Notes: All characters are property of J.K.Rowlings, this writing is for my
own enjoyment, and hopefully yours.All Chapter titles and quotes are taken
from "Passionate Love Letters" by Michelle Lovric
Relationships: Snape/OFC, Ron/ Hermoine, Sirius/OFC
Chapter 2 Beguiled
"I know every expression of your face, all your gestures and your movements how you turn your eyes and how you glance as you talk to one person of another; I could tell you everything about yourself, every slightest motion of your soul, every deeply concealed fold of your thought…" Luigi Pirandello
Her eyes followed the elderly wizard's trailing robes as he exited the hall. "I worry about Albus. He always looks so much younger in my mind's eye." The pleasant smile had left her.
"Even great wizards are not immune to the effects of time." His voice was deep and reminded her of plush velvet, "And these are troubled times for those fighting the Dark Lord. Even more so for the wizard who leads the fight…I'm afraid he takes the weight of all our sins upon his shoulders."
Without thought, Adhara fingered her silver lock of hair, "Yes, he does."
There was an awkward silence between them when her voice broke in a near whisper. "Is it wrong that we make him our confessor?" Her blue eyes turning to him, asking for child-like reassurance. Snape shivered. He wanted to stop this growing intimacy with a sarcastic quip, but instead he heard his voice answered from somewhere deep, deep inside him.
"I do not know, but for many his blessing is the path to salvation."
Cocking her head to the side, her voice containing a surprising bravado, "And has it been for you?"
"A cornerstone." His black eyes pierced her.
"A cornerstone does not constitute a path."
Damn! She was quick to interpret his subversive answer.
"One can never be too careful when paving a path to redemption," his subtle tone rather forboding, "I'm sure you know the saying Ms.Byrne, even the path to hell is paved with good intensions." He then turned on his heel and commanded, "Follow me."
***
Black robes snaked upon the gray stones behind him as she followed his dark imposing form through the intricate vacant passages of the castle. Another turn and she saw him take from his robes a wand and whisper a rhythmic verse of unlocking spells; his deep voice hypnotically punctuating each Latin syllable.
He was tall and thin in his mid thirties with hair the black-blue of a raven's wing. Unkempt and overgrown, his locks skimmed the high Edwardian collar of his shirt, the only garment of his antiquated clothing which wasn't black. His long, slender face was dotted with two dark glittering eyes, a hawk like nose and thin lips pressed together in a perpetual lack of expression. But they needed to make no movement to express the bitterness in his eyes, the dark windows to his soul.
She had been warned that this former Death Eater, this callous, brilliant man would test even the best seer. But when she took his hand earlier, she saw nothing beyond that revealed upon her first glance into his black eyes. It was not anger or malice that made him cruel, it was hopelessness.
Opening the door he stepped aside, allowing her passage into his most personal domain.
"My rooms, Ms. Byrne. Please make yourself comfortable."
A large stone fireplace complete with a low burning flame dominated the sitting room. A Moroccan rug covered much of the floor. Two worn leather wingback chairs separated by a small table with a chess set, somewhere near the end of a game, occupied the center of the rug. A faded green sofa with its back facing her had a large black cat sleeping between the arm and the cushion. Outside of the carpeted portion, the floor was littered with books of all shapes and sizes that had over-flown the shelved walls and grown into stalagmite structures around the study.
As she stepped into this male domain the aromas of peat and whiskey mingled in the stifled dungeon air. "Very cozy."
Side stepping a pile of German Spell books, Adhara made her way to the sofa. "I haven't met many wizards that bothered with burning peat."
Rich laughter rang out, "So you noticed? Yes, it is one of my indulgences." She was watching him remove his black robe and hang it on a hook near the door. "It reminds me of my grandmother's house in Wales. It was so fragrant, you could almost taste the peat on your tongue."
"A man who enjoys pleasing the scenes?" she chided.
