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

He was falling asleep sooner than the other nights. It seemed lack of time spent in a bed was catching up with him. It was barely midnight, and his head was already drooping. He fought it for a while but gave in and closed his eyes.

~

A few times throughout the day, Natalie had awoken. Every time her vision was a little better; she could move a little more, but didn’t push it. She knew not to; she just had to wait.

Consciousness returned to her slowly once again. When coherent thought crossed her mind, she opened her eyes to the same sight that stood frozen before her every time. Slowly she turned her head and got a shock.

Someone was there, sitting less than an arms' length, sleeping. He was wearing a white shirt. She blinked several times before it dawned on her who it was--Professor Snape.

Thankful she had saved her strength, she reached out, picking her hand up off the bed and gliding it to his knee where it rested. His knee was thin and knobby. She smiled faintly. Without the strength to shake him awake, she curled her fingers into the fabric and opened them again. She repeated a couple more times, and he began to stir.

She heard his breath changed as he straightened, eyes still closed. He moved his arms in a small stretch, and then his legs.

Severus felt a lopsided weight on his leg and looked down. A thin, pale hand rested on the course, black material. For a second he was confused, then shot ramrod straight, grabbing her hand.

His heart beat wildly. Relief and worry consumed him. Her hand was soft and limp in his. He dropped the book to the floor and leaned forward, his knees pushed into the mattress. Her green eyes looked at him, still fogged with sleep.

“Miss Goust,” he said slightly breathless.

He looked like he wanted to say more, but instead held her hand with both of his.

“Are you in pain?” he suddenly asked.

“No,” she tried to say, but it came out so softly it was barely a whisper.

He understood and nodded, still gripping her hand. He wanted to know what happened, but he knew she couldn’t answer right now.

“You,” she said in her false whisper.

He quickly moved from his chair to sitting on the edge of her bed. He leaned forward to hear her better, him clutching her pliable hand to his chest.

She adjusted the angle of her neck to look up at him.

“You,” she mouthed again, “Heal.”

“Yes,” he said at once, “Yes, I am healed. I’m just fine.”

She blinked at him. Did he remember what she did? Why was he so worried? She had no energy to find out.

“Do you know how you ended up on the floor?” he asked.

She looked at him. Yes or no? If she said yes, she would have to explain everything to him or make up a reason, but saying no was also a lie.

She said nothing. He waited. When he figured he wouldn’t get an answer, he asked, “Where are your parents?”

Her eyes widened and breath quickened.

“No,” she whispered, “No.”

“Alright,” Severus said softly, letting his hand fall to the side of her head, “It’s alright.”

They had tried to contact her parents. Of course they did. Why didn’t she realize that? It was a good thing she would have so much time to make up an answer.

Her eyes closed little by little, and Severus just waited until sleep took her. Not wanting to move, he rubbed his thumb over her hair, a completely limp hand held gingerly to his breast bone.

She was peaceful again, her face relaxed to its most gentle and natural state. Even so, something about her made her look older, weathered almost. Maybe that was just his subconscious trying to alleviate his guilt.

He gave into himself. Slowly he pulled her hand to his face and pressed his thin lips to a single knuckle. It was warm and slightly clammy from his grip. With great care, he placed her hand on the mattress atop the blanket beside her body.

She was getting better, he knew for sure now. He wanted to take a deep breath; he wanted to be relieved, but a fear settled stubbornly in his heart.

~

The next morning, Severus left the hospital wing, buttoned-up with his book. For the first time in days, he was starving. Breakfast never sounded so appealing.

The teachers all knew Natalie was practically entombed in the hospital wing and were told to have no expectations on her return date. They, too, were told her illness came from a poorly brewed potion. More than once Snape was forced to dryly acknowledge joking side comments about not allowing her into his class or keeping her in a full-body bubble charm while she concocted his assignments. He did his best not to despise his colleagues for speaking of what they did not know, but given that he had no love for most of these people anyway, his resentment and dislike only built. Minerva, at least, seemed to not enjoy the gossip that surrounded Natalie in the staff room. It crossed Severus’ mind a few times that she might be purposely avoiding the topic because it was information Dolores Umbridge didn’t need to know, for Umbridge’s ears were always alert, and she would have loved to remove Natalie from Hogwarts. If this were the case, he was so grateful to Minerva he did not think he could express it to her without looking like a fool.

