A/N: The story The Seductress and the Snape made me want to know the real story of Severus and Marisol. How did they get together? What tore them apart? This is Marisol's story.

Based on characters created by J. K. Rowling

Chapter One—The Christmas Party

The first time he saw her was at the Lucius Malfoy's Christmas Party. She was impossibly dressed in a low-cut, diamond strapped black velvet dress that hugged her body like her own skin and she came on the arm of Lord Voldemort himself. Her chestnut brown hair, highlighted in golden blond, was swept off her neck in an elegant French twist. Only one hair was out of place. The golden strand of hair falling softly behind her right ear was the only indication that she was indeed real and not the conjuring of a dream.

It was that one strand, falling against her flawless neck that caught his attention. Severus Snape always looked for imperfections. For a moment, he followed the strand of hair caressing her neck, imagining her hair down around her shoulders, then spread out over a pillow as he kissed those perfect lips. He looked away, horrified as his imagination took over. He never thought sensuous thoughts about women he didn't know. Especially women belonging to Lord Voldemort. He shook the image out of his head and looked at the wine glass he was holding. His grip was so strong that the glass looked liked it was about to shatter in his hands. He watched as she jerked her head up. She looked around the room and her eyes settled on him. She fingered the strand of hair and smiled the most mysterious smile he had ever seen. She knew what he was thinking.

His pale face flushed and his hand was unsteady. She continued to look at him although she was engaged in conversation with Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. She was the only one in the room full of people who looked totally at ease. Even Lord Voldemort, who was always the center of attention, looked a little uncomfortable. Having to listen to the ceaseless droning of Lucius Malfoy would make anyone uncomfortable, Severus thought as he moved his black eyes away from the beautiful woman and focused them on the Malfoys.

Lord Voldemort was waving him over. He put down his glass and walked slowly to the Dark Lord. The Malfoys hung around, not sure if they should leave his side. He dismissed them with a flick of his hand and they quickly disappeared into the throng of Voldemort's devotees.

"Ah, Severus," Voldemort hissed in his snake-like high pitched voice. "I want to introduce you to Miss Grimaldi. Marisol, this is Severus Snape. He's my right hand man."

"A pleasure, madam," Severus said graciously. He took her hand. He had not intended to do anything but shake her hand in a disinterested manner, but he brought her delicate hand to his mouth and brushed his lips against her fingers. The warmth of her hand surprised him. He expected the cold feel of a mannequin or marble statue.

"The pleasure is mine," she responded with a slight nod of her head. She wasn't haughty or bored looking as most of the women who fawn over Lord Voldemort. Her smile could have melted the hardest heart, even his.

She had a distinctive accent, but Severus couldn't place it. It could have been from anywhere. He noted, too, that he wasn't the only man in the room watching her, but she seemed to be oblivious to everyone but him and, of course, Lord Voldemort.

Severus cleared his throat. "Miss Grimaldi—"

"Please call me Marisol," she said interrupting him. "May I call you Severus?" She touched his hand when she spoke to him. Her hand was still warm and soft. Her fingernails weren't painted a garish color, they were a soft pink. Why was this so damn important? Severus thought to himself, annoyed that every detail of her beautiful and flawless body had become more important to him than breathing air. Why did one strand of hair out of place in an otherwise flawless appearance become so important? He needed to know why one hair was out of place. Was it intentional? Did she know that he needed her not to be perfect? Of course she knew. She only wished to torment him.

She looked at him expectantly. She had asked him something; what was it? His name! She asked if she may call him by his first name. He nodded curtly and was rewarded with a most brilliant smile, his heart pounding in his chest.

"My dear," Lord Voldemort began. "I must leave you now. Severus, please take care of Miss Grimaldi."

Marisol nodded politely to Voldemort. She smiled again that infuriating smile that got under Severus's skin. She didn't look disappointed that the Dark Lord was leaving her with his most trusted servant. Severus's heart skipped a beat, but his face remained boredly impassive. His feigned indifference seemed to amuse her.

Voldemort kissed Marisol's cheek, and the first time in his life, Severus was revolted at Voldemort's serpent-like appearance. Something that grotesquely ugly should not be allowed to touch anything as beautiful as Marisol Grimaldi, he said to himself. But she was not revolted. She smiled politely and if she was disappointed that she was being left in Severus' care, her face did not reveal it.

