Chapter 2

Severus Snape dismissed his last Potions class of the day – Slytherin and Gryffindor, the second years, including the odious Potter junior – with concealed relief. It wasn't even Halloween yet, the term had barely begun, but he was already tired, tired, tired. But then, he was always tired of late, hollow with the lack of energy. And always cold. He tidied his desk and swept out of the Potions dungeon, heading for his office and quarters, and to check on the Blood's-Heart Potion he was brewing there.

It was coming along – the cauldron simmering; bubbles rising rhythmically, like a heart beat; the liquid a deep red, mottled with green. He had made it enough times that if it had been a normal concoction he could have assembled it in his sleep… but the Blood's-Heart was far trickier than most normal potions, even trickier than the Blood-Replenisher Potion it was based on. And it did not store well, keeping for barely a month before losing its value and forcing him to make a fresh batch. It also tasted abominable.

He gave the potion a needlessly forceful stir and slammed the spoon down on the heavy oak tabletop. "Foolish," he snarled at himself out loud – what if he were to knock over the cauldron and spoil the potion? What would he do then? Start over of course – no choice – and he would simply have to suffer in the meantime, growing sicker, weaker, more tired. In the old days he could simply go out… hunting. But of course since Lily's death, all that had changed. He had no real desire to return to those darker times, the years after Hogwarts. But the Blood's-Heart was barely a substitute.

Breathe, breathe, he told himself, closing his eyes. For just a moment he allowed himself to lean on the table, allowed his head to fall forward, allowed the dark tide of despair to flow in a little ways. It did him no good, dwelling on the injustice of his life's lot, no good to indulge bitterness about what he had to do, and would always have to do… he knew this, but at times he could not seem to resist it. And if the Dark Lord did ever rise again – as seemed increasingly likely, since the events last year with Quirrell and the Philosopher's Stone – and he took up his old post as double agent for Dumbledore, it would just be more of the same, never ending. The hiding, the secrets, the isolation, the wretched potion, the exhaustion, the cold….

The creak of the door behind him, without even a light knock first, made Snape freeze. He could not think of a single person in the school who would be able to identify the potion he was making, let alone why, or who would be able to unveil his careful façade. Still, he turned quickly, ready to coldly interrogate the intruder. The acid words died on his tongue, though, when he saw the figure in the doorway, and his heart did something funny in his chest.

Griselda Yewmarsh. She was still short – and what did you expect? he asked himself. She had perhaps put on a little weight since he had last seen her, rounded and curvy beneath her green lined robes and black dress. A high buttoned collar, long sleeves, her hair dark and swept up to the top of her head. She stepped lightly in and closed the door behind her, casting an interested glance at the stone walls, the desk, the open store cupboard, the jars and shelves around the room, but looking at last straight into his speechless face.

"Your office, Severus? It suits you," she said, smiling, watching him carefully.

He stared at her, suddenly conscious that his mouth was hanging open. He shut it with a snap, but all words still seemed to have disappeared without a trace from his mind.

She showed no discomfort, merely stepped quickly around the room, examining a jar, running a finger along a few books, until she sat down in the chair near his desk.

"A new batch of Blood's-Heart? Have you discovered a way to make it more palatable yet? Or is that a lost cause?" Her smile still turned up more on the one side, as it always had.

Snape at last coughed and moved a step forward. "Griselda," he said, and then his voice seemed to become stuck again.

"Oh, Griselda is it now?" she asked, lightly, still smiling, but it had not been so long that he could not see the flicker of hurt in her eyes. "Why not all the way back to Yewmarsh, if that's how it stands? Must I call you Professor Snape now?"

"Of course not," he protested, as she must've known he would. "Griselda – Selda… I … I'm amazed to see you here." He stepped forward again, his mind racing. Should I offer her tea? Why has she come back now? How can I possibly be expected to make small talk…. It had been so long, ten years, why now? What can she possibly want from me?

"I would love some tea," she said, as if in answer. Her eyes were laughing at him, and it was infuriating and comfortingly familiar, all at once.

"Uh, certainly," he said, and fumbled in a cupboard for his kettle and cups – mismatched, for he never entertained anyone here.

"As for small talk," she continued, rising from the chair as he put the water on to boil, "well, you know I've never been much for that either." She stepped over to the store cupboard, and took down a couple of items, idly. "You are well stocked, I see. Extract of dragon liver … blueiron seeds … and of course," she gestured to the simmering potion, "plenty of bloodwort."

