At five 'til midnight Professor Sinistra announced that they were done for the night. But as the class filed down the staircase, Rachel held back. She wasn't tired from all the sleep she had gotten the night before. And she was enjoying the breezy tower, even though the warm spring day had turned into a rather cool night. Professor Sinistra noticed the girl's still figure as she began to follow the last student out.

"Miss Simons?"

"I think I'm going to stay a few minutes, if that's alright, Professor. I'm not quite ready to head back to my dorm."

"Well," the tall, dark witch paused as if she was debating with herself. "I suppose. You're certainly trustworthy enough, but don't make it too long. It's still against rules to be up here after curfew and I'll have to pretend I didn't give you permission."

"Thanks, Professor."

The Astronomy teacher gave her a small smile and then disappeared down the stairs.

Rachel sat on the wall's edge and stared out onto the dark school grounds.

She was anxious about the experiences that awaited her outside of these safe castle walls. Most seventh years were ready to let it come, thirsty to touch life from all angles. And in some ways, Rachel was.

For example, she was absolutely ready to be shot of the deep isolation that living here, without anyone on her side, caused. It couldn't be more apparent that she was desperate for contact. She knew it. She craved real reciprocity, just one authentic connection.

As she thought about it, she realized these feelings had started long before Declan dumped her. The relationship made her happy, it was her stability and she had clung to it. But it was a perfunctory love. They hadn't shared that deep nexus that would keep them bonded through the trials of life. She realized it, just then.

She'd been so wounded that Declan hadn't prized their relationship as she had, not held it in high enough regard. But maybe it was he who had the more realistic grasp of it, and she was now just catching up.

She didn't know if this awareness helped her or hurt her more, but sitting there on the stone ledge of the tower, she cried with the release of it. She was terrified about leaving Hogwarts, it was going to be the hardest thing she'd done up until this point, but it was going to be so good for her heart and soul.

After what she had guessed was about an hour, she shivered and thought of her warm bed. She wasn't wearing her school robes as they weren't required for the late night class, and she hadn't remembered her coat or scarf. She was wearing her school issued skirt, a light jumper over her button down top, and her knee high socks. The socks being the warmest part of the outfit.

She slung her messenger style bag across her shoulder and made her way down the winding stairs from the Astronomy Tower. With the absence of daylight, this part of the school was very dark- presently lit only by small, yellow fires in wall sconces. Stepping out of the doorway at the bottom of the stairs and into the hall, she immediately collided into something tall and solid.

Professor Snape.

Of course it was.

They both recoiled and looked at each other, equally stunned. He held his wand in his hand, at the ready, like he'd just been about to use it. His eyes were wide and wild, with a look that Rachel may have described as panic, had she any time to examine it.

Immediately her ears registered the sound of swishing robes. Before she could react, his left hand was clamped hard onto her mouth. His other hand grabbing her by the upper arm as he walked her backwards. Her back hit the stone wall and he pressed his chest into her, pinning her there. He released her for a moment as he raised his arm above her. A glittering grey haze fell over the hallway beyond Snape and Rachel felt the weight of fabric settle on her head. Then his hand was again gripping her arm tightly.

"Don't…make a sound."

It was as if he had shouted it at her but it was whispered through clenched teeth. Their faces were so close drops of saliva hit her forehead when he spoke.

Her mind was racing.

Why is he doing this? I need help. I need to scream.

She was paralyzed with fear and didn't know if she would have been able to scream, even if his hand wasn't pressing her mouth into her teeth. She was trying to force her vocal cords to function when she heard steps approaching. Snape's grip tightened. He pressed harder into her as if he was trying to push them both through the stone. Rachel could feel her arm bruising.

Two figures appeared at end the darkened corridor. Strangely, she suddenly had second thoughts about yelling for help, instinct telling her to keep quiet.

They weren't teachers, nor were they students. She had never seen them in the castle before, in fact. Two men -one shorter, one taller- both dressed in black robes. Rachel then realized that the haze through which she was seeing them was some sort of invisibility cloak, which she had heard of but had never seen, as they clearly weren't noticing the student and Professor as they made their way past.

The men were whispering.

"How many so far?" The shorter man said.

"Three."

"And there needs to be seven? To be completed?"

"Yes."

"And what then? The door will just be left open? You know I can't guarantee that just by recognizing-"

Rachel had been standing up on her toes since Snape had grabbed her. Her right ankle suddenly gave out and rolled under her, and she fell down the wall a few inches. Snape's knee snapped in between her legs, sticking to the wall between her thighs and keeping her up, his chest pressing even harder into her. His face was now closer, his chin just barely touching the tip of her nose. The faint noise of their movements was just loud enough to reach the men before they rounded the corner at the other end of the hall...

