GIFT: Mirrorball (PG), for machshefa
Title: Mirrorball
Author: kizzy7
Beta Reader: lady_karelia
Recipient: machshefa
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: Thank you to the wonderful lady_karelia for beta'ing, and thanks to machshefa for such perfect prompts. A final word of thanks to the Snuna mods and to Elbow for such inspirational lyrics.
Recipient's Prompt: Luna still suffers from her imprisonment during the war. She approaches Snape, who has made a name for himself as a diagnostician and dispenser of specialized medicinal potions. What happens next? Why, years after the war, are these two unable to simply complete the transaction and move on?
Summary: Severus leads a peaceful, solitary existence after the war, until he is unexpectedly contacted by a former student.
The curtains covering the windows are a dark, tattered green, fluttering in the cool evening breeze that issues steadily through the open gap. Severus shivers, sharply spelling the glass shut with a fierce wave of his wand.
I bloody fucking hate this place, he thinks cruelly. I hate the cheap, piss-poor beer. I hate the peeling paint. And I definitely hate that lazy barmaid.
"Here ya go, mister. Ya gonna open that letter or what?" She slaps down a pint of yellowed, foamy beer. Jostled, the alcohol seeps slowly down the sides of the glass, creeping into the cracks of the worn tabletop.
Severus sneers as he involuntarily clutches the crinkled parchment, his fist almost spasmodic in its fervour.
"Get out, Athena, you nosy bint," he responds as he thinks, That cow rather embodies the opposite of her namesake.
She glares, sulking, before she slinks away into the meaningless clutter and the smoky obscurity of the pub.
"Open the letter. Open the bloody letter," he mutters angrily.
He has folded and refolded the letter so many times that the fibrous, ivory parchment is starting to splinter along its edges. Still, he has yet to read the mysterious missive's contents, though he recognizes the loopy scrawl on the header.
Professor Severus Snape.
It's that Lovegood girl, Luna, and he doesn't want to hear from her, doesn't want to be hunted by his persistent past.
He swallows the beer, grimacing at the putrid aftertaste.
He doesn't know why he hasn't Incendio'd it.
He doesn't know why.
"Bugger it all."
Slowly, he slides his finger into the opening, tearing the envelope almost in half with his shaking grasp.
Unfurled, the letter takes on an almost sinister quality. Quickly, he scans the inky text.
Severus,
I'm losing my magic.
Just that, nothing more.
I'm losing my magic.
He curls his fist around the foggy glass mug, draining the last of the beer in one, long dreg.
Annoyed, he exits the pub, leaving the letter in his booth to hopefully rot with the alcohol and the after-work crowd.
******
His life is not lonely-it's peaceful. He treasures his solitary existence-denying overtures from newspapers and well-wishers and snivelling sycophants comes naturally to him, and now, two years after the War, he is alone.
At last.
Money comes in steadily-his pension from Hogwarts is generous, and his side business (Prince and Potions, serving magical distributing companies since 1994) augments his income.
And since he rarely purchases anything other than beer and ingredients and the occasional book, he saves.
For what, he doesn't know, but he bloody well knows it's not for Luna Loopy Lovegood.
Blessedly alone, he settles into his overstuffed armchair and sits, thinking.
Why me? Why did she write me?
The internal ticking of his clock offers no clear answer, and so he closes his eyes, leaning his head back into the cradle of the chair. An errant lock of hair falls across his cheek; he brushes it away with a scowl.
I'm losing my magic, she claims. He ponders that sentence, tasting it on his tongue as if the phrase itself was tangible. No, he decides. He doesn't care.
Fifteen minutes pass, and he Apparates back to the pub, heart pounding, to look for his letter.
He finds it, somewhat soggy, where he left it. Athena, swirling a chequered cloth across the counter-top, winks knowingly at him.
******
Luna, her Hogwarts uniform ragged and bloody, sits against a red-bricked wall, hugging her scraped knees to her chest. She has been crying, the tears trailing down her muddy cheeks.
She shivers. Severus tries to run to her, tries to reach her, to warm her. But the harder he runs, the further away she is, until she is but a speck on the horizon of nothingness.
Screaming, he awakes. He sits and clutches his chest. His heart is pounding so loudly that he thinks it echoes throughout his empty room.
Her letter lies forebodingly on his bedside table, next to a single, discarded lampshade and a nameless book.
It's early, not yet dawn.
Grabbing the letter and hurriedly throwing on his robes, he Apparates.
******
"What," he snaps as soon as the door inches open, "is the meaning of this?"
