The Exposure

Chapter Twenty-Six

          You hold your breath at his words, shaken by them. He loves me. You hold his tender gaze.

          "I love you, Severus," your heart swells and all is right in the world.

          Delight shows on his softening face as he averts his gaze momentarily before bringing it back up to yours. "You know, I've been thinking," his hands snaking up the sides of your waist, stopping at your ribcage and taking a possessive hold of you. His thumbs stroke the soft skin underneath your breasts, "I ought to take you beyond these walls...somewhere we can be truly alone."

          Your eyes widen thoughtfully at the idea—leave the grounds of Hogwarts? And go where? "Unless you do not wish to leave?" He asks, his head pulling back to see your face.

          "Oh no, I'd love to Professor, it's just—well, where would we go?" "I dunno, some place...different." His says softly, his eyes moving up and away from yours as he stares off into a dark, distant place you know nothing of, his jaw tightening.

          Your hand touches it gently, bringing his gaze softly back down to you. "I would love to leave the grounds with you sometime, Professor," you reassure him, the dark, stormy clouds that formed in his eyes clearing at your words. You pull him into you and embrace him, enjoying the safety and warmth he provides.

          He dries you and pulls you from the shower and you feel so spoiled at the care with which he treats you. You take this rare moment to gaze over his naked body, all his curves and slopes and edges so alluring. He pulls a large towel around your shoulders, bringing its ends together over your chest, tightly swaddling you in it. He comes behind you and lightly swats your bum.

          You stir at his playfulness, an airy sense of lightheartedness returning as he leads you out to his quarters. He reappears your clothing and dresses you, slipping the skirt up your body as his fingers take the opportunity to feel the soft skin all the way up your legs. "Think of where you'd like to go, Severus, and we'll have a little outing," you smile up at him. He takes your hand, looking down at it.

          "What if..." he searches for his words. "Would you ever consider leaving here...for good?" His eyes flash up to yours warily. Your brows raise in surprise at such a question, especially coming from a professor who'd been part of Hogwarts since he was a child. "Professor...? Why do you ask?" His eyes avert, "No reason really, I suppose I am just wondering whether you will remain at this school for the foreseeable future." His face hardens slightly and you feel a door close inside him, unsure of his strange query. He leads you through his office and to the door.

          "Oh, before you go," He casts a quick spell to dry your conspicuously damp hair, effectively changing the subject. "Wouldn't want someone to think something...indecent was happening between us," he smirks. He opens the door and quickly plants a small kiss on your on your jaw, his nose nuzzling your ear.

          You leave his office, feeling light and already looking forward to the next time the two of you can be together. You smile in excitement at the thought of going somewhere off-campus with Severus, wondering where he might take you.

          On your way back to your dorm, you and Peter cross paths in the halls and he nods up at you, "I've been with you for hours, by the way." "Same here..." you mutter furtively, a mischievous look in your eye.

          You return to your dorm, a dreamy look on your face.

          "I see you and Peter had a good time," Angel chides. You collapse dramatically onto your bed, your heart alight with his words.

          "I love you..."

          "The best time," you reply dreamily.

          "I will not discuss this with you, Severus. You agreed."

         "And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine...?"

          Just another necessary loss.

          Haunting memories of years past flash through Snape's mind as he sits in his silent office, the darkness encompassing him in your absence. He leans his elbows on the desk, his hands covering his forehead and shielding his eyes as if to block out the images flooding his mind. His fingers press between his eyes at the little crease in his brow.

          He was thought dead when he first arrived at St. Mungos, but there was life in him yet. It took weeks of hourly blood-replenishing potions and nearly constant watch by nurses. He pulled through in the end, just as Arthur Weasley had when attacked by the same maledictus. He had long wished for his life to end and was slightly disappointed when he awoke with Minerva at his bedside, a sigh of relief on her lips. "I thought we'd lost you," she squeezed his hand and her blue eyes twinkled with unreleased emotion. He owed her his life, as she'd been the one to get him aid so swiftly.

          His hand absentmindedly touches the scar on his neck at the memory. He had been used as a pawn, a scapegoat, and an errand boy for two of the most powerful wizards to ever live, he himself torn in half by the two masters and their demands and tactics, their means justifying them. Given no control or agency, his life had always been in the hands of another.

          His heavy eyes glance around his office, recollecting the many years of teaching, brewing, late-night research and writing. He had filled his shelves to the brim with all manner of horrifying ingredients, a tribute to the many, many years of refining his techniques. He had grown tired.

          The very air at Hogwarts is poisoned with terrible memories, from the bullying of James Potter and Sirius Black in his school days to his forced murder of Dumbledore only a couple of years ago. The night his soul was rent in two. He longs for a change of scenery, a new purpose beyond being the head of Slytherin, the brooding Potions Master who killed the Great Albus Dumbledore. The Dungeon Bat.

          A new identity. Perhaps one with you...

          You had unearthed something in him that had been long hidden, buried deeply beneath the soil of grief and misery. Something sweet that he thought had died, a seed planted in fallow ground, never given the chance to blossom.

          Hope.