Snape In Love - Chapters One thru Four

Chapter One - Dry Land

My lack of composure did not go unnoticed. A large pair of hobnail boots came to a halt in front of me, and a concerned, rather gravelly voice said, “’Ave you ‘ad a nasty turn, dearie?” The boots and the voice belonged to a small, round magenta-clad witch and she continued, “Ere, Esme, them goblins in there ‘ave been upsettin’ this poor lass!” calling over her shoulder to a tall, stern looking witch in staid grey robes.

“Oh, no, really, it wasn’t the goblins, I’m fine!” I protested feebly as I stood up. “I think I just need to sit down for a while.”

“Hmph!” snorted the tall witch unsympathetically, obviously seeing in me a shoddy example of modern witch-hood. The small one rolled her eyes, and linked my arm in hers.

“Come on, I’ll get yer settled at a nice table outside Florian Fortescue’s, you can ‘ave an ice cream and watch the world go by!”

I followed compliantly, my stomach churning and my head swimming with unanswerable questions. Why here? Why now? Where had he been? Why wasn’t I over him?

The small witch was all for joining me and ordering the biggest Knickerbocker Glory on the menu (guffawing inexplicably at its name) but her friend’s disapproving “Nanny, we must make haste, we will be late to the theatre!” was commanding enough to ensure that “Nanny” hobbled off down the Alley after her friend, after giving me a friendly pat on the shoulder.

I sighed and leant back in my seat. The shop shaded it, and the cool breeze too was a welcome relief. I still felt too nauseous for the ice cream, and I toyed with it idly before pushing it away with a sigh. From my vantage point I could see the entrance to Knockturn Alley. If he emerged, I would surely see him. I was filled with longing and dread in equal measure and I despised myself for both these emotions. He had no right to make me feel this way, and I had no right even to harbour such feelings, since I was sure that he had never truly felt for me anything but contempt. I remembered all our previous encounters and felt myself flush. The last time I had seen him, he had been so unbearably cold!

 

After losing my parents and sister at Voldemort’s hands, when I was twenty, I had drifted for years. The increased freedom that was a direct result of Voldemort’s downfall only a few weeks after their deaths had meant that I could assuage my otherwise unbearable grief by travelling, and thus I had spent a decade and a half crossing continents over and over, settling in one place only to move on again when life became too comfortable. I had spent most of my time with Muggles, since their world was somewhere I could feel closer to my mother, and where my talents for languages and history enabled me to find short-term employment as an archivist in libraries, museums and galleries across the world. However, I had never once gone back to my family home, nor had I ever felt the need to retrieve my possessions from storage, where everything had been hidden away after the house had been sold for me.

Consequently, I had been approached to go to work in the Hogwarts library the previous year, under the watchful eye of Madam Pince, to catalogue and cross-reference some Muggle books and documents relating to their version of potion making. I was in fact to spend a term each at Hogwarts, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. Professor Severus Snape had not approved, evidently, since he saw little value in Muggle scientific endeavours, and so I admit that we had been bound to get off on the wrong foot.

I had settled in well, after only two weeks at Hogwarts. It was my old school, and since my family had been poisoned I supposed it was now the closest thing I had to a home. I was made welcome by the staff and my rooms in the basement of the hospital wing were spacious and comfortable, comprising a large bedroom with windows overlooking the grounds, and a well-appointed bathroom.

Each morning I would take a short cut across the lawn to the main school, where I would breakfast in the Great Hall at the staff table before heading off to the library. Each morning, I would look across the Hall to the empty seat reserved for the potions master who, Madam Pince had informed me, was on “an errand of great importance” for the Headmaster, and who had been gone since July. I was looking forward to a possible collaboration with him during my tenure there, I had told her, and had been mildly surprised at her amused reaction.
However, having gone on to hear much about his demeanour and the fear he instilled in his students from other members of the faculty, and since my own area of interest as far as the wizarding world was concerned was potions, his reputation intrigued me greatly, and so for many reasons the empty chair held no small fascination for me as I speculated on the whereabouts of its erstwhile occupant.

I did not need to speculate long. One morning I breezed in to the Great Hall as usual and, taking my place next to Madam Pince, looked over and saw that he had returned. I had never even seen so much as a picture of him before in my life, but there was an indefinable familiarity about him and I found myself stunned into an uncharacteristic silence as I gazed at him.

There was a quality of darkness about him, an absence of warmth, as if the light in the room illuminated him superficially but shrank from intimacy. His appearance fascinated me. He was clad all in black, and the contrast between his clothes, hair and eyes and the paleness of his skin served to echo what evidence I had gleaned from others about the co-existent intensity and aloofness of the inner man. I had never seen someone so ill at ease with his colleagues, someone so alone. Flanked by Professors Black and Lupin, and studiously ignoring both, he ate ravenously and I wondered again what had been his mission, and its dangers. I knew that he had been one of Voldemort’s Death Eaters about 16 years before, at around the same time as my parents and baby sister had been killed, and since my arrival at Hogwarts I had heard staff room gossip that he had been in touch with Voldemort for many years, while remaining loyal to Dumbledore, and working as a covert agent for the Ministry against the Dark Lord.

He caught me staring at him, and I flushed, yet could not look away. His eyes were shards of black ice and they held mine in thrall for immeasurable moments, until he scowled unpleasantly, pushed back his chair abruptly, rose, and swept from the Hall without a word to anyone. After he had gone I realised that I had been holding my breath for some time, and I gasped as I tried to collect myself. His presence remained in the room long after he had gone, however, and I wondered what my reaction would be were I to encounter him face to face, as I knew I must.

Later that morning, he swept into the library and strode past me into the Restricted section without a glance. Some time later, he called out impatiently,

“Madam Pince! Where is the encyclopaedia of Muggle Potente Potions? It is not in its usual place, I need it now! If not sooner!”
I had never heard a voice so mesmerising, so commanding. Once more my breath caught in my throat and I could not move as his mellifluous baritone washed over me. I took a deep breath at last and replied to his request in a poor approximation of my usual confident tone.

