Set Ablaze (Repost-idiot--me--deleted it)

The pitch black was near blinding. Natalie had no idea where she was. Her sweat slicked the frigid wall behind her, making her back slip down it. Every joint in her body seemed to have a rod in it. The tiniest movement rubbed her bones against each other and sent a creaking vibration through her limbs.

Crack!
She jumped and scraped her back on the stone wall, but the noise was short-lived. The only sounds were her ragged breathing and the blood rushing in her ears. If only she could see something, anything, she knew she could get away.

Slow, heavy footsteps came from the distance, every step closer and louder. She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn't hold. She couldn't run, couldn't hide, and she wouldn't fight, not again.

Crack!

The footsteps were closing in. Finally they stopped. In her mind’s eye she knew exactly who it was. She panicked. Her hand slashed out, and a dense slice of air streaked out in the path of her hand and took off.

Like water from a popped balloon, blood spattered her bare skin and ran down the wall behind her.

~

It was less her terror and inability to breathe than the noise of her own scream that woke her. She barely processed one of her dorm mates yelling “Shut up!” before the soreness of her lungs kicked back in. She rubbed her hands over her face and neck and arms and every piece of exposed skin she could find, her breathing still frantic.

It was dark behind the curtains of her four-poster but not as black as the nightmare. Her blanket was warm and tangled around her knees. She didn't have to run fingers through her hair to know a knotted mass lay at the base of her neck from thrashing on the pillow.

This time she didn't apologize for waking them up. Instead she grabbed her sweater off her nightstand, pulled it on, and got out of bed. She could feel the glares of the woken girls on her as she walked barefoot out of the room, holding her sweater tight around her. She seemed to spend more time at night on the large, squashy, purple couch in the common room, sitting in front of the fire than in her bed. No one else was ever down in the common room in the middle of the night.

She stepped off the last stair and crossed the room. The cushions of the couch seeped cold through her nightdress and then into her toes as she pulled her legs up beside her. The room was lit by dull, glowing embers from the fire the house elves hadn't yet come to put out. She watched them without really seeing. These nightmares were sucking the life out of her. She deserved them, yes, but how could she make things better if she was unable to function? How was she going to get better if she couldn't even change her own actions in a dream?

Nearly four hours passed before light edged through the windows. She rose from the couch to change for breakfast.

~

Before every class, even if she wasn't in it, Severus Snape repeated a mental mantra about duty, the greater good (as Dumbledore put it), the reason why he spied (like he could forget), and that Natalie Goust was intelligent enough to deal with her own life. To everyone, there was no difference in their dark potions' master. He stalked the corridors, brought insolent children to tears, rarely spoke to his colleagues, and graded his students on a curve only his favorites and few others could possibly succeed with.

To himself, he knew how pathetic it was that he was constantly trying to justify looking at her, thinking about her while he sat on the couch in his private chambers late at night. He wasn't obsessed with her, and he really did not feel the need to speak with her or be near her or any such ridiculous notion as that. He simply wanted to know her, to study her, the new girl with red hair and green eyes and something quite peculiar he couldn't place. She was a blatant symbol of his past. Before he could let this go he needed to know how she was different from Lily, and yet he craved to know how she was similar.

Dumbledore's warnings and implied threats stuck to the back of his brain all day and night. When he sat down to grade papers or simply walked the halls, all of it made perfect sense, and he felt they were hardly necessary, but they did very little to discourage him every morning when she walked into his classroom. His impulses became even worse when she surprised him around corners, catching his eye at meals, or randomly showing up to his classrooms.

Two o'clock in the afternoon, the door to his third years' classroom opened, and the object of his musings walked in. Her expression was just as neutral as it usually was as she stopped a few feet inside the door. Her arms were crossed over her chest tightly, and she stood a little stiffer than usual.

“Professor,” she said in a voice just loud enough for him to hear her from behind his desk across the room, “I'm sorry to interrupt, Professor, but Professor Sprout would like me to speak with you.”

Without answering, he stood and swept down between the rows of desks. As he approached, he finally noticed how pale her face was. She turned and walked into the hall, and he followed, shutting the door behind them. Before he could ask, she slowly and carefully uncrossed her arms. The blood was dark against her white shirt and, as she stretched her arm out further towards him, it made the black material of her robes shine. She withdrew the material down to her elbow, revealing a gash that easily gouged the bone.