"I'm the Potions Master now, of course my personal supply is extensive."

"Of course," she said. She had taken the lid off one of the jars and was sniffing the blueiron seeds as if for freshness. "And I had indeed heard. Congratulations." She relidded the jar and set it on the table, near the cauldron, then turned and studied Snape's face, intently.

"And you?" he asked, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. "I have only sugar, I hope that's adequate," he added.

"Perfectly fine," she said, and sat in the chair again, accepting the cup and sipping, eyes downcast.

Snape tried to pulled his large desk chair around, wincing at the scraping noise, but it would not fit without moving the entire desk, and he gave it up as a bad job. He sipped his tea, feeling like an idiot.

"I work at St. Mungo's now," she said at last, and he could feel her brown eyes on him again, studying him closely. "Mostly research on remedies, potions, salves… things of that nature."

"That's … good," he said, lamely. "That sounds very…."

"Severus." Her voice was firm and he looked up in alarm. Those eyes, the serious mouth, he knew just what was coming, and he was helpless to stop her saying it. "Severus, you look awful."

He was shaking his head before she had done saying his name. "I'm fine, I'm fine, the potion's almost ready, it's not a problem…."

"You're not fine. Look at your eyes, the circles under them, the lines on your face. Do you ever sleep? And your hands are shaking."

"Don't be ridiculous," he said, but set down his cup quickly, and put his hands beneath the desk. "I sleep fine, I will be fine."

Griselda laughed at him, gently. "You are such a child. And don't lie to me. I haven't forgotten, I helped you invent it. If it were the Blood-Replenisher, it would be practically ready, true, but that potion's still two weeks or more from being finished." She frowned at him. "You look like a good strong wind would topple you right over."

He looked away. "Just tired," he said at last. "A long day."

Silence filled the room, and she studied him until he finally returned her gaze, sullenly. "How long has it been," she said at last, quietly.

"How long has what been?" he said, stubbornly. Who did she think she was, anyway? It wasn't any of her business anymore, none of it.

She made a sound of impatience, and lifted an eyebrow of scorn. "How long has it been since you've had real blood? Months? A year?"

"And where exactly would I get any?" he demanded. "If you remember so much, then you'll remember that Dumbledore is the only person aside from you who knows about me, and I've changed, or don't you remember that either? I don't hunt anymore, I don't hurt people—"

"Of course I know that, don't be an idiot, I—" she broke in.

"And I don't see that it's any of your concern in either case," Snape finished.

Her eyes flashed, and she spoke coldly. "I meant any kind, pigs', rats', anything real. Have you even tried to see if it helps? You did well enough on it in school, before…."

"Before our little… arrangement?" he said witheringly. "I am fine." He was not going to discuss this. "I fail to see why you are even here, when I've seen nothing of you for ten years. Why did you even come?"

She looked stricken for a moment. Slowly she stood up and leaned on the desk, speaking in a low voice, but her eyes blazing. "If you remember, only one of us expressed the desire to never see the other again ten years ago, and it wasn't me, Professor. As for why I am here, I came to Hogwarts to deliver some supplies from the hospital to Poppy, and I thought I would simply try saying hello again, since it has been, in fact, ten years. I thought we could at least have a cordial conversation, but perhaps I expect too much." She stopped for a moment as if biting her tongue, breathing angrily.

Snape avoided her eyes, his jaw and fists tight. "Perhaps you do," he snarled. He stood up, pushing the chair back. "I must inform you that I am fine, and your concern is sadly misplaced."

"My concern!" Griselda laughed bitterly. "Have you looked in a mirror lately? I know you have a reflection. You are manifestly not fine. Merlin's beard, Severus, you worry me. I work at a hospital, for Circe's sake, I've seen—you look like you're running from death, and he's catching you up…." Her voice caught, and when he glanced up, Snape was alarmed (I will not say terrified, he insisted to himself) by the look in her eyes, and dropped his gaze at once.

"It is not your job to take care of me," he said, glaring obstinately at the floor.

She spoke softly. "If not mine, then whose?"

His breath caught in his throat for a moment, and he closed his eyes. He barely felt himself sway on his feet. "Selda, that was a long time ago. Too long. And we were young and stupid, and it wasn't fair to either of us. Especially you."

