𝐔𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥

A curse digs two graves

It was 6 pm when Blanche ultimately arrived in front of Snape's study. She dwelled for a while in front of the wooden door, hesitating.

She hadn't seen him from that night, unintentionally avoiding him, and she was happy with that: she still felt utterly ashamed, and the vulnerable position she had put herself in greatly upset her.

The corridor was immersed in darkness; being in the dungeon surely didn't help to make it a welcoming place. It was kind of chilly; probably a great benefit during the summer season, but right now, in late autumn, it was more of an inconvenience. A shiver ran down her spine.

Her heart began beating faster as the conversation she dreaded was approaching. Blanche was frustrated with her loss of control. To be honest, she would have rathered be anywhere else, but this was where she needed to be. Her feelings were mixed. Somehow, that night she made him the closest person to her by revealing her secrets while several other people could have been good confidants. She was angry at herself and him, too, because his character was one of an ill-tempered lunatic and overall tremendously irking. Something in his deep, black eyes spoke to her, but his words were unkind; his mind was unreadable, and that was profoundly irritating to her.

She braced herself, finally gathering the courage to knock on the door. At the moment, the thing she wanted the most were answers; but to be honest, what she desired even more was to bury herself in bed and never be seen in public again. She put up her best unbothered facade and she finally banged on the door, louder than she intended to. Her nerves were a wreck.

"That's dramatic," said a familiar, calm voice from the other side of the door, "come in".

Blanche opened the door without hesitating a second more, glossing over his dig at her. "Good afternoon... Severus," she said. His name still felt foreign in her mouth. He was sitting at the large table positioned in the center of the study, buried in books - as usual. His hands were covered in ink; he was annotating something on one of the open volumes, and he didn't lift his gaze from it until he finished writing.

She took a seat in front of him, watching his every move to try and make him feel observed. He didn't seem to be disturbed: taking his time, he eventually put a period at the end of a sentence, and only then did he put the pen down.

"Now explain, Severus."

He finally lifted his eyes from the desk to look at her. His face showed no particular sentiment; it just seemed tired. "I'm trying to find a way to strengthen the protective barriers."

His voice sounded slightly hoarse, as if it hadn't been used in a while. He cleared his throat before adding, in a softer tone: "What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"Be more specific, then," he replied in his usual, monotone voice. Blanche put a hand on the table in front of her, scrutinizing his expression. "Don't you even try to make a fool out of me, Severus. Why did Narcissa come to you?"

He slightly raised his brows, then slowly leaned back on his seat, without breaking eye contact. A long pause followed.

"She came to check," he murmured, breaking the silence. "Check on what?", Blanche asked immediately, "answer fast."

"Don't you dare try and give me orders, Blanche," he hissed, a sudden glimpse of irritation igniting his eyes. Blanche scowled. "I only demand clarity on your part, I'm not giving you orders."

He averted his gaze from her. After another long pause, he rubbed the bridge of his nose and sank further into his chair, slightly parting his lips; but then, like he had a second thought, he closed his mouth. Blanche remained silent, waiting for him to speak.

"The premise of what I shall now reveal to you is that, as you are with no doubt aware, a curse digs two graves." He paused again, frowning. His seat creaked feebly as he leaned forward again, conjoining his hands on the table. He closed his eyes, pursing his lips.

"I acted foolishly," he whispered in a quiet, cracking voice, looking at her dead in the eye, "I took a death oath to protect her son. I knew full well what that implied, but as much as it appeared to be the only course of action I could have taken at the time, I am now aware that my actions were... unwise."

Regret was scattered all over his face, making him look tired as never before; the candles lit his eyes softly, but they looked darker than ever. The emotion they were expressing was incomprehensible, and as Blanche was examining them carefully, she remembered her initial despise for the void she saw in them; it was gone, leaving the place to a restless light. "I bet my life, and so did she. For this very reason, our fates are inevitably, and I shall add inexorably, intertwined."

A shiver ran down Blanche's spine. She was horrified. "Until death do you part," she feebly whispered.

Snape flinched at those words.

She knew what he meant when he mentioned implications. Such an oath couldn't bring anything but tragedy, desperation could be its only motivation; its price would be paid in full by the survivor of those who had sworn to an undying pledge. As Snape had said, it was a bet: who would die, and who would pay?

Because of their nature, death oaths were undoubtedly classified as a Dark Art practice, and as such, largely frowned upon. It had always been Blanche's ambition to engineer a reverse spell for them, but she had yet to succeed, as they were one of the strongest and most complex bonding charms.

"That's why she saved my life."

Snape's voice was so low and soft that Blanche almost didn't hear it muttering those words. She was still in shock as she asked: "When?"

Snape crossed his arms, lowering his head. "During the battle, after Voldemort tried to murder me. I thought I'd wake up in hell, paying the price of my choices. Instead, I once again woke up on this godforsaken earth, as she had partially cured my injuries and fled. I didn't know until much later."

Blanche was speechless.

"She wasn't here for you, and I have reason to suspect her ignorance of your whereabouts," he concluded, "she was here because she's the only reason why I'm still alive... and because of several other reasons."

Blanche couldn't help but feel relieved.

"Is she the reason why the Deatheaters haven't killed you yet?" she asked. He hesitated.

"Yes." He said in a murmur.

"A curse saved your life."

"Yes."

"Do you hate Narcissa?"

Snape scoffed, but he reflected for a few silent moments. "No. I understand her motives."

"Was this a courtesy visit?"

"No."

A long silence followed. Blanche was still processing what Snape had just told her; many questions flooded her mind, the first one being: "Are you still tied to them?"

"Aren't you?"

Blanche was taken aback by his answer. She looked into the darkness of his eyes, searching for genuine feelings behind his stiff, formal attitude. He averted his gaze again, as she murmured: "I wish I was not."

Snape didn't move. "I know."

After this talk, Blanche felt slightly better. If Narcissa didn't know about her being there, that necessarily signified that she wasn't a priority for the organization. She had more time, even if Lorraine knew. She sat more comfortably in her seat.

She looked at him, locking eyes with him again, and they sat in comfortable silence for a while.

Snape cleared his throat. "We should go", he said quietly, "they're probably expecting us for dinner."

Blanche nodded but didn't move, and neither did he.

"Can you understand?" she said calmly. She herself didn't know what she was referring to, specifically; she just knew that he would get it.

Snape remained silent for a while.

"Yes."