"Here we are," said Lindsay as she travelled along her driveway. She hastily parked her car and ran to the passenger-side door. She grasped his hand and practically dragged him into the house. Once inside, she headed immediately for the stairs. He began to pull away. "Don't be shy, Professor." He let her drag him to the second floor. Part of him wanted to flee, but the sordid side of him wanted to stay. He didn't like how aggressive she was being; it made him uncomfortable. He was trying to think of a polite way to refuse her, when she stopped, flung open a door, and flicked on the light inside. It was a washroom. "There's a bathrobe in the closet. Put your clothes in that wicker hamper and I'll get them when you're done." She closed the door behind her, and he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.
Snape emerged moments later; his hair wet, face clean-shaven, and wearing his usual black robes. Lindsay was waiting for him. Her hair was also wet, and she wore thermal lounge clothes and a pink hoodie. The clothes she'd been wearing were lying on the floor some distance away from her.
"Were your robes underneath the skank-wear?"
"They were sealed in a bag in my pocket. They're uncontaminated." Snape pulled out his wand and pointed it at her head. "May I?"
"Certainly," replied Lindsay. Her hair dried immediately. "Thank you." He pointed his wand at himself and dried his own hair. "You're much cuter without a beard, Professor. I've never been a fan of facial hair, although it does compliment some men." She retrieved the hamper, placed her own clothes in it and proceeded down the stairs, hamper in hand. Snape stopped her and took the hamper from her, floating it in the air in front of them. They went out to the back garden, where Lindsay asked for the hamper to be set down and retrieved a box of matches from her pocket. She lit a match and dropped it into the hamper where it sat atop her clothes and the puny flame wavered for a second before going out.
"Step back," commanded Snape." He pointed his wand at the hamper and said, "Incendio." He turned to Lindsay looking very much annoyed. "You know that spell. I know you do."
"But I have matches," replied Lindsay. The levity didn't work. They stood in silence for several moments watching the hamper burn down to ashes. "You really must stop stalking me, Professor. People might talk."
"I'm not stalking you," snapped Snape and some color flushed his cheeks. "I wanted to give you your Christmas present."
"Oh, how nice," said Lindsay with some surprise. "I wasn't expecting a gift. Where is it?"
Snape put out the fire and cleared away the ashes before holding his arm out for her to take. They apparated to a dark and lonely patch of woods. An eerie silence, broken only by the hoot of a distant owl, lay heavily on the trees.
"Where are we?"
"You'll see."
He took her hand and walked among the tall trees, looking up for a gap in the canopy. "This will do. Come closer and put your arm around my shoulders." Lindsay did as she was told, not knowing what to expect. Snape wrapped his arm around her and held her tightly. She jumped a little when she realized they were rising into the air. "Relax, I've got you." They rose up, higher and higher, until the canopy was barely visible. Dark misty clouds rolled and twisted around them. Tiny pin-points of lights marked a set of far-off villages.
"What are we doing?"
"Shh, you'll see." Lindsay stiffened and gripped Snape more tightly as she spotted an enormous black shadow in the distance coming straight at them. "Thestrals," whispered Snape. "They're migrating."
Huge hairless dark wings moved gracefully and powerfully through the chill night air, keeping the enormous bodies of dozens of thestrals aloft. The beasts were generally silent except for the occasional soft snort. The herd flew in a tight formation that broke only to pass around Lindsay and Snape and reformed again once they passed the levitating human obstacles.
Lindsay reached out a hand and Snape grabbed it back. He whispered to her, "This is a wild herd. Be still." She relaxed and leaned into him as she silently watched the thestrals pass by. Snape hadn't the slightest interest in thestrals. His face was turned to hers. Her hair smelled lovely. She was wearing the perfume he'd made for her. His attention was so focused on the delightful feeling of her lean curvy body pressing against his, that he hadn't noticed that the thestrals had passed and were almost out of sight.
"That was the most unique and thoughtful Christmas present I've ever received. Thank you, Professor." She was so excited that she kissed his cheeks several times. He apparated her home without any warning. They appeared at her back door with a tiny pop. He'd planned on excusing himself immediately, but she dragged him inside, still chattering excitedly about how lovely the thestrals were and how impressed she was that he could fly without a broom.
"It's an uncommon ability," said Snape. "Very few know that I can do it, and I'd like to keep it that way."
"Your secret is safe with me. Can I make you something to eat?"
"Uhh, I really should be going..." he didn't actually need to be anywhere, but was afraid he'd end up doing something he'd regret.
"Indulge me, Professor. I'm a quarter Italian; I love to feed people. It won't take me long to whip something up."
"If you insist," replied Snape.
"I'll get you something to drink. Would you like a mug of ale?"
"I can get it," replied Snape as he turned to descend the cellar steps. She busied herself with pulling out ingredients and cooking utensils. It was all very meticulous, much Snape himself when preparing to brew a potion.
He watched her remove her hoodie and don a cooking apron. She chatted amiably about the first time Hagrid had shown her thestrals and how exotically lovely she thought they were. Her chatter meandered to other related topics. She could be annoyingly loquacious, but she was also very good at small talk and quite interesting at times. She was capable of deep discussions on a great variety of topics, but Snape wasn't interested in chatting. He wasn't interested in making friends.
He had no idea what she'd put in front of him, and didn't dare ask as he had no desire to get her talking again. Right now she was quietly eating and he was enjoying the silence. She typically was quiet during meals unless someone spoke to her, which Hagrid and Lupin often did. If it wasn't one of them that got her going, it was Dumbledore or that nitwit Trelawney. He ate quickly and hadn't realized how hungry he'd been. She might talk too much, but he had to admit that she was an excellent cook. They retired to the library after their pleasantly quiet meal. He was still nursing the same mug of ale.
