The Silence

‘I see your face on the street, burnt hands but features so clear, when I’m the girl that you want, I will be waiting right here.’

‘Star No Star’

Jack Off Jill

Severus Snape sat at his desk in his chambers and scribbled a multitude of acidic remarks across the first in a pile of never decreasing examination papers and essays. He had three different types of exam paper to mark and three different type of essay to mark, but he had taken all six types of paper and shuffled the lot into one large pile, just to break up the monotony.
By his side sat a glass of brandy and a photo in an ornate silver frame; decorated round the edges with little birds and trees. The usual candles and torches lit his always dark chambers, but offered no real heat.
He was tired and bored after a day full of classes teaching over enthusiastic children, who never seemed to know when to shut up. He had actually bothered to head down to the Great Hall for supper that evening; though he was still not exactly sure why he had bothered. He had merely shoved the food his plate around with his fork and tried to block out the laughter and conversation that tinkled merrily around him. To some in times of loneliness that may have been a welcome comfort, but to Snape, the constantly irritated and romantically doomed potions master of Hogwarts school, it was nothing but an abomination. It was an insult to his constant black mood.

He sighed deeply and rubbed his forehead, listening to the resounding silence that always seemed to follow him. It had followed him for the past six months, had continued to follow him all that day to serve as a constant reminder of things that weren’t there that should be. The Silence. It held such a presence in his life that he had christened it with a name. He had taken down the old clock that always used to keep him company, the constant tick-ticking drew his attention to it constantly and he found himself staring at it for hour after hour as he drank himself into oblivion every single night. Waiting for her return. Or should he say, their return.

He had a daughter. A fact he had learned barely minutes before he and Elizabeth had been separated again. It had only been sixth months ago, not exactly a century he had to keep reminding himself, it was hardly a comparison to the five years they had spent separated before their reunion. He thought back to now hazy images of the little girl he had made with her, toying with his navy coloured feather quill absent-mindedly. When he first saw the timid little creature, he had thought she was a little odd and didn’t really like her at all . She cowered behind the skirts of her Grandmother, peering at him with those huge black eyes. It had never occurred to him at the time, as it wouldn’t if you didn’t know, that she had got those eyes from him.

He thought about Elizabeth and Ruth, his little girl, all the time.

Elizabeth was the result of his own failures at resistance.
The schoolgirl fantasy had never really plagued him before their relationship. If it had, he would never have become a Teacher, it would have raised too many questions. But as a certain girl under the name of Elizabeth Short grew through her years at school before his eyes from a quiet, yet giggly girl to an ebony-haired, buxom goddess, he could not resist but to think of her. He used to watch her bottom as she carried her books from class, the loose curls at the tips of her hair stroking the base of her back. She had begun to smile at him, from time to time. Eventually, when he could handle the sexual tension no more, he created nine rules, ‘The Nine Orgies’ which were designed to gradually seduce and test the seventeen year old. And he invited her to his dungeon office and deflowered her upon his desk. That first night they spent together would always haunt the lonely man. How was he supposed to know that all this would stem from simple lust and an interest in spanking?

They fell in love.Deeply. Though he was pretty certain that she had loved him first and for a long time, before he had succumbed to her innocence and beauty. Just before all the meetings in his office had started out, he had forced himself to believe that his interest in her was purely sexual, though deep down inside he knew it was not and the mere thought that he may be falling for one of his students alarmed him. He loved her now that they had a history together, and indeed a daughter, more than he ever thought possible. She had proven her love for him over the years in many ways. From when she was still a semi-innocent schoolgirl in fishnet and school socks, complying to his twisted wishes. Allowing him to whip her and flog her with both cruel devices and his stinging palms, kneeling on the shards of broken potion vials, giving him her blood without question and drinking his…… Then they had met up at the Inn, purely by chance, her Mother owned (unbeknown to him) The Wand and Starbeam. She said she still loved him and proved it. Though she was now a murderer. She had killed a man at the Ministry of Magic called Flitze. Strangled him. To her, in her young and strangely psychotic mind, he was a representative of all that had made her and their daughter suffer. They had forced them to separate in the first place.