In return, his lips playfully turned upward, making him appear almost handsome, and definitely roguish, "Only the ones which I can touch and taste…Tea or something harder Ms. Byrne?"
"Something harder, Professor," allowing his title to be a little breathier than the double entandra. She could not take her eyes off of his swift, graceful movements. Long, slender fingers, an artist's, tipped the bottle of single malt whiskey to the crystal tumblers. Muscles flexed beneath a fitted black suite; flesh locked away, held chaste by a procession of buttons. He was different than she remembered and something in his gestures aroused her. How would it feel to be touch by those graceful hands?
"Adhara. That is in the Southern Hemisphere, correct?" He asked.
"Excuse me?" she replied perplexed.
Obviously her mind was else where. Probably about how to get the hell out of my presence, he thought scornfully and cursed himself. He was horrible at making trivial conversation. "The star, Ms. Byrne. You are named after the star?" He asked, while handing her a glass and easing into a wing backed chair
"Oh, yes…Um," Licking her red lips, his name shuttering on her breath, "Severus, would you like to discuss why I'm here? About what is going to happen when I try to break the memory spells of You-Know-Who."
He froze. She had used his given name without his permission. Maybe she was a woman use to taking what she wanted. Certainly the others in his life had. Crossing his legs, he took time to carefully choose his words. It would be better not to reveal too much, yet. Finally black, cold eyes settled on her soft form, he spoke with masked expression.
"I can not pretend that I have been looking forward to our meeting Ms. Byrne. I know what Voldemort did to my mind, a series of strong curses. However, I can't help but feel that somehow they are a blessing." He paused for her to interrupt or protest, but she remained silent.
"There are often events in my past that I wished had never occurred. Memories that are too painful," he turned from her, "even now, for me to bare." Casting his black eyes into the fire he panicked. His mask had never slipped before.
"Perhaps I am a coward. But I would be just as content never to know what was behind those dark spots of my mind." Then turning back to her, his brow knotted, "If it was not for Dumbledore's insistence and its importance to the cause, I would never allow my mind, my memories to be violated in such a way."
Setting down the empty glass, her luminous eyes upturned to his, "It is a very intimate act the reading of one's mind and I have not done it often." Her voice course, almost unsure, "You see, at the Ministry I work in Elfish languages, they know nothing of my other 'ability'. Hardly anyone does know that I can literally see their past. As I'm sure you know, being touched by fairy magic is likewise considered a curse. I am only using this magic as a personal favor to Albus."
"So, I see I'm not the only one paving a path to redemption," he smirked, a look of disturbing satisfaction was conveyed without secret. "I suppose we all have a stone or two to place in our road." He fingered his empty glass, black eyes dancing upon her, pondering her sins.
Looking down at her white, tense knuckles, she consciously opened her hands, and wiped them across her skirts. She was never one to be squeamish, but this man had a darkness that invaded her mind and put her nerves on edge. After all these years, perhaps it was time to turn the tables, to set him off balance. "Severus, I like to compare mind reading to intercourse. When it is done with trust and sharing we call it 'making love'; when it is done only for the perverse pleasure or knowledge for one party involved it is a violation. The physical act is never the less the same."
He shuttered as if these words of temptation were from a virgin's mouth. Would this woman make him as her lover or her victim? Or both?
"I will not force you regardless of Dumbledore insistence." She said as he uncrossed his legs, and looked into the fire. She was giving him the choice.
Standing with intrepidation, she walked to his chair and knelt before him. Her hands pushing his knees apart, filling the space with her body. She had thought about doing this often in her youth; taking control of his body, with hers. But now, even as she had the power of a woman's body, she felt the girl inside her tremble. Would he push her away, or would she be enveloped by his darkness?
Scents of rain and night blooming jasmine drifted from her hair and mingled with the scotch, proving fire in his veins. Good Gods! I am undone. Running her palms up his thighs, she caught his elegant fingers in hers. He wanted to pull her into his lap and bury his lips between her lily white mounds of flesh. His body grew hard to her illicit touch. Chest tightening with anticipation, he could feel her breath, hot upon his hands. Her words burned him like an engraver's needle.