He holds out the frayed paper accusingly, faltering only when he sees-actually sees-the girl. She is dressed simply-tight, strappy tank top, blue athletic shorts. A sliver of her almond stomach gleams above her stretchy waistband, her long legs bare in the glimmering early morning sun. Her hair is looped into a bun, and she doesn't seem surprised to see him. She widens the door, shielding her eyes from the sunlight with spidery, pale fingers.
She looks hallowed, winnowed.
"Severus," she says; now, he remembers her light, wispy voice. "Come in."
He follows her into her flat, across a narrow hall, into a cramped sitting room. Dusty bookshelves line the wall, drooping plants stuffed into dusky corners. Around him, the air is stale and unused.
This is not right. This is not Luna he remembers from Hogwarts.
She gestures towards a forlorn couch, her movements graceful.
"Sit," she says lightly.
He does, noting that his anger has unexpectedly dissipated somewhat in her presence. But he still wants his answers.
"What exactly, Miss Lovegood, is the meaning of this?" Again, he flutters the letter.
She sits in a chair opposite him, rubbing at the white arch of her neck.
"I believe I explained that. In the letter." She leans back against the faded flower pattern of the armchair. She folds her hands across her lap.
"Luna," he says; he doesn't know why he calls her that. "Luna, why did you send this to me?"
She rises, crossing the scant distance between them.
"Because you understand."
"Understand what?"
She shudders and hugs herself, her fingers gliding over gooseflesh. "Do you dream at night?"
The question is unexpected, and he recoils. "Dream?"
"Sometimes," she says listlessly, leaning weakly against his knee. "Sometimes, I dream. That I'm still there, in the Malfoy manor. That I never escaped. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm still there, and this world," she waves her arm in a circle, "is the real dream."
"Luna." He doesn't know what to say because he does understand. Because sometimes, he thinks that he is dead, venom still seeping through his severed veins as he rots underground, forgotten.
Because what reality would leave him drowning in a pub and her dying inside?
She touches his face. "I know you understand."
He flinches from her. "I… I can't help you."
She shakes her head. "I'm losing my magic. I can't… feel it anymore. The magic. I can't feel myself. I just feel cold, and steel, and pain. I remember that cell. And… the torture. I don't remember anything else. Not anymore."
He stands, meaning to walk out her door, never to see her again. But he can feel her eyes on him, those wide, eerie eyes.
"Perhaps there is a potion," he says tonelessly, for he knows there is not.
"Perhaps," she replies, as if she believes him. "It was wonderful to see you again, Severus."
He leaves without looking at her.
******
He is drowning in an ocean of water. Water that is tinged with red, and, gasping, it's not water. It's blood.
He opens his mouth to scream, and that is when he sees her. Luna, as she was at Hogwarts. Flowing, blonde hair, vegetable earrings. She skips down the hall.
When he wakes, he can still see her, bright in his mind.
He spends the day leafing through texts, bending corners into triangles, highlighting words. He is looking for something, mumbling to himself through the everlasting pages.
That night, he stands over his cauldron, mixing ingredients, endlessly stirring.
He has to try.
******
"Here." He brushes past her into the sitting room, thrusting the flask into her fingers. Wordlessly, she follows.
"Will this… will this help?"
"How should I know?" he demands harshly. Unfazed, she sits next to him, her knees knocking against his own. She uncaps the bottle, draining the golden liquid in a single, quick swallow.
She stares at him expectedly, unblinking. "I don't think it's working.
He snorts. "It might take a bit, you foolish… ah, Luna."
She nods and stretches out on the couch, nestling her head in his lap. Unthinkingly, he strokes her brow, and her eyes drift close.
"Tell me about your dreams," she asks, only it is not a question.
"They… change. Sometimes, I see my mother. Sometimes, the Dark Lord."
He watches her intently, mindful of the curve of her nose, the dip in her upper lip, the strands of hair curled on her forehead.
"Sometimes," he continues, "I see you."
She exhales, a smile playing on her lips. "Mmmm."
"Always a child, at Hogwarts," he explains.
"Mmmm," she breathes again, shifting restlessly against his thigh.
"Maybe one day, I won't be a child," she responds with a smile.
******
Though winter still clings with a chill to the air, spring is coming. The sun shines during the day; Severus even spies budding flowers, huddled close to the ground for warmth.
A few, discreet Warming Charms can combat the frost. He wakes early, packing a lunch-two turkey sandwiches, a bottle of wine, fresh fruit. A homemade cake for dessert (A disaster, but I think she'll like it nonetheless).
He takes her to his favourite park in London, spreading out a brightly coloured picnic blanket he bought earlier in the week.
She seems happy.
"Severus," she exclaims as she opens the white wicker basket. "I… I'm speechless!"
He grins and pops open the wine, pouring a liberal amount into a patterned paper cup.
"Sometimes, I'm full of surprises," he replies.