After breakfast Severus stepped into the staff room, more out of duty as a teacher than actual willingness. He ignored all the other teahers and made a beeline for the couch. He sat with his book to read. Within a couple minutes, someone joined him. He looked up to see Professor McGonagall occupied with her tea.

“How is Miss Goust today, do you know?” she asked without looking at him.

He resumed reading and answered, “Albus said something at breakfast. I believe she opened her eyes in the night.”

“How very fortunate someone was there to see it,” she said in a passive-aggressive tone.

He said nothing.

They sat in quiet for several minutes. Eventually he rose, told her he had to prepare a lesson, and left.

~

Well after dinner, Severus made his way to the infirmary with a book--a collection of Shakespeare's more comedic plays. He was tiring of Jane Austen.

With nearly 24 hours to heal, he had hoped she would have progressed, but when he drew back the curtain, she was asleep, hair sprayed out across the pillow, arms resting at her sides. He sighed slightly in disappointment. Without further ado, he slipped back into his routine--conjuring a chair, removing his robe, getting comfortable, and opening his book.

After only an hour, he heard a soft rustling from the bed. His attention snapped to it. Intently he watched as she heavily drew her hands to her face and opened her eyes. As she blinked repeatedly, he suddenly felt misplaced.

“Professor?” she whispered, her eyes finding him and letting her arms go limp.

He didn’t know what to say. In his mild state of panic, he fell back to the last conversation he had with her.

“Are you in pain?” he asked, leaning close.

“No,” she answered hoarsely, and after a minute added, “Are you?”

“No,” he said at once, “I am healed more than I can explain. Do you know how my injuries faded?” He waited, but she just looked down at the edge of the bed. “Do you know how you ended up on the floor unconscious?”

She still didn’t answer. Finally she said, “Can you ask me these things later?”

Unsure what to say, he nodded, and she seemed to relax just slightly.

“How did you get hurt?” she asked.

He leaned further towards her, hands clasped, forearms now resting on her mattress, his knuckles nearly brushing her side.

For a while he just sat and observed her. She was tired. Whatever had taken her ill still had her in its grip. Her green eyes were muted. Looking at them filled him with sorrow. Her skin was so pale she matched her linens, and, though it seemed dulled somehow, her hair was striking amidst the sea of bland.

“I can’t tell you that,” he finally told her honestly.

She blinked a couple times and pushed the topic, “Will you get hurt again?”

He answered quietly, “Probably.”

Something in his voice pulled at her. She forced her protesting arm back down to her side and opened her hand. The ends of her fingers touched the back of his hand. He watched them, transfixed by the sight of their skin touching, her making them touch. He tore his eyes away and looked up at her face. She was frowning, a line between her eyebrows and a squint at the corners of her eyes.

“No,” she said, almost demanding, “Don’t let them.”

“It’s not of my choosing,” he told her in a carefully measured voice.

For several minutes they lay quietly and watched each other, her fingers resting on the back of his palm, occasionally stroking his silky skin. The silence stretched between them.

“You were here before,” she whispered, “Waiting with me. Why?”

He swallowed and looked at her fingers again. He was never good at this sort of thing. He had learned it was best for him to keep his mouth shut most of the time, but he needed to give her a reason.

“I was worried,” he told her slowly, carefully choosing his words, “No one had any idea what was wrong, and I could do nothing to help. You are my student, and it was possibly my injury that caused you to be placed in the infirmary. The least I could do was try to be here when you awoke--especially since your parents have failed to respond to anything sent by owl.”

It was her turn to avert her eyes. The outline of a memory floated to her. He had mentioned her parents before.

Softly he offered, “Should I ask about them later too?”

She answered him, “Yes.”

He nodded and rested his head on the mattress. He desperately needed to sleep in his bed. His back ached, and his shoulders had a permanent tention to them. Suddenly he was so mentally exhausted, he didn’t want to so much as open his eyes. The world could wait until he was ready to process it.

