It Takes a Miracle

Chapter 18 – If you want me, come and find me


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“It is too fucking early,” grunted Gerry, peeking at her screaming alarm clock. She didn’t want the weekend to be over, not yet. But the damn clock was right, and she sighed, wondering if she could lay for a bit more, pretending she didn’t hear the alarm until it moved to expletives.

“Looks like someone had a good time,” announced her bathroom mirror smugly, when Gerry finally made it to the sink.

“Yeah,” she answered with barely hidden irritation, thinking for the umpteenth time she should have asked to exchange this talking nuisance for a Muggle blissfully-silent variety. Whether she had a good time over the weekend (which she did) or not, wasn’t the subject she was going to discuss with the bathroom mirror.

The shower woke her up completely, and dashing around her rooms, trying to dress and do something decent with her hair, Gerry kept grinning, imagining the exasperated expression Jay would have on his face when she walked out. And what he would say to her. And how he would smile at her.

Before she left, she stepped into the bathroom to glance at her reflection one more time. The mirror chuckled softly. “Oh, dearie, it is about time someone compelled you to look closer at your appearance.”

Gerry stormed out of the bathroom, refusing the impulse to stick a tongue out at the stupid thing. Having made several steps, however, she stopped, thinking, “Is it true? Could that space-waster be right?” She shrugged, grinning, why not.

Jay and she were the last ones to enter the staff room. They sat in their usual corner, far away from the center of the room, where all the dull speeches were given and boring discussions took place. They sniggered for several minutes, recalling the events of the past weekend, before Dumbledore called for everyone’s attention. However, instead of going directly to the usual announcements, the old wizard inquired, “Has anyone seen Severus?”

A murmur went around the room, but no one had a positive answer. Apparently, he wasn’t seen since Saturday afternoon.

“He is hardly out of his quarters on weekends,” Professor Sprout offered thoughtfully, and other teachers nodded in agreement.

“He isn’t, is he?” murmured the Headmaster, his blue eyes sad. Then he shook his head, and continued energetically, “Let us carry on with the meeting.”

“Probably has just realized how ugly he is, and is hiding in his dungeons, too ashamed to come out.” Jay smirked nastily, whispering to Gerry. Hooch, who sat in front of them, snorted at that. Gerry looked at her friend and, with a fair degree of incredulity, realized that she felt only a tiny twitch of regret to hear a malice spoken about Snape.

The staff meeting proceeded in the usual way without the Potions Master. There was no sight of him during breakfast either. It was well into the middle of her second session for the day, when Gerry was reminded of Snape again.

“Could I, please, have a word with you, Assistant Professor?” asked Dumbledore from the door. Slightly surprised, Gerry left her student and went out of the classroom.

The older wizard waited for her at the window. She came up to him, her hesitant steps echoing in the empty hallway. “Headmaster?”

The older wizard appeared unusually grim. He eyed her pensively before he uttered, “I was informed that you work in Severus’ lab on Saturday afternoons. Is it so?”

“Yes.” She frowned slightly, trying to understand where the Headmaster was going with this.

“And you were there this past Saturday as well?” the old wizard continued probing.

“Yes. From two until six, as usual.”

“Did Severus appear altered to you in any sense? Did he say anything to you?”

“No…no… Everything was as usual. I made my potion, and he… I think, he was grading papers or something,” the words stumbled out of her mouth. “Why are you asking, Professor? Did anything happen to Professor Snape?”

“I am afraid so.” The old wizard sighed, and Gerry’s breath hitched. “I reckon the staff should know. But please, Gerry, I trust you to be discreet about it.”

“About what?” She felt how the icy prickling of fear was rapidly spreading through her insides.

“You see, Severus was found this morning at his desk in his lab…”

“What happened?” she wheezed, because suddenly her throat was too tight to let her voice through.

“He is in a coma.”

Gerry grabbed onto the windowsill, because her legs had gone numb. “A coma?” she asked, but probably only in her mind – by then her throat was so tight she couldn’t breathe.

“Poppy is with him right now, but I am afraid she will not be able to do much before we find out what the trigger was,” continued the old wizard.

“Oh, Merlin.” She did manage to say it out loud, because the Headmaster patted her arm lightly and offered, “It will be all right, Gerry.”

“Can I help, sir? Can I do something? You know, there is my thing that…” she trailed glancing swiftly along the corridor.