She laughs and kicks off her shoes, raising her face and her arms upwards to the sky.
"Gorgeous! It's a gorgeous day. I bet the Sundancers are out today."
He bites into his sandwich, a curious eyebrow raised questioningly. "Sundancers?"
Nodding happily, she answers. "Oh, Severus. Little fairy-like creatures only seen in the sunlight. They dance and sing in the summer."
"Of course."
Her laughter is infectious, and he finds himself feeling reluctantly light-hearted.
"Luna? Do you… are you feeling better?"
"Severus. The sun, and you. Of course I am. Of course."
After lunch, she persuades him to look for the mysterious dancing fairies.
Beneath a blossoming tree, she finds some. Though Severus can't see them, he sees Luna, clapping delightedly, swaying to the inaudible beat of fairy-drums.
Yes. It is a beautiful day.
******
He dreams of her again, dressed in a light, summery dress, her shoulders bare and freckled with the sun. In his dreams, he kisses her and thinks, I love her.
Drenched in sweat, he awakes, twisted in the sheets. This has got to stop.
He is going crazy; it's worse than Voldemort. He can think of nothing but her, of her long legs, her tiny ankles, her haunting eyes.
Never again, he thinks. Never again will I be slave to another.
Setting his jaw into a determined line, he knows. He has to end this… this thing that has sprung between them.
******
Severus knows her wards, her passwords, and he easily breaks into her flat in the chill of the early dawn. He doesn't bother to mask his steps with Silencio.
He has never before been in her bedroom-the unfamiliarity causes him to pause. Wan moonlight streams through a cracked window. He can make out her shape beneath the blankets, her long, blonde hair tangled on the pillowcase.
"Luna." He shakes her gently, his fingers skimming over her warm skin. "Luna."
Dreamily, she stretches her arms, caressing her ancient headboard. She wakes, smiling leisurely, and for a moment, Severus forgets what he came here to do.
"Severus," she says, her voice thick, rich with sleep. "Your eyes… they're darker. Like you've lost something… something you love." She reaches for him, twisting her arms about his neck, pressing a flutter of close-mouthed kisses onto his neck.
I'll be her slave, he reminds himself.
"Maybe," she continues, "maybe you've lost yourself."
He withdraws from her embrace. "Luna," he repeats, stronger this time. "I can't see you anymore. I have to leave."
"Leave?" She is still in his arms, still warm with sleep.
Lightly, he trails his fingertips along her arms. "Yes. Leave."
She laughs then, an airy, tinkling sound that grates on his nerves. And suddenly, he is angry again. Angry at her, angry at himself for allowing her this close.
He presses against her shoulders, shaking her slightly. "Luna, I can't help you. I won't help you. You… you have problems. Psychological problems that I can't fix, you foolish girl." He knows he is harsh; he has spent a lifetime perfecting such cruelty.
Surprisingly, she doesn't flinch or turn away from him.
"Severus," she says. "Yesterday, I went to see my father. He was excited, you see, because he said he saw a Nargle. And I believe him."
He frowns, uncertain of what this means, how this pertains to him.
Another gurgle of laughter, and she resumes. "I haven't believed him since the Manor. I… forgot magic. Real magic. The magic of faith. Of hope. Don't you see?" She leans forward, awkwardly pressing her lips to his. "Potions aren't helping me. You are."
He circles her wrists in two tight grips, pushing her away. If he is not careful now, he will regret it. Because there are no happy endings for people such as he. And she… she will forget him.
"You," he growls, his voice threatening, "are ruining my life. I was… content before that cursed letter, and I will be content again. I want you out of my life."
He stands, glaring as she falls back onto her pillow with a soft cry.
"I won't be your slave, Luna. Not ever."
He leaves without looking back.
******
Two days without sleep and very little to eat, and he thinks that he might be hallucinating. Because when he looks into his mirror, all he sees are two eyes, dusky gray, diaphanous with despair.
And when darkness falls, it is somehow worse, as if his loneliness and his cursed solitude become somehow amplified in the shadows of his empty house on Spinner's End.
In this darkness, he receives another letter, clutched tightly in the claws of a sickly tawny owl, squawking indignantly when Severus, panicking, forgets to tip.
Severus Snape, it reads, same as before. Only this time, he knows the accusations, the hatred, the viral invective contained within. He doesn't want to open it, and yet he does. Sitting on the decaying marble of his mantle, the missive beckons him.
He dons a fresh pair of robes; the clean, starchy fabric feels unfamiliar against his skin. With a glance at the aged grandfather clock, eternally ticking away time in the corner of his sitting room, he finally grabs the letter, stuffing it deep into a hidden pocket. He Apparates to the pub, almost eager to lose himself in the midst of the late night rabble.
