Sectum Nihilis

This happens during the first wizarding war. Severus is nineteen and a young Death Eater. He has asked Lily for a meeting. The idea came to me while musing about another novel-length fiction of mine, "The Last Secret of Dumbledore"; hence this oneshot can be read either stand alone or as a flashback in the foresaid story.  I think it is canon-compatible.

Severus Snape and Lily Evans and the Harry Potter universe belong to J.K.Rowling.

Rating : PG13 or T, at most.

Betaed by Dronarron.
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Summer was already drawing to its end. At this late hour of the night, the wind blowing on Severus' face was cold and thick with damp. He shivered and wrapped his cloak tighter around him while gravel ground under his boots. Today had been especially strenuous. The Dark Lord was hard to please and prompt to punish. Mulciber had just experienced the might of his master's wrath. However, Severus was confident enough that he could climb up the rungs of the ladder. His brains were clearly above the average of the other Death Eaters'. Besides, his magical abilities and skills had already gained him a great deal of respect among his fellows. No, all that wasn't worrying him that much, actually. It was something else, something pricking sharp and keen within his core since he didn't know when.

Shaking off the unpleasant and plaguing recall of that afternoon's attack, he raised his left arm in a kind of salute, went though the iron gates protecting the Malfoys' estate, and swiftly followed the neatly manicured hedge on his left.

The white graveled lane shone in front of him; the moon was too bright for his taste tonight.  He snorted inwardly, perfectly aware that this meeting was pure madness for both of them, but his steps did not weaken.  He would take any risk to give her any additional chance to stay alive. He could simply not imagine the world without her.

Turning left onto a narrow lane, he slid under the shadows of the overhanging branches. He felt a little mad:  he craved to see her, but feared equally the two contradictory possibilities – either that she would come or that she would not.

His heart beating fast, he turned on the spot in a whirl of his black robes and vanished with a very slight pop.

He appeared at exactly the agreed hour a few yards away from the thicket of trees – their thicket of trees. It was quiet; leaves were rustling softly above his head and a dog barked in the distance. He consciously forced his breath to slow down and deepen. Despite the relative darkness and the dancing and ragged shadows of trees which made difficult to sight a human figure, he already knew she was here, as though he could feel her presence.  A small wave of relief flew through his chest, loosening the tight net constricting his heart a little bit. She had come.  She still trusted him, then; well, at least a little bit. Or else he was about to crumple to the ground, cursed down by a squad of stout-hearted members of the Order of the Phoenix. They might very well be safely waiting for him, lurking behind those thick bushes on the right and one or two posted behind this oak for a rear attack. His pale, thin fingers tightened around his wand, and he stalked toward her, his heart thudding in his ears.

Lily spotted him rather late, when he was only two steps away. He was close enough then to notice that she cringed and took a step back. It has been a rather slight move, yet his bowels cramped; he had to reinforce his walls to not feel the pain. Did she truly think of him so badly?

"Why did you want to see me?" she whispered harshly.

She was bundled in a black cloak too and she had raised her wand toward him, fiercely pointed at his chest.  He discreetly drew a deep breath. Her tone had been so hard, much more than was needed, as though she was trying to hide a softer little something he could feel beneath it, as if she wanted to subdue the tiniest remains of friendliness she might still feel for him.

He pursed his lips, not wanting to argue with her, at least not yet. Something within him protested, like a snake hissing hotly in his stomach. He knew better, though, and swallowed back his anger. His desire now was to ease the situation, or this meeting would be in vain. With slow quiet moves, he lowered his wand and sat down at the trees' feet, crunching some early dry leaves beneath him.  He went as far as to set himself in a relaxed posture, spreading his left leg lazily in front of him, enclosing his right knee between his folded arms, and resting his chin over it. There was no reason not to; if the Order of the Phoenix was after him, he was already bad off anyway.

To his wonder and relief, she did then as she used to when they were children. She hunkered down across him and eventually folded her legs. It must have been an instinctive gesture, an unconscious act dictated by old habits. He was unsure because of the dim light but he would have sworn her fingers were nervously fidgeting against her upper arm.