He looked up at the photograph of both Elizabeth and Ruth that she had left him with when she had been forced to leave by Dumbledore the last time. In the picture they looked happy at least, even if they weren’t in the real world. His black eyes gazed not at the picture, but into it. Into the heart and the mind of his significant other, into their past. He had never guessed in a million years that the woman he loved so much would be capable of murdering someone. Not only murdering them, but strangling them with a necklace. It must have taken a while to do it. The thought didn’t please him, the poor man struggling with her in his office, choking and gasping for breath, but there was some insane logic to the mans sacrifice.
She had done it because the Ministry had deprived herself and her daughter of her rightful partner and her daughters rightful Father. He hadn’t even had the chance to greet the little girl yet and she was almost six years old already. A thought occurred to him at times and he didn’t like it one bit. What if the little girl had grown accustomed to being part of a single parent family, especially as they would now still be on the run from Aurors and other representatives of Azkaban searching to commit justice for murder, and what if the girl didn’t want a Father? What if she rejected him? All his life he had despised children but he realised now that was because they despised him. He didn’t want it to be that way with his own.

In many ways, Severus had been rejected his whole life, but only by people who didn’t really matter all that much on the whole, those who could be easily despensed after time had healed his wounds. Those he wished he could have been friends with in his youth to make him feel more accepted and popular and those women who he wished to bed to sate his teenage addiction to sex, but his own child? That was a thought which scared him. He knew now that the rest of his life would be shared with Elizabeth and Ruth, if not in body with his presence, then in mind. He wanted no other and they had made promises he intended to keep until the day he died and after that no doubt. He could quite easily see the rest of his lonesome life being pissed away staring at his one and only photograph of the two of them together, wishing they would return to him and relieve him of his pain and torture, in a room of memories.

They had made a deal. If she hadn’t returned to him within a year then he was to go and search for her. Search where exactly? He didn’t know. But he knew she wasn’t in Azkaban. He worked occasionally as a spy for Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself and he would of informed Severus, probably in person if she had been caught and imprisoned. Likewise, if she was dead, he would have been informed. But no news came at all. He had started reading every newspaper he could get his hands on in case of any updates. When the murder was first uncovered, her face had been all over wizard newspapers and the schools owls had delivered them all to him. He kept every cutting, every one and stuck them in a book to torture himself over on lonely nights, when drunk and angry. Those he taught found it very appropriate that the nasty, sinister, evil looking and sounding potions master had a thing for a wanted murderer. They found it funny and predictable.

He did not.

And any pupil who put so little value on their life as to risk it and make a comment around or directly to him would find themselves in so many detentions they would forget the sky was blue through lack of seeing it.

Professor Dumbledore, the schools Headmaster who had let Elizabeth escape from Hogwarts, pretending he hadn’t seen her had become quite distant from Snape. Before the whole Elizabeth incident had begun, almost six years ago now, Snape and Dumbledore had been on very good terms indeed. Snape was not and never would be a persons person, he hated conversation and was no good at it and socializing was always a disaster, but he used to find it easy enough to relax around the old man. But now it seemed as though even that small relief from constant tedium had been extricated, as Dumbledore only spoke to him about school and those who were taught within it. He was never impolite, but also rather cold, with clipped tones on the whole. It was not Severus’s fault who he loved and he had always rather hoped that Dumbledore would see that, but it seemed that nothing on earth would ever excuse the teacher from wanting a criminal, his fault or not.

He didn’t and wouldn’t see her as the criminal everyone else saw her as because she wasn’t, he knew her. She was a sweet and tender girl who loved him and accepted him despite all his many faults and all the mistakes he had made when they first started to spend time together, the violence and the humiliation. He had been a cruel man and didn’t doubt for a second that he was still very cruel to those he didn’t have time for, even when he didn’t realise he was doing it, but she, somehow, had noticed that there was a vulnerability beneath that cold, hard, impermeable frost. It had begun to release itself involuntarily. He just found himself glowing internally when she was around making him feel uncomfortable and cross with himself. Even in the lessons he taught her when she was simply sat with her head bowed, copying diagrams and scripture from the blackboard and not paying him any attention whatsoever. When he invited her for that first initial meeting, he never would have guessed she would ever have that effect on his dormant heartstrings and the black void of his soul, to thaw him out and make him actually smile. Of course, he had loved in his youth, but never like this. Never without reason, never unconditionally, never with such unquestionable obsession. He forgave her for all she did because she forgave him for all the physical pain he had bestowed upon her in their early days and because, simple though it was, she loved him.

They had never really needed to speak about the violence during the reunion. He guessed she just knew that the whole thing was a bit of an ordeal for him. When she had began to awaken feelings in him, it was like when you’ve been sitting still in the same place for a long time and then your joints and limbs ache when you have to move. It takes some times to become less stiff, to get the blood flowing again. He hadn’t used his heart or soul for that long that he had almost forgotten how to use them and he felt like an incompetent fool. He was so accustomed to just being a lonely bastard, with no need for emotions or to consider the feelings of others, it had just been too hard. But she worked her way into that rusted old heart and made it beat again.