Snape held her trembling wrist in his left hand while his right immediately felt inside his robes for the canister of Turgem he kept with him.

She half laughed at herself and said, “It was just a tantactula vine. I was reaching for my quill, and it slashed me. It was supposed to have been held down. I will definitely ask Professor Sprout to not have that partner again.”

Snape spread the mud-looking paste into her injury and more over the top as if to seal it.

“Does she know you are hurt?” he asked, watching her arm closely.

Natalie shook her head, “I told her I wanted to check a reference book from the library about its cross-breeding, you know, since we aren't allowed to take the books out of the castle.”

He nodded and began to apply a third layer as the second faded. The blood flow was stunted, and her skin began to slowly knit together.

“Thank you,” she said, wriggling her fingers.

“I did give this potion to Madam Pomfrey. You can go to the hospital wing if you need to.”

“I'd rather come here,” she said, remembering all the arguments she and the nurse got into, all the times Natalie nearly ripped her hair out in frustration, “You are easier to handle.”

Severus paused for a heartbeat. She smiled again and continued.

"Do you think I still have time to run to the library? Professor Sprout thinks I’ll come back with information."

"Theoretically, tantactula should be able to cross-breed with devil's snare, but no one has been able to actually test it. The breeding product would be quite deadly, venomous and light resistant," Snape rattled off.

Natalie nodded and said with a bit of a sarcastic smirk, "You just know everything.... Thank you. I should run back before she gets angry."

With a wave she began to prance away.

"Miss Goust," Snape called.

She stopped and turned. He beckoned her back. With a frown she returned. He drew out his wand and grasped her wrist to pull it away from her. With a couple silent flicks, the blood that soaked her clothes slowly retreated and disappeared.

"Thanks, Professor," she said with a grin, turned, and left.

For a minute, Severus stood perfectly still watching the blackness where Natalie faded into the rest of the castle.

~

The thrum of her footsteps lulled her mind into a haze. She could not count all the times she had paced the castle. At first the adrenaline rush that came from avoiding Mrs. Norris and Filch was of great entertainment, but she had gotten so skilled at avoiding them with minimal magic even that had taken the fun out of being out after hours. She never had a problem with Peeves. He seemed content to ignore her.

A noise from two floors down caught her attention. She tip-toed down a flight of stairs and edged her way out to the grand staircase. At first the entryway all looked calm, but a dark movement turned her head to the right.

Down at the side of the hall a black figure stumbled on the topmost step that descended to the dungeons. A hand so pale it seemed to glow in the dark gripped the wall as the figure rose from its place on the ground. In a matter of seconds she was sprinting down the marble steps as fast as her legs would let her without tumbling headfirst.

He showed no sign of hearing her approach. He had regained his footing and made it to the fourth step when her hand gently grazed his arm. Jerking instantly, his shoulder slammed the stone behind him.

“No,” she said softly, “It's okay, Professor. I'm right here, shhhh.”

It seemed to take several seconds for him to focus on her. The resistance in the arm she held eased as he looked at her. His hand slowly curled around her bare forearm, leaving a painted red print on her skin. Her eyes paused on the blood drip at the corner of his mouth.

“It's alright,” she whispered.

Carefully she pulled his arm up over her shoulder and took as much of his weight as she could and complete control of guidance, wanting to get him off his feet as quickly as possible.

The stumbled walk to the end of the dungeons was agonizing. By the time they reached what she hoped was his door, her shoulder burned and shook with the weight of his body. Every now and then Snape would gasp or grunt or make an attempt at walking without her. She wished he wouldn't. Catching him hurt more than holding him.

She leaned against the wall beside the door and said in a strained voice, "Professor, this is it, right?"

Snape took a few seconds to gather his thoughts. He looked at the door and with seemingly great effort, raised his hand and placed it upon the heavy wood. The door creaked and slowly opened. Natalie kicked it as hard as she could, re-gripped Snape's arm, and drug him though into his chambers. The room beyond was nearly pitch black, saved only by the dying of a fire. She collided with an end table. It hit something soft. She reached out and felt the velvet fabric, a couch or an armchair, she didn’t care.

Natalie pulled him sideways and drug him over in front of the furniture. Nudging it with her foot to judge the distance, she deposited her fading professor into it.

Flexing and twisting her arm to release the pain, she turned to the fire and knelt. Fire was her favorite way to use her power. The way it moved, shimmering and flicking the air—but now was not the time. She held her hand up close to the ember, and they thrummed to life, growing with every pulse until flames roared, casting light into the room. Her eyes caught the walls of books in front of her and above the fireplace and on either side, books that stretched from one side of the room to the other.