"You'd better have a very good reason," she declared, a tone of utter disgust in her voice, as if his mere presence deeply nauseated her.

Again it hurt him, but he did not give away any sign of the bleeding hole it bore into his heart.  He righted himself a little. "I have," he replied sharply, but in a low voice.

"Frank Longbottom recognized you the other day, just before you Apparated." She was whispering sternly, like a teacher lecturing a troublesome, wicked boy in a library.  "When the Order went to the rescue of this Muggle-born family in Rayleigh…" She paused.

He supposed she was waiting for him to react. He unfolded his arms, brushed off a few shriveled leaves that had just floated down from the birch above him onto his robes, and crossed them back over his chest.

"Well, all they could do was pick up what was left," she spat.

Again, a short silence; the snake inside him bit. Severus stayed quiet, only curling his upper lip.

"But I suppose you know this story already," she added scornfully.

He looked up at her then, for the first time this night, and for the first time in months met her gorgeous green eyes. They were glowing with accusation. With the white light of the moon falling though the foliage and drawing teetering shadows on her face, she looked deathly pale, both tough and fragile, like an angel coming down to Hell to judge him.

"Severus!  You know what happened to them!"

He held her gaze, stuck in those green pools like he was hooked into them from deep inside.

One of the Muggles they had tortured that afternoon had green eyes. They were neither the shape nor quite the color of Lily's but somehow they had made him think of her. Maybe the man had looked a little like Mr Evans? Well, it was nothing to write home about; he was always thinking of her in one way or another. Anyway, he shouldn't have felt sorry for that poor filthy fake of a man. Those... those people were only side casualties he should not pay heed to. They were a toll paid on the rise to power and supremacy of his master, the most talented wizard ever, so he could finally blow major political changes into the wizarding world. And he, the Half-Blood Prince, was a part of this! He would gain recognition for his skills and deeds; it would be only fair.

Nevertheless, an unnerving feeling had hovered over his stomach since this afternoon. Although he was already fairly good at disciplining his emotions, he still had to do better. For the n-th time, his mind was haunted by Bellatrix's smug smile and squeaky chortling accompanied by the old man's screams and pitiful begging for mercy.

He shut the memory down hastily, along with the little voice at the back of his head telling him it was a clue to the source of his prickly worry. Lily's glare was building discomfort in his guts and he felt like he was about to vomit.  He looked away, into the distance, into the thick darkness of the underbrush beyond her.  He thought he saw a wriggling as though something had moved in there.

"There is a curse," he muttered, not bothering with pleasantries. Hadn't she offended him only seconds before? "A very dangerous Dark magic curse Death Eaters often use."  He unfolded his arms, brought his legs in and crossed them, and looked down in his lap at his hand, still holding his wand. "And I want you to know the counter-spell… just in case." The thumb and forefinger of his left hand seized the stick at its tip and slowly slid over its whole length as though he was looking for a crack.

"Which curse do you mean?" she enquired ironically. "Because they use quite a lot of dangerous spells." She let out a sort of mirthless giggle, but he noticed she was a tad unsettled.

He couldn't help feeling thrilled that they were actually talking, however bitter the talk was. His hands had frozen upon his wand.  He swallowed to clear his throat.  If it were only up to him, he would make this meeting last as long as he could – hours, even the whole night if possible – simply  to enjoy the bliss of sitting close to her. He had almost begun to forget how her presence felt. But above all he wanted her to be safe, which meant being quick.

"I'll show you," he replied coolly. "Just watch and listen."

Watching her out of the corner of his eye, he rolled his left sleeve up above the elbow. Pretending  not to notice Lily's revulsion, he flexed his arm and held it out in front of him almost shoulder-high; the inner side, engraved with the dreaded mark, was carefully turned downward. He took a quick, short breath, clenched his teeth, and pointed his wand at his bare forearm with a swift slashing move. A long cut appeared on his skin, leaking blood.

"Sev!" she squealed. Her cry bore no more traces of the roughness and disgust she had so far so carefully willed her voice to convey. He could not help the shot of satisfaction that ran though him at hearing her say his name that way.