But now he was without her; it just beat slowly and weakly, pumping nothing but cold blood around his weak body. He wondered if it was hope of their impending reunion or the memories of their time together that made it beat, but more often than not he wondered why it bothered to beat at all.

It was the not knowing when their reunion would be that plagued him the most. It kept him awake at night in a frightful state a lot of the time, with migraines and stomach pains. She would be twenty-three now and he had had no way to send her a birthday greeting. That bothered him, but it was the worry if they were alright and keeping well that plagued him more than anything else.

Were they eating alright? Were they cold? Had they been injured in their escapes? Who was taking care of them? Was it another man?
He should be there, he knew that and the constant reminder by the photo on his desk and The Silence that he was not, was like a thorn in his side. He wanted to be the one to curse those who tried to attack them, to educate their young daughter, to feed them and to care for them when they needed it. To hold them both at night and keep them within his aura. He was the Father of Ruth and Elizabeth’s lover and he was not able to do a fucking thing to help or support either of them.

And Ruth, the poor girl, what a nothing existence she had endured so far. Although he hated admitting it to himself, he had a sneaking suspicion that Elizabeth was not going to be the worlds greatest mother. She was still so young, she drank a lot and swore like a sailor and was as rough as they come for the most part, especially now she had allowed herself to become so bitter. Not only that, but whether Severus like to admit it or not, she was a murderer.

He knew she had murdered Graham Flitze in Ruths and his honor, but it wasn’t the point, she still did it.

There was a longing in him that was quite understandable. He loved Elizabeth and despite the fact he hadn’t even met Ruth properly yet, he found himself thinking of her with love too.

He had never in all his life seen himself as a family man and the thought of himself in that role often made him laugh a little as it was so unlikely. Even when he was a child, at that age when all young ones want a family simply because they think that is what you grow up to do, he didn’t want one. Girls had completely disgusted and repelled him until he reached puberty and then he went about love with a simple jack-hammering method, fucking every shape and size and variation of woman he could see until he grew bored with their tiresome conversation and attempts to arouse him. He just wasn’t interested in other people and they were not interested in him, so it seemed, unless for their personal gain. He wasn’t selfish or ignorant, he just didn’t care. He had led that type of life. He had been a lonely child, had a difficult family life that he preferred not to think about at all and then when he started Hogwarts he hung about with the most undesirable bunch you could imagine. All open followers of Voldemort, all Muggle haters, all Mudblood haters and now he taught their children at the school were they met.
They were a group of boys whose hearts did not lie on the Quidditch pitch or in the hearts of teenage girls, but on hate and mindless fucking. Hate of all they thought unacceptable. He drank a lot, had sex a lot, contracting all manner of venereal diseases, all harmless but still uncomfortable. Most of his teenage years were not actually committed to memory, strangely enough. They were merely a haze of blocking out his younger years of life experience with alcohol and wizard drugs (maybe that was were his interest in potions and mind stimulation had originated, he had often wondered), both good and bad sex and violent escapades with fellow Death Eaters. Young Severus Snape never really felt like he had a reason to live and that sense felt strangely blessed; if his life had no value to him, then he could waste it how he pleased. He abused his body and his mind until Dumbledore got involved and brought him back to Hogwarts and made him stay there. That was how he became the schools youngest Teacher.

Snape shook his head to free himself of unwelcome memories, srewing his eyes shut. His past was simply not an issue anymore and he wished not to dwell on it, not then and not ever.

He rested his quill back in the inkwell and pushed the stack of jumbled parchment aside, it had no relevance and its very presence annoyed the hell out of him. He wanted to have a normal life, but fate always elected to give him abnormality in all he did, in work, in sex, in love, in life…..
Maybe it was a past life he was paying for in this one. He sat back in his wooden chair and it creaked slightly. Even that unavoidable thing annoyed him. He sipped at his brandy and then gulped.
Alcohol, like in his youth, was fast becoming a favorite way to block out all that hurt him. His drinking was not a problem though, so he preferred to think, he was not that much of an idiot. He ran his tongue about his bottom lip to collect a stray drop of brandy. ‘But it could be’, he thought. Drink created a welcome oblivion, where memories, both from his youth and from his recent past, were not there to haunt him. When he was drunk, only the sweetest memories remained. Elizabeth covered in trifle and smelling of sherry, Elizabeth rolling down a fishnet stocking teasingly by candlelight, Elizabeth dressed as the debauched schoolgirl, bent over and exposed to him, smiling, Elizabeth taking his into her mouth, engorged and bursting to come right into her pink little mouth, Elizabeth holding him tight and telling him she loved him….