“Er... Professor Snape, it’s here, I was using it,” I ventured meekly. Slow footsteps advanced along the aisle and the skin at the back of my neck began to tingle as I heard a silken voice say,

“And who might you be, to be looking at such an arcane text? You are aware of what it contains, aren’t you?”

There was such menace in his voice, and such promise, and I could not help but feel that to be torn to shreds verbally by that wonderful sound would not be without its pleasures.

“I am using it to cross-reference entries in these Muggle books,” I replied, trying not to sound as intimidated as I felt. “And it isn’t entirely accurate, Muggles have developed –“

“Pah! A waste of time, and it’s a poor excuse for keeping me from my work!” he interrupted rudely, obviously not in the least bit interested in my opinion. “Give it to me, woman, I have matters of great importance to attend to.”

The icy water of his rudeness jolted me from my stupor, dousing me so thoroughly that I drew myself up to my full height and raised my chin in order to look him directly in the eye.

“Certainly, Professor, I should have finished amending it by lunchtime” I bristled, “I’ll bring it to your dungeon.”

His eyes widened and I got the distinct impression that my newly revealed assertiveness had taken him by surprise. He recovered himself quickly, however, and with a snarl in his voice and a glower on his face, he replied,

“Be sure that you do”, before turning on his heel and leaving me alone.

“So, that’s what it feels like to be on the receiving end of Snape’s legendary harsh tongue,” I thought to myself. “And soon I shall be able to observe the creature in its natural habitat.” The prospect intrigued me to a slightly greater degree than it alarmed me. I was to regret that the latter feeling had not taken precedence.

 

Chapter 2 -- Nobody Can Deny That There’s Something There

The walk from the library to the dungeons was a long one, giving me plenty of opportunity to dwell on his possible mood following our last encounter. My route was hampered by the constantly shifting staircases, whose grinding alterations forced me to take several detours. By the time I reached the Entrance Hall, where there remained only one more staircase to go, I was breathless and flushed. I paused to catch my breath but even though my breathing slowed I was uncomfortably aware of the blood rushing through my ears and the palpitations of my heart. At least this final staircase could not shift, I thought grimly as I advanced on it with renewed vigour, since it was built into the foundations of the castle and hewn from the rock, held still by walls on both sides.

The corridors leading to the potions classroom were cool, and lit only dimly. Sconces were plentiful, and regularly spaced, but their flames, which burst into life sequentially as I approached, failed to assuage my apprehension, which had been growing exponentially with my descent. By the time I reached the potions classroom I was even more flushed. I felt ridiculously nervous and berated myself for it. Potions had been one of my favourite subjects at school, and I had never been nervous walking along those eerie corridors before, since I knew the classroom at their end was always flooded with slanting light, which gained entry to the bowels of the castle by way of four large Gothic-arched windows, overlooking the lake. Consequently I had to admit to myself that my agitation centred not on the lair, but on the dragon within.

Taking a deep breath I entered the empty classroom and walked briskly to Snape’s desk. I left the book there and was turning to leave when a hidden door, presumably to his office and private rooms, swung open and Professor Snape emerged, sweeping over to me.

“At last!” he said, picking up the volume and turning back to his office without even acknowledging my presence.

“You’re welcome!” I muttered, angered by his rudeness. He halted, turned around and regarded me coldly.

“Ah. Yes, thank you for keeping me from my work all morning. I do so appreciate your kind efforts. Now please leave.” His eyes glittered black, and bored into mine, daring me to respond. I opened my mouth, but no words came. I caught a flash of triumph in his eyes, before he turned and was gone. I glared at the concealed doorway, now closed again, and berated myself for my weakness.

I was still fuming by the time I reached the entrance hall and when someone called out my name I whirled round, snarling

“What?” to find Professor Lupin looking at me quizzically.

“I see you’ve been down in the dungeons,” he noted.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Professor Lupin, I thought you were somebody else!” I stuttered, embarrassed.

“No prizes for guessing who, I don’t suppose?” he smiled. “You look like you need some fresh air, to cool off! Fancy a walk?”

Realising that he had not taken offence, I nodded, and we went out through the great oak doors on to the front lawn.

“How are you finding life here at Hogwarts?” he asked as we walked.

“It’s great to be back,” I replied, sincerely. “I loved my school years here, and things haven’t changed that much in twenty years. People are very friendly. Well, most people.”

Lupin laughed. “Good old Severus. Always such a charmer!”

We walked in the grounds for an hour or so, easy in one another’s company. We reminisced about our schooldays, and although Lupin and his friends had left the year before I’d started there, his recollections were so colourful that I could almost see him, with his friends James, Sirius and Peter, running along the path to Herbology, or flopping into the snow after a snowball fight.

Snape had been in the same year, and Lupin painted a picture of an aloof, lonely young man whose sarcasm and impatience won him no friends.

“Except for Lily,” Lupin remembered wistfully, his soft blue eyes clouding for a moment.

“Lily Potter?” I asked, incredulous.

“Oh yes,” said Lupin, “but she dumped him for James. Made him even more anti-social, if that’s possible. Sent him off the rails for a couple of years after, too…” he mused.

“It’s scary, isn’t it, what love can do,” I observed.

“Yes, and I can’t say I’m surprised, in his case. I think we were all a little in love with Lily. Anyway,” he went on, brightening, “the best man won! James was the best friend anyone could have, and Harry looks so much like him, you know. I think that’s one of the reasons Snape finds it so easy to give him a hard time.”

“Hmph!” I snorted. “So what’s his excuse for being rude to the rest of us?”

Lupin laughed, “Oh, you’ll get used to it!”