The old wizard gave her a sad smile. “I can’t deny the situation is serious, but I don’t believe it is grave yet. Nevertheless, I am grateful to you for your generous offer, and hope we won’t have the need to accept it.”

Gerry jerked her head in half-nod, half-dismissal. “Do tell me if there is any… If you need my help.”

“I shall,” agreed the old wizard. “And if you remember anything peculiar about Severus, let me know at once.” He slightly patted Gerry’s arm again, and said, “I’ll be on my way, and, I think, there is a student waiting for you.”

“Yes, of course.” Angst-ridden, Gerry was looking at the old wizard walking away, when it suddenly hit her. “Headmaster, sir, wait!” She ran to the old wizard, who had already put half a corridor between them. “You should talk to Jay. When I was leaving, he came in. He brought some herbs for Professor Snape. May be he noticed something…”

She managed to stay away from the hospital wing only until the end of her tutoring session. But when she gave up and ran there, Gerry was greeted by the closed door. For several horrifying moments she stood, forgetting to breathe, one thought worse than the other flashing through her mind.

“He took a turn for the worse and they shipped him to St. Mungo’s… He is hopeless, and they sent him home… He is dead…”

By the time she realized there was a note pinned on the wall next to the door, she was practically hyperventilating. The note said,

I am away from the infirmary at the moment. Please, tap your wand at this note and state your business.
Madam Pomfrey

Gerry whipped out her wand and gingerly touched the note.

Yes dear, appeared at the bottom of the parchment.

“Madam Pomfrey?” she asked surprised.

Of course, dear, she read on the note. Are you alright? Do you need anything?

“I am fine,” Gerry said. “I came… I wanted to find out… How is the professor?”

For what seemed like an eternity, nothing appeared on the note, and Gerry again began to fear that the worst had happened. But before she had a full panic attack, the invisible quill wrote on the parchment in front of her.

There has been no change.

“Oh,” was all she uttered.

If that is all, take care, dear, appeared on the bottom of the parchment, and then everything was gone except for the original note.

For the rest of the day Gerry kept returning to the hospital wing, but was invariably greeted by a closed door and the familiar note. She would stand morosely looking at the parchment, and then walk away, just to come back later. She somehow completely forgot about lunch and struggled hard to remain focused working with the students. McGonagall practically had to drag her to dinner. However, when in front of the Great Hall the older witch was distracted by one of the students, Gerry found herself pulled aside by Jay.

“Hey, have you heard what happen to the most favorite professor at Hogwarts?” he asked beaming.

“Who?” she asked mechanically, just to be polite.

“Snape!” he announced loudly, his voice ringing with triumph. Several students passing nearby jolted and nervously looked around. “Snape,” Jay whispered this time, a grin splitting his face.

Gerry’s breath hitched as if she was hit in the stomach. “Snape,” she repeated after him.

“Yes, you know, the greasy git that creeps in the dungeons.” Jay just couldn’t stop grinning. “Have you heard that he is in a coma?”

Gerry nodded slowly, not trusting her voice.

The young wizard motioned her to get closer and began whispering hotly, almost feverishly, “Remember, I brought some herbs for him on Saturday? But you see, to Sprout’s collection I added a sprig or two of Sacred Datura. Can you believe it, the fool never noticed?” The pure unadulterated joy was written on his expressive face.

Gerry was staring at him, her mind reeling.

“Can you believe it?” Jay repeated. “He just sat there, sniffing the bloody thing! That was how the house elves found him – sitting at his desk, just like he was when I brought the herbs.”

“But you can’t… Sacred Datura only gives you hallucinations, memories…” Gerry finally managed, and the young wizard interrupted her happily, “I know! But Dumbledore determined it was the reason for the coma. Isn’t it amazing it worked like that on him? Probably reacted with his vile magic or something. Better for us, next time he will think twice before offending you.”

“You did it for me?”

“Well, yeah. Besides, I still remember how I had to suffer through his class…”

“Oh.” She breathed out, devastated, not sure what she should say to him.

“And another piece of good news is - I got away with it!” Jay quickly glanced around to make sure no one was listening, and changed his voice, feigning the deepest remorse. “Oh, Headmaster, I am so sorry. It was just a silly prank. I never intended to harm anyone. You’ve known me for eighteen years, you know I would never…” Jay broke out in a burst of wild laughter.

“Oh,” she managed again.