As always, he orders a pint of cheap beer. Athena, the thickly-thighed Goddess of Wisdom, of Drink, of Drunken Ineptitude, serves him, her beady eyes darting from side to side.
"Ah, Snape. It's been a while. 'Nother letter? Lemme guess. You got yourself a girl!" She seems pleased with this notion, causing Severus to glare.
Undaunted, she lumbers into the booth, her dirty brown hair matted against her skull.
"I can help you, you know. I've got meself a husband of thirty-two years. Name's Gilbert, and I 'spose we are about as happy as anyone. Now, what's your troubles?"
Severus blinks, surprised that he actually wants to tell her. He sips his drink as Athena patiently splays her chubby, roughened hands on the table.
He swallows. "Well," he says, uncertain of what to say, of how much to tell her. "I… dream about this girl. I think about her. She is in my mind, with me all the time. Tell me," and he angrily pounds his fist against the wood, "how to get rid of her."
Athena smiles as she folds her hands together. "I'm afraid there is no gettin' rid of this one, Snape. Sounds like you love her."
He opens his mouth to explain the impossibility of this-tell her that the flimsy, gossamer strand of connection between him and Luna is wrong, impossible-but she cuts him off with a wave of her hand.
"Tell me 'bout her," she says simply.
And Severus does. He describes her hair, how it glints gold in the sunlight. Her breathy laughter and her mesmerizing voice, and how he feels calm and safe with her. Her eyes, ethereal in their beauty. And how amazed he is that this girl, this former student, has unwittingly become the centre of his entire world.
"Well," Athena says, patting his hand. "And you must have gone and done somethin' stupid, otherwise you wouldn't be sittin' here with me. So, open the letter. Then go and apologize, Snape."
With those final words of wisdom, this Athena stands and leaves him staring at Luna's letter.
A flash of déjà vu. He opens her letter, smiling at the loopy scrawl.
I wouldn't equate love with indentured servitude.
But I will miss you.
Severus.
It is late, he knows, but he doesn't care. He has to see her. Even still, he doesn't know what to say to her, but that doesn't matter. For the first time in his life, he is sure of something.
He loves her.
And this time, he knows that this is right.
Immediately, he tosses some gold onto the table, pausing to nod at a smiling Athena before he hastily Apparates.
Once he is at her door, he pounds against it almost maniacally, eager to see her again. When he hears the lock clicking open, when he feels her wards disarm, he is suddenly nervous and fearful that this will turn into Lily again. When she opens the door, nimble fingers adroitly rattling the knob, he exhales loudly.
"Severus," she says. "What are you doing here?" She tips her head to the side, studying him quizzically.
"Luna," he breathes, and she crinkles her nose.
"You've been drinking, Severus," she chides.
"Yes," he admits. "But that doesn't matter. Luna. Can I come in?"
She sighs and opens the door. He follows her into the familiar floral patterned room.
Smatterings of loose-leaf papers litter the room. He pauses.
"I've been working again," she explains. "Research. Hermione and I started an organization. To protect rare, endangered magical plants and animals."
He quirks his lips.
Luna shrugs. "It's… helped me."
He nods. "Good."
Her long hair hangs in ringlets down to her waist, and she is so beautiful, he can't speak.
"Father went to Egypt," she says. "He sent me some karkady tea. Would you like some?"
Once seated, the redolent, steaming tea between them, she smiles and says, "So. Go on. Apologize, then."
Severus grins at her uncanny ability to understand. "Luna, I'm sorry."
A shake of her head, her radish earrings jangling against her neck. "Better, Severus. I need something better than that."
He takes her hand into his own, staring at the sight of her pale, unmarred hand against his own jagged skin.
The unfamiliar words come to him, though it is difficult.
"You… see me, Luna. At first, I resented that. I resented you. It was hard for me, hard to accept someone else into my life. I… I expect it always will be."
Unsteadily, he swallows the tea, the fragile china cup rattling against the saucer with his nerves.
He continues, struggling for the words to explain-the rest of the world could wither from existence, and he would hardly notice. "Everything has changed for me. Now, everything is… faded, like background noise, compared to you. I don't… I don't know what else you want me to say. I don't know what else I can say."
She smiles at him, cupping her chin with her delicate hand, perching her elbow on her knee. "I'm happy with that. With you."
It's simple. He loves her for it.
Heedless of the tea and the frail cups and the matching saucers, he reaches for her.
He kisses her, kisses her like he invented it.
******
Later that night, when she is curled in his arms, her legs entwined with his own, she sleepily blinks and whispers into his ear, "I think I've found my magic now." He strokes her hair, kisses her softly, and her eyes are closed and her breathing heavy when he answers.