His evenings often ended with these thoughts. He was not an insensible drunk. More the kind who would drink himself either to unconsciousness or sobriety. He usually went for brandy. It was a sweeter kind of drunk than when he got smashed on whisky. That was saved for when he was mad, when he simply could not cope with the solitude. When the memories of her grew sour and merged into the nightmares he had when he actually managed to sleep, so he could no longer tell the difference between them and reality. In his nightmares she was the princess of blood; screaming sweet harmony with hollow eyes, cradling their child in her veinless arms. She wasn’t his in his nightmares. She belonged to the Death Eaters. She was their whore, their slut, their lady of the night. They leered over her defenseless form wearing their expressionless masks. They beat her in much the way Snape used to do, only they really meant it. They punched her like a man punched another man. They kicked her and slapped her in her tender womb and empty belly, ripped at her breasts with sharp nails and breathed her sweet name on foul breath……

Whisky was not his friend like it had been in his youth. It was in the way that it extracted him from his lonely existence, but the places it took him were not pleasant at all. It took images of Elizabeth and of Ruth and spliced them with images from his youth and even earlier than that, back to days he couldn’t bear to regress to when sober. And, of course, the nightmares had returned to his insomnia ravaged mind - ripping apart what precious memories he had. Taking the pedestal which Elizabeth was perched on and shaking it violently, so she almost toppled and fell, smashing to pieces.

Almost.

Severus stood up and wandered over to the window. He opened it and breathed in the sweet May air. It was scented softly with the smells of spring; pollen from the huge flowers in Hagrids gardens scented all the air outside Hogwarts at springtime. It still carried a certain crispness, left over from a cold April and cooled him a little. He was greatful for the relief. He often worked himself up like that and found himself needing to be shook out of it by a walk or temperature change. It was a habit he couldn’t get out of. A vicious circle of abuse and relief. He sighed. He was used to that. He rubbed his face again and realised he needed to shave, his usual soft and hairless face was getting a little stubbly. But not today, tomorrow. He glanced at the clock on the windowsill in his en-suite, a silent one, thankfully. It was just past midnight. He wasn’t tired yet though and didn’t even want to try and contemplate sleeping when he wasn’t even tired. The bouts of insomnia he got were bad enough when he was excruciatingly tired, never mind wide awake.

He looked back out of the window. The sky, appropriately, was starless and moonless from where he was and he toasted it wordlessly by draining his glass and placing it down on the floor at his feet. He decided to go for a pee and then try and get a bit more comfortable. He put some music on. Berlioze. Then he took off the top two layers of his robes; the long, flowing black cape that was a Hogwarts legend and his own personal trademark and then the long black button down jacket beneath that. He was left wearing a white shirt with long cuffs and a neck that went right up to his chin and his usual black trousers with buttons at the feet. He kicked off his boots and sat on the edge of his bed. He was vaguely aware that it was Saturday night. The rest of the teachers had gone to the pub, which one and where he wasn’t sure and as per usual they hadn’t bothered to invite him, not that he would have gone anyway. Plus, someone needed to stay in case any of the pupils needed anything.

There was a knock at his chamber door. He rolled his eyes and pulled himself up, hoping that he didn’t smell too strongly of alcohol and wondering how in the hell a student had found their way there. He opened the door. There stood a first year boy.
"What do you want?" he snapped.
"Sir, erm, Jamie Knight from my dorm has wet the bed and he doesn’t know what to do."
Severus rested his forehead on the door frame with a slight thud. What on earth was he doing here? Listening to this? It was a very dark humor indeed. He couldn’t help the comfortable thought that despite the fact he hated children, if it had been Ruth who had wet the bed he wouldn’t mind changing the sheets himself.
"Does the boy not have a wand to clear it up himself?"
"Yes, Sir, but, erm, he doesn’t know any spells for it and I don’t either, and it smells terrible! He’s panicking…"
"Wait there." He said in a suitably nasty tone, not his worst nasty tone by far, but not exactly warm either. He went inside his chambers and took a bottle out from one of his desk drawers.
"Three drops of this on him, four on the bed to soak up the piss. Tell him to come to me on Monday to return the bottle." Whoops, he didn’t mean to swear.
"Thank you Sir." The boy turned to leave.
"Wait. What house are you from?" Snape said. The boy was in his pyjamas so he couldn’t tell himself from school tie or scarf.
"Hufflepuff."
"Ten points from Hufflepuff for disturbing me so late at night." And with that he slammed the door in the eleven year olds face. He didn’t feel a touch of remorse and didn’t think he ever would with first years. They were the easiest to intimidate and it made him feel good. There were no two ways about it. He was just about to get the brandy bottle for another, slightly larger glass, when the door went again.
"Gods!" he said, scowling and stamped back over to it. He slammed the door open.