"Nonsense." When she spoke again, it was from closer, and his eyes flew open to see her standing a bare two feet away, looking up at him. He backed up in alarm, and ended up sitting in his chair again – still taller than her, but only just.

"Selda…." She had unbuttoned her collar, six or seven of the tiny pearl buttons, and her throat was bare, bare to just below the collarbones.

Bare and scarred. His insides twisted at the sight, the old white marks, some simple lines, others more clearly from teeth. He knew exactly why she wore those high-necked collars – and it was his fault. And he couldn't bear it again, even as he felt the old hunger trying to rise inside him, couldn't bear to hurt her again. It's too late, a nasty voice inside said, already too late. Every time you see her, you hurt her. From the first time you met. One way or another, you always hurt her.

"How long has it been," she said again, quietly, insistently. She was stepping closer, slowly, deliberately.

He answered at last, unwillingly. "You know exactly how long," he said, and she inhaled sharply, touching the fingers on her left hand.

"Severus? Not in ten years? Not a rat, not a rabbit…?"

He shook his head, his eyes closed, clutching the arms of the chair, trying to ignore her proximity, her scent, the memories. He felt faint suddenly and was glad enough to be sitting. He started a little when he felt her hand on his arm.

"Why ever not? No wonder you're in such a state." Her voice was so gentle, it made his throat ache.

"I don't know," he muttered. "I had the potion. I've been busy. It's demeaning to catch rats like some kind of pathetic beast. They don't taste much better than the Blood's-Heart." And nothing like her, the nasty voice volunteered, and he gritted his teeth and ducked his head.

"Oh Severus," she sighed. "Will you ever stop hating yourself? Even a little?"

He felt bewildered. "I… That's not what's…."

She shook her head and placed a finger on his lips. "You know lying to me doesn't work."

The touch made his head spin again, and he turned his head away. "Selda," he tried again. "Selda, you should really—"

She cut him off so fast and angrily that his eyes popped open in surprise. "Go? Leave you alone, again? Who do you think I am? I've stayed away, I accepted that…" she swallowed hard and glanced away for a moment, "that you'll never be able to love me the way you loved her—" he flinched; she looked up again, straight into his eyes, "The way you still love her. I moved on. And then I come back, and look at you! I don't think you could even fight me off in this state."

For a fleeting moment he wanted to laugh – and when could I ever? – but it passed. "Don't be ridi—" he began to say, indignantly, but suddenly she moved, she was sitting across his lap and he was frozen, terrified of her, of himself, of what would happen next. He could smell her, the lavender of the perfume she always wore, her sweat, the tea on her breath; feel the solid weight of her, her hands on his arms; hear her breathing, a little shallow; he could see the dark tendrils of hair at the base of her neck, and her dark eyes, locked on his.

"Please, Severus. Let me help you."

He could feel the ravenous hunger, the thirst, raging up like a swollen river, a sea, threatening to carry him away. Hoarsely, desperately, he spoke, "It's been too long. It's not safe. I'm not safe."

She took his face in her hands, her fingers warm along his jawline. "Severus," she said, her eyes staring into his own, "Severus Snape, I trust you." He closed his eyes, his head reeling, and she slid her cheek along his, her neck pressing to his lips, and whispered in his ear, "I trust you."

It was too much, too much, and all at once. Like all the walls in his mind bursting, with a groan, he felt the hunger rush in, fill his brain and body till nothing else was left. His fangs sank into the side of her neck. He heard her stifled cry but didn't care, couldn't care, his mouth was full of her blood, and it had been so long, so long. His hands were on her back, pulling her closer, and he was swallowing, gulping, and his senses were sharpening, as they always had. He felt her hands, one in his hair, the other at the back of his neck, and her breath at his ear, her whisper, though he barely registered it, drink, darling, my poor starving love, drink, and he could hear her heartbeat, and his own – one growing stronger, the other stuttering, weakening….

He froze, his eyes flying open. There was no voice in his ear now, and he realized that her head was lolling against his shoulder. The hunger clamored for more, but he stopped, released her, held her head up with his hand. "Selda?" he whispered. But she said nothing, her eyes closed, her mouth open slightly, neck still trickling blood.

