Behind the Looking Glass

Reassurance



After that first incredibly passionate time, Snape had quietly risen, dressed and left as she slept. The sound of china softly clinking awakened her as he returned with a tray heavily laden with food and they ate with relish, as they propped against the pillows and lounged amid the tangled bedcovers.

The golden day leisurely turned into bronze and eventually into crystal clear velvety blackness. They had made love once more, and moonlight washed over the thick blanket of snow that covered the grounds about the castle as it crept through the window to bathe their bodies. The glow from the low crackling fire backlit them as they lay resting on their sides in front of the hearth like human spoons. He shivered slightly and pulled the blanket close about them then draped his arm over her like a protective shelter, before pulling her near to nuzzle her gold-cast hair.

“What happens now?”

“Hmm?” His hands were cupped about her breasts again and he answered somewhat absent-mindedly. He was casually investigating the soft nape of her slender neck with his lips, while thoroughly enjoying the feel of her even more soft and warm buttocks pressed against the hollows of his already slightly aroused groin.

“What happens now?” She repeated and rolled over to face him.

“What do you mean?” He frowned a bit, trying to understand her question and feeling his body beginning to quickly cool in places where hers had just been only seconds before. He was slightly confused as any man would be when suddenly confronted with conversation while anticipating the hopes of more physical intimacy with a woman’s body. It took a bit for him to switch his mode of thinking to hers.

“I mean I can’t stay here any longer.”

“Of course you can,” he said patiently.

“But I can’t. Someone is bound to tell Vladimir,” her eyes were wide with fear as if she had just realized she had committed some terrible faux pas.

Smirking, he rose to his elbow and arched his brow as he looked down on her, his hair had taken on a bluish cast in the moonlight, “Who? Me?”

“No – I know you wouldn’t, but I can’t keep up the charade of being someone else after what happened. I just know I will forget myself at some point and do something foolish. If I do, people will talk, and it could lead to a scandal – you might even lose your position here.”

His smirk softened slightly, “Foolish as in – watch me while pretending not too? Wistfully sighing at ill-chosen moments? Cryptically smiling for no apparent reason? A slight touch as we pass in the corridor? I might do those very things myself – on purpose, just to make things a bit more interesting around here for the old gossips.”

Seeing she didn’t understand what he meant, he said, “What I am trying to say and what you don’t understand my dear - I do not give a rat’s arse about what others think. Speculation, rumours and innuendo have been following closely at my heels for much of my adult life, and I only care what I think of myself and what you think of me.”

“But, I…”

He quickly interrupted her, “Here, you are safe – with me you are safe. After this term we can go anywhere we wish and live, as we like but until then you should stay here,” he kissed her, “with me.”

He waited several moments before adding, “And as for what happens now, I think we should get off this floor and back into bed. My arse is freezing down here, my joints don’t care for it and it’s much more comfortable over there.”

Grunting, and with a bit of difficulty, he rose and reached down to tug her to her feet. Seeing him wince in pain as he heaved his legs onto the bed, Augusta pulled a bottle of Bal-moil from the nightstand and began to massage his aching joints with it. He lay and watched her, and as he did her simple act of kindness affected him much more than he wanted to admit, even to himself. Being cared for was strange and new to him, and it was amazing to Snape there was someone in this world that was willing to do something for him without expecting a profitable return on his or her time invested and for this, he was grateful.

“Why do you keep Bal-moil around?” He eventually asked as he stifled a yawn as the potion began to work upon his nerves and pain receptors.

“I was badly injured at St. Mungo’s, and once in a while, I have pain from it. I make it myself.”

He looked, and failed to see any scars upon her smooth skin and he frowned in puzzlement. Seeing this she explained, “In the last year, Voldemort’s followers have come up with a new weapon – a new twist on the Cruciatus Curse. It causes physical damage to the nerves throughout the body, and is aimed at whatever parts of it that is chosen,” she paused and took a deep breath before continuing.