Elizabeth staggered in, looking frightful, dragging her left leg slightly, carrying Ruth in both arms and absolutely covered in deep, bleeding scratches.
"What the hell-?" Snape was lost for words. She lay the girl down on his bed and then slumped down next to her, checking her face and arms for scratches, but there appeared to be none.
"Elizabeth!" he came over to her and knelt down at her feet.
"I’m weak. Ruth is weaker. Hit Wizards found us, put a curse on me, I’m not sure what it was but it doesn’t appear to have hit Ruth."
"What was the curse?" he asked, taking one of her arms and examining it.
"I think it was ‘scabere appugnare.’ Do you know what that is? I’ve heard it before, though I don’t know where."
"Yes, it means ‘scratch attack.’ I didn’t know the Hit Wizards had the authority to use it. It’s an old Death Eater curse we used to use in the 70’s on Muggle livestock. Bastards."
He got up and left them to rummage through his drawers and to go into the en-suite for painkillers and warm water to soothe her skin and those awful looking gashes. He returned and put it on the floor next to him, soaking a cloth and wiping the blood away. Even when he had cleaned them, they still looked terribly nasty. He was not a medi-wizard and so was not exactly sure what the right method of treatment would be. He would have sent her to Madam Pomfrey, but was not sure it would be wise, considering the circumstances.
"Castus reparare!" he said, with a swift flick of his wand and the scratches shrank a little in length and width, though they were still there. It looked as though they would be too deep to heal purely with magic, especially considering he wasn’t qualified or educated in that type. The little girl at Elizabeth’s side sat up and tucked her hair behind her ears. She looked scared and understandably so, tucking both little arms around her mothers waist and staring at Snape with those huge eyes he had memorized from the photo. She had on a little black dress with a white cardigan over the top. For some reason, the thought of trying to actually communicate with her felt ridiculous, so he didn’t bother just then. Instead, he placed both palms on Elizabeth’s knees.
"What happened?" he asked, squeezing them. She placed her hands on top of his.
"We were going home from my mothers and they just apparated before us with no warning. I thought the whole thing was beginning to blow over. They told me I had to go with them. Ruth got scared so I lifted her and ran, but they cursed me. God, it still hurts. I managed to outrun them for the most part. That was at tea time. We hid in the Forbidden Forest for the last hour and then came up here when I thought it was safe to."
"You ran all the way from Knockturn Alley?! That’s a train journey away!!"
"Yes, which explains why I was carrying Ruth, she was exhausted. I am so tired you wouldn’t believe it."
"Elizabeth, they’re going to know you headed here."
"Why are they?"
"Is it not obvious?"
"We have nowhere else to go, Sev."

His heart was beating fast and hard through the shock. He realised he was trembling. He looked over at Ruth again, but to his dismay, she hid her face in her mothers side, not wanting to look at him.
Think. Think. He couldn’t think. He didn’t know what to do.
"We can’t go back to my mothers now, they’ll be expecting me to return there. I’m sorry, Sev."
"Don’t apologize, you are always welcome here, you should know that, it’s just it’s not safe. One thing we know is that Aurors or anyone else can’t apparate directly into the school, Dumbledore had that kind of entry protected against be magic years ago, before even I was taught here."
"So if they got here, we would have time to hide and to get away?"
"Yes, but it’s still not safe for you to be here."
Where? Where?

"We’ll go back into the Forest, it would take them years to find us in there." He said. He pulled his boots on and tucked his wand into his waistband, before pulling all his robes back on and topping it with his cape.
"Still the same old you with your bloody black clothing."
He couldn’t resist a smile.
"Give me a minute," she said. "I need to freshen up."