We had made a leisurely circuit of the formal lawns as we had talked, and as we entered the rose walk we came across a large black dog, who had been too distracted by the many and varied interesting scents therein to pay us much heed until we were nearly upon him. I was not terribly taken aback when the dog barked happily and transfigured before my eyes into Professor Sirius Black, and noted with interest that he stood easily a head taller than either Lupin or me, probably almost as tall as Professor Snape. I felt a most unwelcome tugging sensation in the pit of my stomach as I remembered Snape’s eyes, and made myself a mental note to put the wretched man out of my mind. Professor Black was an extremely attractive man, smiling broadly as he shook my outstretched hand while Lupin introduced us properly.

“Delighted to meet you, Miss Redemte! I’ve seen you at mealtimes, kept meaning to visit the library and make your acquaintance, but, well…”
“What he means is, he’s always had an aversion to the library, and anything that smacks of studying! It started at around age eleven, if my memory serves me…”

Black thumped Lupin on the arm good-naturedly and I laughed uncertainly.

“Not a very good example to set to your students, Professor?”
“Ah, well, I influence them by the sheer force of my personality!” he laughed, and Lupin rolled his eyes. I giggled but found myself thinking of another tall, dark, strikingly attractive Professor whose personality, while very different, was just as powerful.

Lupin, Black and I were all laughing together like old friends by the time we had strolled back to the main doors of the school. As we went up the steps, Professor Snape was on his way out through the great oak doors, and he scowled at each of us in turn as he swept past. Lupin looked at me and shrugged, and I tried not to giggle. As he strode down the steps behind us, however, I couldn’t stop myself from turning to watch him go. He wore black from top to toe, and made no concession to the late summer sunshine, I noticed, watching the way his black cloak billowed out behind him in his wake, revealing long legs which drew my eye almost as enticingly as the way the light breeze blew back his long, blue-black hair. Musing on why he felt the need to button himself up so comprehensively on such a sultry afternoon, I was oblivious to Professor Black’s words.

“So, what do you say, Ella?”

“Sorry, er, what?” I turned back to my companions, flustered and confused.

“Tomorrow night! Will you join Remus and me at the Three Broomsticks?”

“Oh! Yes, I’d love to, thanks!” I smiled sincerely, eager to further my acquaintance with both of them, and to have something to take my mind off their bad-tempered colleague.

Lupin and Black advised me to dress down for our visit to the Three Broomsticks, where the atmosphere on a Friday was always very informal. I wore Muggle dress; tight, faded jeans and a low cut long sleeved black sweater. I noticed that Lupin’s casual attire was no less scruffy than his rather threadbare teaching robes, and he looked endearingly dishevelled. Sirius Black, on the other hand, appeared to be dressed to impress, in a baggy white shirt and tight leather trousers with a laced up fly. I wondered, noting the bar staff’s reaction to our entrance, how many of them had had the pleasure of unlacing those trousers with their teeth, and grinned wryly at the mental image.

The atmosphere in the pub was intimate, despite the noise and the bustle, and we could converse easily and without interruption. We quickly drank several pints each of foaming butterbeer, and quickly progressed to shorts and raucous laughter as the evening wore on. I was on my way back from the cloakroom, flushed and still smiling at one of Sirius’ jokes, when I saw Snape. I stopped in my tracks in order to study him before he noticed I was there. He intrigued me, and I could not deny it. He was sitting at the bar, his cloak wet and steaming due to the change in temperature from the cool autumn evening outside to the warmth within, and even though he had had his back to me and I had thought myself unobserved, his back straightened as I approached and he turned his head, saying sardonically,  “I have been able to form two opinions about you so far, Miss Redemte.”

“Only two?” I noted, tossing back my hair and trying to add a note of insouciance to my trembling voice. He swung round on his stool until he was facing me and his lip curled in a sneer as he continued,

“One, you make a habit of staring at people when you believe yourself to be unobserved and two, I see you’re not fussy about the type of company you keep.”

“No, not at all,” I countered swiftly, wincing inwardly at the accuracy of his first comment and choosing to ignore it, “and that’s why I’d like to ask you to join us, Professor Snape!”

Jet black eyes bored deep into me, and then with another disdainful curl of his lip he turned back to his whisky. I returned to my place, but was far too aware of Snape’s brooding presence to be able to join in the conversation as enthusiastically as before. He sat at the bar, hunched over his drink like a huge black raven, glowering at us, and I wished that the cut of my jeans did not provoke such a telling reminder of the powerfully erotic effect he was having on me every time I shifted in my seat.

Eventually, I went to the bar for another round, and, deliberately going to stand next to him, said, “The invitation still stands, Professor. You do seem to find our conversation of interest.”

“You’re mistaken. I would prefer to drink alone.”

Emboldened by the quantity of alcohol I had drunk, I said, “Then why are you staring? Are you trying to make me feel uncomfortable?”

He looked me up and down, slowly, and I felt suddenly exposed and vulnerable, my body shivering with gooseflesh as if he was tracing with his long, tapering fingers the route followed by his piercing obsidian eyes. When they met mine once more, I blushed, and yet couldn’t look away.
Instead of answering, he drained his glass and, with a lingering look at me, rose and swept out of the bar. I watched him leave, and then returned to my seat with a sigh, disappointed. Lupin and Black looked at one another, then at me, with raised eyebrows.

“There’s just something about him!” I shrugged, helplessly.

Later, I lay on my bed looking out at the stars as they lay like millions of diamonds on the bible black velvet of the night sky, and since sleep eluded me, relived my recent encounters with Snape. His rudeness angered me, and yet I found myself eager to see him again. I reached under my bed and pulled out of a small storage box my copy of the Hogwarts prospectus. I leafed through it until I came to the staff list, which consisted of a small photograph and brief resume of each member of the faculty. I scanned it quickly, all the pictures smiling and waving at me. Except for his. His was brooding, motionless save for the occasional toss of his hair, and his eyes bored in to mine just as they had done on all our encounters so far.