"So have I."
Author: kizzy7
Beta Reader: lady_karelia
Recipient: machshefa
Rating: PG
Author's Notes: Thank you to the wonderful lady_karelia for beta'ing, and thanks to machshefa for such perfect prompts. A final word of thanks to the Snuna mods and to Elbow for such inspirational lyrics.
Recipient's Prompt: Luna still suffers from her imprisonment during the war. She approaches Snape, who has made a name for himself as a diagnostician and dispenser of specialized medicinal potions. What happens next? Why, years after the war, are these two unable to simply complete the transaction and move on?
Summary: Severus leads a peaceful, solitary existence after the war, until he is unexpectedly contacted by a former student.
The curtains covering the windows are a dark, tattered green, fluttering in the cool evening breeze that issues steadily through the open gap. Severus shivers, sharply spelling the glass shut with a fierce wave of his wand.
I bloody fucking hate this place, he thinks cruelly. I hate the cheap, piss-poor beer. I hate the peeling paint. And I definitely hate that lazy barmaid.
"Here ya go, mister. Ya gonna open that letter or what?" She slaps down a pint of yellowed, foamy beer. Jostled, the alcohol seeps slowly down the sides of the glass, creeping into the cracks of the worn tabletop.
Severus sneers as he involuntarily clutches the crinkled parchment, his fist almost spasmodic in its fervour.
"Get out, Athena, you nosy bint," he responds as he thinks, That cow rather embodies the opposite of her namesake.
She glares, sulking, before she slinks away into the meaningless clutter and the smoky obscurity of the pub.
"Open the letter. Open the bloody letter," he mutters angrily.
He has folded and refolded the letter so many times that the fibrous, ivory parchment is starting to splinter along its edges. Still, he has yet to read the mysterious missive's contents, though he recognizes the loopy scrawl on the header.
Professor Severus Snape.
It's that Lovegood girl, Luna, and he doesn't want to hear from her, doesn't want to be hunted by his persistent past.
He swallows the beer, grimacing at the putrid aftertaste.
He doesn't know why he hasn't Incendio'd it.
He doesn't know why.
"Bugger it all."
Slowly, he slides his finger into the opening, tearing the envelope almost in half with his shaking grasp.
Unfurled, the letter takes on an almost sinister quality. Quickly, he scans the inky text.
Severus,
I'm losing my magic.
Just that, nothing more.
I'm losing my magic.
He curls his fist around the foggy glass mug, draining the last of the beer in one, long dreg.
Annoyed, he exits the pub, leaving the letter in his booth to hopefully rot with the alcohol and the after-work crowd.
******
His life is not lonely-it's peaceful. He treasures his solitary existence-denying overtures from newspapers and well-wishers and snivelling sycophants comes naturally to him, and now, two years after the War, he is alone.
At last.
Money comes in steadily-his pension from Hogwarts is generous, and his side business (Prince and Potions, serving magical distributing companies since 1994) augments his income.
And since he rarely purchases anything other than beer and ingredients and the occasional book, he saves.
For what, he doesn't know, but he bloody well knows it's not for Luna Loopy Lovegood.
Blessedly alone, he settles into his overstuffed armchair and sits, thinking.
Why me? Why did she write me?
The internal ticking of his clock offers no clear answer, and so he closes his eyes, leaning his head back into the cradle of the chair. An errant lock of hair falls across his cheek; he brushes it away with a scowl.
I'm losing my magic, she claims. He ponders that sentence, tasting it on his tongue as if the phrase itself was tangible. No, he decides. He doesn't care.
Fifteen minutes pass, and he Apparates back to the pub, heart pounding, to look for his letter.
He finds it, somewhat soggy, where he left it. Athena, swirling a chequered cloth across the counter-top, winks knowingly at him.
******
Luna, her Hogwarts uniform ragged and bloody, sits against a red-bricked wall, hugging her scraped knees to her chest. She has been crying, the tears trailing down her muddy cheeks.
She shivers. Severus tries to run to her, tries to reach her, to warm her. But the harder he runs, the further away she is, until she is but a speck on the horizon of nothingness.
Screaming, he awakes. He sits and clutches his chest. His heart is pounding so loudly that he thinks it echoes throughout his empty room.
Her letter lies forebodingly on his bedside table, next to a single, discarded lampshade and a nameless book.
It's early, not yet dawn.
Grabbing the letter and hurriedly throwing on his robes, he Apparates.
******
"What," he snaps as soon as the door inches open, "is the meaning of this?"
