The Space Between Failing and Falling • Snarry •

Chapter 10: Reason and Review

An emotion he cannot name flares in his gut, and he decides to be objective.

Perhaps there is some rational justification for his lips to be on her hair, his arm slung around her shoulders.

Teddy starts to sniffle, so Severus says, "Stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about."

The little boy flails his arms at a toy he can't reach. "I want Sooty!"

"Well, you are exceedingly young, so I will grant you this." He levitates the bear down to Teddy who squeals in delight.

So bipolar.

Harry strides back in at the sound of the commotion.

"Who's this?" Severus asks, gesturing at the photograph.

"Hm?" Still towelling his hair, he moves over to the fireplace. "Oh, that's Nina. Is something the matter?"

"She's beautiful."

Harry looks sharply at him. "She can't help it. Part Veela."

"Girlfriend?"

"Yeah. We recently split up," Harry says. "When you started your new job."

Severus can name the feeling in the pit of his stomach: nausea.

Harry frowns. "You didn't expect me to just sit around, hoping you'd show even a hint of interest?"

Severus nods once in acknowledgement and leaves the room.

"You're going?" Harry asks, following Severus out into the hall.

By the front door, Severus turns and reaches out a finger to trace Harry's cheekbone. "I must take my leave. Goodbye, Harry."

Harry grabs his arm. "What's this about? Tell me."

"Let go."

He releases Severus, as though burned. "Why are you upset?" Harry asks.

"It's late. We will talk another day."

****

It's only eight o'clock by the time Severus is home from Harry's. He sits out on the back step puffing a wizarding cigarette, seeking to evade his very being.

A distant car alarm wails, and Mrs Next Door starts arguing, so he casts a charm of his own invention to permit him a few minutes of near silence.

Of course, he cannot mute his own stupid mind. Irritatingly, it sounds like Harry. The voice asks things such as, 'What the hell is wrong with you?' and 'Why are you like this?'

He Summons Harry's letters and the new job card and pores over them with fresh eyes. Like a lovesick schoolgirl, he has studied and studied them and has learnt his favourite phrases by heart:

I miss Hogwarts a lot...Harry...I'm enclosing a job advert...Harry...I think you'd like it here...Harry...You can come by any time...Harry...Is that why your handwriting is so bad?...Harry

Potter did not write to him for many months before his move to Cokeworth. (Nor did Severus write to Harry, his subconscious reminds him).

Back at Hogwarts, when he couldn't endure his treacherous thoughts, he'd lose himself in a potion. The trancelike state brought him reprieve, and he was useful, productive, busy. He hasn't got the wherewithal to brew Harry another Clarity Potion, so instead he picks spearmint leaves, and lays them in the oven to dry. All the while, he tries to imagine his best friend, sitting up on the worktop and swinging her legs. 'What Would Lily Do?' is his motto.

He lights another cigarette.

'You're a fucking twat,' she'd say. 'Sort your life out.'

When he opens a kitchen cupboard, it takes him a while to spot the empty tin standing directly in front of him.

It has been a very, very long time since he has felt social panic.

Hermione, Arthur and Dromeda had written to invite him to the Burrow on Sunday afternoon. So, whilst he waits for the mint to dry, he fetches the parchment of birthday present ideas.

They all seem so pathetic.

There's nothing he can do to stop himself from losing Harry. To pretend otherwise is futile.

He pushes 'Nina' and her beautiful smile and Harry's lips on her hair far from his mind.

Since he relinquished the castle for good, he'd at least see this new life through to its cruel conclusion.

But before he can Apparate to Harry's, there's a scream in the street.

His robes are off, trousers and T-shirt that live by the door are on, and he races outside.

A girl and a younger boy are inconsolable, crouched by a dog whimpering in a pool of blood.

The elderly man who lives opposite spits on the pavement and says, "Sev can 'elp."

It's annoying that the man saw him take the hedgehog.

"Excuse me," Severus says to the children. He squats by the dog. "Mr Jones is right. I'm a vet." It seems the car is nowhere to be seen.

As Severus gathers it into his arms, the girl asks, "Will she survive?"

"I certainly hope so, and will do my best. What's her name?"

"Rosie."

"Come back on Sunday morning," Severus says.

He uses the fireplace at the abandoned mill to Floo Mike, and soon Poppy is at his door.

"It's like Lime Street in here!" Grandma exclaims.

"Good evening, Mrs Prince," Poppy says. "For heaven's sake, Severus. You look well—what is it this time?" She notices the dog laid out on the side table. "Good gracious!"

Severus keeps his face blank. "I told some Muggle children that their dog will survive a car accident."

"I can't believe I need to say this but I'm a Matron, not an Animal Healer."

Severus refuses to apologise.

She whips out her wand and says, "It looks dead...?"

"Two drops of the Draught of Living Death. I didn't wish to attempt anything more than the Bone Reparation Spell."

"I'm not even going to ask why you have that in your possession," Poppy says, twirling her wand to assess the damage.

"Noble reasons, I assure you," Severus says, as he fetches the antidote from the hidden box on the bookshelf. "However, I didn't want to guess healing potion dosages for a canine."

"Perforated bowel..." she mutters. "Ribs..." She clicks her tongue, opens a carpet bag, and rummages around.

"It is not my intention to be ungracious, but I have a...pressing engagement."

She rolls her eyes. "The things I do for love."

"I'll owl you a bottle of wine."

"Two."

"Two," Severus promises. He digs into his pocket and finds some coins. "And four pounds fifty pence, and three sickles."

Poppy sniggers whilst Severus puts the coins on the side. "Go," she says, flapping her hand.

****

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