"I said just watch and listen," he snapped, sounding angry at her interruption. She scooted closer, so close her knees touched his. A shiver began to crawl up his spine, but he mastered himself and tried to ignore the swimming of his head, the heavy pounding of his heart.

Discipline your emotions, Severus…

He drew the tip of his wand close to one end of the thin, red-spattered line on his arm and concentrated. Lily's knees were slightly trembling against his.

"Sectum nihilis, corpus curatem," he sang, moving his wand along the cut.
The wound began to knit closed. Without letting his wand drift from its task, he chanced a sideways glance at her. Her delicate features had eased, conveying relief, but he also noticed a slight inquisitive frown.

Within a minute he was done. He folded his arms and looked up at her. He found her eyes immediately; she was already searching for his. His eyebrows swept slightly up.

"Now repeat that incantation," he instructed, fighting hard to keep his voice unconcerned and unmoved.

She was peering at him closely. A glint of sadness fleeted across those emerald suns; it echoed painfully within his heart and creased his forehead in pain.

Her lovely lips parted. "Sev, why…"

"Just repeat the incantation, Lily," he urged hoarsely. He was having more and more trouble staying stoic and cool, controlling his body so as not to give away any hint of the turmoil inside him.  His skill at Occlumency, which permitted him to safely hide feelings and thoughts from the Dark Lord himself, seemed strangely weak now.  He knew he had deceived himself into believing he would be able to master his emotions in front of her. It had always been much more difficult with her than with anybody else. Although he was practically as still as a stone, the effort was making him pant slightly.

"But Sev…" She looked clearly unsettled, brushing a strand of her hair back nervously.  He was sure that deep inside she knew why he was doing this; she was a smart woman after all. Anyway, he did not feel like having to explain himself.  He hoped he had put enough harshness and hurry in his voice to deter her from pressing further on the matter, but honestly he doubted very much it would work. Lily had seldom let anybody convince her not to ask anything.

Her head gracefully inclined to the side as she looked down at his crossed arms. She sighed. Her hands left her lap, moving up to him, and clutched loosely on his left wrist and his left elbow, gently urging his arms to unfold.  He yielded under her sweet touch, clenching his teeth again.

She swooped forward a little.  The pads of her fingers probed his skin, pressing his flesh first shyly, then more firmly where the cut had lain open only a moment ago.  She nodded contentedly, with a brief look of awe, and leant back.  Before releasing his arm, though, she let her fingers graze delicately all over the length of his bared forearm. It gave him goosebumps.  He arduously forced the fancy of her hand grazing all over his body out of his mind and quenched the lit match it had thrown into his dry insides.

She looked up at him, her freckles so faint in this dim light.  Her gaze pierced him through.

"Sev, how come you know..."

"Please, Lily. Just… repeat… the song."  He almost begged this time. He was sure to have some slight color on his cheeks, but he was sitting in the darkness; she should not notice.

"Repeat it!" he pressed in a sort of hushed snarl, full of despair.

He could read in her eyes that she wanted to know and understand. Nevertheless, either his distress had touched her, or she had just set her priority back to getting this over with. She simply looked away, at the trees on his left, and did as he had asked: she repeated the song-like incantation. A burning shudder ran him though from head to toe at the sound of her chant.

"Very good," he said calmly, controlling his voice reasonably well considering how he felt inside. "Now it's your turn to practice."

He raised his wand once again, pointing toward the top of his left forearm, at the same place as before. But Lily's hand, in motion so quick he couldn't have anticipated it, grabbed him on the middle of his limb.

"Don't!" he burst out, furious and terrified that he could have cast the spell on her. "Don't…  touch… the Mark," he went on anxiously.  

Her grasp relaxed a little but she did not take her hand away. "I know," she whispered.  "I won't."

Their eyes met again. His pulse surged abruptly under her intense gaze and a little more with what he imagined he had seen therein.

"Severus, I don't want you to hurt yourself again!" she insisted firmly. "Try it on me!"

His upper lip curled.  "I'm a Death Eater. I can survive a small cut like this," he sneered.

She gazed back fiercely.