Swinging back around, her professor sat uncomfortably on one side of a moss-green couch, trying to unbutton his cumbersome robes.

She inched closer to the sofa, her shins pressed against the front. As quickly as her hands would let her, she overcame Snape’s fingers, unbuttoning down his front, revealing what had been a white shirt. The further down she got, the more deep scarlet blotches became apparent. Getting impatient with the hundred buttons, she gripped the robe material and pulled. Little black buttons littered the floor with short clatters. Immediately she attacked the top of his white shirt. This time clear buttons flung in every direction. She pulled out the bottom of his shirt from his waistband and exposed his chest.

Skin and muscle gaped. His flesh was crooked and loose and hanged in ribbons over his chest, tears so deep she could not believe he hadn’t bled or suffocated to death. Lacerations marred the base of his throat and left hip. His stomach and sides possessed deep puncture holes each an inch long. His choked breath rattled in her ears.

For a minute she was unsure of what to do. Her eyes fell to his fumbling hand and its futile attempt to retrieve his wand. She lunged for it, pulled the handle free, and withdrew it. She held it out, but he didn’t take it and continued to search his pocket. A small, blue ball rolled out onto the cushion. He paid it no attention.

He coughed but it sounded more like a gurgle. Her eyes snapped back to his face. It was so pale it terrified her. His eyes were glossing over. She made a snap decision. Flinging her hands out, she pressed them to his shredded chest and closed her eyes.

Natalie Goust never willingly used a wand, never owned one until her time at Hogwarts. She learned to control her magical outbursts. At a young age, her magic was the only thing that defended her from her parents. As she grew so did her control. Her life had depended on it, but this control had its own drawback. It sapped her energy. Whatever was required to fight left her the instant her magic took on the battle. Whatever energy Professor Snape would require to heal over time would be taken from her in a matter of minutes.

She drew forth the ball of magic in her chest and forced it down through her arms, like a heat slowly enveloping her body. She dug her fingers into his loose flesh in concentration. At first her magical heat seeped gradually through her hands into him, but then a dam broke somewhere inside her, and the energy poured forth into him.

He stiffened under her grip. His ragged breath caught, froze, and gradually returned to a steady pace. The longer she held her concentration on containing the energy from exploding into the air around them, the more difficult it became to control. The pouring of energy slowed. Continuing to force it away, pain shot through her.
Every beat of her heart streaked a burn across her ribs.

Finally she began to withdraw in fear of giving too much. Her arms shook with the effort of constricting the flow of energy. When she no longer had a connection to him, she gradually pulled her trembling hands from his body and opened her eyes.

He was asleep—or unconscious--with his head resting back on the couch. Her eyes roved over his pale chest. Where there were gashes and gouges less than 20 minutes ago now were angry red lines.

She sighed. He was okay as far as she could tell. A heavy exhaustion was settling on her. She remembered Snape saying students were not allowed in teacher's chambers.

Not wanting to get him in trouble and most definitely not wanting to explain what had happened (hopefully he wouldn't remember), she stood to escape and run to the Hufflepuff dormitory.

She got no further than the end of the couch. Her body slumped, and her vision went straight to black.

~

His eyes opened but saw nothing. For minutes he didn't move, couldn't think. He was detached from all thought and physical awareness. Slowly the world came into view. His fingers were heavy, his hand more so, and his arm impossible to move. Very slowly he lifted his head and looked around. At first his surroundings were just familiar, then recognition seeped into his mind. He was in his quarters, the living room more specifically. He drug his hands to his lap. The tips of his fingers brushed something cool. Looking down, he grasped his wand. A glint caught his eye--the blue marble. Snape knew it to be a Soon, a caller. Smashing it called to the person whose blood was inside. Crushing it last night would have brought Dumbledore to his door to heal him.

Memory rushed to him. His head snapped down to examine his body. He ran his hands over his tender skin, distinctly remembering his flesh splitting, losing his breath. He double checked the Soon, nudging it with his foot. No, it wasn't broken.

Snape leaned forward and forced his chest to expand. His muscles were more stiff than he had ever felt. Even sitting up pulled at his tense torso, but he was no stranger to pain. Compared to his past injuries, what he felt now was practically pleasant.

