When the song finished she thanked Fred Weasley for the dance and left the Great Hall, following Snape's footsteps.
She descended the spiral steps to the dungeon quietly, not wishing to be seen or heard. The temperature dropped a few degrees by the time she reached the bottom, and she arrived at the closed door of Snape's office shaking slightly. She wasn't completely sure why she had followed him.
As she stood in the corridor, battling with a strong sense of foreboding, she noticed the office door was slightly ajar. She imagined Severus sweeping down the stone steps, his black cloak trailing impressively behind him, and banging the door shut with such ferocity that it sprang back open behind him.
The door to his inner sanctum seemed to be inviting her to enter, but the thought of crossing the threshold filled her stomach with a leaden weight.
The doorknob was delicately engraved with a serpent, and its emerald gemstone eye gleamed at her. With a trembling hand, she reached out and touched it, running her fingers over the patterned silver surface.
Silently, the door opened.
Steeling herself, she moved quietly into the room. A crackling fire in the hearth greeted her at one end of the office, but the space was otherwise unlit and she made to pause until her eyes adapted to the darkness. The air felt warm, and she inhaled a heady, earthy aroma of herbs, with a faint chemical undertone. The smell of the dungeons filled her with vivid memories of schoolgirl crushes and wandering daydreams.
The firelight reflected eerily on the rows of glass bottles which lined the shelves around the room. In the gloom, she could make out the Severus's silhouette standing with his back towards her. He stood in front of his desk, arms stretched out to his sides, hands holding onto the work surface as if for support. His head hung between his shoulders.
Elongated seconds ticked steadily in her eardrums, causing the heaviness in her stomach to twist and turn. Shadows shifted menacingly around the office, daring her to enter. She lingered at the doorway, but Severus did not move. She wasn't even sure he'd realised she was there.
As she moved slowly towards him, her leg grazed a wayward chair, scraping its wooden leg against the cold stone floor, rudely announcing her presence. Severus merely raised his head.
She froze in place, knowing she was there without permission. Perhaps she should leave before he fixed those malevolent eyes upon her, struck her with a reprimand and commanded her to go... Yet still she was standing here, in the place of her fantasies, and she would have to muster enough courage and tenacity to see it through to the bitter end.
Severus spun around suddenly, as if stung by a bee. And then, appearing to have all the time in the world, he leaned back on his desk and spread his hands either side, supporting his body, giving him the impression of a spider waiting to ensnare its prey in the centre of its web.
He didn't look directly at her, but stared steadfastly into the fire. The flickering light revealed him without his usual repression – she saw embarrassment, anger and... could it be guilt?
The latter emotion made little sense, but on some level she understood his feelings were nothing to do with her. Yet, it seemed, they had been precipitated by her actions. How could one dance be the cause of such conflict in a man? He wasn't married, she knew that much. A lifelong single, so she had heard.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice tight and constricted.
She tried to read him, but her attempts to comprehend what he was thinking could not explain the guilt etched on his features, threatening to engulf him. The man had always been intensely private, and gave nothing away, and she felt overcome with awe as she witnessed his downward spiral.
She did not answer his question, but instead moved to stand before him, next to the hearth. The fire spluttered with green flames as she approached.
His eyes finally met hers and he watched her closely. She felt a thrill of fear, wondering if he was extracting the information he had requested straight from her eyes. She met his gaze determinedly. She had nothing to hide.
Instinctively, she moved nearer and placed her hands upon his chest, her touch rising gradually upwards, tracing the outline of buttons and feeling the depth of his shallow breathing. His body remained taut and perfectly still. She looked into his glittering eyes and traced the contours of his face with her fingertips, caressing his brow and his cheeks, carefully pushing raven locks of hair away from his face. She touched his lips, finding them moist, and his mouth parted slightly. His breath rippled warmly on her cheek.
The fire in the hearth hissed and shot green sparks into the air. Snape reached inside his robes and, with a swish of his wand, the office door closed behind her.
Suddenly he took hold of her lower back and pulled her towards him, glinting black eyes ablaze with hunger and longing. His lips claimed her and she surrendered to the warm wetness of his tongue pushing into her mouth. He tasted of Firewhisky.