I shivered, and could almost feel his presence in the room with me. I could not take my eyes from his, nor did I want to. I felt a tugging sensation deep inside me, deeper than in the pit of my stomach, and I could not deny the way my body was betraying me. Despite his arrogance, and the distinct lack of promise evinced in our encounters so far, I wanted him, and the realisation kept me awake for the rest of the night.

His chair was empty the following morning at breakfast, and again at lunch. By late afternoon I was no longer able to concentrate on my work, such was my desire to see him again. My agitation was so strong, and so unexpected, and my interest in him so obviously discouraged and unreciprocated yet, in spite of it all, simply undeniable. He was a black hole of a man, mysterious and light years distant from me, but his gravitational pull was completely irresistible. I neither knew nor cared how he saw me; his disapprobation would make no difference to me anyway.

I had not the nerve to seek him out, so I decided a brief walk down by the lake might distract me. The day was warm, and the lakeside busy with late-summer midges and drowsy wasps, so after a while I decided to head for the relative shade at the edge of the forest, which looked dark and cool, and inviting.

I had not ventured in far, however, when I spotted a dark shape a little further in, moving slowly and stooping to pick up fungi from the forest floor. It was Snape, and I felt a lurch of excitement in my stomach. I stepped forward, meaning to engage him in conversation, but instead I caught my foot in a tree root and fell, twisting my ankle badly. I shouted out in pain, and then felt a sharp stinging sensation in the arm, which had broken my fall. Looking down, I saw a small snake slithering away into the undergrowth. I heard an impatient voice call, “What’re you doing in here, don’t you know the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds to stu-….oh, it’s you!” He leaned over me, his hair falling into his face, and everything went black.

When I came to, I was in his arms, and he was carrying me up to the school, looking straight ahead. I felt his strong arms around my back and my thighs, and the broadness of his chest against my side. My arm was snaked around his neck, and his long hair tickled my bare skin as he moved. My head was swimming, and I could not tell whether it was a reaction to his closeness, or simply the snake venom. Either way, I was lucid enough to feel grateful that he had spared me the indignity of using the Mobilicorpus spell to return me to the castle.

“What’s happening?” I asked weakly.

“I’m in the process of saving your life, you silly girl!” he snapped.

“You’ve been bitten by a snake and it needs immediate attention. I have a remedy in my office. You’re very fortunate that I was nearby!”

“Thank you,” I murmured, and was rewarded by a short glance from unreadable eyes.

By the time we reached the dungeons, I was sweating and shivering, my vision blurred. I believe I passed out again, for when I awoke I was lying on a large oaken bed with crisp white sheets, a green chenille counterpane and heavy green velvet drapes at each corner. Light streamed through the window, silhouetting a tall black figure, which approached the bed as I turned my head to look at it.

Suddenly, his face was inches from mine, his breath hot on my cheeks, his hand on my forehead as he looked into my eyes. My heart leapt, but he immediately withdrew, and, turning from me, said,“You see, Poppy, she’s much better. Her fever has broken and her eyes seem clear now.”

Madam Pomfrey was at the foot of the bed, and replied, “Well, I would still have preferred it if you’d brought her directly to me, Severus. She’d be far better off in the hospital wing under my care.”

“There was no time, Poppy! You can see that, surely?” he retorted, in a far more animated tone than I had ever heard from him.

“But Severus, this is your bedroom…”

“What, do you expect that I will take advantage of her fragile state and seduce her?”

(Oh, yes please, I thought)

“People will talk!” Madam Pomfrey countered.

“As if I care!” he replied.

“Oh, very well, Severus. I’ll leave her in your capable hands. Do let me know if I can be of any assistance!” And with that pointed remark, she left the room.

My mind was in turmoil, and I feigned sleep as I considered my situation. Snape had taken me to his chambers, placed me in his bed, and watched over me himself. There would seem to be no reason, now the crisis had passed, to refuse to transfer me to Madam Pomfrey’s care, in the hospital wing, and I wondered why he was allowing me to remain in his inner sanctum. I smiled to myself. Perhaps I had found a chink in his armour, and should capitalise on that, if I could.

I opened my eyes to the sudden darkening of my eyelids, which alerted me to his presence. He looked down at me and said,  “You are much improved.”

“Thank you,” I said, groaning inwardly when I immediately realised that his words had been meant as a comment on my health, not my appearance. I tried to sit up, and he leant over me, his hands gripping my waist as he helped me to a more upright position. Despite my fragile state, I was thrillingly aware of how his hands felt through my thin nightgown. I felt weak with desire for him and moaned involuntarily. He withdrew, saying “Are you in pain?”

“No,” I breathed.

He looked at me curiously and crossed to a small table under the window on which stood a pewter goblet and a large jug of iced water. He poured some out, and added the contents of a small vial, which he removed from his robes.

“What is that?” I asked as he brought it to me.

“It’s a restorative tonic I have made. Drink it,” he said shortly. I concurred, my eyes never leaving his face, and though it tasted foul I made no complaint. He seemed satisfied, and strode out of the room, closing the door behind him.

As the potion took effect I was aware of a pleasant tingling sensation, which began in the pit of my stomach and spread quickly throughout my entire body. It was like butterfly kisses all over me at once, inside and out, and I wondered, as it lulled me into sleep, whether he knew of its effect, whether he had indeed designed it that way? He was indeed a very talented man, I decided, and I drifted away with the name “Severus...” on my lips.

