Inspired by the song "This is Love" by (the most awesome) PJ Harvey.

Mistakes

*

Of course it had been a bloody mistake. But it was a bloody mistake that couldn't be erased so easily. Maybe because these sorts of things happened only in demented moments when one isn't conscious or mentally stable.

Otherwise he couldn't imagine what on Earth had possessed him.

All he knew was that he had had a very rough meeting with Voldemort and his block of idiots. The Death Eaters had been summoned by the Dark Lord quite unexpectedly, on Christmas Eve, and as his most trustworthy servant, Snape showed up as soon as possible.

Avery and his putrid sister had both caught two Aurors of some importance at the Ministry and were eager to torture information out of them. Lord Voldemort was very pleased with their achievement and decided that their torture should be the high event of the evening. All the Death Eaters watched the two men succumb to the excruciating pain of the curses inflicted by Avery and Bellatrix. Yet, no matter how close they were to death they would not give in.

Tired and dissatisfied with this embarrassing failure Voldemort ordered Snape to finish the business by killing them both.

'Why do you wish me to perform the task, My Lord?'

'Do not question my judgement Severus. Or has Dumbledore already softened your mind? I would be very upset if that happened, you know.'

The only small relief he got after seeing their eyes close was that he had not inflicted any pain on them but merely gave them their final peace.

'You see, My Lord, how reluctant he is to kill,' Bellatrix hissed kneeling at her master's feet. 'See how he cowers and tries to steal his way out of things? He is not to be trusted, My Lord. He can no longer follow your orders and has lost the will to fight for you. He feels pity for those dirty scums.'

'My dearest Bella, I appreciate your concern for my subordinates, but let me be the judge of my people. Are we clear?' he asked sternly.

'Perfectly, My Lord.'

'Until I am given proof of Severus' betrayal I shall have him close to me, as he is our only link to Dumbledore and his pathetic Potter club. When you, Bella, manage to secure me such strong connection, I shall no longer need Severus, but until then…'

Snape bowed stiffly and glared at the troublesome woman victoriously.

As the dinner was set out and the Death Eaters started discussing and drinking wine, Bellatrix lounged over the table and looked Snape in the eye.

'Snape. I was just talking to Rosier here who says he has a good hunch on some muggles. Don't you wish to join us for one night's fun?'

'As tempting and ridiculously stupid as your offer sounds, Bellatrix, I do not wish to destroy everything I have achieved by lowering myself with the blood of inferiors,' he replied coolly, though he was starting to lose his temper.

'Come now, Snape, you'd wear the pretty mask and no one would know…just the three of us,' she meowed.

'I have better ways to occupy my nights, Bellatrix, like procuring precious information for the Dark Lord.'

'How pathetic you sound! I knew you'd pull one of your excuses. You just can't kill Snape and you don't want to because you're not really one of us,' she said lowering her voice, until it became a whisper.

'But I know who you are. You could never fool me,' she said smirking. 'Behind that greasy hair and dismally intimidating appearance lies a huge, yellow coward.'

She chuckled and poured the red wine down her throat.

Snape did not usually bother with her idiotic remarks, but calling him a coward made him want to see her torn into pieces. Bellatrix Lestrange was nothing but an inoffensive tart to him, but her position with the Dark Lord was certainly irritating to him. Why couldn't such a brilliant man see the uselessness of this woman?

Then again, women like her had other uses.

The night was turning into an endless spiral of ghastly macabre jokes and petty conversation, all reigned by an insupportable tension.

Fenrir Greyback was boasting a new set of victims prepared for his evening.

'They're three little girls, with blonde hair. I can't tell them apart. But their blood tastes different. I will keep one as a pet.'

When everything seemed bleak and disgusting and when he felt he was never going to escape this place, he always recalled her, if only for the shortest of moments. He allowed himself this small loophole. Lily.

And when he arrived – battered and weary at Grimmauld Place no. 12, he wanted nothing more but to sink his head in his pillow and never wake up.

He knew he could not go home just yet. He needed to report as soon as possible of what he had seen and heard, which was an annoyance to him, especially when he had to relive it all.

The house seemed particularly quiet tonight, almost as if everyone was sleeping. Then again, he half-forgot the very late hour.

Even Black's mother was snoring quietly and muttering curses from time to time.

He found the place to be such a haven of peace, dirty and forlorn as it was, compared to the evils of the night. He could hardly see well, his eyes stung and he was very thirsty.

He walked into the kitchen, meaning to get some glasses and conjure some water and he took off his cloak as he stepped over the threshold.

Snape softly placed the bedraggled cloak over a chair and opened up his vest, massaging his wrists.