She got up, removing the childs arms from around her waist and went into his en-suite. He looked at Ruth with what he hoped was a soft expression, but he was so unused to looking that way, it could have looked like anything. Ruth looked back at him but didn’t smile. He was uncomfortably aware of the silence.
"Do you know who I am, Ruth?" he asked, finally. She nodded, but still looked very grave, hardly like a child at all. He couldn’t think of anything else to say, which was good because Elizabeth returned. She had pulled her hair back into a plait and looked a little brighter, though still worried. There was a little blood on the underside of her chin. He seized her hand and squeezed it hard.
Ruth just stood there and looked at them both like her father was an alien creature of which she had no comprehension and her mother had no right in touching him.
"Come on, Ruthie." Elizabeth said. The girl froze and stared.
"I can’t carry you anymore, darling, I’m very tired and in a lot of pain. Your father will though I’m sure." She looked up at Severus with her huge blue eyes and he felt his heart skip a beat at her reference to him. The fact he was a father still shocked him.
"Of course I will, come here."
The girl would not move, she simply put her hands behind her back and stared.
"Oh gods, come on Ruthie."
Snape realised they were probably on borrowed time as it was. It was past midnight already so the rest of the school staff should be back already, if not any minute. He came over to the little girl and picked her up with one arm, keeping his other hand in Elizabeth’s. The girl remained stiff in his grip, but he tried to force himself not to worry about it. It hurt too much and they did not have the time for it.

He extinguished all flame and shut the window and then they left.

The journey through the passages was easy enough. It was dark and quiet and he had been at the school most of his life so he knew more secret passages then Elizabeth remembered existing. They were soon at the front doors of Hogwarts. Looking back in years to come, Snape would often wonder how they did it, but they managed to clear the grounds without being seen. It was nice to have the stars on their side for a change.

Barely as they reached the trees that marked the Forest’s boundary, they heard the merry voices of the teaching staff returning. They all sounded pretty drunk and were singing a song all in unison, amidst whoops and the occasional bellowing laugh from Hagrid, the schools groundskeeper and keeper of keys.

Snape looked back across the wide expanse of gloominess, the wide bearth of field behind him below the huge looming castle of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was only then he realised he had left the school unguarded. One of the teachers, most likely Professor Flitwick, the kind old Charms teacher whose chambers were closest to Snapes would be popping in there soon to ask if the children were alright. And Snape wouldn’t be there. He would be hiding out in the Forbidden Forest with a murderer. He stood, child in his arms and woman in hand and glared at the school. He didn’t feel any particular remorse while her hand was in his.

The wind that had seemed so warm and sweetly scented earlier on that night now felt strangely cold. It always seemed strangely cold the closer you got to the Forest. He turned to look into the Forest. Already the sounds of werewolves and other mysterious beasts could be heard from within and it sent a chill down his spine. He turned, last of all, to look at Elizabeth, his tragic paramour. She was already looking up at him, eyes wide and bottom lip trembling slightly. He could see gooseflesh beginning to form on her shoulders and arms. He let go of her hand and put his arm around her, drawing her close to keep her warm. Ruth, on the other hand, was looking away from him in no particular direction, vagueness in her hollow eyes. She was cold too but showed no sign that it disturbed her. Her long black hair blew in the rising winds, flowing like hundreds of black silk ribbons. He watched her curiously for a while and then decided it was best they move and try and find some shelter.

He told Elizabeth to extract his wand and she illuminated the tip of it to guide them on their path with a simple spell. They walked on through the giant trees and whispering sounds, the stretching shadows and chilling winds. Elizabeth clung to him in fear and it was nice proof of reminder that she trusted him so much. They walked until their legs grew weary to find the right place to sleep. It felt like hours but Snape rationalized it probably wasn’t. It was just the cold and the fear. Their luck of being seen by anything or anyone seemed to last and finally they reached a cave. He made Elizabeth and Ruth remain outside while he entered it, wand in hand, to check for anything sinister. It was cold and damp and dirty but with the wave of his wand, it was warmed up and lit with floating candles. He also said a spell to create a makeshift bed on the floor; a simple affair of mattress, covers and pillows but low down on the floor so nothing, as horrible as the thought was, could crawl beneath them.

Ruth, predictably, didn’t want to go inside, but Elizabeth dragged her in and then Snape sealed the cave entrance and protected it with spells and enchantments. Ruth sat and watched him as her father stood, wand aloft, muttering in Latin and sending rays of stars and light about the cave entrance. He turned to look at her and smiled, but she looked away and then got onto the bed to huddle close to her mother, looking scared. He sighed internally, impatiently. He was no expert with people, especially not children and simply had no idea how to handle the awkward situation. Elizabeth caught his gaze and tried to smile. It was obvious she had picked up on Ruth’s attitude and felt bad for him. Ruth began to whisper to Elizabeth about something and she hugged her close, stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head. He felt strange watching all this. He wanted to go and sit next to them but realised the horrible feeling that he didn’t want to sit next to Ruth particularly. She made him feel strange, like he had no right in wanting to be near Elizabeth. He had dreamt of this moment for so long and now it was here he had no idea how to handle himself.

