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(Content warning: do not read this chapter in a public setting) “It hurts.
You’re hurting me!” This — how could that still be Evans’s voice?
No.
This was absolutely not her.
The Evans in his memory had a voice that was always sharp and cutting, like a keen blade that could slice through a person’s eardrums and drive straight into the heart.
Evans stepped forward, letting Snape examine her face more clearly.
His gaze went first to those eyes, identical to Lily’s, shimmering with a light all their own.
But Snape’s gradually clearing mind told him plainly: the woman standing before him was not the Lily he carried in his heart.
Then his gaze caught on those red lips and stayed there.
Moist and full, they held a pull he couldn’t quite name, and he found himself wanting to know what they tasted like.
A sudden thought rose in him, whether those lips might taste even better than the precious cherries from the Malfoy family.
The next moment, he found out.
It lasted only an instant, but it felt as though it had been branded somewhere deep inside him.
That faint scent, like bread fresh from the oven in the morning sun, carrying a subtle, warm sweetness.
Soft and gentle, like winter light falling quietly across the chest.
The scent stunned him.
His thoughts followed it without resistance, pulled along like smoke on a current.
Then Evans’s hand climbed lightly onto the front of his shirt.
That touch was like a breeze passing over still water, barely there, yet completely real.
His heartbeat quickened.
He could feel the warmth of her palm, and it was undeniable.
The faint smell of bread, her hand on his shirt, the two sensations wound together into something he didn’t have a name for.
This was going the wrong direction.
It could not continue.
“Miss Evans…” Something in Snape’s voice left the smallest possible margin for retreat, though even that was nearly gone.
“Call me Petunia.” Evans gripped his collar and pulled.
Snape lurched forward, his chest pressing solidly against her.
The soft curves against him pulled at his attention like something magnetic.
He could barely keep the tremor out of his throat.
One wrong breath and something would escape that shouldn’t.
He felt the warmth radiating from her body as clearly as if it had a sound.
It stirred something deep inside him, a resonance he hadn’t asked for.
He knew what this was.
He wanted her.
That want moved through him like a current, impossible to ignore.
But this was wrong.
They should not have any connection.
“Miss Evans, I earnestly implore you to make use of that nearly negligible brain of yours and use your eyes, though they appear to serve only as decoration on your face — to look at what exactly you are doing right now!” Run.
“Mr.
Snape, you pride yourself on being supremely clever — if I’m not mistaken.
So tell me: what exactly have you been doing this whole time?” Right.
He had accepted her invitation.
And he had enjoyed it thoroughly.
“Are you planning to leave?” Evans swept her damp hair back over her shoulder, not bothering to hide her indifference.
Snape finally caught the sign he’d been looking for.
That careless attitude.
That complete lack of concern.
She wanted nothing more than a night of uncomplicated abandon, pleasure without responsibility, no strings attached.
She didn’t genuinely like him.
She was drawn to this body the way someone reaches for a plaything that offers brief entertainment and nothing else.
The realization stirred something complicated in his chest.
He was simply a passing figure in her pursuit of pleasure.
Nothing more.
Then take it.
Go ahead and take it.
In this tangled world, he was without question a negative presence, like a hidden malignancy, silently eroding everything around him.
Lily.
She should have been a bright light in this world.
Instead, he had caused her a wound that could never be repaired.
Since you want to use this, then go ahead.
Hours slipped by quietly.
Whether it was his brain finally breaking free from the fog of alcohol or his body escaping the grip of hormones, Snape at last recovered his usual calm and reason.
He was holding Evans.
That intimacy sat on his chest like a boulder, filling him with a sharp, suffocating embarrassment.
He lay there for a long time, wanting to ease his arm out from under her head, but afraid even that small movement might disturb her sleep.
Merlin.
What had he done?!
He closed his eyes gently and tried to push the embarrassment away.
Evans stirred in his arms.
Snape’s heart shot straight to his throat.
He panicked.
He couldn’t account for it, but the panic was real and immediate.
He shut his eyes and went still, pretending he was still asleep.
Silence stretched on.
No new sounds.
He cracked one eye open and watched her carefully.
She turned over gently, showing no sign of waking.
Snape let out a slow, quiet breath.
The tension in his chest loosened a little.
Then she turned over completely, and her bare back was fully before him.
That skin, like lotus leaves on a summer morning, catching light with the particular glow that belongs to the young.
Red marks were scattered across it, like embers drifting in an evening sky.
Not conspicuous, but impossible not to notice.
His gaze moved over each mark, one by one.
Every one of them pulled up a fragment from the hours just past.
Snape’s face, normally pale as paper, was flushed deep red, stained like the sky at dawn.
He thought about what he had done.
The uncontrolled actions.
The deep, unreadable look in Evans’s eyes.
The memory sent a tremor through him, and somewhere in his body a change happened quietly, a response that had absolutely no business appearing right now.
His cheeks burned hotter.
The disorder inside him and the strangeness in his body left him completely at a loss.
He tried to bring himself under control, but the heat spread through him like wildfire, beyond all suppression.
He didn’t know how many long, grinding moments passed before Evans finally stirred awake.
She picked up the clothes scattered on the floor and dressed carefully, one piece at a time.
Then she folded his clothes neatly and set them on the bedside table.
After that, she began murmuring quietly to herself as she tidied the room, picking up the scattered mess piece by piece.
When Evans’s face drew close, a nameless tension rose in the depths of Snape’s chest.
He almost believed she had seen through his pretense and was about to call him out.
But what came instead was a kiss, sudden, unexpected, completely unannounced.
Snape’s heart ignited.
It beat wildly, completely losing its rhythm.
His cheeks were burning.
A feeling unlike anything he had known before spread through him.
The door opened softly.
Then it closed.
His heartbeat still hadn’t settled.
He opened his eyes and lay there in the quiet, his chest full of tangled emotions, and underneath all of it, something trembling that he had no words for.
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