"Let go of me!" he ordered.  How could she believe he could ever hurt her?

There was a short silence. Lily finally broke the eye contact, looking down at her hand still holding his arm.  She seemed to dither about whether she was going to get angry with him or not. After a few seconds, her features softened and she stared back at him, full in the face.

"Please, Sev..."

He could not help the little twist of his mouth.

"That will do," she said mildly. The soft little something he had already caught glimpses of beneath disgust and roughness had emerged.  He had to blink, but he did not crack.

"You have to practice. I want to be sure you can do it properly," he said gravely.

Without warning, he snatched his arm out of her grip. A split second later, his wand whipped through the air, casting the dark spell on his flesh once again.

Blood gushed out, splattering over their robes and even over their faces.  Lily gasped in shock and gave him a sad and angry look. This time the wound was deep and was bleeding a lot.  The pain was much greater too, but it was nothing compared to the raw sore tearing his heart.

Though visibly appalled, Lily did not waste any time. Very deliberately, she seized the wrist of his wounded arm with her left hand and pulled it gently down to his lap. She paid no attention to the blood it smeared on her; both of their robes were now rather soiled with it anyway.

"Sev… you shouldn't have…!"

"Just heal me, Lily!" he urged, feeling a tad groggy from the loss of blood.

But she had already drawn the slightly shaking tip of her wand close to the spilling gap on his skin. She began to sing, moving her wand along the wound, and the flesh started to knit back together.  She let out a small sigh and carried on her ministrations until the spell seemed to have no further effect. With a flick, he cleaned the blood on his arm and with another flick freed their clothes from any suspicious trace of it.

"Very well done," he said in a slightly caught voice, looking down at the purple line on his forearm. "You healed me, Lily," he added in a very low whisper.

She shook her head. "No, it left a scar." She sounded truly sorry.

And like the first time, but without the restraint she had had then, she gently touched the skin at the former place of the wound to check the healing, trailing the tip of her finger along the ugly swollen line. Her touch was like a feather's caress on the outside, but kindled him terribly inside.

"This wound was a real one. I could not have done better," he reassured her, very low.

"Oh!" She cast him a shocked and pained look. "You knew it would scar?"

Her fingers were still wandering upon his arm, dwelling there much longer than needed to check a scar, as if wishing to heal him with their mere touch. He could not contain the smoldering fire anymore and it spread to his whole body.

"Who cares anyway?" he spat. Lily's fingers froze upon his arm and retreated. A silence ensued, which he broke hastily with a well contained wry tone. "Of course, there is no need to let this mark adorn my skin either."

He pulled a tiny bottle and a wad of cotton out of his robes, glancing up at her. She still looked as if he had slapped her in the face.

"Dittany?" A little smile lit her features.

He nodded, uncorking the bottle and pouring some of the contents over the small square of cotton fabric. His eyes were fixed on his work. This was already over; she had learnt pretty fast.

"Let me do it, Sev." Her voice was mild, but it was obviously a demand, not a request.

Ignoring her, he stowed the bottle back in his robes and held the wet cotton to his forearm. Her hands gently took the cloth from his, brushing against his skin. He flinched. A quiet thrill ran along his body from the spot of the touch.

She seized his arm yet again, pulling it toward her lap, and began dabbing the raw scar cautiously.   As she bent over him, her hair fell down a little, caressing his face. For a few seconds he fought the whim to enjoy the moment, but soon his eyes slid shut.  She smelt fresh, like spring. He could stay like this forever. But all too soon the tingling upon his forearm ceased.

She had finished. Why, then, was she still holding his wrist? He did not dare open his eyes for fear that it would end.

"You have a bad bruise here too."

His eyes fluttered open unintentionally, but he did not meet her gaze, for she was examining his forehead.

"My God! " Lily exclaimed in the hushed tone they were both using this night. "It might have broken your skull. It's even cut here, beneath your hair."

And very naturally, as though they were kids, she let go of his arm, raised her left hand to his face and cupped his right cheek. A thrust of yearning ripped through his belly.  His eyes slid shut again as she lifted her other hand, holding the cloth to his temple and carefully dabbing the wound he had suffered a few hours ago.