"Come sit with us Severus." She said, reaching a hand out to him as the girl hid away.
He felt a bit weird and paused for a few moments, looking at her and at the back of the child’s head. He just wasn’t used to this. She reached out further for him and he took the hand, sitting next to them. But he still felt stiff there. The little child clung to Elizabeth. He fought the urge to cup his face in his hands and just sigh….. sigh and sink down into his mind, that place with high walls and barbed wire for protection. It was late and he was still quite drunk, though that was probably a good thing considering the amount of emotional pressure recently exerted upon him. He wished he had some sweeter memories not involving the females in his past to extricate his thought, but none came and there was no relief. He looked down and his lank, black hair hung in his face. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Elizabeth’s left arm and part of the scar that made it literal. The curling replica of his signature that she had spied and cut into herself with some blade. It made his old heart throb.
"Are you alright, Sev?" she asked softly, reaching out to touch him.
"Of course." He looked up and smiled a smile that touched his cruel mouth, but not his expressive eyes. She tried to pull him closer but he would not budge, nodding in Ruth’s direction to explain that he didn’t want to get too close, looking a bit helpless by expression. Elizabeth shook her head like she thought he was being silly, but inside, her heart was beating staccato in fear of their rejection of each other. He inched closer to her and found himself peering at Ruth.

His little girl.

Her eyes had closed, well it was way past midnight, probably even closer to morning now after all they had walked and she was breathing softly against her mother like a raven-haired angel. Though she was having trouble accepting her father, he could not deny to himself and his frost riddled heart that she was a beautiful thing with the face of her mother and the colouring of her father. He wanted to hold the child but dare not. Elizabeth started to move back the covers on the bed with one hand and shift her backwards. Ruth was obviously exhausted and needed the rest. Elizabeth was struggling to manage with the bedclothes and the girl, so to his surprise and discomfort she attempted to pass Ruth over to him so she could organize things more efficiently.
"Please, Elizabeth, no, I couldn’t-"
"Just hold her for a moment, Sev, I’ll be putting her straight into bed in a moment. It’ll be okay."

He saw he had no choice and opened his arms, barely enough to take the girl. Elizabeth rolled her eyes and passed her over and she was settled on his unwilling lap. He froze. Ruth rested her sleepy head on his shoulder, sucking her thumb and cuddled into him. Her smell was so gentle and understated, her body so warm and soft, he found his own arms, though a little trembly coming up around her, an internal urge to protect her flaring up. Elizabeth saw out of the corner of her eye how he warmed to her and she almost felt as though she wanted to cry.

The cave was so silent and still as Snape held his daughter in the comforting aurora of the flickering candlelight. All he could hear was her breathing and her sucking her thumb, everything else was blocked out, even Elizabeth. He squeezed his eyes shut as she yielded to him. In her innocent dreams she probably thought he was her mother and that was why she acted so naturally with him. He was getting comfortable with that. He had never had any experience with young children before; never baby-sat, never spent time with younger members of his family and he certainly never wished to, eleven and twelve year olds were bad enough.

But to have his own child actually cuddle him, curl up against him with trust in a sense of security was amazing.

"Come on, princess." Elizabeth interrupted and lifted the child away, laying her down and covering her with the covers. Ruth turned over onto her side and settled down, head deep in the pillow.

"Isn’t she lovely?" Elizabeth said. He realised he was still staring into the girl and turned to look at his partner. She was smiling at him. He came to sit closer to her and put his arms around her, holding her tight and close, feeling more moved by just holding Ruth than he ever thought possible.
He saw over her shoulder it was starting to grow light outside. He took her hand and they went out into the dawn for a while to be alone and leave the child to drop into a deeper sleep so they wouldn’t wake her.

To his surprise, Elizabeth lit up a Muggle cigarette and leant back against one of the larger trees. She looked up at the quiet, still dark sky and exhaled smoke out in a fine jet from between scarlet lips. He kept his distance for the time being, standing against the cave entrance and folding his arms in the early morning cold. He watched her in her navy netted dress and boots. She had a curious taste in clothes, but remained as attractive as ever, though scarred and the marring of her years showed in her eyes.
"Smoking now are we?" he asked.
"One of many bad habits you could slate me for, my darling." She said, raising a thin and enigmatic eyebrow and smiling at him.
"It is dangerous you know."
"As is being on the run from Hit Wizards but that is something I have no choice in, as is this."
"You have no choice?"
"Muggle tobacco is addictive, it’s the nicotine in it. I’m surprised you didn’t know that."
He did actually but thought she might have had more willpower. He watched her smoke for a while and they stood in silence. He wrapped his cloak about himself to protect himself from the cold, but then remembered himself and removed it completely, putting it about her shoulders and fastening it at the neck. She pulled him close to her, putting her arms about his thick waist and sighed into his stomach. He rested his hands on her back and closed his eyes, feeling that long missed feeling of peace he hadn’t felt for so long.
"You smell of booze." She observed, muffled beneath him. He stepped back a little to look down at her face.
"Yes?" he said, smiling a little.
"Have you been drinking?"
"Well, if I smell of it, then I must have been."
She rolled her eyes at his indirectness and put her head back on his stomach again in rest.