With caution, he stood and tested out his other muscles. They seemed fine, normal. Stretching his neck, he looked down. Bare feet, bottoms up and slightly dirty, lay unmoving between the corner of his couch and a chair.

Alarm shot through him. Someone was in his rooms. Over the top of the couch, he saw a limp hand and a shock of red hair.

For a second he stood frozen, barely remembering—Natalie rushing to him at the dungeon entrance. He lunged for her, kneeling beside her unmoving body. The light, white T-shirt she collected halfway up her back, and her hair covered her face. He gently pulled it back. Her eyes were partially open. Immediately he laid his hand upon her back between her shoulder blades and held still.

A very slow rise moved his hand, then lowered it. He let out a sigh of relief.

As carefully as he could, he rolled her over into his arms. Her head flopped as it did the day he carried her to the hospital wing, something he did not care to remember or re-live.

“Natalie,” he said softly, brushing her cheek in an attempt at wake her up, “Miss Goust, Natalie.”

He received not even the slightest movement.

Gathering her limp form to him, he picked her up off the floor, moved a few steps to the side, and laid her upon the couch. Almost tenderly, he straightened her legs and checked for injury. Carefully and respectfully, he checked her body, but after replacing her hands at her sides on the cushion, she continued her steady, though perhaps slower than the average, sleeping breath.

A discoloring on the back of the couch by her feet caught his eyes. Dried blood. He lingered on it a moment before passing the couch and entering a doorway to his bedroom.

~

Severus stood in front of the stone gargoyle outside Dumbledore's office. It was completely silent. Dumbledore was not going to like this. He gave the password, and the gargoyle sprang forward. Proceeding up the spiral staircase, he forced himself to breathe through his stiff chest. At the top he knocked on the oak door.

It took the headmaster some time to answer. He opened it in his night clothes, obviously woken from sleep.

“Severus,” he said, stepping aside to allow Snape to enter, “I assumed when I did not hear from you hours ago, there was nothing for us to discuss. I assumed you had no need of me.”

Snape closed the door behind him, but instead of taking the chair in front of the desk like he usually did, he remained standing

“Natalie Goust is in my chambers,” he said, bracing for the anger he could already see in the headmaster's eyes.

Stiffly, Dumbledore asked, looking him in the eye, “Why is she there?”

Taking as deep a breath as he could, Snape said, “I returned severely injured. She was out past curfew and came to aid me. She got me to my chambers, and ...I am... not sure what happened after.... I awoke several minutes ago, healed almost completely—and she was unconscious on the floor. She is uninjured as far as I can tell, but I would very much appreciate it if you would check also. I could not wake her.”

Snape waited for Dumbledore's reaction. The older man surveyed Severus through his glasses without a word. For a long time they stood in silence, Snape just waiting, staring at the floor in front of his feet.

“Alright, Severus, I will come. We need to sort this out before Delores Umbridge and the students wake,” Dumbledore finally told him.

Snape, mildly relieved, reopened the door and stood by as Dumbledore passed him to leave.

~

Standing above his unconscious student, Snape took in her position. She had not moved. The worry he tried to ignore washed over him.

Dumbledore bent over her and waved his wand again and again. He stepped closer and peered at her face. After a minute he straightened out and spoke to Severus.

“She seems fine. It is as if she were in a deep sleep,” he said, “You have no potions here she could have been exposed to?”

Snape shook his head at once, “All of my potions are in one kitchen cupboard, the bathroom, or my labs, which she has no access too.”

After a minute Dumbledore decided, “I will take her to the hospital wing and tell madam Pomfrey she mishandled another potion--”

“Albus,” Snape interjected, “Clearly there is something wrong. Poppy won’t be able to help if you do not give her the correct information. Natalie may not know herself what has happened. Waking up in a different place could terrify her, especially if this leaves her debilitated in some way.”

“Are you suggesting she stay here?” Dumbledore challenged, the note of danger evident in his voice.

Severus said nothing. He lowered his gaze to the floor.

“After dinner I would like to see your injuries,” Dumbledore said, waving his wand to raise her off the couch, “Whatever has happened to her is related to your healing.”

Albus conjured a stretcher and levitated her onto it. With a quick “good night,” Dumbledore left Severus to stand alone in silence, regretting going to Dumbledore before the dawn had come.

~

With two hours of sleep, Snape dressed thinking nothing but of how he needed to make a trip to the hospital wing.