He felt his cheek become redder and redder under her palm.  Mastering the panic of his heart was beyond his strength right now. His lips parted imperceptibly in a mute prayer for a kiss he knew would never come. She must have leant a little more toward him, for now her breath was tickling the end of his nose.  His body flushed even more and he squeezed his eyelids tighter, fighting the bitter rise of tears, wondering if she felt the burning heat radiating from him.

But the soft ministrations on his temple ended and now her left hand was leaving his face, slowly sliding down his cheek.  He could have imagined it was a tender stroke. When the contact ceased, he felt empty, bereft.

After a few seconds, he opened his eyes, wobbling a little in place. The first thing he caught sight of was a stream of dark curls glinting red under the moonlight. She was bent over his forearm again, then she straightened up.
  
"I'm afraid it won't completely heal," she declared gravely, searching for his eyes. He looked down and touched his skin, moist and sticky with dittany. The scar was already well mended.

"Don't worry. Within an hour it will be totally gone," he whispered.

She sighed. "You lost a great deal of blood... you might need some Blood-Replenishing Potion." Her voice was truly concerned; practically… caring.

He waved her off with a lazy, unconcerned, almost forlorn gesture of his hand. His eyes briefly glanced up to hers and then down again.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Sure," he murmured, so low it was barely audible.

A curiously peaceful shared silence ensued.  It was time for each of them to go, but she seemed no more willing to part than he was. Finally, he grasped a handful of leaves and began to tear them in small pieces, staring at the sheen of her fiery hair under the moonlight.

Her slightly cold hand brushed over his, and grasped it. He stopped what he was doing.

"Thank you, Severus," she said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Sweet warmth flooded his heart.  He swallowed hard and looked up at her, his cheeks still hot and pulsing.  She had a small soft smile on her lips. Her eyes radiated sadness, gratitude, and.... Oh, he could die for that smile.

He looked down at her hand, imagining his lips lovingly brushing its back, but her hand slid away. With a slightly shuddering intake of air, he began to roll down his left sleeve.  Her shadow fell over him in a in a rustle of her cloak, then glided away as a light movement of the air brought him a last breath of her scent. He watched her walk away, gracefully swishing her cloak to free it from the leaves clinging to it. However, after a few steps she stopped and wheeled around.

"Sev…"

It hurt too much to hold her gaze. He looked away and got to his feet; his sleeve fell down, covering his arm again. His hands curled into fists.

"Is it – is it true?" The words seemed to blurt out against his will. "That – that you are going to marry Potter – next week?" He had uttered the loathed name as though it would foul his mouth, twisting his lips in an ugly and hateful sneer. He did not know why he was so hard with her; he loved her so much, yet when it came to expressing his feelings to her he found himself spitting pathetic insults about Potter.  He gathered the courage to meet her eyes again.

"Yes, Sev," she answered quietly. Nevertheless, her breast heaved. A thick pause ensued. Her words kept echoing within his heart, cutting sharp little slits.  "Why would you care, anyway?" she continued defiantly, but Severus heard a slight wobble in her voice, like she was still trying to prove to herself that there was nothing left from their friendship.

He chose not to reply to her question and instead stuttered angrily, "Don't – don't – let him."

Her eyes flared.

He glanced briefly down at his boots, bitterness and frustration ardently simmering in the pit of his stomach.  Don't let him hurt you, don't ever let him do you any harm... that was what he had wanted to say.

"Please… I only meant..." he begged, desperate to make himself understood.

"I can take care of myself," she replied dryly, but hoarsely. "And I will," she added, a little softer.

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a couple of seconds. It's over, Sev...you lost her years ago…

When he opened them again, he spoke in a mastered and steady voice. "I must go now. You should go too. It's not safe to stay here any longer."

But she seemed determined to ignore his remark and drew close to him again. The virulent glare had waned from her emerald eyes and they were now peering at him, trying to pierce through him, to read his soul.