 

Chapter 3 -- Something Waiting To Happen

I awoke several times during that night, sometimes delirious, sometimes breaking out in cold sweats and shaking, sometimes quite lucid. Each time it seemed as if he had been there, watching over me, for he was always ready with another goblet of the potion, which I drank greedily. He would lift me bodily, with his arm around my back and his shoulder supporting my head as he helped me to drink, then he would mutter a charm to refresh my pillows before laying me back down and applying a cool flannel to my head and neck. In my more rational moments I would not say a word save for in answer to his peremptory questions about my condition; but sometimes I would hear myself moaning and muttering unintelligibly and he would murmur softly to me as he tended to me.
Finally I awoke to find that it was late morning, and I was alone. I felt refreshed, and eager to take a closer look at my surroundings. Apart from the impressive four poster bed, which was carved out with an intricate design of leaves and plants, the room contained a large escritoire, a dresser and wardrobe all to match. An enormous fireplace dominated one wall, with a well-used brown leather armchair at the side. A matching footstool sat on a large white fur rug before the fire.

I was pleasantly surprised at the comfort of the room, which seemed to be at odds with his ascetic reputation. The implication that he did, indeed, desire material comforts heartened me, and strengthened my new-found resolve to discover what other desires he might have. His attentiveness had shattered completely my already crumbling resolve to put him out of my mind. I now realised that I could no more do that than deliberately make my heart cease its beating.

I got out of his bed and dressed, wondering who had changed me into my nightgown, gingerly putting weight on my twisted ankle, and hobbled over to his chair. As I sat I could feel the imprint of his body in the old leather, moulded over the years to the contours of his legs and back. I sighed and closed my eyes, my senses in overload as I sank into his shape, breathing in the scent of him that lingered on the scuffed leather. There was more to him, far more, than his reputation allowed, and I was determined to discover it. As I shifted position slightly, I noticed how my body had betrayed me in its reaction to his nearness, and I smiled to myself. How I desired him!

I was soon brought back down to earth when he re-entered the room.
“Ah, you are up. And you can walk, evidently.” His froideur had returned, I noticed, now that I no longer appeared to need his care.

“Er…yes, with some difficulty” I admitted with a small smile which was not returned.

“You will want to go back to your own rooms now,” he averred. “Let me help you to your feet. I’ll take you back. We wouldn’t want you to have another accident on the way, now, would we?” he added sarcastically.

I stood with difficulty, not least because of his proximity, and found myself standing not inches from him, my hand on his chest as I sought balance, my breasts brushing against the rough fabric-covered buttons of his frock coat through my thin blouse. I swallowed nervously as my nipples rose to hard peaks, and looked up into his fathomless black eyes. He looked at me intently for a moment, before looking away, and, taking a step back, broke all bodily contact between us save for that of his left hand under my arm. Supporting my weight, he led me slowly through to his office, where Madam Pomfrey had thoughtfully left me a crutch in readiness for this eventuality.

We walked to my door in silence, and once safely there, he turned on his heel, saying, “I have a lot to do. You’ve kept me from my work.” Before I could thank him, he was gone, his determined footfalls echoing back to me as he strode away. I leant against the doorjamb, and sighed. Getting through to him was not going to be easy and yet…I imagined that I had seen a flicker of desire in his eyes. Unless it was simply a reflection of my own.

 

Ah, such memories. Without warning, I was snapped out of my reverie at the sound of a familiar and still beloved voice.

“You never cease to surprise me. I would not have expected your…tastes… to extend to such a frivolous confection as that,” he said dryly, casting an ironic glance and a raised eyebrow at the melted ice cream. My tone matching his, I succeeded in keeping a tremor from my voice as I replied, “I didn’t think you were interested in my….tastes… Professor Snape.”

I was shaken to the core by his sudden appearance at my side, and tried to compose myself as he took a seat opposite me. His eyes glittered, but he made no reply.

“Do join me, won’t you?” I commented acidly, wanting to take control of the conversation, since it now appeared that there would be one whether I wished for it or not.

“Have you been well?” he enquired.

“I have been busy,” I countered.

“That isn’t what I asked”

I looked at him levelly. “And you? What brings you here today?” I asked.

“I had…business to attend to. Supplies to buy.”

“You were following someone,” I said, matter-of-factly. His eyes flashed angrily.

“Don’t be so indiscreet!” he hissed. “Anyone could be listening!”

I remained impassive. I did not want to feel intimidated by him. He sighed heavily and leaned forward, speaking urgently in an undertone:
“I have taken a room at the Leaky Cauldron. Join me there in half an hour.”

I threw back my head and laughed at his sheer gall.

“What?” he asked, affronted.

“You must think I’m mad!” I said, incredulously. “I can remember the last time I was alone with you! What on earth makes you think I wish to repeat the experience?”

His eyes were suddenly full of pain.

“Because this time, I can explain. Please.”

And with that he stood, gave me a searching look, and was gone.
I slumped back in my seat, perplexed and trembling. My heart wanted me to race after him and do his bidding, no matter the cost to my pride. My head urged caution, and as I stared at the ice cream melting on my plate, my mind in turmoil, I went over the events that had led up to my running from his rooms in tears of humiliation over 8 months before.

 

Several weeks had passed before our paths crossed again, and I had to content myself with stealing glances at him across the hall at mealtimes, and gazing at his moving picture in my room, like a lovesick schoolgirl. I fancied that he stole glances back at me, too, but if that was the case he disguised it well. My work suffered, too, as I could not concentrate for long and Madam Pince would often find me standing at the library window, staring at the sky. I simply had no convincing reason to seek out his company. There was no pretext upon which I felt I could engineer a meeting. Since he did not socialise with the other members of the faculty, I could hardly hope for a second encounter at the Three Broomsticks, and his all too infrequent visits to the library were generally of the swift and silent variety.

I feared that my interest in him would be all too obvious to a man of his intelligence, and although I knew he had, by all accounts, eschewed all forms of companionship over the years I was not arrogant enough to conclude that he would therefore welcome my attention. In fact, I felt quite the opposite. He was a fiercely withdrawn creature of habit, I decided, and he would no doubt battle to maintain the impregnability of his self- made fortress.