“Let me tell you, it was a view to finally see the bloody bat like that, out cold,” Jay announced in a spitting whisper.

“Where is he?” Gerry bit her lip and looked heavily at the young wizard.

“In his lab, of course. They didn’t want to move him before curfew. Didn’t want to injure his precious dignity by dragging him to the hospital wing in his current state, in the plain sight of the students.” Jay snorted merrily, and added, “But do you know what the best part of this story is?” He leaned closer to Gerry and whispered into her ear, “The potion that Albus thinks should bring him back looks to be very complicated, because Poppy is having trouble with it. She has asked Sprout twice for the same roots already.”

“Do you know which potion that is?” Gerry asked, stepping away from the young wizard, feeling how her blood, relentlessly pumped by her heart, carried unbearable coldness throughout her body.

“Who gives a flying pig?” He shrugged. “I just know it is highly restricted in use, and you have to answer a million questions before anyone sells you the stuff. But if it was up to me,” he grinned wolfishly, “the bastard would stay the way he is – safer for the kids, merrier for us.”

She made a couple of steps backwards, hit the wall, and said, “You… I have to… I have to go.”

She practically ran all the way down to Snape’s office. Thankfully, most of the students were in the Great Hall, so she didn’t have to keep decorum. Breathing heavily, she knocked at the door.

“Gerry.” Dumbledore motioned her in as if he wasn’t surprised to see her there.

“Headmaster,” she started as soon as the door closed behind her, “I can brew the potion for Professor Snape.”

Again, showing no surprise, the old wizard beckoned her to follow him and went through the door that led to Snape’s private library, and further to his lab. Her steps slowed slightly when she saw the prone form of the Potions Master on a cot next to the bookshelves. It was almost dark in the library, and Gerry could barely make out his face. She itched to take a better look at him, to come closer to him, but she didn’t want to appear as if she was ogling at the wizard, who was obviously unable to ward off unwanted stares.

In the lab they were greeted by the sight of a very frustrated mediwitch.

“It is just not working, Albus,” she shook her head, peering into the cauldron simmering in front of her.

“Gerry came to offer her service in brewing the potion,” the old wizard said, gesturing at the younger witch, who was squinting, adjusting her vision to the bright light of the lab.

The mediwitch frowned and pursed her lips. She looked, openly disapproving, from Dumbledore to Gerry and back, and uttered, “Albus, I don’t think it is a good idea.”

“Madam Pomfrey, please,” Gerry interjected, surprised by her own boldness. “I understand your concern about privacy issues and such, but the whole school already knows what happened with the professor. We, the three of us, will keep my…participation in the professor’s treatment a secret.” She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could. “Besides, I am probably the only one here who can brew the potion.”

A small smile was playing on Dumbledore’s thin lips, but the mediwitch didn’t look pleased at all. “Isn’t it a tad too presumptuous of you, my dear? You don’t even know which potion we need to brew.”

“Why?” Gerry shrugged trying desperately to appear calm. “You can use only aroma or rubbing potions on the professor right now, can’t you? The latter are usually used for external injuries, which leaves us with the former. I might not be a Potions Master, but I know that the aroma potions are all done on the same base draught. Which is extremely hard to brew.” She took a breath. “And before you ask, yes, I am sure I can brew it.”

Seeing that the mediwitch was still frowning at her, Gerry sighed and revealed her last card. “My mom owns a little perfume shop. I brew the base for all of her…offerings.”

“You do? You never mentioned anything about that.” Madam Pomfrey looked at her surprised.

“Yeah, well, if you want to be taken seriously in the scholastic setting, you don’t go around telling people you spend two months a year concocting perfumes.”

…It was well after midnight, but she couldn’t fall asleep. Tossing and turning, she kept seeing images of Snape – glaring at her from his desk in his lab, scowling past her in the Great Hall, lying unmoving on the cot. No matter how hard she tried, Gerry just couldn’t stop thinking about him.

At least he was out of danger. The thank you note she received from Dumbledore before she went to bed mentioned that Snape had been brought out of the coma and transferred to the hospital wing. What if she went to see him, would he say ‘thank you for the potion’? She snorted mirthlessly. No, even if he knew she brewed his potion, he’d be more likely to say something like ‘came to gloat, Ms. Ardant?’ or ‘want me to express my deepest gratitude, Ms. Ardant?’, or ‘it was your fault.” Yes, something like that.