"A week ago, I witnessed an accident." Her voice was hard, but not as much as when she had asked why he wanted to see her. "An accident that happened to one of your fellow Death Eaters.  We were in the middle of a battle and this time they were having a bad time, clearly losing ground every minute. Two of them already laid in a corner Stupefied and tightly bound with ropes." She swallowed and went on eagerly, "But then a bulky man who was in quite a rage burst toward us though the crowd, roaring and whipping his wand about. His spell hit another Death Eater who had moved in front of him at the same moment. It was really ugly, Sev."

A chill ran though him.

"The man crumpled to the floor in a splash of blood as though he had been severely slashed with a sword.  Neither of them seemed to know the counter-spell. He bled to death on the ground while we were fighting, Severus!"

Her gaze was burning him down, but he held on a little more. He knew what she was going to ask.

"Why do you know the counter-spell, Sev?"

He looked away.

"Why do YOU know the counter-spell, Severus?" she repeated.

There was a short silence, and he could hear his heart thudding. "They are my own spells," he said very low, but then looked up at her defiantly, raising his voice. "I invented them both! Spell and counter-spell!"

With those words, he wheeled around, panting, and walked briskly away. Why did the things he was so proud about often taste so sour?

"Severus!"

He stopped dead in his tracks, his insides once again ripped by the way she had cried his name.  He fought hard not to turn around. Above all, he must not look at her, must not meet her eyes. He knew that if he did, he would cry.

"Thank you," she finally said after a short silence.  "And please… take care..."

It seemed there was so much more than a friendly goodbye beyond these words, but nothing came after them. He breathed in deeply and yanked his right foot from the grassy ground, putting it a little farther ahead. It felt like his boots had been cursed to weigh a hundred pounds.  He repeated the move with his left foot, and again, again and again, moving away, splitting inside a little bit more with each step.

While he spun on the spot to Apparate, his eyes met Lily's once more, catching a glimpse of something close to affection and hope, yet it stabbed his heart even deeper. After all, it was certainly easier to imagine she hated him.

xx

Standing quite still with arms crossed over her breast, Lily had watched the flapping bat-like figure vanish in a whirl of black.  He was barely gone for a handful of seconds before tears started to roll down her cheeks. With a shuddering sigh, she turned on her heel and walked mechanically though the wooded area. The grove gave way to a playground, furnished with swings, and beyond the fence, a street that if taken to the right, led to the house of her childhood. Against all sensible thinking in these troubled times, she reached the swings and sat, alone in the empty night.

xx

Severus did not Apparate very far away, only into the shadowy back garden of the shabby little red-brick house he had inherited from his parents. He opened the back door to the kitchen with a flick of his wand, stormed inside, and swung the door closed with another flick, rushing through the ground floor without even removing his boots or his cloak. A third flick banged open the way to the staircase; he climbed up and dashed into the bathroom.

There he paused, his chest rising quickly up and down as he fought to regain control of himself. After a couple of seconds, he took a slow step forward and set his wand carefully on the small cabinet beside the washbasin. Then he stripped naked, tossing his clothes and boots on the floor where they landed in a ragged pile, and reeled into the shower.

He turned on the water, fiddling furiously with the tap until it delivered decent warmth and flow, seized the shower head, and raised it over his chest.  A spurt splashed sideways on his face due to a flaw in the nozzle. He did not care; he simply closed his eyes, letting hot water burn his body, wash away her scent, wash away his desire, wash away the pain tearing his heart, and if possible drown his woes.  Leaning backward until his shoulders and the top of his back touched the cold and hard tiled wall, he rested on it and forced his respiration to deepen.

Breathe, Severus, just breathe…

Every now and then he lifted the shower head higher, splashing his mouth and his face. The shooting pain tearing at his guts would not go away; neither would the haunting yearning pulsing through his veins. He switched the nozzle to his left hand, leaned harder against the cold wall, raised it above his head and ceased to fight the pictures and sensations of her.

When he stepped out, red patches marred his pale skin, particularly on his chest and his shoulders where the hot water had flowed for too long.  Snatching a towel from the rack, he dried himself perfunctorily and threw it back. The moistened cloth landed in a wrecked heap on the edge of the sink and then fell on the floor.  With an angry snort he picked up his wand, flicked clothes and towel into their proper places and staggered to his bedroom, leaving wet footprints in the narrow corridor.  A few candles hanging under the ceiling lit with a single wave of his wrist and he halted, his head whirling, in front of his bed.