The kiss was long, consuming and passionate. She pressed her body tightly against his, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders, feeling the heat of his body and his hands roaming up her back.
Then Severus broke away, as if he had been wrenched from her forcibly. His breathing was ragged and he rested his forehead against hers, with his eyes closed. The fire was roaring and had changed to a more natural amber colour. She felt its warmth on her skin and watched the flames dancing on his face, which appeared flushed, slightly hidden by his curtains of hair.
Her fingers followed the contours of the numerous buttons on his frock coat, and she began the slow, unnerving process of unfastening them. She reached the topmost button, her hands shaking, and opened his black robes to find a crisp white dress-shirt beneath. Carefully she loosened his necktie and felt his warm breath on her hands as she started to unbutton his shirt.
When the final button yielded, his open shirt revealed a lean, hairless chest. He responded to her touch with a shudder as she stroked the pale skin of his sternum and traced his chest upwards, her fingers tracking a long white scar across his shoulder. His slight frame was bathed in the luminescence of the fire like some ancient Greek Adonis, white as marble, trembling at her touch.
Severus reached for the back of her head and sank his fingers into her hair, pulling her roughly towards him. The heat from the fire burned into her cheek as she was encased in an intense, fervent kiss. She felt dizzy at the prospect of what might happen.
Their lips still locked together, as if holding on for dear life, Severus lifted her up and swept her around, placing her down upon his leather-topped desk. With her heart thudding in her throat, she slid her hands towards his shoulders to remove his shirt.
The kiss ended abruptly when Snape grabbed hold of her wrists and yanked them away, flinching as if he had been burnt. Intuitively she knew he was self-conscious about the Dark Mark, rumoured to be burned into the skin of his left arm.
He leaned over her with his eyes tightly shut and his powerful grip restraining her hands against the desk, forcing himself to regain his composure. He jerked gruffly when he opened his eyes and realised she was still pinned to his desk. Severus quickly released her hands, cast an apologetic glance, and looked away into the fire.
She gazed into his tormented face, intrigued by the mysteries playing out on his pale features. Sensing he was about to move, she placed a parting kiss on his chest, but he took her head in both hands and removed her lips from his warm skin. He held her head tenderly, his eyes closed and his features relaxed.
When he opened his eyes again he seemed to be in another place and it took a few moments for his vision to refocus on the room, and upon the woman in his arms. She reached up to push his hair away from his face, but he appeared confused, and recoiled as if he had just woken from a dream.
Snape removed himself suddenly, turning to sit next to her on the desk, buttoning up his attire with fast and adept fingers. He didn't speak.
She held her breath, unsure of what would happen next.
Snape stood up and walked towards the small mirror over the fireplace, and fixed his necktie and frock coat. He caught sight of her in the mirror's reflection, and looked away with an awkward grimace. He stared into the crackling embers of the fire for a long moment, and a shadow of sadness and regret crept across his face.
Her eyes wanted to shut out the conflicted image, to subdue the thump of the fist which bruised her abdomen from the inside. Surely he wouldn't walk away now?
Snape took one final look in the mirror and tightened his expression to the cold, hard mask of old. Then, without a word, he turned and marched to the door, leaving the room without looking back.
In shock, she remained in the office, half expecting him to reappear. Her heart thudded against her ribcage with such force that she almost threw up.
She'd spent so many years yearning for his touch, his scent, and the taste of him, and now that she'd seduced him, he had cast her aside like an empty Chocolate Frog box. She didn't want to believe he could be so cruel; the man had to have a heart in there somewhere.
After several minutes of waiting, her hope began to die. Memories of sarcastic comments, cutting remarks and pithy put-downs reminded her of the teacher she had once known. She had hoped, as a woman, he could be the man she wanted him to be.
As the last gasp of the fire issued a puff of smoke into the air, she knew he would not return. It seemed he was a hairy-hearted wizard, after all.
She arose gingerly. Her heart was black-and-blue and her legs wobbled beneath her. She made her way out of Snape's office, closed the door behind her, and climbed the stairs out of the dungeon.