She sighed and bit her lip. No, he wouldn’t say anything. He was probably asleep, tucked under the infirmary’s white blanket, his black hair tossed over the white pillow. The image of his face, calm and unguarded, sprang to her mind, and an invisible hand squeezed her heart. Oh, Merlin.

Suddenly, she knew that for the last several weeks when she persuaded herself that she got over, or at least learned to manage her feelings for the wizard, all she did was lie to herself. Lie and pretend to be someone else. Because, she sobbed, it wasn’t her who laughed at Jay’s jokes about the “greasy bat lurking in the dungeons.” And no, it wasn’t her who conveniently “didn’t hear” the students calling the Potions Master every bad name in the book. And no, it wasn’t her who nodded sympathetically when one of her colleagues complained about Snape’s rudeness. And no, it wasn’t her who enjoyed herself in London, while he was lying helplessly alone in his lab. No, it wasn’t her, she was sobbing openly now, it wasn’t her…

She cried, and sobbed, and, please, please, I didn’t mean it, and please, let him be okay, and please, I love him…

She woke up with a startle, feeling absolutely wretched and exhausted. The bleak light of an early morning was filling the room with depressingly grayish air. For a moment she couldn’t understand why she was so miserable until it hit her - Snape. The wizard she loved so. Yet again in the infirmary because of her.

Gerry buried her face in the pillow, still slightly damp. All her fault. All her fault. It seemed that from the moment she got here, she couldn’t do anything, concerning the wizard, right. Even when she stayed away from him, he had wound up hurt.

Gerry swore. Damn Jay, and his sense of humor, and his hatred of Snape. Damn the Ministry ball and Sacred Datura. Damn the… Wait a second. There was something in the back of her mind that bothered her about the plant. Oh, yes - it wasn’t supposed to put a wizard into a coma. Then what did happen with Snape?

She chewed on her lip. There was something else that bothered her. Yes, on her first night back here, when she stunned him, he should not have ended up in a hospital wing. It was just a simple stunning spell, nothing more. Suddenly, she also remembered Madam Pomfrey’s words that night, ‘we’re losing him.’ What did that mean?

Yet again, Gerry felt the icy prickling of fear rapidly spreading through her insides. There were more things she had noticed but never put together. His obvious absence of appetite. The dark circles under his eyes that never went away. His rigid back that, if one were to look closely, was kept straight by conscious effort and tremendous exertion. And there was more. When she raised her wand at Snape the first time, she was too terrified and angry to notice anything, but when they had a fight later, in his lab, she thought there was something strange in the wizard’s black eyes. Now, she knew what it was. Gerry’s head shot up from the pillow. Oh, Merlin, he wanted her to curse him. He wanted her to hurt him. He wanted to get hurt. He practically begged for it. But why?

She could barely wait for the day to officially begin before knocking on Dumbledore’s door. It seemed, though, the old wizard was expecting her.

“Good morning, Gerry. I trust you’ve received my note.”

“Yes, thank you.” She nodded. Pulling her resolve about her like armor, she went directly to the point. ”What is wrong with him?”

“Pardon?”

“Snape…er…Professor Snape. There are things I’ve noticed…” she trailed off, not sure where to begin. Suddenly, she realized that she had never actually thought through how she would approach the Headmaster. However, it was too late to back out, so she started with the most obvious. “Professor, no one goes into coma from inhaling the scent of Sacred Datura,” she stated firmly. “There has to be something else. What is wrong with Professor Snape?”

“Gerry, I am afraid I can’t tell you that.” Dumbledore was looking at her as if waiting for…what? the right words? the right time?

No, she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “Why? I am not going to go around telling everyone willing to listen that Professor Snape is sick!” She raised her voice. The old wizard had got to understand how much she needed to know. He’d got to understand… “Please, I…I just want to help.”

The old wizard eyed her thoughtfully, but she couldn’t bear it any longer. “Headmaster, please, you are my last resort. I should have noticed it… I should have seen… Madam Pomfrey won’t tell me anything. Neither will Snape. Please, sir, I need to know…”

The last words sounded more like whining than a plea, but Gerry didn’t care, her anxiety smothering her. “Please,” she whispered, horrified by a sudden revelation – she had not right to ask for any of it. Who was she for Dumbledore to tell her anything? And who was she to Snape to ask for such information?