He holds out the frayed paper accusingly, faltering only when he sees-actually sees-the girl. She is dressed simply-tight, strappy tank top, blue athletic shorts. A sliver of her almond stomach gleams above her stretchy waistband, her long legs bare in the glimmering early morning sun. Her hair is looped into a bun, and she doesn't seem surprised to see him. She widens the door, shielding her eyes from the sunlight with spidery, pale fingers.
She looks hallowed, winnowed.
"Severus," she says; now, he remembers her light, wispy voice. "Come in."
He follows her into her flat, across a narrow hall, into a cramped sitting room. Dusty bookshelves line the wall, drooping plants stuffed into dusky corners. Around him, the air is stale and unused.
This is not right. This is not Luna he remembers from Hogwarts.
She gestures towards a forlorn couch, her movements graceful.
"Sit," she says lightly.
He does, noting that his anger has unexpectedly dissipated somewhat in her presence. But he still wants his answers.
"What exactly, Miss Lovegood, is the meaning of this?" Again, he flutters the letter.
She sits in a chair opposite him, rubbing at the white arch of her neck.
"I believe I explained that. In the letter." She leans back against the faded flower pattern of the armchair. She folds her hands across her lap.
"Luna," he says; he doesn't know why he calls her that. "Luna, why did you send this to me?"
She rises, crossing the scant distance between them.
"Because you understand."
"Understand what?"
She shudders and hugs herself, her fingers gliding over gooseflesh. "Do you dream at night?"
The question is unexpected, and he recoils. "Dream?"
"Sometimes," she says listlessly, leaning weakly against his knee. "Sometimes, I dream. That I'm still there, in the Malfoy manor. That I never escaped. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm still there, and this world," she waves her arm in a circle, "is the real dream."
"Luna." He doesn't know what to say because he does understand. Because sometimes, he thinks that he is dead, venom still seeping through his severed veins as he rots underground, forgotten.
Because what reality would leave him drowning in a pub and her dying inside?
She touches his face. "I know you understand."
He flinches from her. "I… I can't help you."
She shakes her head. "I'm losing my magic. I can't… feel it anymore. The magic. I can't feel myself. I just feel cold, and steel, and pain. I remember that cell. And… the torture. I don't remember anything else. Not anymore."
He stands, meaning to walk out her door, never to see her again. But he can feel her eyes on him, those wide, eerie eyes.
"Perhaps there is a potion," he says tonelessly, for he knows there is not.
"Perhaps," she replies, as if she believes him. "It was wonderful to see you again, Severus."
He leaves without looking at her.
******
He is drowning in an ocean of water. Water that is tinged with red, and, gasping, it's not water. It's blood.
He opens his mouth to scream, and that is when he sees her. Luna, as she was at Hogwarts. Flowing, blonde hair, vegetable earrings. She skips down the hall.
When he wakes, he can still see her, bright in his mind.
He spends the day leafing through texts, bending corners into triangles, highlighting words. He is looking for something, mumbling to himself through the everlasting pages.
That night, he stands over his cauldron, mixing ingredients, endlessly stirring.
He has to try.
******
"Here." He brushes past her into the sitting room, thrusting the flask into her fingers. Wordlessly, she follows.
"Will this… will this help?"
"How should I know?" he demands harshly. Unfazed, she sits next to him, her knees knocking against his own. She uncaps the bottle, draining the golden liquid in a single, quick swallow.
She stares at him expectedly, unblinking. "I don't think it's working.
He snorts. "It might take a bit, you foolish… ah, Luna."
She nods and stretches out on the couch, nestling her head in his lap. Unthinkingly, he strokes her brow, and her eyes drift close.
"Tell me about your dreams," she asks, only it is not a question.
"They… change. Sometimes, I see my mother. Sometimes, the Dark Lord."
He watches her intently, mindful of the curve of her nose, the dip in her upper lip, the strands of hair curled on her forehead.
"Sometimes," he continues, "I see you."
She exhales, a smile playing on her lips. "Mmmm."
"Always a child, at Hogwarts," he explains.
"Mmmm," she breathes again, shifting restlessly against his thigh.
"Maybe one day, I won't be a child," she responds with a smile.
******
Though winter still clings with a chill to the air, spring is coming. The sun shines during the day; Severus even spies budding flowers, huddled close to the ground for warmth.
A few, discreet Warming Charms can combat the frost. He wakes early, packing a lunch-two turkey sandwiches, a bottle of wine, fresh fruit. A homemade cake for dessert (A disaster, but I think she'll like it nonetheless).
He takes her to his favourite park in London, spreading out a brightly coloured picnic blanket he bought earlier in the week.
She seems happy.
"Severus," she exclaims as she opens the white wicker basket. "I… I'm speechless!"
He grins and pops open the wine, pouring a liberal amount into a patterned paper cup.
"Sometimes, I'm full of surprises," he replies.