Soft skin brushed his forehead and became something abruptly worth his attention. Her finger traced his brow and the circle of his eye. He pulled one of his folded arms out from under his head and took her hand in his. Lightly his thumb stroked her palm. It was an intimate motion that calmed him in ways he hadn’t been calm for many years. He was unable to see her face, and it helped make the motion less inappropriate. As he remained resting on the bed beside her, he allowed himself to do this, have an unearned moment of peace.

He didn’t know how long he laid there, his fingertips brushing soft circles and lines over the palm of her hand. Sometimes they strayed and ran up her fingers and back. Hours later he forced himself up to his feet above her. He didn’t know at what point she fell asleep but would have been shocked to see her awake. Her eyes were closed again, and her hand looked oddly empty without his in it.

He composed himself and vanished his chair. Both hands clinging to his book, he took one last long look at her. This girl, this child, had him tangled, and she had no idea. He held a fraction of the order he had in his life a month ago. Now he was wandering in the dark, stumbling, searching, and had no idea why.

~

“Ugh,” she groaned as she rolled over in her hospital bed. Every one of her muscles ached and tensed with her slightest twitch. Done, she was done. No more bed.

Only the blots of candle glow disrupted the blanket of darkness that lay across the room. The single noise that reached her ears was the occasional crackle of flames. She sat up, stretched out her back, neck, and shoulders, and pulled the blanket off her, piling it by the pillow. She swung her legs over the edge and pressed her feet to the cold, stone floor. After a few tries to get her leg muscles to cooperate, she eventually rose, the hem of her hospital gown falling to her knees. One more full body stretch, and she silently padded to the door.
It opened for her without a noise. Stepping through the entryway was freedom. She stood at the top of the stairs, paused, and took a breath. Sweet relief. She was beginning to hate this part of the castle. The nurse’s face and name now filled her with dread.

She took the stairs one careful step at a time. The silence of the castle was peaceful. She assumed it was the middle of the night, a thought that made her relax at first, but then she remembered Professor Snape. Wasn’t he usually with her at night?

She frowned at herself as she slowly paced down a corridor. Why wasn’t he here tonight? She should have been relieved. She still had no idea what she was going to tell him about his healing or about her parents. He couldn’t know the truth, or she’d be kicked out of school, maybe even imprisoned in the Ministry for study. She was sixteen. In a year, when she could run away and use magic without breaking the law, leaving school wouldn’t be that big of a deal, though she would like to have some kind of future ahead of her, but legality was all she needed. Lying was always part of her life, but lying to Professor Snape seemed wrong somehow.

Reaching the steps of the astronomy tower, she began to climb. Now that she was obviously getting better, Professor Snape would probably keep his distance again, go back to hating his students, her included. Part of her was saddened by that reality. Having him around felt safe. She had a place in the school with Snape, but if he was done showing he cared or caring altogether, she would revert back to the odd-ball with no friends and screaming nightmares.

The top of the tower had a biting cold, but it was perfect. She walked to the window cutout and placed her hands on the ledge. She took a deep breath that chilled her her lungs and throat. Far below, the grounds were dark, but she could just barely make out the silhouettes of the forest, the lake, and Hagrid’s cabin, which provided the only visible light, growing and fading with breath. Even the stars were dark. Though visibility was an issue, the school was beautiful. To spend seven years of her life here, growing up would have been (and she hated to use the cliche) magical. Truly, she traveled many places and none embodied the messy, chaotic beauty that was magic as this place did. She hoped to experience it a little longer.

~

Another Friday night with those insufferable people was not what Snape needed. He was low on sleep, and his patience were even thinner than usual. Natalie was wakeing more often and capable of conversation. He had better things to do than listen to the Weasleys’ and the dogs. He already knew everything they discussed either from Dumbledore or the Dark Lord himself, but there were plenty of things he did not know where Natalie was concerned.

Snape dropped his traveling cloak on his puffy couch and selected a book. All day he rehearsed how he was going to approach the touchy subjects she was trying to avoid, but he was still unsure of himself.

Like usual, he opened the infirmary doors as quietly as possible and walked directly to Natalie's curtained bed. He pulled aside the blue fabric and froze. So many times he drew away the curtain to her unconscious and limp body that to see her sitting up and smiling would have shocked him, but finding her bed empty set off every alarm in his head, screaming something was very wrong.

He turned sharply, book still clutched in his left hand, and yelled, "Poppy! Poppy, what happened? Where is she?"

