Eye of the Beholder

Author’s Note:

Chapter 16. Aftermath
 
Snape was still holding her hand when he led her into his private chamber. He removed the magical wards on the door, opened it, and swept his hand in front of her, silently inviting her in. Her first impression was of how cold thom wom was. The second was of astonishment at the tasteful elegance the room held. It was fairly stark, but the items around the room, from the four poster bed to the overstuffed, leather chair in the corner, were exquisite. They screamed of old money and tradition. She had forgotten that Snape was from one of the oldest wizarding families in England. In many ways, it made her uncomfortably aware of her unknown beginnings as an adopted child. She hid her sudden feelings of inadequateness from him, and stepped into the chamber.
 
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Snape cleared his throat.
 
"I assume you would like to use the washroom?" he inquired. He indicated a door at the far end of the room.
 
She looked at him in appreciation of his thoughtfulness. "It would be nice to fetch my toothbrush and such, but I really don’t fancy going back up to the Ravenclaw common room right now." She shuddered at the thought of facing Draco right now. That was the last place she wanted to be, and was one of the reasons she asked Snape if she could stay with him this evening. C’mon Sasha, coerced him into it is more like it, she admitted to herself.
 
Snape politely turned his back to her to attend to the fireplace, and she took the opportunity to head to the washroom. She opened the door and stepped in. The room was large, and very masculine. The floors were made of the same cold, gray stone as in the main part of the bedroom, but the sink and counter were made of black marble laced with silver veins of granite. Everything was very neat and orderly, she noted. He had an old-fashioned razor laid out beside his toothbrush. She looked carefully at the silver faucets. They were in the shape of undulating serpents, and were of a similar design to the mirror on the wall of his lab, and the serpents on her lab notebook. She realized it must be something symbolic to Snape.
 
She used the facilities, and wondered if Snape would mind if she had a quick shower. She decided against it, and just used one of the neatly folded hand towels to clean herself up in the sink. It felt good to wash her face and neck, removing the salt from her body after all her tears this evening. She neatly hung her towel on a wall hook, and looked up at herself in the mirror.
 
Her hair had come loose, and was hanging down messily. She removed what few pins were left and used her hand to comb through it. She quietly regarded herself, and shook her head. She had no idea how she ended up here. The dance seemed like it happened days ago, and the pain from Draco’s words had faded into a dull, humiliating ache.
 
She reached up and touched her lips, questioningly. Just moments ago, she and Snape had been kissing. She closed her eyes to bring back those delicious moments. She had no idea why she had admitted her feelings for him earlier on. I guess when you are at an all time emotional low, admitting to your potions prof that you lusted after him was but a drop in the bucket, she thought wryly. She had no idea where this was going and was a bit frightened. Well, you can’t back out now, she thought. Time to face the music. She turned and left the bathroom.
 
Entering the bedroom, she found Snape was gone. She was beginning to wonder how she was supposed to get undressed, and what she was going to wear to bed, when she spotted one of his cotton shirts set out on the bed. She smiled. Again, Snape had anticipated her needs. Taking the opportunity before he came back, she quickly removed her shoes and undressed, shivering in the cold room. She picked up his shirt and held it up to her face, curious if she could smell him on it. Nothing. It smelled like clean laundry. Still shivering, she donned the shirt, and was amused to find it was not a bad fit.
 
She looked at the room. The fireplace dominated the wall to her left, and adjacent to it, facing her, was a single side table with a lamp and a small stack of books. His bed was next to that, and she realized he must sleep on that side. She picked up her clothes, and folding them neatly, she placed them on the overstuffed leather chair near her. She walked around to the far side of the bed and pulling down the sheets, she climbed in. The bed was cold, so she huddled deep under the covers and curled into a ball to try and keep warm. She felt very awkward, and was not too sure if she should wait for Snape, or just go to sleep.
 
A small fire was lit in the hearth, but it provided mainly light, not heat. She wrapped the pillow around her head, and turned to watch the flames dance in the fireplace. Despite the cold chill of the room, she felt her body relax from the eventful night, and she started to drift off.
 
**
Snape had left the room to go check on the doors to the potions class and his private office, to make sure they were closed and charmed against entry. After the office door was shut, he went to the couch and sat down, resting his head on the back of it. What the hell have you just done Snape, he asked himself.
 
He closed his eyes. The intensity of the intimate moments with Sasha had faded, and with that came the realization that he had just tossed his resolve to prevent just such a thing from happening, out the window. You are weak Snape, he thought. When it came to the pleasures of the flesh, you are pathetically weak.
 
It was not Sasha he was mad at, it was him. He was so disappointed in himself.
 
