Chapter: 4 (Revised)

The next morning, Severus opened his eyes to a sharp ray of light, cast by the morning sun. A few choice slurs escaped his lips, as he was not accustomed to such illumination; his sleeping quarters were void of windows. Upon the final curse that rolled off his tongue, he felt a tight, painful squeeze around his midsection. He grunted and darted his eyes at Madam Pomfrey, who was bent over him and in the process of striping his bandages. She glared down at him. Her temper soon faded, however, as the last stretch of binding was removed. Much to her satisfaction, and his own, the wounds were healed.

Severus spent the next few minutes listening to Poppy ramble on about how wonderful it was to finally have some decent help - not that he did not agree, he just didn't want to waste his time talking about it.

He seized the first opportunity he had to splice into her speech. "Does this mean I am free to go, warden?"

She shot him a rather nasty scowl. "I suppose, but keep out of trouble - you are costing this school a fortune in medical supplies!"

Just then, Claira stumbled in. Her lids were droopy and she had dark circles around her eyes. As predicted, she had not slept a wink that night. Madam Pomfrey glanced up, shook her head and then tossed Claira a vial of perk-up potion from her pocket.

Claira guzzled it down and, afterwards, flashed her a grateful smile. The potion had vanquished all her symptoms of fatigue and boosted her energy level to that of a normal, functioning human being. Her attention was soon drawn to Professor Snape, who sat at the edge of his bed, with both hands busy tugging on his large boots. His chest was still handsomely bare and his hair was a heap of black, tangled mess - she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing aloud.

As he stood, her eyes dropped to his abdomen, where the large, bloody gash had been. Acting on impulse, Claira approached him and ran her hands across his midsection, inspecting her work. His muscles tensed beneath her fingertips, which startled her back to consciousness. She lifted her eyes to his and they fell into an intense, awkward stare.

Claira was the first to break contact. She lowered her hands and took a step back.

"Looks like the medicine did its job," she managed to murmur, while admiring the intricate tile patterns on the floor.

"Indeed, it has. Now, if you will excuse me, I have much to do and very little time to do it in."

Snatching up a clean shirt that was brought in by one of the house elves, Severus tossed it on, slipped into his cloak and then swooped out the door.

When he reached the privacy of his chambers, he retrieved a new set of robes and headed for the bathroom. Inside, he stood beneath the shower's faucet and allowed the hot, steamy water to run through his knotted hair and down his face. His heart beat faster than the wings of a snitch and his skin burned in all the places where Claira's fingers had been. He let out a long, deep growl. He was both surprised and angered by his reaction to her touch. As a man who thrived on control, Severus did not like the strange effects she had on him one bit. Cursing through clenched teeth, he forced the knobs in the opposite direction.

By the end of the day, Claira was truly exhausted. The better part of it had been spent curing at least a dozen first years of boils. The hospital had also received three broomstick injuries and one transfiguration mishap. Madam Pomfrey was still sawing off the girl's horns, when Claira made her way down to the Great Hall for dinner.

Upon her arrival, she discovered that the feast had already begun. The room was noisy, crowded and the tables were overflowing with platters of delicious-looking food. Drawing as little attention to herself as possible, Claira took her place at the far end of the staff table, next to the librarian, Madam Pince. She served herself a small ration from each of the surrounding platters and attacked it with her fork, famished by the day's events.

Had anyone been paying close attention to the High Table that evening, they would have noticed Professor Snape's eyes drifting towards the bonny brunette much too often to be considered normal.

Severus found her utterly fascinating, her feeding habits, the way her tulip pink tongue licked her lips after each sensual bite….

Engaged in an unwavering stare, he watched as she dipped a large, round cherry into a bowl of melted chocolate. The dark cream dripped from the cherry's long, slender stem along its enticing journey to her mouth. With the slow swirl of her tongue, she stole a taste. Good Merlin! Severus let out a low groan and adjusted his legs to accommodate the growing interest in his trousers, while keeping a close eye on the fruit grazing across her lips. Her mouth parted in welcome, lips kissing the surface of the chocolate as she glided the cherry inside….

"I beg your pardon, Professor."

"Professor Snape."

"PROFESSOR SNAPE!!!"

"WHAT IS IT?" Severus snapped, whirling about to glare 'Professor Annoying' in the face. His name was Gregory Moore, the temporary Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. The man was a bloody nuisance, always pestering him for one duncical reason or another.

"Erm, sorry to bother you, but I… well, I was just wondering if you were about to eat that last crumb cake? If not, then I think I might give it a go." He pointed to a single square pastry that sat on a platter between them.

"Take the damn thing," Severus hissed, shoving the plate at him. It flipped over, which sent the cake tumbling down the table towards Hagrid; who in turn, picked it up and ate it.

Severus's eyes tore back across the table to Claira - just in time to watch her drop the cherry's stem onto her napkin. If looks could kill, Professor Moore would have been nothing more than a heap of ashes beneath Severus's murderous glare.

Claira, feeling stuffed from her savory meal, stood to leave. She brushed the crumbs away from her blouse and plucked off bits of food as she ventured towards the double doors. Her thoughts were of the chocolate splotch on her breast pocket, when she stumbled over something in the aisle. She let out a small yelp and fell to her knees. Sweeping her hair out of her eyes, Claira glanced up and found herself face to snout with a large, black dog.

For the past two terms, Dumbledore had allowed Sirius Black to take up residence at the castle under the guise of his animigus; everyone else knew him as Padfoot, the school's guard dog. No one was aware of his true identity, save Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger and Professor Snape - who, upon watching Claira tumble over the scoundrel, saw it fit to offer her his hand of assistance.

Claira was surprised, and also relieved, to discover that the beastly canine had a gentle disposition. He bowed his head in a polite manner and then nudged her cheek with his nose, as if to apologize for dashing in front of her. She smiled back at him and patted his head in greeting. Claira had always had a soft spot for furry animals.

"You will remember to wash after handling that filthy mutt, won't you?" Came a low, silky voice from behind her.

Claira chuckled and pulled the dog closer.

"You're not a filthy mutt, are you? No, you're not." She squeezed his face between her hands and rubbed his ears. "You're a good boy - yes, you are. You're a cute little doggie!"

Severus snorted in disgust and stepped around them. As if the infant talk was not enough to churn his stomach, the girl had to go and finish the sickening display of affection off with a kiss on the mongrel's snout.

Padfoot looked up at him while he passed, and barred his teeth, which disturbingly resembled a twisted, rotted tooth smile.