The taller man put his hand up to silence his partner. "Shh."

They stopped and were now looking back in the direction of the noise.

"No more questions. Not here." The tall man gave one last look down the dim, seemingly empty space. "Let's go."

Squashed by the weight of Snape's body in the stifling space under their covering, Rachel listened to the footsteps recede until the echoing sound disappeared into the walls.

Snape took his hand from her mouth and removed his leg; she was lowered enough to place her feet flat on the floor. Though she wasn't sure her legs could be trusted. They were shaking.

He stepped back, the fabric slid off of her and was quickly tucked into his cloak. She could breathe again, the heavy pressure gone from her chest, the cold air of the drafty corridor now attacking her through her cardigan. He still had ahold of her arm, and she was pulled a few steps to the right, back into the doorway of the stairwell.

It was even darker there, a lone sconce pitifully attempting to light the space. The grip on her arm finally was released; Snape's finger came up to his mouth telling her to keep quiet.

"We will stay here until I'm sure they've gone. And then you will go straight to your dormitory." His voice was just above a whisper.

"What- Who were they?"

"That does not concern you."

"Why were you in the hallway, with that... cloak? Why did it matter if they saw you? Or me?"

He leaned slightly, eyes darting to check the hall. "I was escorting them out."

"Without them knowing it?" She said it with a disbelieving tone; this was all so ridiculous. The shock had worn off, Rachel was angry.

"As I said, do not concern yourself. In fact, it would do you well to forget you saw anyone at all."

"Concern myself? I was just shoved into a wall and held against my will, Professor. Rather roughly, actually, so I'd think even if you didn't plan on apologizing I'd at least deserve to know why!"

His constant glances at the doorway were irritating her further. He didn't seem at all perturbed that she had nearly pissed herself with fright. Or that her arm hurt where he had hold of it.

"Keep your voice down."

"Then tell me what that was about!"

"Listen! Idiot girl!" His face twisted up and his hand shot up and slammed into the wall to the left of her head. Rachel flinched discernibly.

"You are quite lucky that I was the one to see you first, instead of them. Because if I hadn't…" He stopped himself there, dropped his hand back down to his side and straightened his stance, seeming to compose himself.

Rachel knew that she should stop questioning; he'd actually given her more than she expected, but she was still pumping with adrenaline and wanted answers.

"Is Professor Dumbledore aware that men who pose an apparent danger to students are in the castle?"

"Of course he is. They had just finished a meeting with the Headmaster himself. It was under his direction that I was making sure they did not deviate on their way out. Which, because of your heedless wandering, I wasn't able to establish. Now, tell me,"

The man's dark eyes narrowed and were again staring into her. Bottomless pools of black, with flares of gold from the reflecting candle.

"…why is it that twice this week I've happened across you in restricted, shadowy corridors?" His face was very close. He was trying to intimidate her, but she wasn't quite ready to fold.

"I was wondering the same, actually. What amazing luck I must I have." She spat it out, trying to match his tone, but didn't reach his degree of impudence. In fact, to her ears, she still sounded scared.

He glowered at her a moment more, and then his expression settled into his usual countenance. He took yet another look out into the hallway. "We need to return you to your dorm. Follow me."

They walked in silence. His body moved swiftly and calmly, but his eyes shifted quickly each time they turned a corner. He also seemed to be listening for something.

He still said nothing as they reached the entrance to the Gryffindor tower and Rachel announced the password.

"Honestly, at this hour…" the Fat Lady protested, yawned and then opened. Rachel stepped through the hole, looking back as the painting began to swing shut. Eyes locking once more with the formidable stare of her Professor.

A little later, as Rachel lay in her bed in that strange place between sleep and awake, black eyes stared into her, only inches from her own. Warm fingers touched her lips, sending fervent tingles from her mouth down to her belly. There, swirling like potion in a cauldron and then continuing even further down… the girl unconsciously pressing her thighs together under her covers.

At about same time, in the dungeons of Hogwarts, a normally unstirred young man was trying hard not to think of the hot breath he had felt on his neck. Throwing open the solitary window; he filled the bedroom with cold night air, imploring it to extinguish the residual heat of her body.

The next two days passed agonizingly slowly for Rachel. Despite being in close proximity to hundreds of peers, she was completely alone, only speaking a handful of words aloud all weekend.

Saturday and Sunday were mostly spent in the library amongst the books, taking companionless walks around the lake when her muscles protested sitting any longer.