He was nearly to the nurse's door when she opened it in a hurry, he hair frizzing out around its rollers, night dress billowed out around her.

"Severus," she said affronted.

"Where is she?" he asked, cutting her off and pointing at the empty bed.

Mouth open, baffled at his behavior, she stepped forward and walked towards the bed. Several steps closer, she noticed her patient missing.

Yet again, he demanded, "Where is she?"

"I have no idea," Poppy said, turning back to face him, "I did not give her permission to leave, I assure you."

Snape pinched the bridge if his nose, trying to get his anger at her incompetence and his panic under control.

"Go get Minerva," he instructed her, "I'll get Dumbledore. We have to find her."

He began walking towards the doors without needing or wanting her response. Halfway down the length of the room, however, a strip of light appeared on the floor in front of him. It grew as the door silently opened. He stopped.
There she was, her eyes hooded and hair a tangled mess, wearing her white, knee-length hospital gown. She crept in, turned, and shut the door with as little noise as possible, seemingly not noticing them.

“Miss Goust,” he said in a dangerous voice.

She jumped and froze, eyes wide.

“Professor,” she said in shock but was cut off by Madam Pomfrey’s tirade.

“Young lady, how dare you leave without my permission!” the nurse shrieked, “You were half dead a few days ago when you were brought to me. If I am to care for you, you will listen to me. We still have no idea what was wrong with you. What if you were diseased and have now infected the entire castle? What if you dropped again from who knows what? You should never-”

“Poppy,” Snape said strongly. He felt Natalie deserved the lecture but needed to speak with her. The nurse rounded on him, but he continued, “I don’t think disease and relapse are common side effects of agitated potions.”

He looked at her pointedly. She practically growled at him as she marched by, back to her office door and slammed it.

Silence followed. Natalie stood still, blatantly terrified, and waited for him, unsure of which Professor Snape she was left alone with and how angry he was.

He was coming closer. He pulled his wand out and a light appeared above his head, following his direction. He stopped in front of her, looked her up and down, head to toe, and calmly asked, “Are you injured?”

He saw her shoulders relax and breath leave her lungs.

“No,” she replied.

Her voice was weak. Snape stepped back and held his hand out toward her bed in instruction for her to return to her usual place. She did as he indicated, slowly, her feet attached to concrete blocks as she drug them across the floor. He watched her, controlling his breathing, his left hand gripping the wrist of his wand hand. She got to her bed and placed her fingers on the mattress, turning around. She looked at him up through her eyelashes and waited.

Some of the rolling anger in his blood settled, looking at her small form, her red hair hanging past her collar bones, concealing part of her face. He took a deep breath and approached his student. Bending down, as he had done before, he hooked one arm under her knees and wrapped the other around the back of her shoulders. Unlike before, where he hovered her centimeters over the mattress, this time he picked her up fully, her head coming to rest in the crook of his neck. She knew he was angry with her, but he still felt safe. The lecture was coming, she was sure of it, but her body was not used to so much movement and wear; relaxing every muscle, even for just a minute, was most welcome.

He felt the tension in her body leave as she melted into him, and suddenly putting her back into bed seemed entirely optional. He gritted his teeth, willing his hands and arms to relax. He was infuriated, so angry at Poppy for allowing her out of sight, at Natalie for leaving the hospital wing, but mostly he was furious with her for scaring him. Her bed empty--his heart had jumped into his throat, a reaction he was not expecting. It had only ever happened twice: the second he realized the Dark Lord departed for Godric’s Hollow and when Harry Potter didn’t come out of the maze. His physical reaction completely disabused any doubts he had about where his emotions were going. Natalie was important now, too important.

Taking a step forward, he bent over and laid her gently on the bed, her head nesting perfectly in the pillow. He stood up immediately and pulled the dust-blue blanket up to her shoulders. She watched him as he moved, and he avoided eye contact.

“Are you going to yell at me?” she asked softly.

Still refusing to look at her, he shook his head in silence and stepped back. He was well aware of her eyes on him as he conjured his chair and removed his thick, black robe, laid them over the back, and sat with the book he brought, which at some point had ended up in his pocket.