"I will see you again," Lord Voldemort promised Marisol. "Severus, see that she gets home."

Severus bowed and watched as the Dark Lord walked away. Lord Voldemort rarely made public appearances and if he did he never stayed long. Severus didn't understand why he would leave her here; surely she would want to go with him. But she didn't seem to mind. She drank the champagne she was given, and surprised everyone in the room by actually eating from the tray of exquisitely prepared hor d'oeuvres that tuxedoed waiters carried around. She wandered around the buffet table, seemingly oblivious to the looks she received. She was a mystery, but everyone around was too much of a coward to approach her and engage in a conversation.

The Black sisters—Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix LaStrange put their heads together, talking in hushed tones. Neither knew anything about Marisol and wondered where the Dark Lord had unearthed her. They desparately tried to find a flaw in her, and settled in the mere fact that she was there. Neither cared for Severus; he was always fawning over Lord Voldemort like some whimpering puppy. Surely the Dark Lord felt sorry for him and allowed him to hang around because he was a good servant. Now he was following that woman around.

"Aren't you going to eat something, Severus?" she asked. "It looks wonderful."

When he didn't reply, she handed him a plate. "I hate eating alone."

He took the plate and stared at it. He was not hungry, but he felt like a fool holding an empty plate and following her around. She turned around and began adding food to his plate. He flushed again, but didn't say anything.

When their plates were filled, she pointed to a couple of chairs along the wall.

"Let's sit there." They sat down and began eating in silence. The napkin in her lap began to slip and Severus instinctively reached for it and re-set it in her lap. She rewarded him with a winning smile. He looked annoyed, but his heart raced.

Slowly, as the guests settled in for the meal, there was more chatter and more people, especially the men, made an effort to speak to Marisol. It was a sure sign that the alcohol was beginning to kick in; the more they drank, the braver they became. Soon, Marisol and Severus were surrounded. Marisol spoke pleasantly to each of them and seemed to avoid the questions about where she met Lord Voldemort.

There was one bold man, who, after taking a very large drink of the deadly Christmas punch, approached Marisol. He bowed deeply and asked her to dance. Severus hoped that she would turn him down, but she smiled and offered her hand. He swept her to her feet and she followed him into the elegant ball room. Severus was not going to follow her into the ball room. But he did. He followed them discreetly, of course, and watched as she was in the arms of this disgusting drunken oaf. She handled herself expertly when his hand crept down her back and he attempted to caress her perfectly rounded bottom. She moved his hand back to the small of her back. When he tried it again, Severus rushed toward them, but before he got close, the man let out a painful yelp. He pulled away from her quickly, holding his swollen, blistered hand.

Sputtering angrily the man ran out of the ball room. She stood alone midst of the dancing couples, when she spotted Severus coming at her quickly.

"Dance with me, Severus. I want to finish this song," she said, moving into his arms.

Severus stiffened.

"Don't worry, I won't hex you. That man was being extremely rude." She whispered.

Severus was not worried about being hexed by her; she was afraid she would bewitch him more than she already had. He put his hand on the small of her back. He was trembling, but she didn't seem to notice. She merely sighed and snuggled into his arms. His palms were dry and cool, and he was an excellent dancer.

She closed her eyes as he led her around the dance floor. She was in heaven; he was in hell. As soon as the song ended, he sprang away from as if he'd been hexed. Standing back, he fought with everything in his soul not to reach for her again. He bowed stiffly and started to turn around toward the ball room entrance. He had to get out of there. She caught his arm.

"Thank you for the dance," she said. "It was a pleasure meeting you. I sincerely hope to see you again." She kissed his cheek and walked toward the door.

"You're leaving?" he asked, rather loudly.

She stopped and turned to him. "Why, yes."

"I'm supposed to escort you home." He wished he didn't sound so harsh.

"It's not necessary. I'm a big girl. I can find my way home." She grinned at him "But thank you."

He hated that she was dismissing him without a second thought. He grabbed her arm, but released it quickly. "But the Dark Lord told me—"

"I don't want to put you out. I get this feeling that you want to get away from me as soon as possible. I don't want to bother you any further." Her words were spoken quietly. "I'm fine, really."

"No," he said, this time touching her arm. "It would be my pleasure to take you home."