“They were coming from everywhere. I went to defend our flank, and was hit in the back with it. It was a rather unique experience – the pain doesn’t leave immediately once the caster has stopped concentrating. I was virtually helpless. That is when August stood between my would-be murderer and myself – he was hit with the killing curse and fell dead on top of me. He saved me twice really. The Deatheaters never even bothered to look at the body beneath him, and they believed me to be dead as well. My parents were killed shortly after and I never got to attend their funerals. It was several weeks before I could even walk again.”

The Dark Mark on his forearm began to burn. It was not burning from being summoned, but the kind of burning that one feels from keenly sensed guilt and sudden regret. It also burned in his mind when he realized she knew it was there and also from the terrible sadness that suddenly seemed to age her beyond her years; he unconsciously began to slip his arm beneath the covers. She gently reached out, took his hand and turned it palm up, and tenderly kissed the faint mark. He squeezed her hand and tightly shut his eyes. He sucked his breath in sharply at her gentle declaration of his blamelessness, and forgiveness for his youthful and imprudent quest for power. He swallowed hard several times as she lay in his arms, her face buried in his neck as she wept over her terrible loss.

Her sobs died down and she turned her back to him, and Snape curled his body around hers. He lay still and held her. He knew it was completely useless to try to comfort her in any other way than what he was doing – by just being there. He also knew that forgiveness usually went only so far while someone grieved, and grief often had a tendency to transform into unfocused rage and hate. He lay waiting, a small and unwarranted fear niggling at him as he expected the ‘other shoe’ to drop. So deep in his thoughts, he flinched as her voice jerked his attention back to her.

“I’m so – so tired of being alone… love me. Make me yours – always yours. I think I’ll die if I ever have to be alone again,” her voice caught in mid-sentence.

Slightly shocked at her forlorn plea, several emotions crossed his face simultaneously as he looked at her. He wiped her tears and said as a matter-of-fact, “You must believe me, because if you don’t – then I’m useless as a man – useless to you, and to myself or anyone else. You are mine, and I’m yours for however long as you want, or need,” and with that said, he gently pulled her near.

He tenderly nuzzled the nape of her neck once more, as he ran his hand along her side. Tears still glistened on her sculpted cheeks as she arched her back and pushed her hips against his steadily swelling shaft. Her breasts filled the palms of his hands perfectly, he then began to roll her nipples between his fingers until they rose proudly and began to pucker. He slid his hand between her legs and felt her velvet folds beginning to become moist, and she allowed his fingers to glide inside. He pushed them in with a steady rhythm until she began to match it. Withdrawing his fingers, he turned her head and kissed her with a light brushing of the lips as he teased her with his tongue. Her lips parted, and he savoured the sweetness of her mouth.

Still kissing her, he grasped her hips and entered her willing flesh from behind. His shaft slid into her eager walls, and he waited. He did not want to rush this. He took his time, kissing her repeatedly slowly and deeply before he moved. She pushed her hips back, and he slid deeper within. His thrusts were long and slow and this time he felt no need to control himself, this time was unlike any other for him. It felt right; it felt as if the way it should have always felt - natural, easy, no demands with nothing to prove. The difference was, he was with someone he cared about who also cared in return. They rode the crest of their pleasure together as they came as one. He slowly withdrew from her and she turned to him.

Augusta looked at him steadily with tear-swollen eyes before slowly laying her head upon his shoulder as she curled against him seeking warmth, as well as the physical comfort and safety of his arms.

Her breathing slowed and became regular and he knew she had fallen asleep. Laying in the darkness, his arm behind his head, he knew her plea was an honest one. It was not one he could not find in himself to refuse. He knew this budding relationship would definitely be a difficult task for him, yet he was willing to do anything, no matter what, regardless of the consequences, to ensure and cement that relationship.

He made a mental checklist to contact some of his old informants; he wanted to know just exactly where Vladimir Roshenko was, what he was up to and with whom he was doing it with.