"Give yourself to me."
He closed his eyes and exhaling deeply, willing his mind to surrender.
~*~*~*~*~
The hall was nearly dark when he heard the voices.
"Adhara," it was a boy's voice. "Please!" the Hufflepuff cried.
"This is not my memory," Snape realized, "it is hers."
A black haired girl in Gryffindor robes looked left, then right. Breathless, "Alright then."
The boy grabbed her arms, clenching them to her side, he kissed her. Suddenly a pale, hand grasped the boy's shoulder and wrenched him away.
"Ten points from Hufflepuff for being out past curfew." The voice was caustic. I know this voice. The Hufflepuff's face turned white, and he fled down the corridor.
"And as for you." The young man's image now in view, tall, shoulder length hair black hair, Slytherin robes, malice glittering in dark eyes.
Good Gods! It's me as a seventh year. He nearly opened his eyes with shock. He knew this girl student, but he still couldn't place her.
"Sssshhhh!" A woman's voice eased from outside the vision. He willed himself back into the memory.
"Bending the rules like your brother, are we?" His acrid tone bringing tears to the girl's blue eyes. The hand of the young man then lifted to brush her cheek, bringing his lips to her ear; voice sotto voce, "Perhaps, if you're so eager to break the rules Ms. Black, we could do so together." His black robes entombing her like a coffin, "Oh yes, I could teach you many ways to break the rules."
The girl broke from his hold and ran down the hall, a sardonic laugh echoing behind her.
~*~*~*~*~
Suddenly Severus felt like he was drowning, unable to breathe, caught between past and present. His mind convulsing forwards through a kaleidoscope of memories, all a blur and then with force, he was slammed into the present. Opening his eyes as his body jerked forward, "You were…are Ms. Black." He clutched his head with obvious pain and terse realization; dark eyes reeled with confusion. "Adhara Black," Saying her name to grasp the full meaning. "You are Sirius's sister!?"
Utter disbelief washed through every exhausted limb. He had just opened himself to her and she tells him this? Bloody hell, is this another joke? Gods he ached for her touch, still ached for her touch and yet at the same time he felt fooled.
"So you do remember me." She said defiantly.
Still confused, "Your name is different?" He asked.
"I was married for a time." He turned from her, silently digesting this new realization. "You're upset that this is how I told you?" She asked.
"I am upset Ms. Byrne…Ms. Black!" He spat the words. Sirius's surname felt disgusting on his tongue. He ought to be angry, very angry, but for some odd reason, he wasn't doing a good job focusing his pathos. Her beauty distracted him.
"Adhara," She quietly corrected.
"Adhara..." He sighed, "Adhara…" Her given name sounded like a mantra on his lips. It calmed him.
"Please, please don't be upset," her voice pleading. "Before I looked into your memories I wanted you to know who I am. I hold no grudge against you for that night, Severus."
She might not hold a grudge, she mused to herself, but she certainly wanted to settle the score. She had been afraid that night but also curious. Curiosity; a trait that could give her much grief in her lifetime yet unable to resist its dangerous power, she embraced it. Perhaps, that is why she accepted Dumbledore's invitation to work with Professor Snape, a man her brother loathed with a passion and many in the wizarding world feared.
She wasn't solely here out of gratitude to the headmaster. A selfish need to know this man intimately had kindled within her since that night. She wanted to know why his hair was greasy, his teeth were yellowed, but more importantly why his eyes flickered with avarice. She wanted to know what dark flame licked the spirit of his soul. But after she had the knowledge of his power source and dominated it, what would she do? Put him aside and move on, the voice within her head spoke. Have I grown so heartless?
"No grudge against me?" Severus asked with disbelief.
"Yes. Later that night Sirius almost killed you by leading you to Lupin's hiding place. The reason he wanted to kill you was partly because of what had happened between us. I was a child Severus, you had frightened me." That was the honest truth.