As he approached the double doors to the infirmary, he paused. If she was awake, what would he say? Why didn’t I bleed to death? I’m glad you’re not dead? Either way, he needed to know if she was alright.

Pushing open one of the doors, he saw the long, dim room beyond. No sound came from within. He saw no one and heard no movement. Steeling himself against his nerves, he stepped forward.

His footsteps echoed as he marched the length of the room. There was only one bed occupied. It sat at the far end of the infirmary on the left with blue curtains set up around it. The curtains hung still as if stiff. Finally he reached them. After a pause, he reached out and drew aside one of the curtains.

There she lie, as still as death, eyes closed, hands lying on the blanket that covered up to her clavicle. Her hair streaked red across the white pillow.

Severus ran a hand over his mouth and simply stood. He was lost. He needed to help. The thin material of the hospital dress looked itchy. It was lower than any clothes he’d seen her in. Suddenly he remembered the scar he had seen her first day in his class, the one that went over her collarbone. How had she gotten it? The chance that he could never ask her incited a panic in him.

“Severus,” Poppy said in a quiet voice.

He started at her word. It had been a long time since someone could sneak up on him. He turned to face her.

“Is there no change?” he asked.

“No, I have no idea what’s wrong,” the nurse confessed, “Do you any information or idea--being it was a potion accident?”

He looked at her with glazed eyes, and she looked back expectantly, as if she doubted it was an accident that had caused such an unusual illness.

Seeing no point in lying to her, he said, “The headmaster has refused you any information.... Even if he hadn’t, I doubt it would help.”

She pressed her lips together but said nothing. She turned and left him to stand over the comatose girl.

~

He did his best to present himself as normal as he could, but his mind was elsewhere. Something seemed to be belaying his movements, as if an invisible force was weighing on his limbs. He wasn’t sure if it had something to do with his healing or if his emotions were actually getting the better of him. If he was honest with himself, it was probably a little of both.

By dinner there was no news. When the meal was completed, Snape followed Dumbledore to his circular office and began to undress his top half, lying his long black robes on the back of the chair in front of Dumbledore's desk.

Albus watched Severus move in silence. He was pained to see the younger man look so lost.

“How was your day, Severus?” Albus asked lightly.

It took several seconds for the words to process. Snape looked up, his shirt mostly unbuttoned. Then he moved his eyes away again and pulled the fabric from his waistband with a muttered, “Fine.”

“I sent Natalie Goust’s parents a letter about what has happened,” Dumbledore started, knowing Snape would not discuss anything but the subject that had been on his mind all day, “But the owl returned without a reply, and they have not contacted me. Do you know anything about her home life?”

Severus shook his head, peeling the white, long-sleeve shirt from his shoulders and lying it over his robes.

“I know she has nightmares that wake her roommates,” he said softly, “But that’s it.”

Dumbledore nodded and approached Severus. Several lines, some long, others small, sporadically striped his torso. They were more red than pink, but their anger was slowly fading.

Dumbledore peered closely but did not touch him. He waved his wand gently and repeated several times. Waves of heat and then cold washed over him; his skin tingled then itched intently. Finally Dumbledore straightened and looked at him.

“I have no idea,” the headmaster said, “It appears you have healed as if over an extended period of time.”

“Do you think it has anything to do with her sleeping?” Snape asked, reaching for his shirt.

“Perhaps,” Dumbledore said vaguely, turning away and seating himself behind his desk.

Snape finished buttoning his shirt and grabbed his robes, threw them over his shoulders, and pulled out his wand. He waved it, and the buttons looped together one right after another to his collar. He stood there for a minute, debating.

Finally he said, “May I go to the hospital wing tonight?”

Dumbledore looked up at him critically.

“Do not draw attention to yourself, Severus. If you go, go only once.”

With a short nod, Snape left the office, the door closing more softly than usual. He walked his path straight to the dungeons through them to the end, and opened his door with a simple touch. He didn’t bother to light the fire or the candles. He wouldn’t be staying long.

Walking along his memorized path between the couch and chair, he he put his foot down and heard a click. He paused and pulled out his wand.

“Lumos,” he said almost lazily.

Light fell from the tip of his wand to the floor. He knelt and brushed his fingers on the rug. Finding small objects between the fibers, he pulled a couple up and laid them on his palm in the light.

Buttons--tiny black buttons. He stared at them.

Pieced of images sharpened. Vaguely he remembered. She had ripped off his shirt and robes in effort to get to his injuries.

