Mended

Ten

The amount of sand one finds in every orifice of their body while living on the coast is no laughing matter. It would be obvious, of course, that sand finds its way into everything, but nothing prepares you for just how quickly and easily it happens until you experience it yourself. It matters not how often one sweeps, cleans, scrubs, or empties their shoes, there will always be sand.

Clagmar Coast had been his retirement destination for years, and now that he was here, he hated it. It was isolated, that was certain, but it was not empty. There were still far too many people poking around. None of them followed him, though, not like before. He could hardly walk into Saint Mungo's without stares, questions, a stray reporter here and there. Those that believed Potter's word swooned over him, their admiration never wavering, despite the glares and silence they were met with when they rushed him in the streets. Those that doubted Potter, or at the very least believed him to be fooled by Severus, were less frequent, but more persistent. They expected him to spill his guts and confess to treachery the moment they looked at him. It was exhausting, humiliating. Muggles did not venture here often, and while the village was warded to drive them away, the beaches and coves were not. The proof of that was dressing before him.

Her name is Catherine, or perhaps Caitlin, he was not sure. Did not care if he were being honest. She is tall, sickly thin, with blonde hair and brown eyes and cigarette breath. She had spotted him walking along the coast and refused to leave him alone, no matter how many times he ignored her. Finally, after many months, loneliness won, and she was in his shack. It did not take long for her to force herself on him, and he hadn't said no. He did not care whether she enjoyed the time spent straddling his lap, and made no attempt, outside of the obvious, to ensure her pleasure. She was a warm hole, a momentary escape from reality. She, however, ignored the herbs and constantly bubbling cauldron in the corner, mostly due to the fact that she never stopped talking long enough to even notice them, which meant he could usually still get a bit of work done when she let herself into his shack. The girl did not even know his name, not his true one, anyway. Dalton is what she knew him by, what she yelled with her head thrown to the heavens as she clutched at the fabric of his shirt. She never stopped talking, even when she was on top of him. There was a never ending stream of words spewing from her mouth, more so than...Never mind.

It wasn't cheating, he kept trying to rationalize that every time the guilt wracked his conscious the moment she finally grew bored of being ignored and left. Severus had no intentions of going back to Spinner's End. It hadn't been an easy decision, but it needed to happen.

The first thoughts of leaving came forth when Lorna was three weeks old. He had come home after work to her screams. He had paused a moment, pinched the bridge of his nose, and contemplated simply turning around and returning to Saint Mungo's for the next eighteen years.

Nothing soothed her in the early days. It wasn't until Lorna was over a month old that they had learned that draping her over his forearm on her stomach soothed her. Severus paced the nursery, patting her back and whispering to her as she wailed in his ear. So, he brewed the potion, knowing exactly how it would work, then stood back and watched as Lorna's face scrunched in a silent scream and tears welled in her eyes as her face turned blue. Her mother lost her mind, more so than he had anticipated. She was beside herself, pulling at her hair and pacing the floor as Severus put his arm out to stop her from going near the child out of desperation and primal mothers instinct. It had to be done though, because if he hadn't done it, if he didn't have one single night without her constant screaming, he was going to shake her. That was not a risk he was willing to take. The mere thought of it churned his stomach and caused him to vomit in the back garden after he had placed her screaming and flailing in her cot two days prior.

Once he had discovered that lying her across his forearm with her head resting in the palm of his hand, things became slightly easier. He couldn't shake the image of shaking her. He dreamed of it, saw it flash through his mind as he looked down at her whimpering on his arm.