He stood quite still for a full ten seconds.  Then gradually his breathing started to come in short, shallow gusts.  A howling sound, the cry of a drowning man, rent the air as he crumpled to his knees, burying his face between his hands. He crouched down, prostrating himself onto his old duvet, his shoulders shaking spasmodically. He wept sorely, but he had not enough tears to drain out his sorrows.

xx

In the deserted playground, a shadow was quietly swinging back and forth. Lily had not been able to resolve to go back home. Stretching her heels on the ground, she stopped the swing with a slight crunching noise. She got to her feet and set off into the street, heading to the left.

She turned into a poorly lit cobbled street, then into another looking very much alike. A musty smell, resembling wet linen piled into a bucket and left for three days, slithered around her neck like a familiar scarf. She was walking fast as if to blow away the thick mist hovering over her mind, clinging to the idea that he might have Apparated to his parents' house.  The popping of her footsteps resounded loudly in the cold narrow streets, like she was just asking to become the next victim of whoever lurked at night in this rough neighbourhood.  She shivered.  Within her heart was chaos. Suddenly, a heavy clang a few yards ahead crashed into her ears, making her jerk with a sweaty pang of fear. Softer noises followed and a mid-sized bushy shadow dashed away. She breathed out with relief. It was only a fox, digging in dustbins.

She strained her legs into longer and swifter steps, thrusting farther into dark and dreary alleys with a vague feeling she should not be doing this – but she was already there. Standing under the porch, she turned around, checked the shadows of the empty dead end, and turned back to the door of the shabby little house.

Some yellowish light was filtering though the curtains from the first floor windows. He was there.  Her hand rose to knock, but stopped in mid air.

No…

Instinctively her hand dropped to her side and slid inside her pocket. She wanted to see him, but if she knocked he might very well not answer, or even flee. She took a deep breath, pulled out her wand, and tapped the keyhole. Without any noise, the door unlocked and swung slightly ajar.  He had not changed this; the house still accepted her. She sneaked inside and carefully closed the door behind her.

Some people would say this was pure madness, but after what he had just done, she knew he could never harm her. She knew she could trust the little voice at the bottom of her heart that had never stopped telling her he had not become as evil as the other Death Eaters, that his soul was beautiful and had only lost its way; that he had never stopped caring for her, that he would always be her friend no matter what. She felt sorry that she had ever doubted.

The secret passage toward the stairs was open; some light was gleaming from it into the small sitting room. She moved farther in, as if magnetically attracted.

Why? Why was she doing this? Slightly out of breath and her heart thudding loudly in her ears, she froze at the top of the stairway. The door to his room stood ajar; the light was coming from there. She padded one step closer and called softly, "Severus…?"

No response.  She crossed the threshold, pushing the door very slowly, and abruptly covered her mouth with her hands, hushing a gasp of pain. Curled sideways on the floor beside the bed laid Severus, naked, pale and scrawny, knees huddled against his chest, face hidden by wet, greasy, and wild coal-black hair. One of his arms was thrown across the dusty floor, palm up. It was his right arm, the one whose flesh was unsoiled.  His left one was still half holding his knees, the hand resting across his thigh.

She began to choke. Was he dead?

Wait, wait... His chest was moving quietly up and down; he was only sleeping.

She breathed again, and crept closer, a big lump clogging her throat. He was shivering every now and then, with goosebumps all along his sides, buttocks, and thighs. His body, so skinny that his ribs and hipbones bulged out, bore numerous bad bruises and scars. She swallowed hard, tears coming to her eyes. A fleeting whim to lie down and spoon behind him crossed her mind.

She reached out for the bed covers and drew them over him carefully. He did not wake up, only stirred a little, letting out a small sigh. She sighed too, more heavily, and sat down on the floor beside him, hugging her knees to her breast.