He turned away from her ashamed. If he were her brother, would he not also want to kill the man who uttered such vulgar innuendos into the ear of an innocent girl. But did she also know that he nearly feed him to the Dementors three years ago? Before Peter had been discovered last winter and confessed to being Potter's Secret Keeper, proving Black innocent. Gods, if she knew, would she still have him?
"I was different then." His deep voice lost in distant thought, the malice no longer in his eyes. There was nothing but a black, empty void which left Adhara very cold inside. Could she be so cruel to a man who was obviously in pain? Could she ignore the voices of despair which had called out to her in their first touch? Perhaps he had changed. The dark, confident spark which had tempted her so many years ago was gone. He was still powerful, but his heart was empty, that youthful spirit broken like a crushed egg shell.
"We were all different then," laying her head on his lap, she closed her eyes with empathy. Perhaps this desire to know him, to dominate his power, was just a childhood fantasy; a silly make-believe that now held no purpose other than cruelty. She had needed the fantasy once to make her feel that she could possess control over him, over the situation in the hallway. But if she were to play games now, what would she be doing but twisting the knife of misery more deeply into a shadow of a man. Hadn't they all experienced enough misery, enough death, enough deceit in this lifetime? Prostrating herself like a lamb before a lion, she vowed not to play him false.
His heart, which had lain dormant for so many years, pulsed with new awakening. He thought he was impermeable to a woman's gentleness, but how as his chest heaved up and down with raw emotion, he realized how wrong he was. With a trembling hand, he tentatively stroked her hair. Why does this beautiful woman trust me when I clearly violated her innocence in my youth? There were more questions, but he hushed his usual sarcasm behind a blissfully ignorant acceptance.
Laying her head on his lap was an act of trust. The only other person who trusted him was Dumbledore. Their relationship was one of father to son, but trust with a woman? This was certainly new ground for Severus Snape.
Sighing, and letting his back sink into the over stuffed chair he mused on the philosophy of trust. Allowing his right hand to entangle in the silky folds of her hair; he soon fell asleep.
Relationships: Snape/OFC, Ron/ Hermoine, Sirius/OFC
Chapter 2 Beguiled
"I know every expression of your face, all your gestures and your movements how you turn your eyes and how you glance as you talk to one person of another; I could tell you everything about yourself, every slightest motion of your soul, every deeply concealed fold of your thought…" Luigi Pirandello
Her eyes followed the elderly wizard's trailing robes as he exited the hall. "I worry about Albus. He always looks so much younger in my mind's eye." The pleasant smile had left her.
"Even great wizards are not immune to the effects of time." His voice was deep and reminded her of plush velvet, "And these are troubled times for those fighting the Dark Lord. Even more so for the wizard who leads the fight…I'm afraid he takes the weight of all our sins upon his shoulders."
Without thought, Adhara fingered her silver lock of hair, "Yes, he does."
There was an awkward silence between them when her voice broke in a near whisper. "Is it wrong that we make him our confessor?" Her blue eyes turning to him, asking for child-like reassurance. Snape shivered. He wanted to stop this growing intimacy with a sarcastic quip, but instead he heard his voice answered from somewhere deep, deep inside him.
"I do not know, but for many his blessing is the path to salvation."
Cocking her head to the side, her voice containing a surprising bravado, "And has it been for you?"
"A cornerstone." His black eyes pierced her.
"A cornerstone does not constitute a path."
Damn! She was quick to interpret his subversive answer.
"One can never be too careful when paving a path to redemption," his subtle tone rather forboding, "I'm sure you know the saying Ms.Byrne, even the path to hell is paved with good intensions." He then turned on his heel and commanded, "Follow me."
***
Black robes snaked upon the gray stones behind him as she followed his dark imposing form through the intricate vacant passages of the castle. Another turn and she saw him take from his robes a wand and whisper a rhythmic verse of unlocking spells; his deep voice hypnotically punctuating each Latin syllable.
