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 behind 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.