Maybe it was better that he was sleeping. What was she thinking, coming to him? It made no sense at all. What would she have told him, anyway?

That she had developed so much affection for him over the years of their friendship that she might even have come to love him if… if there had not been all this… this darkness and this blinding thirst to prove himself between them? That would just be cruel.

That she felt strongly, deep within her heart, there was a special connection between them, that he was the one with whom she… she was meant to build, to grow something strong and very beautiful, something most people only dreamed of experiencing at least once in their lives? That would only hurt him even more. It could only have alleviated her bitterness.

Yes, it might be better this way.

If he had ever wanted to quit the Death Eaters so as to give their relationship a chance, she would have had to convince him not to. Oh, yes, she would have thrilled with joy if he had decided to come back to the right side, but she was not that naive; there was no way out for Death Eaters but death. Even Dumbledore could not protect a deserting Death Eater from the merciless hunt forever. Her bowels clenched painfully. NO, no, no… not him… She cared too much even to imagine it.  She breathed in deeply. She had tried to warn him for years, unsuccessfully; now, it was too late.

Her eyes swept up past Severus's curled shape to the pile of black leather-bound books on the floor beside the already book-overloaded bedside table. Wow... I didn't know he could read Cyrillic. Well, typical Sev. She, however, could not, but she identified Durmstrang's symbol at the bottom right-hand corner of the book at the top of the stack. Probably black magic… She shook her head, staring back at Severus's face, watching how thin strands of his hair were softly flying up and down at the rate of his breathing.

That her best friend had chosen this path was her greatest sadness; that she had not managed to influence him away from it was her greatest regret. She still could not fully understand, either with her mind or with her heart, how and why he had come to befriend those people and finally joined…

And now, somehow, she loved James.

Lowering her gaze to her hands, she noticed a dark stain on the back of her sleeve: a forgotten drop of blood, of his blood.  Amazing that it had not been cleaned like all the others. The thought seized her that the failure was a blessing. There was a charm, a very ancient charm, she had read about two days ago but had not had any time to practice. This might be the only opportunity; she had to try.

She pulled out her wand and touched the stain on her sleeve with its tip.

"Sanguinis amici est," she whispered. This is the blood of a friend.

A yellow mist burst out from the spot where her wand was touching the stain of blood. Kneeling down and scooting closer, she pointed her wand at Severus. The mist stretched out, following the wand like an ethereal strand of wool.

"Nunquam virga mea te vulnerat," she continued. My wand shall never hurt you.

The glimmering tendril dilated into a yellow glow that surrounded Severus' body for a couple of seconds, illuminating even beneath the blanket. Shortly, it vanished in a small shower of stars that glittered down to the floor, where they went out.

It had worked. If ever they were to face off in a battle, even if she did not recognize him among the black-hooded figures, she would not hurt him. She settled down, arranging herself in a more comfortable sitting position and huddling her knees back under her chin. He had been completely oblivious to what had happened, deeply engrossed in his dreams. A rare mixture of peace and intense sadness gushed up inside her. She had done what was right, however heartbreaking it was.  Staying quite still at his side, she simply watched him sleep, her heart filled with tenderness, recalling the boy he once was.

After a time, a tiny orange sheen lit on the top of his coal-black hair, and grew in size and vividness.  It took a while before it reached her consciousness. She had been dozing, just feeling safe and at home beside him.  The sheen belonged to a ray of light leaking through the gap between the curtains and the wall and running across the floor to Severus.

The first glow of dawn; she really ought to go. Her heart sank.  As she slowly stood up, fresh tears flowed down her cheeks. She felt like she was ripping off a part of herself, like a sheet of paper being peeled off, leaving thin strips on the surface it had been stuck on.

Sev… I'm so sorry you ended up like this… I'm so sorry we ended up like this.

Taking a deep breath, she wiped her face. She had to be brave; she was a Gryffindor, after all. She stood at his side, watching him sleep a few minutes more. Then she blew him a gentle kiss and turned away, padding slowly to the threshold, but there she halted.

Her hand clutched on the doorway. Breathing shallowly, she cast back a last look at the figure curled on the floor.

Only then did she leave.