He was tall and thin in his mid thirties with hair the black-blue of a raven's wing. Unkempt and overgrown, his locks skimmed the high Edwardian collar of his shirt, the only garment of his antiquated clothing which wasn't black. His long, slender face was dotted with two dark glittering eyes, a hawk like nose and thin lips pressed together in a perpetual lack of expression. But they needed to make no movement to express the bitterness in his eyes, the dark windows to his soul.
She had been warned that this former Death Eater, this callous, brilliant man would test even the best seer. But when she took his hand earlier, she saw nothing beyond that revealed upon her first glance into his black eyes. It was not anger or malice that made him cruel, it was hopelessness.
Opening the door he stepped aside, allowing her passage into his most personal domain.
"My rooms, Ms. Byrne. Please make yourself comfortable."
A large stone fireplace complete with a low burning flame dominated the sitting room. A Moroccan rug covered much of the floor. Two worn leather wingback chairs separated by a small table with a chess set, somewhere near the end of a game, occupied the center of the rug. A faded green sofa with its back facing her had a large black cat sleeping between the arm and the cushion. Outside of the carpeted portion, the floor was littered with books of all shapes and sizes that had over-flown the shelved walls and grown into stalagmite structures around the study.
As she stepped into this male domain the aromas of peat and whiskey mingled in the stifled dungeon air. "Very cozy."
Side stepping a pile of German Spell books, Adhara made her way to the sofa. "I haven't met many wizards that bothered with burning peat."
Rich laughter rang out, "So you noticed? Yes, it is one of my indulgences." She was watching him remove his black robe and hang it on a hook near the door. "It reminds me of my grandmother's house in Wales. It was so fragrant, you could almost taste the peat on your tongue."
"A man who enjoys pleasing the scenes?" she chided.
In return, his lips playfully turned upward, making him appear almost handsome, and definitely roguish, "Only the ones which I can touch and taste…Tea or something harder Ms. Byrne?"
"Something harder, Professor," allowing his title to be a little breathier than the double entandra. She could not take her eyes off of his swift, graceful movements. Long, slender fingers, an artist's, tipped the bottle of single malt whiskey to the crystal tumblers. Muscles flexed beneath a fitted black suite; flesh locked away, held chaste by a procession of buttons. He was different than she remembered and something in his gestures aroused her. How would it feel to be touch by those graceful hands?
"Adhara. That is in the Southern Hemisphere, correct?" He asked.
"Excuse me?" she replied perplexed.
Obviously her mind was else where. Probably about how to get the hell out of my presence, he thought scornfully and cursed himself. He was horrible at making trivial conversation. "The star, Ms. Byrne. You are named after the star?" He asked, while handing her a glass and easing into a wing backed chair
"Oh, yes…Um," Licking her red lips, his name shuttering on her breath, "Severus, would you like to discuss why I'm here? About what is going to happen when I try to break the memory spells of You-Know-Who."
He froze. She had used his given name without his permission. Maybe she was a woman use to taking what she wanted. Certainly the others in his life had. Crossing his legs, he took time to carefully choose his words. It would be better not to reveal too much, yet. Finally black, cold eyes settled on her soft form, he spoke with masked expression.
"I can not pretend that I have been looking forward to our meeting Ms. Byrne. I know what Voldemort did to my mind, a series of strong curses. However, I can't help but feel that somehow they are a blessing." He paused for her to interrupt or protest, but she remained silent.
"There are often events in my past that I wished had never occurred. Memories that are too painful," he turned from her, "even now, for me to bare." Casting his black eyes into the fire he panicked. His mask had never slipped before.
"Perhaps I am a coward. But I would be just as content never to know what was behind those dark spots of my mind." Then turning back to her, his brow knotted, "If it was not for Dumbledore's insistence and its importance to the cause, I would never allow my mind, my memories to be violated in such a way."