He had stepped in so quietly that the other person in the room had not even noticed him. It was a woman, a girl by the looks of it, but in his current state he did not wish to know who it was.

She was standing by the sink, with a glass in her hand, looking down at an opening in a cupboard.

'Kreacher,' she whispered. 'Kreacher, are you there? Are you hungry?'

He sighed and taking out his wand made the glass fly from her grasp onto the table.

She shrieked and turned half-frightened, her wand at the ready.

'Oh, Professor…Sir,' she mumbled embarrassed and let her wand down. 'You startled me.'

He didn't look at her but conjured some water and gulped it noiselessly.

'You look terrible…and on Christmas Eve. Can I help you with anything?'

Why was she talking to him? He needed peace, only peace.

He dared look at her and he saw a petite girl, with a flowing river of curls around her and a pair of soft brown eyes. She was dressed in the most ridiculous looking pyjamas that he had ever seen.

'Here, I'll make you some tea,' she said turning to the stove and taking out a pot.

'What are you doing here, Granger?' he asked blankly.

'Oh, Harry, Ron and I arrived here yesterday. Mrs. Weasley reckoned the Burrow too dangerous for our stay this Christmas so we all came here. But I'm afraid not all the Weasleys have arrived yet and we are expecting Lupin and Tonks to come tomorrow,' she spoke quietly.

'Is nobody awake?' he inquired.

'I could…wake them up if you wished, Sir,' she said unsure.

'No. Do not bother,' he said sitting down.

'May I ask Sir…what has happened?'

'No you may not, Granger,' he said rubbing his eyes.

'I am entitled to know just as much as…'

'Why are you up anyway?' he asked annoyed.

Her eyes widened as she took in the question. She wasn't used to this kind of tone and he had never asked her this kind of question before. He didn't seem fine at all…he seemed ill.

'I couldn't sleep…I thought I heard something,' she said hugging her arms.

'You should go to bed,' he replied hoarsely. He then proceeded to take off his waistcoat. The warmth of the room bothered him. He was now in his white shirt.

She quickly turned to the tea. The air in the room was tense, enough for someone to cut it with a knife. Somehow, she felt very uncomfortable with Snape in this state. They were alone, the house was half-empty and everyone was sleeping – and they were talking in the kitchen.

'I am sorry you had to be gone on Christmas Eve, Sir,' she added awkwardly. When she looked behind her however, she noticed he had risen and was walking towards her.

There was something about her tonight that he could not quite define. She looked just as she always did. Granger was nothing special, to say the least. But she was being oddly kind and her soft eyes had something in them that made him regret having come here.

Christmas wasn't a good time for him. He couldn't get Lily out of his head. He always kept her in his head, in a deep, obscure corner but now she was proving difficult to bury behind layers of thoughts.

'You look very pale, Sir,' Hermione mumbled as she stared at his shoes. 'Perhaps you should get a bite to eat as well.'

He was now quite close to her and she felt a very powerful odour of burnt wood and crushed mint. It was so unlike any smell she was used to.

He placed a hand on her arm and drew her to him and before she knew it he was kissing her.

Hermione had been in many peculiar situations in her life, but this was by far the most inexplicable, irrational, silly thing she had ever done.

His hand was on her arm and the other one around her neck, while she stood as still as a rock. His breath was heavy of wine, but he was not quite drunk. She felt she tasted blood.

Hermione closed her eyes for a very brief moment and let the kiss sink in and his weight over her, but not before long she shrank away mystified and shocked by her actions and his.

Her entire face was devoid of colour and now she looked far worse than him. She tried talking, tried making any sound, but fearing her own reaction too much (she felt she would scream) she mumbled something incoherently and ran out of the kitchen, up the staircase.

Snape was left alone in the kitchen, with the boiling pot on the stove.

For a long time he could not quite grasp what had happened or what time it was. He knew where he was, he knew vaguely that Granger had been in the room, but the rest was a blank. Perhaps it had been Lily, perhaps it had been Christmas or maybe the sight of two people dying by his hand, he did not know.

Perhaps it had been the word coward.

All he knew was that he felt strangely hopeless.

**

However – the following morning he did remember. The following morning he remembered everything. He had almost completely recovered and as the memory of the kiss slowly began to be clear, his torment grew bigger.

At first he couldn't believe it. His mind was playing tricks on him. Surely, it had been some strange, surreal nightmare that involved Granger and a kitchen, but nothing of it could be real.

And yet it was and he was so ashamed of it he couldn't even acknowledge it.

What had driven him to such madness? He probably knew, but wouldn't say. He couldn't face the reality of things. He dreaded seeing Granger.

But most of all he dreaded that this had changed and ruined everything.