Snape remembered back to all those years ago when he was heavily involved with the Death Eaters. He had never had much experience when it came to intimacy with women, shunned as he was by the girls at Hogwarts when he was a student. However, with more and more exposure to the lustful acts during the orgies at the Dark Revels, Snape could not help but become aroused. Over time he began to enjoy the power he felt at being in control. Eventually it went from conditioned enjoyment, to lustful need. In a way it was almost became an addiction. He needed the women he was with to know that he controlled them. He was responsible for their pleasure or their pain. It was sick, and he knew his behaviour was out of control.
 
Snape knew deep inside that he had to stop. Not just the Dark Revels, but everything about the Death Eaters. He had to separate himself from Lord Voldemort and his followers or lose every trace of self-respect for himself. He had forfeited his humanity, if not his soul, to the Dark Lord. Yet still he could not give it up.
 
It was not until that day with Lucius and Avery, out in the country when Avery was assaulting the small child, that Snape realized it may be too late.
 
During the unfolding events, he knew there was a possibility that Avery would kill the girl, just for his own sick pleasure. While Snape had made a token show of preventing anything from happening to the child, it was just that. A token. He had not really prevented the girl from experiencing the assault. Like a coward, he had left before he was party to whatever sick and twisted plans Avery had for her. He never knew what had happened to her after he disapparated; if Avery had molested her, or killed her. In many ways he did not want to know. In his eyes, not stopping the event from happening in the first place made him just as responsible as Avery. Just as sick and perverted. That was a sobering revelation.
 
It was when he disapparated back to his private room and had a chance to go over the events that he made dee decision to separate himself from the Death Eaters. It was not the single event with the child that made him turn traitor to the Dark Lord. However, it was just the final push he needed after the months of doubt and uncertainty. Within a week he had contacted Dumbledore, and confessed. This final attempt at redemption, his offer to spy on the Death Eaters, was his last chance to save whatever shred of humanity he had left.
 
Snape had made a promise to himself that day in Dumbledore’s office. He swore he would never let his desires get the better of him, as difficult as that may be. Although there had been the rare occasion in his duties as spy that he had to modify that promise in order to maintain his cover, he had never forced himself on a woman again. Ever. However, now he was faced with a different situation altogether. Sasha.
 
Snape sighed. What to do. He had enough sense to recognize that this situation was different. This was not a Dark Revel, and she was not just a body he was ordered to manipulate and control for the next few hours. It was somebody he knew, and yes, who he cared about. That was the problem, and the cause of his emotional conflict. He was starting to care for her. A lot. He could not reconcile his promise with himself not to force himself on any woman, with his genuine desires to touch her, and feel her. He had to come to grips with that before he could go any further with her he realized.
 
It was also disturbing to him that she was the one who came to him. She was the one who confessed her attraction, and freely offered herself. In the only way he knew how, Snape had tried to tell her, warn her, about him, but she still chose to pursue it. Her firm determination made him desire her all the more. What way that cheesy saying; if it is not worth fighting fir, it is not worth having? He had never really been faced with such a situation before. Somebody who actually needed and desired him. He could still not believe it.
 
Snape realized he had been out in the office for some time, and should probably get back to the bedroom. He stood and silently entered the chamber. He looked over and saw Sasha asleep, curled into a tight ball in the far corner of his bed. He went into the bathroom and disrobing, decided to take a brief shower. The scalding hot water felt good, and he scrubbed his skin until it was pink. He washed his hair, feeling the cleansing suds remove the grease from his hair. Snape grimaced. One of the banes of hanging his head over cauldrons for hours on end was that the vapor from the potions caused his hair to feel perpetually greasy. Such was the cost of becoming a Potions Master he thought grimly. He stepped out of the shower, toweled off, and donned a pair of black, silk boxer shorts.
 
He walked into the bedroom, and noticed that Sasha had not moved. It had been years since he had shared his bed with anyone, he thought as he stood there watching her. There were the very rare times in his past when he had an affair with one of the Death Eaters, but they never lasted more than one night. Snape shuddered at the memories. This was not going to be like that, he told himself.
 
He walked over to the bed, and pulling down the sheets, climbed in as carefully as he could, so as not to wake her. He turned on his side to look at her. The low flames from the fire revealed random parts of her features, and her face was relaxed in sleep. She looked so peaceful, he did not dare touch her in case she woke up.
 
He had no idea why fate had dealt her such a cruel hand, allowing her to be scarred, he thought. It was ironic that it was that scar that brought them together. In many ways it was what had shaped her personality, and made her into the person she had become, he realized. And, eventually, it had led her to him. With that thought, he closed his eyes, and was contented just to listen to her quiet breaths.
 
Good night Sasha, my beloved, he thought. He eventually fell asleep.
 
It was not until much, much later that he would fully appreciate the irony of the whole situation.