She laughs and kicks off her shoes, raising her face and her arms upwards to the sky.
"Gorgeous! It's a gorgeous day. I bet the Sundancers are out today."
He bites into his sandwich, a curious eyebrow raised questioningly. "Sundancers?"
Nodding happily, she answers. "Oh, Severus. Little fairy-like creatures only seen in the sunlight. They dance and sing in the summer."
"Of course."
Her laughter is infectious, and he finds himself feeling reluctantly light-hearted.
"Luna? Do you… are you feeling better?"
"Severus. The sun, and you. Of course I am. Of course."
After lunch, she persuades him to look for the mysterious dancing fairies.
Beneath a blossoming tree, she finds some. Though Severus can't see them, he sees Luna, clapping delightedly, swaying to the inaudible beat of fairy-drums.
Yes. It is a beautiful day.
******
He dreams of her again, dressed in a light, summery dress, her shoulders bare and freckled with the sun. In his dreams, he kisses her and thinks, I love her.
Drenched in sweat, he awakes, twisted in the sheets. This has got to stop.
He is going crazy; it's worse than Voldemort. He can think of nothing but her, of her long legs, her tiny ankles, her haunting eyes.
Never again, he thinks. Never again will I be slave to another.
Setting his jaw into a determined line, he knows. He has to end this… this thing that has sprung between them.
******
Severus knows her wards, her passwords, and he easily breaks into her flat in the chill of the early dawn. He doesn't bother to mask his steps with Silencio.
He has never before been in her bedroom-the unfamiliarity causes him to pause. Wan moonlight streams through a cracked window. He can make out her shape beneath the blankets, her long, blonde hair tangled on the pillowcase.
"Luna." He shakes her gently, his fingers skimming over her warm skin. "Luna."
Dreamily, she stretches her arms, caressing her ancient headboard. She wakes, smiling leisurely, and for a moment, Severus forgets what he came here to do.
"Severus," she says, her voice thick, rich with sleep. "Your eyes… they're darker. Like you've lost something… something you love." She reaches for him, twisting her arms about his neck, pressing a flutter of close-mouthed kisses onto his neck.
I'll be her slave, he reminds himself.
"Maybe," she continues, "maybe you've lost yourself."
He withdraws from her embrace. "Luna," he repeats, stronger this time. "I can't see you anymore. I have to leave."
"Leave?" She is still in his arms, still warm with sleep.
Lightly, he trails his fingertips along her arms. "Yes. Leave."
She laughs then, an airy, tinkling sound that grates on his nerves. And suddenly, he is angry again. Angry at her, angry at himself for allowing her this close.
He presses against her shoulders, shaking her slightly. "Luna, I can't help you. I won't help you. You… you have problems. Psychological problems that I can't fix, you foolish girl." He knows he is harsh; he has spent a lifetime perfecting such cruelty.
Surprisingly, she doesn't flinch or turn away from him.
"Severus," she says. "Yesterday, I went to see my father. He was excited, you see, because he said he saw a Nargle. And I believe him."
He frowns, uncertain of what this means, how this pertains to him.
Another gurgle of laughter, and she resumes. "I haven't believed him since the Manor. I… forgot magic. Real magic. The magic of faith. Of hope. Don't you see?" She leans forward, awkwardly pressing her lips to his. "Potions aren't helping me. You are."
He circles her wrists in two tight grips, pushing her away. If he is not careful now, he will regret it. Because there are no happy endings for people such as he. And she… she will forget him.
"You," he growls, his voice threatening, "are ruining my life. I was… content before that cursed letter, and I will be content again. I want you out of my life."
He stands, glaring as she falls back onto her pillow with a soft cry.
"I won't be your slave, Luna. Not ever."
He leaves without looking back.
******
Two days without sleep and very little to eat, and he thinks that he might be hallucinating. Because when he looks into his mirror, all he sees are two eyes, dusky gray, diaphanous with despair.
And when darkness falls, it is somehow worse, as if his loneliness and his cursed solitude become somehow amplified in the shadows of his empty house on Spinner's End.
In this darkness, he receives another letter, clutched tightly in the claws of a sickly tawny owl, squawking indignantly when Severus, panicking, forgets to tip.
Severus Snape, it reads, same as before. Only this time, he knows the accusations, the hatred, the viral invective contained within. He doesn't want to open it, and yet he does. Sitting on the decaying marble of his mantle, the missive beckons him.
He dons a fresh pair of robes; the clean, starchy fabric feels unfamiliar against his skin. With a glance at the aged grandfather clock, eternally ticking away time in the corner of his sitting room, he finally grabs the letter, stuffing it deep into a hidden pocket. He Apparates to the pub, almost eager to lose himself in the midst of the late night rabble.
