Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling and her publishers own all that is familiar. I'm merely playing in her sandbox. Elise, however, belongs to me. No infringement is intended; no monies are being exchanged. See author's notes at the end.

Asphodel

1995

I was waiting in his rooms after classes that day, the day Dolores Umbridge humiliated him in front of his class. Dumbledore had warned me, of course. He'd slipped into my office after breakfast and told me of that horrible woman's schedule, had done so on more than one occasion, in fact – on the day she'd been lurking in McGonagall's class, for example, I was sent to diffuse Minerva after – but this time it was personal.

He was calm when he came through the door. Too calm. I looked up from my book, and flashed a welcoming smile. "There's a new bottle of Old Ogden's on the sideboard," I informed him, but didn't speak otherwise. Instead I went back to my reading, or at least, that's what it must've looked like from his perspective. In actuality, I'd charmed the pages to be reflective, so I could watch him without seeming to. It was a particularly Slytherin-esque trick, and had he known, I'm sure he'd have appreciated it.

I knew he was more depressed than angry when he poured a full glass of the fire whiskey, and flung himself into his chair to sip it before even removing his teaching robes. I waited while he sat there, staring at the fire and sipping his drink. One minute, three, five, seven…at nine minutes, I decided to nudge him a little, and asked in my most neutral tone, "Bad day?"

He turned toward me, his dark eyes hooded. "How did you get in here?" he asked.

'"Bout time you asked me that," I pointed out. "The Old Man thought you might need company, after your visit from the High Inquisitor," I'd put a snarky inflection on those two words, "...and convinced the walls to let me walk through."

From anyone else, such a statement would have been treated as a lie, but my companion knew that I wasn't given to fibbing, or to flights of fancy. Still, I elaborated. "It's part of the bond that the Headmaster has with the school. He can do that."

He merely nodded. I fought the urge to stand up, to cross the room and hug him. To kiss away whatever dark emotions were foremost in his thoughts. He didn't seem to notice me fidgeting, and sipped from his glass once more. Another three minutes ticked into oblivion, and then he turned to me. "Elise."

"Severus?" I tried to keep my voice and face open to him.

"Why are you with me? How can you ally yourself with a failure?"

"You're not a failure," I told him, meaning it. "You're the youngest potions master in wizarding history, and you have the trust of Albus Dumbledore. I don't think anyone who can claim just one of those things can be counted as a failure."

"Did you know I'd applied to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts every year since I've come here?" he asked me softly.

"I'd heard rumors," I answered honestly. "Is it true then?"

"It is." His tone was flatter than I had ever heard it before. "He never gives me a real reason, just… twinkles."

I stifled a chuckle. Albus Dumbledore was, in fact, prone to twinkling innocently when he wished to withhold information, and I, too, had found it to be more than mildly annoying. "He can be perverse that way," I agreed, rising now, and moving across the darkened room to where Severus was sitting. "I'm sure he has his reasons… have you asked him, directly?"

Severus looked away from me, toward the fireplace. "Incendio," he commanded, pulling his wand to point at the hearth, which obligingly sported a crackling fire. "Not as such," he admitted, still not facing me.

"I can think of several reasons, love," I offered, taking his glass from his fingers, and setting it aside. "Like the fact that people don't tend to last very long as DADA professors, around here, or the fact that your… background… might cause alarm among the parents." I began unfastening his teaching robes as I talked to him, kneeling between his legs to do so. "And then," I added as casually as possible, "you do have a bit of a temper." I held my breath after that last, hoping he wouldn't choose to demonstrate that very explosive aspect of his personality.

He didn't explode, but he did put his hands over mine, stopping my fingers from working at the stiff fabric. "I would never harm a student," he stated, meeting my eyes now. "I'll admit that I'm not always patient."

I arched an eyebrow.

"I'll admit that I'm never patient," he amended. "I don't coddle them. But even with Neville Longbottom's propensity for melting cauldrons, there's never been a serious injury in my classroom. And my students always do well on their O.W.L.s"

"I know," I assured him. "Your methods are… unique… but there's no denying that your students retain what you teach. Severus, really, you're brooding over nothing. Old Twinkly will not allow that woman to fire you, and if anything, your students will respect you more after this."

"You are certain?"

"Of course I am," It wasn't a lie. I knew Albus would sacrifice his own position to protect his charges – and he considered the teachers of Hogwarts to be his charges as much as the students were. "She's a petty tyrant, and her interference here has only succeeded in uniting the vast majority of the students against her."

He nodded, and lifted his hands from mine. With his left, he reached out to stroke my cheek, to trace my lips with one of his long fingers. "Has she visited your class?" he asked softly, though his eyes asked a different question entirely.

"Tomorrow," I told him.

We were both silent for a long while, and I gave up on seducing him, and rose. "Make a lap," I told him, and he did, though he looked startled. I forget, sometimes, that even though he's ten years my senior, his life choices have limited the amount of human contact he's had. I claimed his lap, curling my arm around his neck, and resting my head against his chest. "You smell like mint," I observed.

"What kind?" he asked. He was testing me, but I didn't mind. I could follow instructions well enough to brew any simple potion, but ever since we'd become lovers I'd developed a real interest in his field.

"Spearmint," I answered after thinking about it. "It's sweeter than peppermint. I also smell anise, chamomile, and…asphodel?" I waited for his confirming nod. "You brewed a calming tisane, then. For yourself?"

"It was that or summon the bottle of fire whiskey from my office, and given the inquisition I'd already been subjected to, an herbal solution was more advisable."

"Smells nice," I commented. "But why asphodel? I thought it was a diuretic?"

"It is," he affirmed. "But in minute amounts it also helps bring clarity."

He held me for what seemed like hours, but was probably only twenty minutes, in total silence, save for his breathing, my breathing, and the snapping and popping of the fire. When he spoke again, his voice was whisper-soft, with a slight rasp in it. Crushed velvet, in an audible form. "Do I truly have your grandfather's trust, love?" he asked.

"Without question," I assured him, for I knew it to be so. "As well as mine, Severus."

I felt, rather than saw him nod. And then he whispered my name again, investing it with all the emotions he never gave voice to. "Elise."

I reached up, traced his mouth with my finger, echoing his earlier motion. "I love you, too, Severus," I told him, and kissed him.

Notes: Originally written 10 April 2004. This was a year before Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Princewas released, which made it only slightly AU. Subsequent books changed that. I'm reposting it today (14 January 2016) with slight revisions, at the request of my friend Janet, and in honor of the late Alan Rickman, who was so much more than just Severus Snape. Properties of asphodel were drawn from a couple of ancient herbals sitting on my library shelves.