𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 || Severus Snape x OC ||

14. THE RAVEN OF THE TOWER

*.·:·.☽ ✧ ☾.·:·.*

The infant flame flickered upon its wick that bathed in a little pond of beeswax that dripped down until what was liquid turned hard again, freezing upon its own body. A source of light rather than heat, born outside the carnal realm, breathing magic, the purest of magic, into the dark of the night. Its light gentle, everchanging. Cast on bare skin or a dolorous face, it is soft, humanising, and forgiving. Then again, candles go out; their light is precious and time-bound. And perhaps that is the one thing that connects the flickering yellow light to the world of the flesh and bones and blood.

The apparently bodiless being of a candle flame, passing constantly into nothingness, warms the faces that it shines on. When candles are burning, the darkness recedes pulling along with it the fear of the unknown, the unseen.

The ointment and the knife.

And it was in that way, that the candlelight kissed Alice's woeful form, halfway up the spiral stairs of the dungeons, her back flat against the wall, stone digging into her exposed skin. Her hands clasped up against her sternum, witnessing the beating of her heart, as the eerie serpent deep within her chest hissed knowingly at the damage she had nearly inflicted. Trepidation painted her features, and she let her knees fold, her back grazing the hard surface of the wall as she slid down and sat on the stone step.

Her body weak, surrendering to exhaustion, and fear, and ache. What was happening to her she couldn't understand it, couldn't cure nor sedate it. The more she struggled to unburden herself from it, the more it latched and clawed and held her. Why wouldn't they let her go? Why wouldn't the headmaster let her go if she was capable of things she hardly knew, things she hardly could confess to her own self? She drowned a silent sob amidst the quiet of the Ravenclaw Tower, her form merged with the shadows as she hid under the covers. Her eyes flicked to the scar on her wrist and the blackened tips of her fingers and nails.

Why? Why is turning worse each day? Why is it happening so often? Her thoughts biting relentlessly her mind as agony crawled all over her form. And now this? Me hurting Professor Snape like this? As if he were mauled by...by... she didn't dare let the echo of her thought sound in her mind.

She'd stay away. As much as she hated the very idea of staying away from him, as much as her entire form ached at the idea of not being in his presence, she couldn't let him attempt his spells and potions again upon her. His calming draught, as powerful as it was, it didn't keep that monster at bay, it didn't stop her from clawing him like that, shredding his frock coat.

No, she wouldn't risk such an occurrence again. She wouldn't risk harming him like that.

Her lungs felt constricted in her chest at the memory of his touch, of his warm, large hands upon her and how he had pulled her out of the dreadful vortex of her mind. How she had felt the warmth that radiated from his body so close, so near. Pain roared in her body at how much her every cell, every vein, and every inch of her yearned for that touch again. How she longed to hide in his chest, let him hold her as he'd done before, pull her out of the darkness, out of this nightmare she could not explain yet it ate her whole.

The warmth from his hand had sparked, tugged, pulled, and unfurled across her body, curling and nesting in her stomach, as if his touch alone called upon all things carnal and raw within her, taming and awakening something she could hardly understand.

She willed her mind to push the thought away, to force it to fly away like the owls of owlery, but Merlin, it kept coming back. How the flickering candle flame kissed his strong jaw, the soft curve of his chin, his hooked nose, and the subtle lines of his thin and parted lips. The inky storms of his eyes that were glimmering under hooded eyelids...