With a deep breath, he stood, pocketed the buttons, and turned to the dead fireplace. He held the light of his wand to the books above it.

Here were the books he liked against his better judgement, muggle books of made-up stories. They were useless and inapplicable, but each one held someone else’s life, and he enjoyed immersing himself in it. Even pain was different. The characters weren’t real; they couldn’t feel it.

He plucked a book with a well used spine from the shelf--Persuasion by Jane Austen. He carefully pocketed it in his robes, doused his wand, and swiftly exited his chambers.

Several minutes later, he was pushing open the infirmary doors and entering the dark, candlelit room. There was one sleeping student to his right, and the nurse was nowhere to be seen. He proceeded down the aisle between the rows of beds until he reached the blue curtains on the left. He slipped behind them with as little disturbance as possible.

Natalie looked exactly the same as she had before, unnaturally still and solemn. He watched her as he walked up the length of her bed. Refocusing himself, he pulled out his wand and drew-up a chair. He lunged to catch the wooden chair that appeared out of nowhere before it could clatter to the floor and gently placed it on the stone. Removing his book from his pocket and lying it on her nightstand, he did a spell, and his robe buttons released themselves. He pulled them off and draped them over the back of his chair before taking his seat. He got comfortable and picked up his book again. The characters called to pull him out of this world.

~

Around one in the morning, Natalie began to get her mind back. She started processing information, but her body would not so much as twitch. A couple of times she thought she heard a sigh or the wrinkle of paper. Eventually she drifted back to sleep.

By three ‘o-clock Severus’ head began to droop. He slumped in his chair, his book threatening to topple to the floor from his loose fingers. When he awoke to Madam Promfrey prodding him, he gripped his book, and leaned forward, rubbing his eyes. Natalie's hand had moved. It was in a loose ball, closer to the edge of the bed.

“Did you move her?” Severus asked, pointing to her hand.

“No,” the nurse said, “I have done nothing but check in to make sure she has not died or woken.”

The casual tone in which she spoke of the real possibility of Natalie’s death twinged and wriggled in his chest, but he squashed it with the thrill that went through him. She had moved sometime in the night. Very possibly, she was getting better.

~

The rest of the day was long and tedious. He spent most of the evening and night in his chair beside her bed with a book. He knew his attendance was excessive, knew he should back off but felt he needed to be there. Something in him pulled him to her, something that didn’t have anything to do with him, and he was grateful for it, whatever it was.

Movement caught his eye over the top of his book. He froze and watched. Her hand inched over the silky sheet for just a few second then stilled. His eyes traveled to her face, the rest of him still frozen. Her eyelids twitched and fluttered but didn’t open.

“Miss Goust?” he whispered.

He received no form of communication in response. He settled back in his chair, looking up at her every five minutes.

~

The light hurt her eyes, but she was afraid to shut them for fear of not being able to open them again. The world was fuzzy, like it usually was when she reawoke. She could make out the blue curtains and light brown and grey ceiling far above her. As the fuzziness faded to harder lines, she concluded she was in the hospital wing, snuggled up in a bed.

Her moment of cognitive thought and energy was a short one. Her eyes faded and closed.

~

Snape was growing anxious, and his students were paying for it. Even the Slytherins were getting detention. By day three of Natalie Goust’s unconsciousness, the scars on his torso were light pink, healing faster than any unaided scar. Dumbledore sent out two more letter to her parents. The second owl returned with nothing, and he was still waiting for a third.

Getting worried, Snape sat down at his desk after dinner with the intention of penning a more personal letter to her parents but paused, quill over parchment.

Truth be told, with his mildly obsessive thoughts, most not appropriate--especially for a teacher--he had no business writing to her parents, even if he did shut down at the slightest hint of these...fantasies. His insides squirmed uncomfortably. He remembered how young she was, how she had done so little in life, and he remembered his mistakes; he alone needed to pay for them. He was nothing but poison to her.

He slumped back in his chair, his eyes glazed, hands in his lap. After several minutes, he wrote a short letter:

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Goust,
I am one of the professors at Hogwarts school. The headmaster attempted to contact you with no answer. Your daughter has been taken ill. If you do not respond, the headmaster will make all decisions concerning Natalie Goust’s health.

--Professor S. Snape

That was sufficient, not what he originally intended, but got his point across.

He stood, removed Pride and Prejudice from the shelf above the fire, and took off for the night.