Six weeks in to the autumn term, on a fine mid-October Saturday, the first Quidditch match of the season was held. The students had talked of nothing else all week, and the seekers of the two teams, Harry Potter from Gryffindor and Draco Malfoy from Slytherin, had been even more openly antagonistic than was apparently their habit.

Sirius and Remus knocked on my door at nine thirty sharp and, grabbing my cloak, we set off across the lawns down to the Quidditch pitch along with the rest of the school. We had stopped at the bottom of the staff stand in which we were to sit, having bumped into Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, Harry Potter’s best friends, and I stood politely and a little awkwardly as the two teachers and two students, who were nevertheless far more to each other than just that, laughed and joked excitedly about the match. Looking back towards the school, I saw Snape’s swift, solitary approach. He passed our small group with a dark sneer and a sharp glance at me, and I watched him go up the narrow wooden staircase inside the stand two steps at a time. My own ascent a few minutes later was nowhere near as speedy. My heart was in my mouth and I felt stupidly anxious. Where would he be sitting? Would he be nearby? Would I be able to study him? Would he notice me?

I reached the top of the stairs and smoothed my hair in a futile attempt to prevent it from blowing into my face and effectively blindfolding me, and waited for Remus and Sirius to lead the way. The only seats left were next to Professor Snape, and he stood up with ill-disguised irritation to let us pass and take our places on the bench beside him. Sirius and Remus stood back courteously to let me go first, but I demurred, and with a small, knowing smile Remus began to step past Snape, beckoning for Sirius to follow. I came last, holding my breath as I edged past Snape with my back to him, brushing lightly against his chest. He sat down as I took my place between him and Sirius, and I murmured, “Are you looking forward to the match, Professor Snape?”

I looked up at his noble profile as I spoke, admiring his aquiline nose, full, sensual lips and long dark eyelashes. He was staring fixedly into the middle distance and pursed his lips slightly in response to my question. He only deigned to reply after a pause just long enough to express his unwillingness to enter into a conversation with me, but not quite long enough to be considered impolite.

“It promises to be a tolerably interesting match.”

“As long as your team wins?” I ventured lightly.

A raised eyebrow was his only reply, and reluctantly I turned my attention to Sirius who was commenting loudly on how well practised his godson Harry was, since they had spent much of the summer holidays training together. He fell silent once the match had started, and I was able to turn my mind back to the man on my left.
Snape was sitting as still as a statue with his hands on his knees. They were beautiful, with long, elegant fingers and neatly manicured nails. I could make out calluses on his fingers in places, and his hands had several small white scars, whiter still than his own natural skin tone, and were presumably the legacy of years of potion making. His cloak had fallen away to reveal long, lean thighs sheathed in trousers of a heavy black twill, and my body stirred as I contemplated them. I began to daydream, wondering how it would feel to sit closer to him, with my hips pressed against his, our thighs touching, his arm snaking around my shoulders, those long fingers gently caressing my neck.

“Well? Is the…match to your liking, Miss Redemte?”

I started, and looked up guiltily from his upper thigh into inscrutable coal black eyes. His eyebrows were raised and he was looking at me curiously.

“Er…yes, it’s fascinating,” I replied faintly.

“Evidently.”

Our eyes were locked for a long time, and every nerve ending in my body was tingling. Then a roar from the crowd followed by Sirius’ elbow nudging my back brought us both back to our senses and Professor Snape and I turned our attention back to the pitch in front of us. Slytherin had scored, putting them into the lead, and Snape’s previously expressionless, guarded face now wore a faint smirk as he applauded dutifully. The moment was lost, but something had passed between us. What his true reaction to it was, I had no idea.

The rest of the match passed without any further discourse between us. Despite a commanding lead, Slytherin lost the match when Harry Potter caught the Golden Snitch and secure Gryffindor House a victory by a margin of just twenty points. Sirius and Remus were ecstatic, Snape was impassive. If he was disappointed at the unfortunate reversal of his House’s fortune, he did not show it. As we all rose to our feet to leave he turned suddenly, startling me once more, and asked,

“How is your ankle, Miss Redemte?”

“Oh! Much better, thanks. Although,” – thinking on my feet and coming up with a possible reason to see him again – “It does still ache a lot…do you have anything that would help, by any chance?”

His eyes narrowed and he looked down at me thoughtfully.

“Yes, I do, as it happens. But nothing you won’t be able to get from Madam Pomfrey, at far greater convenience to yourself. I suggest you go to the Infirmary.”

Crestfallen, I nevertheless smiled politely and thanked him. He nodded curtly, turned on his heel, and was gone.

I was late for dinner that evening and entered the Great Hall in a rush just as the plates of food appeared on the tables. As I sat down I felt his eyes on me and, looking across the room, saw him staring right at me. My stomach lurched and he did not immediately look away.

I dreamed of him that night. I dreamed of straddling his lap, kissing him wantonly and being kissed in return with a passion born of a desperate need. I woke up with the coppery taste of blood in my mouth where I had bitten my lip in my sleep, and a telltale ache between my thighs that would not give me rest until I rubbed it away.

A few days later, the Headmaster summoned me to his office. I had the notion that I was to be challenged as to why the cataloguing was not yet complete, so was full of apprehension as I said the password, “Uncle Joe’s Mintballs” which admitted me to the moving spiral staircase. Inside his office, Dumbledore was waiting for me, his eyes twinkling merrily.

“Oh, Ella, here you are, here you are! I do hope your ankle is improved? Severus told me you were still in some discomfort.”
I was taken aback by his words. Professor Snape had evidently been discussing me with Professor Dumbledore, and since our conversation at the Quidditch match.