But for some reason the old wizard gave in to her pleas. “Very well. Let’s talk.” He gestured her to sit, and Gerry fell, a boneless mass of relief, into a chair. “However, I must warn you that, although I can’t deny the existence of Severus’ condition, there is not much I know about it...”

Later on, riding down the stair to the gargoyle-guarded exit, Gerry touched her wand, and muttered an incantation. When she felt a familiar twitch of the wooden stick under her fingers, she said softly, “I need to see Mrs. Doomsfield.”


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It is never pleasant to open your eyes and find yourself lying in bed in the hospital wing. But it is even worse to open your eyes, find yourself lying in bed in the hospital wing, and have no recollection as to how you got there.

Snape shuffled through his latest memories, but couldn’t think of anything that would warrant his hospitalization. What was wrong with him then? One slight movement, and he knew the answer - everything. His body, every molecule of it, heavy as if filled with lead, seemed to have gone through an assault by a couple of very angry giants. Or hippogriffs. Take a pick. He made an attempt to frown, but even his forehead muscles were hurting.

“Ah, you are up. Good.” The curtains around his bed parted, and in walked the mediwitch.

“What happened to me?” he croaked, surprised to hear his own voice to be that hoarse.

“Lay still, dear.” Disregarding his question, she was waving her wand over him, muttering scanning spells. “How are you feeling?”

“What happened to me?” he repeated forcefully, making a move to try and sit up.

His attempt failed miserably, and all Snape achieved was a reprimand from the kind witch, “Do keep still, Severus. You know how unreliable the scan spells are when the patient keeps fidgeting.”

“I don’t fidget!” Snape ground his teeth, but refrained from further attempts to move or talk. However, his patience didn’t last long. “Honestly, woman, stop fussing and answer my question!” he finally snapped. “Does Sacred Datura have anything to do with it?”

She looked at him, pursed her lip, as if thinking what and how he should be told, and then said simply, “I believe it started with the plant, yes. But then, you went into a coma. I suspect your body is too weakened to withstand even the simplest infraction.”

“It is rubbish, Poppy,” Snape stated firmly, but although nothing was reflected on his face, he exploded inwardly. Shit, shit, shit! He was putting so much effort into maintaining the proper façade, and his damn body was betraying him. Shit. Now, the mediwitch would become suspicious again and pester him incessantly. Just like back in March, when he was learning to live with his growing weakness, and once, overestimating his strength, wound up in Madam Pomfrey’s hands with a broken hip. It was hard to get her off of his case back then. And now this. Shit.

For the next two days he was periodically poked and checked, and fed Profuturus Solution and soup with crackers, and then put to sleep with a sleeping charm (the experienced mediwitch quickly figured out the Dreamless Sleep Potion didn’t work for him anymore). He complained loudly, but endured every torture the mediwitch would see fit to put him through. Talks were the worst, though.

“You should be grateful, Severus, it was only Sacred Datura that put you into coma, and we could reverse it easily enough.” Poppy was fussing around him, fluffing his pillow, smoothing his blanket. “Your body is in such a condition, I would not be surprised if you go into another coma from a whiff of Pepper-Up or such.”

The glare wasn’t quite effective with him laying flat on his back wearing nothing but a hospital gown, and so he had to add rather nastily, “I am fine, woman!”

“You have to start thinking about your future, young man,” she continued scolding him, disregarding his glare and his words. Pulling a chair to Snape’s bedside, she sat down and folded her hands neatly on her lap. “You can deny it all you want, Severus, but we both know that if you continue doing what you are doing to yourself, there won’t be much of a future for you.”

“And what do you think I am doing?” he challenged her, keeping his voice cold and his tone – indifferent.

“For one, lying to me. And believe me when I say that I know when you do it.” She looked sternly at him. “Tell me, where does it hurt?” She produced her wand and moved it over him. “Here? Here?”

Scowling, Snape watched the movement of the wand, but let Poppy do yet another reading. She wouldn’t be able to find out his secret. He wouldn’t let her. He’d find ways to deceive her. He’d make his body obey. Because no one, no one, was supposed to know the truth. He was still in control, and that was all there was to it. No matter what happened to him, and what he’d done to himself, he was still in control, and nothing would change that. And when that control faltered, then…

No, he shouldn’t be thinking of what happened then. At the moment he should be pretending that yes, probably because of some lingering effects of his injuries during the war, his appetite was still miniscule, but he had to make an effort to eat; and yes, his sleeping habits were inexcusable, and he should come to see the mediwitch if he couldn’t manage enough shut-eye on his own; and yes, he should take a better care of his health, especially now, when the war was over, and he had his whole life ahead of him.