The chilly morning brightened into a warmer day and neither of them felt tired. They went to sit on the roots of the tree closest to the cave on top of his cloak. He rested his head on her lap and she smoked constantly, looking jittery and rubbed at the scratches on her arms from the Hit Wizards.

"She is a quiet child, isn’t she?" Snape said, looking up at Elizabeth as she lit up again.
"Ruthie? Yes, never really like strangers much." As she said it, she instantly felt terrible.
"Sorry, not strangers, I meant to say new people-"
"It’s alright, Elizabeth."
She grimaced to herself when he looked away.
"She has always been quiet. It was quite a worry for myself and her Grandmother at first. She’s not withdrawn when it’s just me really. She can talk about some things for days, so it seems."
"What things?"
"Things that girls like, you know."
"Elizabeth really."
"Well, ponies and sweets and dresses. Make up. I don’t know."
He nodded a little like he understood and stared up at the sky. It was getting bluer and bluer. His stomach rumbled.
"Do you think she likes me?" he asked, not looking at her on purpose. He felt her fingers on his chin, turning his head to face her. She was chewing her full bottom lip and considering him with an annoying look that meant he knew she could read his paranoia. She stroked stray strand of jet hair away from around his face.
"Of course she does, Severus, but she is just a child, give her the time to adjust that she deserves. You have been a myth to her for all her life and now suddenly you are here. She is a bitter child, Sev. She could never understand why if her father was as perfect as I made out he was, why he wasn’t there. It was not something I had the heart to explain. She would never understand that I…….. killed…. someone and that we should never have spent the time we did at Hogwarts together anyway."
"No, she doesn’t need to know about that."
Elizabeth smiled.
"Do you hate me for that?" he asked.
"Do I look like I hate you?"
"Answer me."

She sighed and took a drag. She seemed to hold the smoke down for an abnormally long time as she thought before exhaling and coughing a little.
"What are we talking about exactly here, Sev, the ‘nine rules’?"
"Well, what else?"
"I could never hate the father of my child, can I just point that out for starters, but I do think all that was a unique experience. I don’t put any of it past you, it was a very you thing to do."
"What do you mean by that?" he asked in a clipped tone, narrowing his eyes a little.
"Well, I don’t know really."
He didn’t know if it was the lack of sleep or the alcohol still running lazily through his veins but she was being peculiar. He wondered if, perhaps, it was a difficult thing for her to talk about.
"Did I hurt you Elizabeth?"
"What do you think, Sev, you made me kneel on broken glass, look I’ve still got the scars."

He took the offered hand before him and turned the palm to face him. Running his finger over the fine, silver lines that marked it, he felt the scars he had made through his own fear and shameful cowardice.
"I hated you at the time. I couldn’t stand the way you made me feel, it was such a burden on me. I was never ready to have emotions. You extricated them from me nevertheless. Whether I wanted to or not. Have you always had that way with men?"
"Hardly." She said, holding the hands that stroked hers.
"I wanted you very badly. The first time you came to my chambers I didn’t know what to do. You were so young and beautiful."
"I still am." She said with a cheeky smile, flattered all the same.
"I know. But then it was like something out of a fairy tale. I had to force myself to be so cruel."
"Don’t lie, that comes naturally." She teased.
"I was scared Elizabeth, you don’t understand. I had seen the way you looked at me during our classes and I had a difficult choice to make. If I was misreading them and then I just told you to bend over, you could have had me sacked for sexual harassment. I would have never taught again. If I wasn’t misreading them then fine, but I still had to seduce you, it was a difficult evening. Could you tell I was nervous?" he asked.
"No!" she laughed. "You scared me to death. All that stuff you used to say about obedience and discipline! What a strange man you are."

He gazed up at her as she stared off into the distance between the trees. She had looked vaguely preoccupied with something since she had arrived that evening. She held her cigarette in one hand held aloft, biting her soft lower lip. He turned his head into her stomach a little, greatful for the warmth of her presence against him. He breathed out against the layers of lace that supported his head and closed his eyes, feeling sated.