“Madam Pomfrey gave me a poultice, which seems to have worked very well,” I replied, trying to hide my discomfiture.

“And your snake bite? I take it you are now fully recovered from your ordeal? Very fortuitous that Severus was so close at hand, eh?”

“Oh, yes.” I agreed, flushing slightly and getting the distinct impression that the Headmaster knew more than he ought.

“Well then, well then! I understand your work here is not, perhaps, as stimulating as you would like?”

I demurred, but he continued, “Well, I have decided to make the most of you while you are here! I believe that the Muggle Studies class would do well to learn about the potions and physicks our non-magical friends make do with, and so I would like you to work with Professor Snape and concoct some of the more common ones for us! What do you say, Ella?”

I felt sick with apprehension; delight and dread were in me in equal measure. To be thrown together in such a way was surely no coincidence. I concurred, and Dumbledore told me to go to Snape that evening to draw up a list of all that would be required before we could start.

Professor Snape was not at dinner that evening, and so the opportunity of gauging his mood before our meeting was denied me. I ate quickly and sparingly, my stomach roiling with nervous anticipation. Eager as I was to collaborate with him, and further our acquaintance, my feet nevertheless felt like lead as I descended to the dungeons. I stood outside the classroom door for a few moments to steady my nerve. At length, I felt sufficiently collected to push open the classroom door and step inside.

It was empty, as I had expected, and I knocked on the door to his office and the private chamber I knew lay beyond. He opened it with a familiar scowl on his striking face.

“I’m sorry, have I come at a bad time?” I asked.

“You’ve come at the appointed time, I believe. But since I don’t consider this forced collaboration to be of any use, either to myself or to the school, then yes, it is a bad time!”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, I was under the misapprehension that this was your idea.”

“Pah! And why would you think that, Miss Redemte? Potions making is a subtle science and an exact art, and I am more than capable of it. Do you imagine I need to seek out the society of unqualified girls in order to help me with my work?”

“I imagine no such thing when I think of you, Severus” I answered with a calmness that I hoped hid the agitation I felt at the deliberately provocative use of his first name. He was taken aback, I could tell, and I awarded myself a point on the mental scorecard that had appeared in my head.

“Oh, and do call me Ella,” I continued calmly as I set out my books on his round desk, and sat down at it. There, I was ensconced, and would not be intimidated into leaving. He was silent, and I felt his eyes boring into me. My heart was racing, but inwardly I congratulated myself for successfully concealing my feelings. He sat down beside me at last, stiffly and at too great a distance, and said, “Shall we begin?”

For the next two hours we discussed which remedies would be most useful for the students, and which would be more or less challenging for them to try to reproduce. We compared the properties of popular Muggle and wizarding ingredients, and the control of some of the more potent substances in the Muggle world. His coldness washed away for a time, leaving an earnest, enquiring and highly intelligent man in its wake, and I wondered how many people saw him like this. I felt flattered that he appeared at least to find me a worthy candidate for academic discussion, even if our acquaintance would be based on nothing more. But I hoped fervently that as he began to let me see the machinations of his mind, so he would also show me, in time, the stirrings of his heart.

At last, our work was done for the night, and I rose to leave.

“Will you take a glass of wine before you leave?” he asked, with an awkwardly formal manner that made me smile inwardly.

“I’d like that, thanks.”

I followed him across the room to the sideboard, where he stood pouring red wine into two golden goblets. As he passed one to me, our fingers touched, and lingered on it. His eyes flickered down to our hands, and then met mine, and I knew then that he felt something too. My mouth suddenly dry, I put the goblet to my lips, breaking the contact before I did something stupidly rash like caress his fingers with mine, and I gulped down my wine and turned away, to hide the naked yearning that I was sure was visible on my face. He cleared his throat and said quietly,

“It’s late. You should… go. Now.”

Setting down my goblet without a word, I left him alone.

 

Chapter 4
Every Time I Touch You, You Just Tremble Inside
 

Over the next few weeks we worked side by side each evening after dinner. Our routine was unvarying. I would knock on his door, he would open it wordlessly, and we would set to work straight away. Conversation was easy while work was the topic under discussion, and we made good progress, bouncing ideas off one another with an exhilarating energy that left me drained but happy. He was by far my superior intellectually and yet he appeared to value, even respect, my opinions and made me feel that he was perhaps learning as much from me as I was from him. However, anything “off-topic” was met with monosyllabic answers and a distinct discomfort. I knew that he had spent many weeks away at Dumbledore’s behest, and I knew that his mission had concerned the rise of the dark lord. More, he would not say, and I knew as little about his life before Hogwarts, or outside of it, as when I first met him.

Nevertheless, our partaking of a goblet of red wine at the end of the evening had become a ritual, and it was now our habit to sit in front of the fire while we supped. Severus would stare into the flames and occasionally ask me questions about the Muggle world, but I knew he affected an interest merely to make conversation, and, I hoped, in order to prolong my stay. I, for my part, would feel like a courtier summoned to the side of a tired and jaded king in order to provide entertainment, and so I would make my answers as interesting and as accurately detailed as I could in order that I could gain his favour and postpone banishment from his court. The longer I spent with him the more I yearned for his company when, during the day, we were apart, and I could not deny that I longed for him to return the love I had begun to feel for him.

Then, one evening, I did not take my seat in the chair opposite his, but instead sat on the black fur rug before the fire, which was equally as luxuriant as the white one I knew lay in his bedroom. His robes brushed against my upturned cheek as he edged past me to sit down, and I closed my eyes and shivered. I shifted closer to him and leaned slightly, resting my head on his knee as I gazed at the fire. I felt him stiffen, and sensed his hands gripping the arms of the chair, but after a moment he relaxed again and we sat in silence. Eventually I felt him reach out to stroke my hair, tentatively, as if he was unsure of how to proceed. I sighed, and leaned further in to him by way of encouragement.