As always, he orders a pint of cheap beer. Athena, the thickly-thighed Goddess of Wisdom, of Drink, of Drunken Ineptitude, serves him, her beady eyes darting from side to side.
"Ah, Snape. It's been a while. 'Nother letter? Lemme guess. You got yourself a girl!" She seems pleased with this notion, causing Severus to glare.
Undaunted, she lumbers into the booth, her dirty brown hair matted against her skull.
"I can help you, you know. I've got meself a husband of thirty-two years. Name's Gilbert, and I 'spose we are about as happy as anyone. Now, what's your troubles?"
Severus blinks, surprised that he actually wants to tell her. He sips his drink as Athena patiently splays her chubby, roughened hands on the table.
He swallows. "Well," he says, uncertain of what to say, of how much to tell her. "I… dream about this girl. I think about her. She is in my mind, with me all the time. Tell me," and he angrily pounds his fist against the wood, "how to get rid of her."
Athena smiles as she folds her hands together. "I'm afraid there is no gettin' rid of this one, Snape. Sounds like you love her."
He opens his mouth to explain the impossibility of this-tell her that the flimsy, gossamer strand of connection between him and Luna is wrong, impossible-but she cuts him off with a wave of her hand.
"Tell me 'bout her," she says simply.
And Severus does. He describes her hair, how it glints gold in the sunlight. Her breathy laughter and her mesmerizing voice, and how he feels calm and safe with her. Her eyes, ethereal in their beauty. And how amazed he is that this girl, this former student, has unwittingly become the centre of his entire world.
"Well," Athena says, patting his hand. "And you must have gone and done somethin' stupid, otherwise you wouldn't be sittin' here with me. So, open the letter. Then go and apologize, Snape."
With those final words of wisdom, this Athena stands and leaves him staring at Luna's letter.
A flash of déjà vu. He opens her letter, smiling at the loopy scrawl.
I wouldn't equate love with indentured servitude.
But I will miss you.
Severus.
It is late, he knows, but he doesn't care. He has to see her. Even still, he doesn't know what to say to her, but that doesn't matter. For the first time in his life, he is sure of something.
He loves her.
And this time, he knows that this is right.
Immediately, he tosses some gold onto the table, pausing to nod at a smiling Athena before he hastily Apparates.
Once he is at her door, he pounds against it almost maniacally, eager to see her again. When he hears the lock clicking open, when he feels her wards disarm, he is suddenly nervous and fearful that this will turn into Lily again. When she opens the door, nimble fingers adroitly rattling the knob, he exhales loudly.
"Severus," she says. "What are you doing here?" She tips her head to the side, studying him quizzically.
"Luna," he breathes, and she crinkles her nose.
"You've been drinking, Severus," she chides.
"Yes," he admits. "But that doesn't matter. Luna. Can I come in?"
She sighs and opens the door. He follows her into the familiar floral patterned room.
Smatterings of loose-leaf papers litter the room. He pauses.
"I've been working again," she explains. "Research. Hermione and I started an organization. To protect rare, endangered magical plants and animals."
He quirks his lips.
Luna shrugs. "It's… helped me."
He nods. "Good."
Her long hair hangs in ringlets down to her waist, and she is so beautiful, he can't speak.
"Father went to Egypt," she says. "He sent me some karkady tea. Would you like some?"
Once seated, the redolent, steaming tea between them, she smiles and says, "So. Go on. Apologize, then."
Severus grins at her uncanny ability to understand. "Luna, I'm sorry."
A shake of her head, her radish earrings jangling against her neck. "Better, Severus. I need something better than that."
He takes her hand into his own, staring at the sight of her pale, unmarred hand against his own jagged skin.
The unfamiliar words come to him, though it is difficult.
"You… see me, Luna. At first, I resented that. I resented you. It was hard for me, hard to accept someone else into my life. I… I expect it always will be."
Unsteadily, he swallows the tea, the fragile china cup rattling against the saucer with his nerves.
He continues, struggling for the words to explain-the rest of the world could wither from existence, and he would hardly notice. "Everything has changed for me. Now, everything is… faded, like background noise, compared to you. I don't… I don't know what else you want me to say. I don't know what else I can say."
She smiles at him, cupping her chin with her delicate hand, perching her elbow on her knee. "I'm happy with that. With you."
It's simple. He loves her for it.
Heedless of the tea and the frail cups and the matching saucers, he reaches for her.
He kisses her, kisses her like he invented it.
******
Later that night, when she is curled in his arms, her legs entwined with his own, she sleepily blinks and whispers into his ear, "I think I've found my magic now." He strokes her hair, kisses her softly, and her eyes are closed and her breathing heavy when he answers.
"So have I."