At meals, her gaze kept traveling up to the High Table. Professor Snape ate his food with hardly a word to the other staff, the usual air of boredom and superiority about him.

Rachel, however, could still feel the palpable urgency he had projected during the incident in the hall. It's what convinced her to heed his advice and not raise the issue further or bring it up with another Staff member.

Granted, she did seem to always be rolling it around in her head. She actually thought little of the two black-robed men or their purpose… mostly replaying what Snape had said to her and the more witty, mature ways in which she could have responded. She recalled each small movement he made, and felt the cold of the stone on her back. It had dominated her thoughts, constantly having to force it out of the front of her mind so she could concentrate on her studying. She even had the vague memory of having dreamt about it.

Sabine was back to her previous self… snapping at anyone who tried to be friendly. Mae, Sam and Rory whispered and threw sideways glances Rachel's way. Both Rima and Declan avoided eye contact with her and steered clear of each other.

If this is how the rest of the school year is going to go, it's going to be a miserable three months.

Monday morning brought the first round of the third quarter testing. Rachel had two and a half hours each in Transfiguration and Charms, with a break for lunch in between. Professor Dumbledore was now covering for McGonagall, and his relaxed attitude and humor made the exams go by quickly.

Rachel had complete confidence in her score when she handed in her stack of parchment to Dumbledore, then expertly transfiguring an old shoe into a small chest of drawers with working locks for the practical portion.

Charms was tougher, much more about memorization, but after doing the demonstration for Professor Flitwick she felt good about how she did. Having no friends to speak of at least seemed to pay off academically.

By Monday evening, the now familiar stress of standing at Snape's classroom door was hitting her again. Walking in there to sit alone with the Professor to work out her new schedule proved to be more difficult than she thought. She stood with her hand on the door handle for a full minute before she was able to steel herself and knock.

But when she saw him, sitting at his desk amongst parchment, books, and quills just as he had been the week prior, she didn't feel the same apprehension and fear she did only a few mornings before. She felt something quite different, actually. Something she couldn't quite pin down, but thought it might have something to do with how much he had been on her mind over the weekend.

The work benches and stools had all been moved to the outer edge of the large room, and a single desk sat centered a few feet in front of his. He didn't mention anything about what had occurred near the Astronomy Tower- not that she had expected him to. He had simply started the meeting by taking out a page of some pre-written questions, and took notes as he asked them.

They went over the current quarter's classes, grades, and preparation for the testing happening that week. Rachel had talked too much. She gushed about her love of history, what she thought was wrong with the testing method, unnecessary observations she thought were funny. (He hadn't laughed.) In the moment she didn't care if he thought her silly; it felt good to talk with someone. Even if she was really only talking at him. He also hadn't stopped her, waiting until she had finished each tangent before asking her the next question.

He'd then given her a few pieces of parchment filled with more detailed questions about classes taken previous years, grades received, career goals, and an area to fill out a preferred schedule. He sat opposite her, busy marking papers from what she guessed were that day's classes.

As she sat in the quiet room filling out the questionnaire, her attention seemed to wane a bit. A little while in, the professor cleared his throat in annoyance so she looked up. She had been quietly singing to herself, and his face told her he wasn't enjoying it.

"Sorry, sir." she smiled. "I don't always realize it when I'm singing." He pursed his lips, and then returned his attention to his marking.

"It's a muggle song, they played it on the radio all summer- I absolutely hated it," Rachel laughed. "...and now I find myself singing it all the time. It's about two people needing something from the other, sort of desperately, really. It's constantly stuck in my head."

He didn't respond, but he didn't look murderous at her chattering, so she continued.

"It's called Leather and Lace. A girl called Stevie Nicks…and the guy; I can't remember his name, actually. It's a duet."

The room fell silent again except for the scratch of his quill. She watched his hand as he wrote. His handwriting was rhythmic with loopy, elegant strokes, much better than her own. His other hand lightly holding the parchment in place, long fingers resting there, slightly curved. The same fingers that had been on her mouth.

Rachel wasn't writing anymore, she was staring at him, a half-done questionnaire in front of her.

Get it together. This is Snape. Your teacher. You need to stop your babbling and just finish this thing.

"I remember you, you know."

She was babbling again.

"Pardon me?"

"From school, as a student I mean. I was a first year when you were in your seventh."

He looked a bit taken aback. Perhaps confused as to where she was going with this.

She didn't know.

"You wouldn't remember me of course, I was painfully shy then, and obviously in a different house. But I do remember you carried a huge amount of books around with you, and that you used a spell to levitate them while walking to classes."