Setting down the empty glass, her luminous eyes upturned to his, "It is a very intimate act the reading of one's mind and I have not done it often." Her voice course, almost unsure, "You see, at the Ministry I work in Elfish languages, they know nothing of my other 'ability'. Hardly anyone does know that I can literally see their past. As I'm sure you know, being touched by fairy magic is likewise considered a curse. I am only using this magic as a personal favor to Albus."
"So, I see I'm not the only one paving a path to redemption," he smirked, a look of disturbing satisfaction was conveyed without secret. "I suppose we all have a stone or two to place in our road." He fingered his empty glass, black eyes dancing upon her, pondering her sins.
Looking down at her white, tense knuckles, she consciously opened her hands, and wiped them across her skirts. She was never one to be squeamish, but this man had a darkness that invaded her mind and put her nerves on edge. After all these years, perhaps it was time to turn the tables, to set him off balance. "Severus, I like to compare mind reading to intercourse. When it is done with trust and sharing we call it 'making love'; when it is done only for the perverse pleasure or knowledge for one party involved it is a violation. The physical act is never the less the same."
He shuttered as if these words of temptation were from a virgin's mouth. Would this woman make him as her lover or her victim? Or both?
"I will not force you regardless of Dumbledore insistence." She said as he uncrossed his legs, and looked into the fire. She was giving him the choice.
Standing with intrepidation, she walked to his chair and knelt before him. Her hands pushing his knees apart, filling the space with her body. She had thought about doing this often in her youth; taking control of his body, with hers. But now, even as she had the power of a woman's body, she felt the girl inside her tremble. Would he push her away, or would she be enveloped by his darkness?
Scents of rain and night blooming jasmine drifted from her hair and mingled with the scotch, proving fire in his veins. Good Gods! I am undone. Running her palms up his thighs, she caught his elegant fingers in hers. He wanted to pull her into his lap and bury his lips between her lily white mounds of flesh. His body grew hard to her illicit touch. Chest tightening with anticipation, he could feel her breath, hot upon his hands. Her words burned him like an engraver's needle.
"Give yourself to me."
He closed his eyes and exhaling deeply, willing his mind to surrender.
~*~*~*~*~
The hall was nearly dark when he heard the voices.
"Adhara," it was a boy's voice. "Please!" the Hufflepuff cried.
"This is not my memory," Snape realized, "it is hers."
A black haired girl in Gryffindor robes looked left, then right. Breathless, "Alright then."
The boy grabbed her arms, clenching them to her side, he kissed her. Suddenly a pale, hand grasped the boy's shoulder and wrenched him away.
"Ten points from Hufflepuff for being out past curfew." The voice was caustic. I know this voice. The Hufflepuff's face turned white, and he fled down the corridor.
"And as for you." The young man's image now in view, tall, shoulder length hair black hair, Slytherin robes, malice glittering in dark eyes.
Good Gods! It's me as a seventh year. He nearly opened his eyes with shock. He knew this girl student, but he still couldn't place her.
"Sssshhhh!" A woman's voice eased from outside the vision. He willed himself back into the memory.
"Bending the rules like your brother, are we?" His acrid tone bringing tears to the girl's blue eyes. The hand of the young man then lifted to brush her cheek, bringing his lips to her ear; voice sotto voce, "Perhaps, if you're so eager to break the rules Ms. Black, we could do so together." His black robes entombing her like a coffin, "Oh yes, I could teach you many ways to break the rules."
The girl broke from his hold and ran down the hall, a sardonic laugh echoing behind her.
~*~*~*~*~
Suddenly Severus felt like he was drowning, unable to breathe, caught between past and present. His mind convulsing forwards through a kaleidoscope of memories, all a blur and then with force, he was slammed into the present. Opening his eyes as his body jerked forward, "You were…are Ms. Black." He clutched his head with obvious pain and terse realization; dark eyes reeled with confusion. "Adhara Black," Saying her name to grasp the full meaning. "You are Sirius's sister!?"
