Disclaimer - I own none of the characters or situations you recognize - I'm
just playing here, and I'll promise to play well with others. Or at least
try.
Pre-Amble The Dancer
Albus Dumbledore looked at the young woman who stood in his office, digesting the report that she had brought him. He summoned the teapot over to his desk and poured two cups of tea. "And you say there is no trace of Voldemort." He sighed. He had hoped that the wizarding world would be free of Voldemort's curse for a little while longer.
"None." She turned from his window and took the teacup that was floating towards her. "I scoured the forest. There was plenty of evidence that he had been there, but none that he still was."
"Well then, plans must be made." His Observer, he noted, was still standing rigid, having turned back to the window. "How is your family?" For a moment, he wondered if she would ignore his question, as she sometimes did.
But, when she turned her head, what little he could see of her face showed a smile that reached her eyes. "Last I time I was able to go home, they were fine."
Dumbledore watched her, as she watched the grounds, and wondered if she would tell him what it was that was troubling her. It was in her nature to hold on to whatever thoughts were percolating in her mind until she had shifted them though a fine sieve, only letting them see the light of day when she was ready.
"I never thanked you, did I, for everything you did for me that year?" She still had not turned back towards him. Her voice was calm though it sounded a little strained.
"You are most certainly welcome. I consider it a privilege to have had you here."
As if she disagreed with him, she let out a short, derisive laugh, bowed and shook her head back and forth. "On those far away journeys I often wonder how everyone is faring," she said a few moments later, in a voice hushed, as if she was confessing some sacred secret.
He heard her cloak swish as she leaned against the ledge. After stirring his tea, he peered up at her again. She had let her hood drop, and was sipping her tea, looking at him over the rim of her cup. "Everything goes on here as it always has. Occasionally Minerva will ask if I've heard from you." He trailed off, wondering if she would ask the question to which she actually wanted the answer.
"And, how is he?"
At last, Dumbledore thought. "He is as grumpy as ever." He tried to sound resigned. In truth, he was amused. "He has a name, you know." When she came to see Dumbledore, they danced around this topic; sometimes she would ask about him, but she would never say his name.
"Humph." She mumbled something indistinct and set the teacup down. "I need to go."
He nodded his head. This was how it always was. Sometimes she would just leave in the middle of the conversation. He never asked why, just said, "You are always welcome here."
She looked at him once more, gave him a soft smile, raised her hood, and walked out his door. Usually, she felt the need to be somewhere else, warned that one of her wards had been tripped or she had a prior appointment. Sometimes, like now, she felt herself coming dangerously close to telling him more than she meant.
The corridor to Dumbledore's office was usually quiet, especially at this time of night. This night, however, just as she was heading towards the marble stairway, someone else was sweeping towards her. He was dressed all in black, his robes flowing off his shoulders, covering his arms. Even his eyes were night black.
She pulled herself further into her cloak, gripped her arms so he would not see her hands, and tried desperately not to look at him. She did not actually need to. He haunted her dreams and filled most of the waking moments that she allowed herself personal thoughts. His pace slowed as he came towards her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could tell he was trying to categorize her. She hurried her step. She could not be caught here, could not be pulled into his trap again. She was almost at the bottom step, about to turn the corner when she heard his voice, "Wait."
Dumbledore saved her, again. "Severus."
"Headmaster was."
She heard nothing more than that; the stone of the corridor blissfully muffled their conversation.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
"Severus."
The tone of Dumbledore's voice was one that did not brook disobedience. Severus, however, turned to watch the figure flee the hall. There was something. Something familiar about how. she. yes, that seemed right. The figure did seem feminine. Something familiar about how she moved. There was a grace about the way her hips moved; the way her feet skipped over the cold stone stairway. Her eyes, though he had only gotten a glimpse before she had hidden them, seemed especially familiar.
"Headmaster was that.."
"My Observer, Severus." Dumbledore seemed, just then, tired. "There is much to discuss. She has brought news of Voldemort."
Still looking over his shoulder down the corridor, Severus Snape followed Albus Dumbledore past the gargoyle that guarded the stairs to the Headmaster's office.
