Revolted
No Good Deed Goes Unpunished
He never doubted who he’d find in the locked library.
Miss Evans could not leave the ball, as he well knew. He congratulated himself once more on his foresight to talk to Mr Dursley. He was well aware of Mrs Dursley’s disapproval, although it was inexplicable why she should think him beneath her sister’s touch. He’d offered for her with only one mention of her small dowry, he was a gentleman after all.
Now at last he would claim her, for if her virtue would keep her from accepting him, she would surely not continue to reject him once her virtue depended on becoming his wife.
The master key in his hand, he thought for a moment of knocking and making his presence known, but that would not do. So he turned and opened the door.
The room was barely lit, the fire in the hearth the only light. Still the sight that met him was one that absolutely revolted him. He could do nought but stare at first. His thoughts whirred loudly in his head, his teeth crunched nearly bitting off his own tongue. His hand gripped the door handle hard, his knuckles turned white.
He was going to murder Lord Potter. His nostrils flared, he was about to shout, but stopped before he could utter a sound. What if he called compromise now, he would be the one to force Miss Evans into the marriage bed with Lord Potter. What if he called out and Lord Potter turned his back on her, leaving her ruined forever?
His patron would not allow him to marry a wife that was compromised, he was sure of it. All his aspirations to be knighted and to be a member of Parliament would be severely damaged if he took a bit of muslin for a wife.
He had lost, thoroughly and fully lost. He could do nothing but close the door on his most hated enemy and the woman he had wanted to have most. For he would not give his ambitions up, not for her, not if this was her true nature. No, his future was with his patron, not with a woman.
He spat on the ground, hatred boiled in him, so much that he didn’t watch where he was going. A group of rowdy men, all too far into their cups stood at the bottom of the stairs, he pushed through them, not caring if he knocked them down. A shout, a punch, more shouting and before anyone knew what happened a full blown brawl had begun.
Mr Snape was not a fighter. His injuries were of the kind that modern medicine would be able to cure easily, but not for another hundred years…