Utter disbelief washed through every exhausted limb. He had just opened himself to her and she tells him this? Bloody hell, is this another joke? Gods he ached for her touch, still ached for her touch and yet at the same time he felt fooled.
"So you do remember me." She said defiantly.
Still confused, "Your name is different?" He asked.
"I was married for a time." He turned from her, silently digesting this new realization. "You're upset that this is how I told you?" She asked.
"I am upset Ms. Byrne…Ms. Black!" He spat the words. Sirius's surname felt disgusting on his tongue. He ought to be angry, very angry, but for some odd reason, he wasn't doing a good job focusing his pathos. Her beauty distracted him.
"Adhara," She quietly corrected.
"Adhara..." He sighed, "Adhara…" Her given name sounded like a mantra on his lips. It calmed him.
"Please, please don't be upset," her voice pleading. "Before I looked into your memories I wanted you to know who I am. I hold no grudge against you for that night, Severus."
She might not hold a grudge, she mused to herself, but she certainly wanted to settle the score. She had been afraid that night but also curious. Curiosity; a trait that could give her much grief in her lifetime yet unable to resist its dangerous power, she embraced it. Perhaps, that is why she accepted Dumbledore's invitation to work with Professor Snape, a man her brother loathed with a passion and many in the wizarding world feared.
She wasn't solely here out of gratitude to the headmaster. A selfish need to know this man intimately had kindled within her since that night. She wanted to know why his hair was greasy, his teeth were yellowed, but more importantly why his eyes flickered with avarice. She wanted to know what dark flame licked the spirit of his soul. But after she had the knowledge of his power source and dominated it, what would she do? Put him aside and move on, the voice within her head spoke. Have I grown so heartless?
"No grudge against me?" Severus asked with disbelief.
"Yes. Later that night Sirius almost killed you by leading you to Lupin's hiding place. The reason he wanted to kill you was partly because of what had happened between us. I was a child Severus, you had frightened me." That was the honest truth.
He turned away from her ashamed. If he were her brother, would he not also want to kill the man who uttered such vulgar innuendos into the ear of an innocent girl. But did she also know that he nearly feed him to the Dementors three years ago? Before Peter had been discovered last winter and confessed to being Potter's Secret Keeper, proving Black innocent. Gods, if she knew, would she still have him?
"I was different then." His deep voice lost in distant thought, the malice no longer in his eyes. There was nothing but a black, empty void which left Adhara very cold inside. Could she be so cruel to a man who was obviously in pain? Could she ignore the voices of despair which had called out to her in their first touch? Perhaps he had changed. The dark, confident spark which had tempted her so many years ago was gone. He was still powerful, but his heart was empty, that youthful spirit broken like a crushed egg shell.
"We were all different then," laying her head on his lap, she closed her eyes with empathy. Perhaps this desire to know him, to dominate his power, was just a childhood fantasy; a silly make-believe that now held no purpose other than cruelty. She had needed the fantasy once to make her feel that she could possess control over him, over the situation in the hallway. But if she were to play games now, what would she be doing but twisting the knife of misery more deeply into a shadow of a man. Hadn't they all experienced enough misery, enough death, enough deceit in this lifetime? Prostrating herself like a lamb before a lion, she vowed not to play him false.
His heart, which had lain dormant for so many years, pulsed with new awakening. He thought he was impermeable to a woman's gentleness, but how as his chest heaved up and down with raw emotion, he realized how wrong he was. With a trembling hand, he tentatively stroked her hair. Why does this beautiful woman trust me when I clearly violated her innocence in my youth? There were more questions, but he hushed his usual sarcasm behind a blissfully ignorant acceptance.
Laying her head on his lap was an act of trust. The only other person who trusted him was Dumbledore. Their relationship was one of father to son, but trust with a woman? This was certainly new ground for Severus Snape.
Sighing, and letting his back sink into the over stuffed chair he mused on the philosophy of trust. Allowing his right hand to entangle in the silky folds of her hair; he soon fell asleep.