.

"Vulgarity doesn't suit you," he answered coldly. He could not know that she usually did not use such language, but he probably did not care. When she did not answer, he shrugged and seized the opportunity to dig in places she desperately tried to protect.

"What's more interesting here: why did you sleep with me, Hermione?"

She looked at his pale face and into the vacant, black eyes that mercilessly bored into her. She searched for something to say and closed her mouth when she realised that it would be better to endure it all in silence.

"Did you think that you had fallen in love with me?" he asked cuttingly and held her chin in a violent grip when she tried to lower her gaze. "Look at me!"

She did not want to, but she lifted her head and met his cold gaze. Something inside of her felt strangely numb, while she desperately fought the tears that threatened to spill.

"Silly girl!" he growled, correctly assuming what her silence was about. "Did you think I would hold your hand like Weasley, take you to theatres and cruise around a lake in the moonlight with you?" He was now grinning disdainfully, and she could not make out whether he was amused about the picture itself or the idea that she might have thought about such things.

"I thought," she said very softly – she was surprised that she was able to speak at all while her world was shattering into pieces – "I thought that I could be a part of the life that you seem to have started anew."

He even rolled his eyes when he let go of her chin. "Oh please – spare us both the embarrassment of this conversation. I don't doubt that it will lead in a direction where you, the bright heroine, have brought light and happiness into my pathetic existence, saving me from my isolation and even from myself."

Hermione's lips trembled, but she did not make any sound while she backed away from him instinctively.

"How unexpected: your brilliant mind does indeed hide some pitiful naivety," he added scornfully and looked her up and down as if she were some insect that suddenly showed new qualities he had not noticed before.

"Could you please enlighten me as to what you find so naïve about me?" Hermione blurted out. She could not have said how her anger had managed to wriggle past her humiliation and embarrassment and crawl to the surface. "Maybe that I thought I had managed to get through to you? Or that I thought I would at least mean enough to you to deserve some kind of respect? What is it, Severus?"

"Your idea of love," he answered irritably. "Your distorted little-girl attitude of what you think you can have with me. You know nothing about me, Hermione. And you know nothing about love."

"Don't I? Oh, please elucidate!" she demanded, shaking with anger.

"I am not a nice man, Hermione. I am not a man who brings you flowers or gives you a back rub when you are exhausted from work. I don't listen to your sorrows because I am too engrossed in my own, and I don't flatter your ego with false compliments. You, on the other hand, are making a mistake when you think you can spot another man behind my supposedly fake façade of spitefulness and lack of tact. I told you before, do you remember? There is no other man. I am exactly what I have been showing you since your days at Hogwarts: the disgraceful, mean bastard. In your idealised view, you think you have found something else inside of me... that's what you think you love." He laughed bitterly and looked over her shoulder at a point only he could see. "Love – and I know much better than you – is nothing but pain and fire. It burns deep inside of you until it has devoured everything that defines your very self. And in the end, nothing remains."

"In your world, maybe," she whispered.

The pain came in waves. It made her dizzy and took away the air to breathe.

"Right. In my world," he deadpanned. "You see how much my world differs from yours. You are an intelligent woman, Hermione... Stay in your world, and leave me where I am."

The words were spoken very quietly and carefully chosen, but he definitely meant every syllable of it.

Hermione did not know where she found the strength to walk past him towards the door. She did not see anything when she walked outside. It felt as if she had been trapped in some protective glass cocoon that kept everything out, leaving only the hollow feeling in her stomach. She felt as if her soul had been shattered into thousands of pieces and she had lost some of them while putting it back together.

She did not even feel the tears that were streaming down her face while she walked down the street like a blind woman.

And she did not hear the sound of a glass breaking that had been forcefully thrown against the wall of the house she had just left.