"No, no, no no no no." Snape swept his desk clear with one arm, then lifted her and laid her gently down on its top. She seemed to weigh almost nothing now – but then the strength that seemed to course through his body could easily account for that. "Selly, Selly, please…" he pleaded with her.

Get a grip, he ordered himself. Putting his ear to her mouth, he could feel the faintest stirring of breath there. He gasped in relief, and then looked up. He didn't even know if she would make it to the hospital wing in this state, but … his eyes lighted on the cauldron. Of course. The Blood's-Heart needed longer, but the potion was all but ready now for this. Rushing to the table, he saw the jars Selda had left there earlier – blueiron seeds. Extract of dragon liver. The final ingredients for Blood-Replenisher.

He ladled some of it into a cup and added the seeds – two, three, four – and five drops of the liquid. The potion flashed white light – exactly right – and he brought it over to her, lifted her head and shoulders in one arm, and tried to get it down her throat. The first sip seemed to run back out, but he repositioned her and tried again.

"Please, Selly, please." He couldn't seem to quiet himself, to stop begging. "Please, you have to swallow, Selly, please do it, I can't…" His voice broke in a sob.

I can't bear it again, I can't have killed you, too.

The third sip seemed to stay in, and he did the same again. Suddenly she gasped, coughed weakly, and even turned her head away. Relief flooded his body and his knees nearly gave out; he had to sit abruptly on the edge of the chair behind him. Her eyes flickered open slightly, and the corner of her mouth turned up, just a little.

"Selly?"

She took a deep breath, barely keeping her eyes open. "Tastes… awful…." she whispered.

He gave a choked laugh, grabbed her hand, pressed it to his mouth. "I know," he said, "I know. And you'll have more now, no arguments." He lifted her up again, pressing the cup to her lips. She sighed, but drank, eyes closed.

She finished the dose. In a little while he would give her more potion, but for now— Snape fished a handkerchief out of a desk drawer to press over the nasty neck wound – worse by far than any of the older ones. He felt such self-loathing at the sight that it made his stomach turn, and his voice angry when he spoke.

"What were you thinking, Selda?" He stopped, trying to lighten his tone, trying not to scold, but the fear and disgust roiling inside him made it difficult. "You could've…. Wait." He looked at the work table, the ingredients laid out, where she had left them. Exactly the ones he'd needed. He looked back at her, and her eyelids were open, if a little drooping. "You…." She had planned this. "I can't believe you."

She smiled a little. "I had every confidence in you."

He turned away, preparing another cup of potion. "You have clearly learned nothing over the years."

"I'm still alive, aren't I?" she said airily.

"Barely," Snape said, trying to match her tone, but his voice shook a little. "I should take you up to the infirmary."

Selda looked amused. "Is that wise?"

He thought about the hypothetical scene for a moment, and blanched, putting a hand on his head. "Oh, Merlin. Poppy Pomfrey is going to kill me."

Selda laughed, and it sounded better, almost a real laugh. "A distinct possibility. She wanted to, last time, when I…." she trailed off.

"Last time?" He brought the cup back to the desk and looked at her.

"When I went back to the infirmary, after we talked, and… and I cried on her shoulder." Snape opened his mouth to speak, but Selda shook her head. "No more apologies. I know."

He sighed, and looked down at the potion in his hands. She should wait a little while before taking more, and this wasn't the best, nor the most comfortable place. He set the cup down, out of the way, and lifted Selda in his arms. She was still mostly limp, and leaned her head against his chest, closing her eyes. He carried her through the door in the corner, back to his quarters, and laid her carefully on the bed in his small room, propping her head and shoulders up a little with his pillow and an extra blanket, covering her with another. He conjured a soft light on the bedside table, and went back for the potion in the office.

He thought she might be asleep when he returned, but her eyes were open, looking around the room. "Is that what I think it is?" she asked, nodding toward a shelf on the wall where a small, square, dark wooden box sat. He nodded, and she smiled. "I still have the phoenix," she said quietly.

His chest hurt. "I thought you might have burned it or something."

"No, no. Well," she admitted, "I did toss it in the bottom of my trunk for a year or so." She smiled at him. "It still sings beautifully."

He drew the one hard-backed chair in the room over to the side of the bed and helped her drink more of the potion, and surreptitiously tried to look at the wound on her neck at the same time. He probably had some dittany somewhere in his office….

"Ecchhh," Selda said when she'd finished the cup.

