autumn | severus snape

eleven

The whisky turned down the volume of his anxiety. It brought memories of earlier that day, and he let himself dwell in them rather than think. In that moment he's there but at the same time he's not, existing in two moments.

"What the hell was that?" Ophelia had asked him.

Snape had told her about the magic, that it would reveal her most buried secrets, he had warned her.

"Let's go back now," he had said quietly, releasing his hold on her and backing away slowly.

He had put six feet between them, because his heart had been calling out to her, and he knew he wouldn't be able to resist. The moment he had pulled her to him, his soul had been woven into hers in a way he'd never experienced before.

Snape refilled his glass, chugging everything all at once.

Thirty minutes until his meeting at the Malfoy's.

"Can't we just apparate?" She had asked.

"Fine," he had answered, "hold on to me."

"Oh, I wasn't planning on letting go," she had been grinning.

It was moments like that, when she said those things, that he wondered what her intentions were. He wondered how much of it was a game and how much of it was genuine. Because the last time he had waded off shore so freely, he had been left to drown.

He took one last shot of whiskey before apparating. The house was quiet when he arrived and he was worried it was empty, perhaps even more worried that it wasn't. He knocked on the glass, the thought of it all being a huge mistake playing at the back of his head.

𖠇

"Where have you been?" Ophelia's parents stood in the doorway to her room.

"Where's my phone?" Ophelia countered, sitting crossed legged on her bed.

Her father moved swiftly towards her, grabbing the collar of her shirt and yanking her to a standing position, almost choking her in the process.

"Do not give your mother that attitude, Ophelia," her father scolded, "I won't allow it."

Ophelia balled her hands into fists, taking a deep breath.

"I was with Snape."

Tom nodded, smoothing her shirt out as he let go of her.

"Have you been working on your magic?" Her father asked gently.

"Snape still has my wand."

"Your point?"

Ophelia nodded. "Every night," she lied.

She wasn't as skilled in wandless magic as she made her parents believe. However, you could never be good enough, according to her father.

"And your training?"

"I'll go to the boxing gym tomorrow," she promised.

"And I need you to do another thing for me, darling."

Ophelia frowned, "what?"

"I need some information," he paused, "about Isaiah Bentley."

"Teddy's father?"

"Yes, make friends with him, get him to invite you to his home, and find out what you can about his affairs."

She glared at her father, shaking her head slowly, "no."

The fire in his eyes was something Ophelia was very familiar with as she'd been on the receiving side of his rage countless of times. And every time she found herself stuck in his inferno, she always ended up miserable.