Pre-Amble The Dancer
Albus Dumbledore looked at the young woman who stood in his office, digesting the report that she had brought him. He summoned the teapot over to his desk and poured two cups of tea. "And you say there is no trace of Voldemort." He sighed. He had hoped that the wizarding world would be free of Voldemort's curse for a little while longer.
"None." She turned from his window and took the teacup that was floating towards her. "I scoured the forest. There was plenty of evidence that he had been there, but none that he still was."
"Well then, plans must be made." His Observer, he noted, was still standing rigid, having turned back to the window. "How is your family?" For a moment, he wondered if she would ignore his question, as she sometimes did.
But, when she turned her head, what little he could see of her face showed a smile that reached her eyes. "Last I time I was able to go home, they were fine."
Dumbledore watched her, as she watched the grounds, and wondered if she would tell him what it was that was troubling her. It was in her nature to hold on to whatever thoughts were percolating in her mind until she had shifted them though a fine sieve, only letting them see the light of day when she was ready.
"I never thanked you, did I, for everything you did for me that year?" She still had not turned back towards him. Her voice was calm though it sounded a little strained.
"You are most certainly welcome. I consider it a privilege to have had you here."
As if she disagreed with him, she let out a short, derisive laugh, bowed and shook her head back and forth. "On those far away journeys I often wonder how everyone is faring," she said a few moments later, in a voice hushed, as if she was confessing some sacred secret.
He heard her cloak swish as she leaned against the ledge. After stirring his tea, he peered up at her again. She had let her hood drop, and was sipping her tea, looking at him over the rim of her cup. "Everything goes on here as it always has. Occasionally Minerva will ask if I've heard from you." He trailed off, wondering if she would ask the question to which she actually wanted the answer.
"And, how is he?"
At last, Dumbledore thought. "He is as grumpy as ever." He tried to sound resigned. In truth, he was amused. "He has a name, you know." When she came to see Dumbledore, they danced around this topic; sometimes she would ask about him, but she would never say his name.
"Humph." She mumbled something indistinct and set the teacup down. "I need to go."
He nodded his head. This was how it always was. Sometimes she would just leave in the middle of the conversation. He never asked why, just said, "You are always welcome here."
She looked at him once more, gave him a soft smile, raised her hood, and walked out his door. Usually, she felt the need to be somewhere else, warned that one of her wards had been tripped or she had a prior appointment. Sometimes, like now, she felt herself coming dangerously close to telling him more than she meant.
The corridor to Dumbledore's office was usually quiet, especially at this time of night. This night, however, just as she was heading towards the marble stairway, someone else was sweeping towards her. He was dressed all in black, his robes flowing off his shoulders, covering his arms. Even his eyes were night black.
She pulled herself further into her cloak, gripped her arms so he would not see her hands, and tried desperately not to look at him. She did not actually need to. He haunted her dreams and filled most of the waking moments that she allowed herself personal thoughts. His pace slowed as he came towards her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could tell he was trying to categorize her. She hurried her step. She could not be caught here, could not be pulled into his trap again. She was almost at the bottom step, about to turn the corner when she heard his voice, "Wait."
Dumbledore saved her, again. "Severus."
"Headmaster was."
She heard nothing more than that; the stone of the corridor blissfully muffled their conversation.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
"Severus."
The tone of Dumbledore's voice was one that did not brook disobedience. Severus, however, turned to watch the figure flee the hall. There was something. Something familiar about how. she. yes, that seemed right. The figure did seem feminine. Something familiar about how she moved. There was a grace about the way her hips moved; the way her feet skipped over the cold stone stairway. Her eyes, though he had only gotten a glimpse before she had hidden them, seemed especially familiar.
"Headmaster was that.."
"My Observer, Severus." Dumbledore seemed, just then, tired. "There is much to discuss. She has brought news of Voldemort."
Still looking over his shoulder down the corridor, Severus Snape followed Albus Dumbledore past the gargoyle that guarded the stairs to the Headmaster's office.