He was so gentle, his touch so longed for, that his fingers made my scalp tingle. To be so near to him and yet not dare go further was an exquisite agony of yearning for me and I was compelled to turn and gaze at him, my feelings surely etched on my face. His fingers grazed my cheek as I turned, and his hand stayed for a while, as he regarded me gravely, the line between his eyebrows pronounced by a slight frown.

After long moments, he said softly, “It’s late, and we are both tired. You should go.”

I inclined my head, stretching slightly so that his hand would cup my cheek. He stroked across it very gently with his thumb, all the while staring perplexed into my eyes, before withdrawing his hand.

I stood reluctantly, and he accompanied me to the door. I turned to face him, reaching up to caress his cheek with my trembling hand, as he had done mine. He closed his eyes when my fingertips brushed his lips, and I whispered, “Goodnight, Severus.” I did not dare reach up to kiss him, even though I burned for him. I felt too powerless in his presence to take more control, and I sensed that the time was not right. But as I floated back to my room, I knew that somehow it would be, soon. There was an invisible cord that stretched from my body to his, and the tugging deep in my stomach, betraying my deepest desires, would not let me forget.

Sleep eluded me for a long time that night, and I tossed and turned in my bed, unable to forget the smoothness of his skin under my fingertips, aching to run my fingers through his hair and pull him close to me. Eventually I sought to relieve my physical yearning for him, and on its release I cried out his name over and over, until it had passed and I was spent. My mental torment, however, could not be assuaged so readily. For probably the first time in my life, I was falling in love.

I must have succumbed to sleep eventually, because I awoke to find the mid-morning sun streaming through my window. I had overslept, and I cursed myself for missing breakfast and the opportunity of looking on his face again. Now I would have to wait until the evening. I made my way to the library and tried to lose myself in my work. I must have had some measure of success, for when he came upon me in a dark, narrow aisle, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, rearranging the books on the shelf behind me, disturbed when I had backed into them in my surprise.

“I was miles away!” I admitted, flustered and deliciously aware of the way his presence coiled around me and enveloped me. How had I not noticed his approach?

“Evidently!” he smiled, brushing dust from my shoulder with long, tapering fingers, his touch sending tiny currents of electricity through me, before growing serious once more. “You missed breakfast today, and I…needed to ask you something”

“I overslept.” I said ruefully. “It took me half the night to fall asleep.” I looked at him levelly, hoping that my meaning was not too obvious, but also hoping that it was. A flicker of fire came from behind his mask and suggested that he understood, and he replied,

“I had some difficulty relaxing, too. We…worked too hard.”

“Maybe we need a break.” This comment was as misconstrued as my previous one had been accepted, and he reacted in a way that filled me with dismay.

“Ah. I see. Of course, I’ve taken up too much of your free time; the Headmaster wouldn’t want you overworked. And I’m sure Lupin misses your company!”

His tone became cold, and I could sense his withdrawal from me. He had misunderstood my meaning, and turned to leave.

“No! Severus, I just meant that we should maybe have some fun, relax a little. It would do us both good. I could show you how!” I teased, gently, trying to lighten his mood a little rather than make too serious a protestation and frighten him with the full intensity of my feelings.

“Together?” He looked at me, disbelieving.

“Yes, why not?”

“Why not, indeed?” he said thoughtfully, eyes downcast. “And what would we do? Together?”

I said nothing, and waited for him to raise his eyes to meet mine. I was filled with an overwhelming certainty that now was the moment to make my move. I had to know how he felt about me, every nerve ending in my body was screaming at me to tell him, and my heart was pounding so fast that I felt he must surely see it. As he gazed into my soul, I stepped towards him and put a hand on his shoulder. Stretching on tiptoes, I leaned forward and let my lips brush his, oh so lightly. He didn’t move, he simply stood there, his eyes hooded and gazing into mine, his lips slightly parted. He tasted soft, pliant and warm, and I felt a heat of desire for him engulf me. I heard a soft moan from deep in his throat, before he took a step back from me, muttered, “I don’t think so, Ella,” and then turned and swept away. Rapidly.

I sank to the floor, disbelieving and still giddy from the kiss. I was aghast that he should react in such a way, and I couldn’t understand why, when the kiss had obviously affected him, he should run from me. I wrapped my arms around my legs, buried my face and sobbed.

“Are you alright?” came a concerned voice. I looked up to see one of the sixth year prefects, Hermione Granger, looking down at me. I brushed away my tears with the back of my hand, and stood up.

“Yes, I’m absolutely fine, thanks.”

“Hmm,” she said, unconvinced. “Here. Take this handkerchief. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Er…no,” I said, trying to compose myself, but Hermione wasn’t to be dissuaded so easily.

“I just saw Professor Snape leaving the library. I was coming in. He was very rude, told me to get out of his way. Now, we’re all used to that sort of thing, but I have to say, I’ve never seen him look quite so upset before. I wonder what’s wrong?”

I met her steady, knowing gaze and said,

“I have no idea what goes on in that man’s head.”

“But you’d like to.” Mentally, I admitted defeat and said ruefully,

“You must think I’m mad.”

She shrugged matter-of-factly. “For wanting forbidden fruit? No, I understand.” Her face clouded for a moment, and then she announced, “You’d be good for him. Tell him!” And, leaving me open-mouthed in surprise, she turned on her heel and was gone.

At length, I managed to compose myself sufficiently to return to my desk, which I tidied quickly before leaving the library. If Madam Pince noticed my prolonged disappearance or red-rimmed eyes, she said nothing. It was only after I was back in my room that I remembered Snape had said he wanted to ask me something. I had a suspicion that that had been merely a ruse, an excuse to seek me out that had gone awry, but nevertheless it gave me a reason to go to him. When I felt brave, or foolhardy enough to do so. I needed answers.
 

Chapters 5-8