The library was a pleasant room, very warm with a roaring fire. It housed an impressive collection of books—mostly literature, but Snape saw quite a few texts on muggle medicine and psychology. He set down his ale and pulled a book from the shelf and thumbed through it; 'The Psychology of the Criminal Mind, Volume Two.'
"Bit of light reading?"
"Human behavior fascinates me," replied Lindsay.
"Why criminal behavior specifically?"
"I have always been a factual sort of person. My family was deeply religious and they could understand the idea of good and evil, but those terms were too simplistic for me. I needed facts and calculations, so I buried myself in books like the one you're holding. Personality and upbringing undoubtedly influence behavior, and these are important topics of study for people who catch criminals. But I wasn't interested in catching people; I just wanted to understand them. After all of my experiences and all of my studying, do you know the conclusion I came to? Some people are just evil, and that's all there is."
He slid the hefty tome back into its place. He noticed an old walking stick in the corner leaning against a book case. He picked it up half expecting it to be enchanted. "Yours?"
"No, that belonged to Mr. Roberts. He owned the house and grounds. Most of the books were his too. He was a Professor of literature. Of all the things he left me, it's that stick that makes me feel connected to him." Snape raised an eyebrow and set the stick down. "I can't help it, Professor, I'm sentimental." She moved to turn on the radio and smiled at what she heard. "I love this song. Do you know Van Morrison?"
"Not personally," replied Snape and Lindsay laughed at what she thought was a joke. The truth was he knew what was coming and it made him nervous enough to blurt a ridiculous answer.
She stood in front of him, still smiling, and took hold of his hands. "May I have this dance?" he obliged, but did so very stiffly. She even let him lead despite being a far superior dancer. She softly hummed along with the tune. She placed both hands on his shoulders, which he hadn't expected. He lightly placed his hands on her lower back. Their bodies weren't touching, but they were so close. Her face was only inches from his. He stopped moving with the music.
"Something wrong?" said Lindsay. She was looking in his eyes, but they were focused on her lips. He abruptly stepped back and lifted her hands off his shoulders. He muttered something about needing to leave that was almost incoherent. He disapparated, leaving her dumbfounded.
He apparated straight to his house at Spinner's End instead of going home to Hogwarts and appeared in his tiny entryway. It was the first time in many years that he'd apparated directly into the hovel. He thrust his head backwards, deliberately smashing it into the door behind him. "Severus, you're a fool! A rose doesn't bloom for a gargoyle such as yourself. She's just being sociable."
A small mirror hung on the wall to his left. When he was very small, his mother used it to fix her hair before going out. She'd stopped using it before he went to Hogwarts. It hung unnoticed, covered in grime with a thin, dirty, silver chain hanging down the middle of it. When she was alive, the chain was charmed to look like a crack in the mirror so Tobias wouldn't steal it and pawn the silver. Severus saw the mirror out of the corner of his eye and smashed it with his elbow, ignoring the small piece of it that was embedded in the skin of his forearm.
He trudged to his sitting room, muttering to himself. "I must focus. I have work to do. I must think of Lily." He was torn between what he wanted to do and what he had to do. He sat down and picked up the book sitting on the table next to him. He opened it and set his arm down on the chair's arm. He winced as the mirror shard sank deeper into his skin. He slammed the book closed in temper and threw it onto the table. He rolled up his sleeve to look at his elbow. The shard was embedded in the skin of his forearm just above the elbow. Most of the shard was pulled free by the fabric of his sleeve as he rolled it up. Only the tiny tip of it was still in his skin. He could easily have used magic to free it, but that wouldn't be painful enough. He took out an old pocket knife that he'd had since childhood. He'd had it so long; he couldn't remember its origin. He flicked the blade open, stuck it in his skin, and began to dig.
After he mangled his arm and bled all over the ratty fabric of the chair's arm, he wiped the blade clean on his robes and put it back in his pocket. He watched the blood ooze from his arm. It was already beginning to coagulate. His wounds always healed quickly. Some would call that lucky. To Severus, it was yet another irritation. He pulled a tiny vial of dittany out of his pocket and dropped a little on his self-inflicted wound.
As he lowered his arm to draw down his sleeve, his eyes were drawn to an old thin scar on his forearm blow the Dark Mark. The scar trailed upwards toward the top of the Dark Mark and became fainter as it went. It was the vestige of a failed attempt to cut the Mark out of himself. It was a ridiculous idea, but he'd been quite drunk. In fact, it was the only time he'd ever been drunk. He was so ashamed of himself afterwards. He'd awoken on the kitchen floor, heavily hungover, with a kitchen knife sticking out of his forearm and a sticky mass of his own blood pooled around him. He'd managed to skin a good bit of his arm before he passed out. Any normal wizard, or Muggle for that matter, would've bled to death, but not Severus. He had to have a body that refused to give in even after his mind had already done so.
He reminded himself so strongly of his mother as he dragged his sick, bloody, and staggering body through the house that he vowed never to be drunk again. Thereafter, he very rarely drank and only a small amount when he did. His little act of defiance needed to be kept hidden from the Dark Lord. Severus was a natural Occlumens, something the Dark Lord didn't appreciate among his servants and one of the few things Severus was grateful to have inherited from his mother; but his skill wasn't nearly good enough to keep the Dark Lord entirely out of his mind. As soon as he sobered up, he asked Dumbledore to help him hone his skills.