"At least one more," he said. "But in a while. You can rest first if you like."

She nodded, but did not close her eyes, studying his face instead. After a long moment, she said, "Severus, are you – are you all right? I worry about you." She whispered, "You seem so alone."

His eyes stung a little, suddenly, but he swallowed it down. Am I all right? "I like it that way." His voice was harsher than he intended.

She was probably too tired to get mad. "Oh, my dear," she sighed. "I know, I know. I'm just trying to say… you know I only had one friend my whole life, too. But now there are people around me – Poppy, friends at work, even someone, another wizard I just met at the hospital—" She stopped, her cheeks coloring slightly.

He felt a twist of jealousy. Really? he asked it incredulously, disdainfully. Isn't it a bit late for that?

"The point is," she continued, "that I have people in my life now. And I remember what it was like without any. And… I worry about you."

Several things fought within him – bitterness that she was able to move on, when it was impossible for him; a wave of longing for how much he missed Lily – and Selda, too; despair and regret and pain for all the terrible choices he had made in the past, and how it seemed things would never get better. He couldn't help letting some of it show on his face, and of course, she saw it.

"I'm sorry." She smiled sadly. "Perhaps I shouldn't have come… but when I came in here and saw you – you don't understand how you looked. Poppy said you seemed under the weather lately—"

He raised an eyebrow. Did she?

"But now… at least you don't look like you're dying anymore. And I'm glad."

Now that he wasn't panicking, he had to admit to himself that he did feel better. His brain felt awake, he felt strong and alert and even warm for the first time in ages. The difference was staggering.

Selda reached over and took his hand. "Severus, you have to promise me – promise me that at least you'll start hunting in the forest again. Or get blood deliveries from the butcher in Hogsmeade, or something. Please." Her grip on his hand was surprisingly strong, considering. "No more punishing yourself."

He snorted with derision, but then shrugged and said, "I promise I'll work out something about the blood."

"Good," she said, her voice just a murmur. Her eyes closed, but she held onto his hand.

"Selly?"

"Hmm?" she responded, faintly, eyes still shut.

Snape watched her face: her delicate eyelids, the old scar under her left cheekbone, strands of hair over her forehead, her mouth (always so sad). He wanted to reach out, to stroke her cheek, to smooth her hair, so much that for a moment his unoccupied hand twitched and began to move of its own accord. He squeezed it shut and dropped it back down. It would be… too much like a promise that he couldn't truly keep.

And why couldn't he? For the briefest of moments he let himself imagine… but there were a million reasons why not, starting with Lily, with his own past, his future, with Selda's present…. Snape could barely care less about almost anyone he knew, but for her… maybe he could do the right thing, for once. He traced her lips with his gaze. He wanted… for her to smile, even if he didn't get to see it.

Is this what Dumbledore has been trying to say all along? he wondered. He would have to think about that later.

Selda's breaths were slow and measured now. He tried to extricate himself, but her grip was still too tight. He sat for a long while in the dim glow, listening to her sleep, before her hand relaxed enough that he could draw his own away and go.

#

Selda emerged from the back an hour or so later, still a little pale, but walking, and looking far better than before. She was carrying the dittany and the potion cup, empty, that he had left on the bedside table earlier while she slept. Snape turned from the worktable where he had been sealing a flask of Blood-Replenisher. She set the items on his desk and stood at the end of it, facing him, a few, unbridgeable feet between them. Her collar was buttoned again.

"I should go," she said quietly. "Unless – unless you want me to stay?"

He swallowed. "Better not," he said, just as quietly.

She nodded, then said defiantly, with a flash in her eyes, "I'm not sorry." He said nothing, but handed her the flask he had just sealed. "I'll see a Healer in a week or so," she said. "Don't worry."

I always worry, he thought, but only nodded.

"And I have your word? On the blood?"

He nodded again. "I promise."

"I'll come back to see you again," she warned him. "You'd best take better care of yourself."

He nodded. "I will. Send me an owl," he said. Maybe that way I won't interfere too much, he thought.

She nodded, and went to the door.

"Selda…." She looked back at him. For once he spoke simply, without bitterness, without guilt, without self-pity. "You deserve more, better than… this. Than me."

Tears shone in her eyes a moment. She blinked, then lifted her chin defiantly. "Perhaps more," she said, looking him straight in the eye. "But there is no better."