Dumbledore stopped by several times to check on his progress and to talk about the classes he taught for Snape. After dinner he brought Mr. Rag Clown with him.

“Severus, you have a visitor,” the Headmaster announced, beckoning the young wizard to come closer to Snape’s bed. Involuntary, the Potions Master’s face twitched, but he quickly recovered.

“Well, Mr. Carnavale, can’t say it is a pleasure to see you here.” He sneered at the wizard in the checkered robes and pulled his blanket tighter about him. “Then again, you must be pleased enough for both of us to see me here like this. Aren’t you, Mr. Carnavale?”

“Severus.”

“Professor, look…” The younger wizard stumbled and started again. “I came to apologize. Really, I didn’t… It was just a harmless prank…”

“But of course. A harmless prank. One of those you, Gryffindors, are so-o-o famous for.”

“Look, the thing only induces hallucinations, not coma. You know that, Professor.” Carnavale’s voice had a tinge of anger in it.

“I know much more than you do, boy. However, who is to say it was just a plant, and not a curse?” His eyes narrowed.

“Now, Severus, be reasonable,” Dumbledore made an attempt to interject.

“Reasonable?” hissed Snape. “He put me in a hospital bed, and I have to be reasonable?”

“I had no intent to,” snapped the young wizard

“Then whose intent was it? Your accomplice’s?” attacked the Potions Master. “By the way, why hasn’t she come with you to enjoy the fruits of your labor? Oh, forgive me,” Snape’s sneer got nastier, “why hasn’t she come with you to apologize?”

“Who?” Carnavale looked puzzled.

“You know who. Your little friend, Ms. Ardant!” spat Snape. “Was it her intent?”

“Gerry? She didn’t know.” The young wizard shook his head.

“You are a poor liar, Mr. Carnavale.” Snape scowled at him. “Now, leave.”

“Severus, I think you are thoroughly mistaken,” Dumbledore said soothingly. “Neither Gerry, nor Jay…”

“Please, Albus,” he raised his palm in a stopping gesture, “spare me the empty assurances.”

When he was finally free to leave the hospital wing, Snape didn’t waste a single moment, almost running out of the blasted place. A quick check on his charges revealed that nothing major had occurred during his absence. In fact, since the end of the war, the House of Snake was amazingly easy to run. Inwardly, Snape thanked all the gods yet again for letting the Light Side win. He shuddered to imagine what it would be like to manage the Slytherins with the Dark Lord ruling the magical world. Well, to be honest, he shuddered to think what it would be like to have the Dark Lord ruling the magical world, period. On the other hand, he most probably wouldn’t have lived long enough to witness it.

“Right, a good one, Severus,” he sneered at himself inwardly. Just the train of thought he should be following right now, when he hadn’t even reached his rooms yet. Shit. He quickly glanced around to make sure no one noticed anything. Shit. And all because of that bloody idiot and…the girl.

Finally in his rooms, Snape shut the door behind him and took a deep breath, leaning against the wall. Somehow he had to figure out the way to mask his condition better. He wasn’t sure if he could survive another stay in the hospital wing. Bloody idiot and…bloody girl! Oh, how he hated them. The both of them. But mostly her, the bloody damn witch. Carnavale was just a simple fool, the stupid Gryffindor who forgot to grow up. But she… The devious, deceiving, lying wench, who was always so polite around him, so kind, so apologetic for her errors, while secretly plotting against him…

Snape growled, clenching his teeth. Oh, how he loathed her. He loathed her the way he loathed all those girls back in school, who giggled behind his back, educating him about living with rejection. He loathed her the way he loathed Black and Potter Sr., who seemed to own the whole world, leaving him dark corners of it to lurk in.

No, he loathed her more than that. Then, at least, he knew not to have any expectations, not to trust, not to hope. But with this bloody girl, who lured him in with absurd dreams, warm gaze, and breathtaking smile, he… Oh, no, no. No! He couldn’t, could he? Absolutely not…

Snape crossed the room, stopped at the window, and pressed his forehead to the cool glass. Bloody hell…
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A/N A huge thanks to my beta Odddoll.