After a minute of looking at her with a bit of suspicion, and a bit of curiosity, he said,

"Minitur Pondus."

"I haven't heard it."

"It isn't a levitation charm; it lessens the weight of an object by three quarters. It enabled me to carry a larger number of texts."

His features softened in a way she had never seen them before. As if the thought of heavy books was a fond memory.

They were still looking at each other, the silence saturating the room. It made vulnerable to stare back into his eyes, but she felt audacious, brave, for the fact that she wasn't looking away. Almost as if she was challenging him. Or challenging herself.

He finally broke the connection, picked up his quill and began marking again. The young woman's heart was beating slightly faster than normal.

She was going to do something stupid.

She stood from the desk and very carefully started taking steps toward him.

"And then I think it was a few months into fifth year, when you came back and began to apprentice with Professor Slughorn. I thought, 'That's the clever boy with all the books'."

She felt a twinge of misgiving for calling her Professor 'boy', but his face remained calm, watching her out of the corner of his eye as she moved around his desk and stepped toward him. Her heart was beating harder than it ever had but she willed herself to seem perfectly relaxed.

She stopped directly next to his chair and leaned her backside on the edge of his desk to his left. His head had turned slightly toward her, eyes on an undetermined point on the papers in front of him.

So far so good, she thought.

"I wondered why someone would want to come back to this place so soon after having spent seven years here. You must truly love the art of potion making; you're certainly good at it. Brilliant, in fact."

She reached to where his left hand lay on the desk, concentrating on holding steady so he wouldn't notice her shaking. She slipped her fingers underneath his and lifted his hand. She sensed the slightest jump in his body as she made contact, but he allowed his arm to move, albeit rather stiffly, as she pulled his hand to her lap, stroking his fingers.

She had never done something so insane in her life and thought in that moment she was probably going to be expelled. The next thought, which quickly overpowered the previous one, was the fact that the only thing separating his fingers from the place she suddenly required them to be was the grey cotton material of her skirt.

She tried to read his face, but he remained a motionless, expressionless figure.

His lack of a reaction was starting to cause her to lose the courage that carried her to this point. She was running on adrenaline, and if it crashed now- well, she wasn't yet ready to deal with the repercussions.

"What are you doing, Miss Simons?"

She was relieved when he spoke. His voice was very quiet, but steady. He still did not look at her.

"I wanted to tell you, I have… thought about you, since our… run-in on Friday night."

A pregnant pause. Neither knew if it was the others turn to speak. She was relieved when he finally did.

"What is it you want?"

She had been moving her fingers over his hand as if she were examining it. It lay there, his own fingers not moving to answer hers, but pliant... allowing her to turn his hand over with ease, run a finger down the crease of his palm, feel the rough pads of each of his fingers with her thumb.

She knew how she wanted to answer his question, but didn't know if she had the moxie to do it...

"I want you to touch me."

Snape stopped breathing.

A knock on the potions room door broke through the moment. She instinctively released his hand, and it disappeared into the folds of his robes.

"Return to your seat."

He still spoke quietly, but it was definitely a command.

Then he finally looked up and his face was still inscrutable, but in his eyes was a absolutely desperate pleading. It shook her.

She turned away and stood, moving away from him and sliding back into her desk.

She risked looking back at him, but his eyes were again staring at that same indeterminate spot on his desk.

He straightened his sleeve and cleared his throat. "Yes, come in."

The door creaked open.

"Oh, uh… Sorry, Professor."

Rory stood in the doorway. Eyes quickly moving from Rachel to Snape and back again. "My scheduled meeting time is 7. Shall I come back?"

Rachel looked at the clock on the wall. 6:59. Had an hour gone by already? She was only about half-way done with the questionnaire; they hadn't even gotten around to talking about her classes.

"No, that won't be necessary Davis, come in."

Rachel felt a stab of disappointment and fought the urge to glare at Rory as he walked past her and collected his questionnaire from Snape.

"Sit down and complete this, and then we will discuss your options." Snape instantly had his wand in hand and waved it, conjuring another desk and chair.

"Miss Simons, since we were unable to establish a schedule for you, you will need to see me again before the week is up, as classes are to be chosen on Friday. Make it Wednesday, noon."

He scribbled something down, and still did not look at her.

"Yes, sir."

She gathered her things, set her unfinished parchment on his desk and made her way out of the room.

Rachel was feeling a lot of disappointment, and a little bit of shame, but excitement pounded in her chest. And she couldn't stop the smile that formed on her lips as she closed the classroom door.