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(Content warning: do not read this chapter in a public setting.) Snape’s hands trembled as they reached into the darkness again.
His fingertips slid along the rough surface of the wooden boards like a blind man searching for light.
His fingers found something cold.
The bottle he’d been longing for.
He gripped it hard, as though it were his only anchor in this world.
He raised it slowly to eye level.
Moonlight filtered through the narrow gap in the window and fell across the glass, casting a faint, dim gleam.
He pressed the mouth of the bottle to his parched lips without hesitation, desperate for that long-missed liquid to reach his dry throat.
When he tilted it hard, all he got was a hollow echo.
The wine that should have flowed out gave him almost nothing — just a few drops that slid down to the corner of his mouth like tears.
He froze.
Disappointment and despair flickered through his eyes.
Gone.
Everything was going to be gone.
Snape slid down the wall and lay flat on the floor.
Every last bit of strength had been drained from his body.
He couldn’t move.
He lay there staring at the mottled stains on the ceiling as a bitter feeling welled up inside him, one he couldn’t name.
After a long while, he struggled painfully to his feet.
He needed to find a drink — something that could make him forget all this pain, even briefly.
His heart was dead ash.
Beyond sinking deeper into alcohol, he could find no reason at all to pull himself together.
He staggered forward but still remembered to cast a spell on himself, changing into an unremarkable Muggle disguise.
Black coat, hat brim pulled low, most of his face hidden.
No one would recognize him.
Go to a shop in the Wizarding World?
His heart was dead ash, and yet he still lacked the courage to actively seek his own death.
Ha.
He really was that cowardly and selfish.
He pushed open the door of a shop that had left some impression in his memory.
“What bread would you like to order?” “You don’t sell alcohol here?” The question had barely left his mouth before Snape dully realized he was being an idiot.
Looking at the familiar face standing before him, having just done something stupid, he felt even worse.
Evans suddenly stepped forward.
Snape stepped back in displeasure.
His foot caught a chair lying on the floor, and it scraped out a sharp, grating noise.
He stumbled, nearly going down.
He grabbed the door frame, trying to steady himself.
But the old wooden door seemed to be working against him and swung toward him.
“Just a drunk.” “I am not a drunk!” Snape pressed his hand over his forehead, where a conspicuous lump had already risen.
I’m not.
I’m not.
How could I possibly be a drunk.
I’m just indulging myself, a small indulgence.
Only for today.
Really, only today.
So many people live however they please.
I’m only doing this for one day, just this one day.
You can’t blame me.
You’re a Muggle, you have no right to look down on me.
Evans moved closer.
Snape knew his reactions were sluggish, so he deliberately raised his head, keeping a wary eye on her movements.
Just that one glance, and he froze.
Such beautiful eyes…
Lily…
In that moment, Snape couldn’t stop himself from raising that hand of his, the one that always appeared so composed, so cold.
His fingers trembled faintly, as if reaching for something impossibly precious and fragile.
Gently, carefully, he reached toward her and pulled her into his arms, as though he wanted to draw her entirely into his embrace.
This impulse had been quietly forming inside him for a long time.
He just hadn’t anticipated that when it finally came, it would feel so completely natural.
In that moment, Snape felt a peace and contentment he had never known before.
So this was how small she was.
She fit this tightly in his arms.
So warm.
So soft.
That warmth was like winter sunlight breaking through thick clouds and falling on his heart, warm and bright.
And her softness was like the finest velvet, soft enough to lose oneself in and never want to wake from.
“You just sit here and wait for me.
I’ll go get you a Sobering Potion.
Once you take it, you’ll feel much better.” Evans crouched down, cupped his face in both hands, and met his eyes at the same level.
Only then did Snape come back to himself, as if waking from a dream, dragging free from the depths of his thoughts.
She isn’t Lily.
Not Lily.
Lily.
Nothing mattered anymore.
After a long silence, Evans’s voice came again.
“It’s really too chaotic there.
I’m genuinely a little scared to go.
Shall we stay the night at a hotel?” What was she saying?
What did she mean?
Snape stared into Evans’s bright, shining eyes.
His mind seemed frozen by some invisible force, slow to form any response.
This was a different kind of invitation from those he normally encountered, and yet he had seen countless similar invitations in the small moments of living.
Was she trying to humiliate him?
Oh.
No.
There was a flirtatious energy to Evans’s manner, as though her mood was rippling somewhere deep inside her, like rings spreading across the surface of a lake.
She tried to suppress it, tried to hide her inner agitation behind a calm exterior, but those subtle movements were windows that let secrets slip through, glimpses of the joy and excitement she couldn’t quite contain.
Her steps were light and rhythmic, as if she were moving to some melody only she could hear.
Her eyes shone bright, like stars glimmering in the night sky.
Even as she did her best to conceal it, her every movement was a silent declaration, showing the world the happiness she felt inside.
Every small detail about her was full of vitality and life.
Indulge then.
Fall then.
None of it matters.
Perhaps it was the Sobering Potion gradually taking effect, or perhaps the soothing warmth of the water that had washed over him, either way, his mind, sluggish and heavy before, was slowly turning again.
And yet deep inside, Snape felt a profound resistance toward what might happen next.
The bathroom door swung quietly open with a faint creak.
Evans walked out slowly.
Mist wrapped softly around her figure, like a fairy stepping out of a dream.
Her face appeared and vanished in the thin haze, revealing a beauty impossible to put into words.
The swirling vapor seemed to add something to her, a few shades of mystery, a pull he couldn’t look away from.
Snape looked up.
A flicker of complicated emotion crossed his eyes.
He watched her, half-hidden in the mist, and something rose in his chest that he had no name for.
The light from the bathroom filtered through the fog and fell on Evans, wrapping her in a faint halo.
They stood facing each other.
In the silence, it felt as though a thousand words were flowing between them.
This shameless woman slowly caressed his face — careless, unhurried, without a trace of restraint.
Her fingers glided lightly across his skin, teasing, provocative.
Her actions were full of wantonness and abandon, as if propriety and decency meant nothing to her at all.
He tried to pull away from her touch.
But her fingers seemed to cling, pressed firmly against his face, giving him no way to escape.
Her behavior was so reckless.
So utterly without moral restraint.
It made him furious.
He tried to stay calm.
Tried to keep his emotions from being swayed by what she was doing.
But his heart refused to settle.
This isn’t right.
This isn’t right.
Snape’s heart lurched.
He reached out and caught Evans’s hand.
The sensation was soft and warm, like spring sunlight falling gently on his heart.
His pulse instantly quickened, as though countless startled deer were colliding inside him.
He could feel her heartbeat clearly, that faint rhythm echoing in his palm.
A flicker of complicated emotion passed through his eyes.
Joy.
Fear.
Reluctance.
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