Yes, silence was better for him. He always said the wrong thing, especially when upset. So often when he was hurt, intimidated, or insecure, his words bit out in anger. He had done it to Lily--many times. It was what finally put an end to their friendship. He was not going to make that mistake again.

So he sat quietly, waiting for his emotions to even out. It took only five minutes for her to sleep, but he was awake for the rest of the night, watching her.

~

Gripping the edge of his sleeves, Severus sat straight and tense before Dumbledore, knowing this conversation would not be pleasant, but he had to do it. Nothing could happen to Natalie because of him. He carried the guilt and regret of a hundred people, and he needed no more. The disappointed and irritated looks and the short, cold answers he was sure to receive from the old man were already making him cringe.

“Yes, Severus? What did you need to speak with me about?” Albus asked after a couple minutes of silence.

He knew the subject of Snape’s nerves; Severus could tell by the edge in his voice.

Swallowing and spreading his fingers, Snape began, “I assume you know that Natalie Goust is recovering well.”

The headmaster nodded, his expression mildly exasperated.

Snape continued, “Since she is moving around again, and, like certain other students, she has a knack for ignoring rules…. We have no idea how I healed and she became unconscious, only that they are connected. Also her parents, or any relatives for that matter, have neglected to contact the school in any way.”

“Is there a point to this, Severus?” Dumbledore asked impatiently, leaning back in his chair.

“The link between my healing and her debilitation needs to be discovered. Should she possess any kind of unique skill, the Dark Lord will take an interest in her, and her association with me on top of that both put her in great risk. She needs the protection of the Order,” Snape finished and inhaled deeply, watching Dumbledore’s reaction.

“Her association with you,” Dumbledore repeated, folding his hands in his lap, “You are but her teacher, concerned for her well-being and lack of home support.”

Quietly Snape replied, “So it would seem.”

“You care for her,” Dumbledore said with resignation, pressing his hands over his face, “I told you--I warned you the dangers you would put her in if you couldn’t control yourself. Now you expect me to use our very limited resources as security for your highly inappropriate relationship with a student.”

“No,” Snape clarified immediately, putting his hand up as if it could protect himself from Albus’ words, “No, there is no relationship. She does not care for me, as it should be. She has no knowledge of...my indiscretion.”

“Are you sure?” Dumbledore snapped, leaning forward and grasping the arms of his high backed chair, “You think she hasn’t noticed you treat her differently from the rest of the students? That she’s been blind to you sitting by her bedside every night? Oblivious to how you touch her in ways I doubt you’ve touched anyone? Everyone else sees how you change in her presents--relaxed, safe. She is not an imbecile; she knows allowing students into your private quarters is not something any teacher does, especially you--and because of all this we could lose our spy, and a young girl could lose her life.”

Biting his lip and closing his eyes, Severus’ head hung in obvious shame. A less controlled man would have cried at the emotions ripping his chest to shreds, but then again, how much control had he had these days? He had done it again. He was before Dumbledore bargaining for the safety of a young woman he put in danger. Again. What had to happen for him to learn his lesson?

The silence stretched until Dumbledore finally said, “I can arrange to have her transferred to another school, though she has already been removed from two.”

Snape’s head shot up, and he said quickly, “Please don’t remove her from Hogwarts. She’s safer here, and she knows this place. As far as we know, she has nowhere else to go.”

“You caused this, Severus. You do not get to choose how I fix it.”

“No, she should,” Snape replied, “It’s her life; it should be her choice.”

“Do you think she would choose you?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Snape said in frustration.

“If she is given a proper choice, she would have to be well informed about all options. Could you inform her?”

Snape looked away again. No, probably not.

“Just give her until the end of term at least. Christmas is coming. Let her be here for that.”

Dumbledore surveyed him in silence for a minute, and then said softly, “No part of Natalie Goust is Lily, Severus. It is not fair of you to project your feelings for someone else onto her. They are very different people.”

“I know,” Snape snapped, suddenly feeling exhausted.

“I don’t know that you do,” Dumbledore told him, and then sighed, “If there is not any sign of movement against her, and you swear, I mean actually follow through with staying away from her, she can stay until term resumes. Then I will have her transferred overseas.”

Severus instantly wanted to object quite venomously at her being so far away, but he knew it would be much safer, and he had used up all of Dumbledore’s patients. Instead he just nodded and stood to leave.