Chapter: 7 (Revised)
Their footsteps echoed down the dim corridors; it was the only sound made between the two. Often, Severus' gaze swept towards the shadows, and his eyes would catch a glimpse of black fur darting across the way. They were being followed. Filthy mongrel, he thought to himself, as he and Claira reached the Dungeon's entrance. It was quite obvious that Sirius had an unnatural obsession with the girl. He had been meaning to discuss Black's odd behavior with Dumbledore; the next Order meeting would provide the perfect opportunity to do so.
Opening the door for Claira, Severus led her through the dark tunnels and into the light of his laboratory.
Claira's eyes took in her surroundings. Shelves and cabinets covered every wall; on them, lay dozens of flasks and bottles filled with strange contents, and slimy looking liquids. Several large, pewter cauldrons had already been brought to a boil. The overall atmosphere of the chamber reminded her of an evil scientist's lair, like the ones portrayed in black and white Muggle movies; she half expected a small hunchback creature to pop out and start calling Professor Snape 'master'. Oh wait, she chuckled to herself, that was going to be her role tonight!
Placing a rather sharp knife in her hand, Severus directed her towards a small, wooden table piled high with ingredients that needed to be skinned, sliced, chopped and peeled. Claira's mouth dropped open at the sight of her workload. Did he really expect her to get all of this done by morning?It was then that Professor Snape conjured a second stool and sat down beside her; he too had a knife and was already in the process of skinning a shrivelfig. Breathing a sigh of relief, Claira grabbed a handful of ginger roots and began the grueling task of potion preparation.
The hours passed without regard. Severus took the opportunity to fill her in on Hogsmeade, Quidditch games and various House rivalries. Her ears drank in every silky word. She found his conversation interesting and stimulating, and his voice so melodic that she felt she would never grow bored of listening to him talk.
As the night wore on, the torch-lit chamber became cold and damp. Claira regretted not bringing her cloak along; she had no idea that the dungeons were so chilly during the summer season. Having worn a loose skirt, her legs began to shiver, and she caught herself leaning one of them against Professor Snape's thigh in a desperate attempt to keep warm. She hoped that he would not notice.
Severus felt something nudge his leg, and he glanced beneath the table to see that it was Claira's knee. He pondered about her gesture for a moment, but found that he did not mind it at all. In fact, he inched his stool closer, while stretching over the table to retrieve a bowl of bat wings. It was a pathetic attempt to make contact, a boyish act that thwarted his better sense. And still, he did nothing to rectify the seating arrangements.
Her thigh was warm against the cool of his trousers. To deny his attraction to her heat would be to deny is manhood.
At midnight, the ingredients were ready to be administered. Claira stood and followed Professor Snape as he made his way to the tables. He assigned her to make three cauldrons of the potion; he however, being the highly skilled Potions master that he was, took his place behind six of the cauldrons. She watched his movements and imitated his exact procedures. The man was brilliant. His fingers were nimble and his hands proficient; he exhibited skills unmatched by any she had ever seen.
Stirring one of her brews, Claira lifted her gaze to stare at him through the cauldron's swirling mists. His eyes were so dark and intense, and there was something seductive in the way he moved his hands: gentle, yet precise. He was not what some might consider sexy, but he had his own allure that was both unique and enigmatic.
As he leaned over his cauldrons, a few strands of raven hair fell into his face, and Claira had the sudden urge to brush them away with her fingers. Her attraction towards him had never been more apparent. As she watched him caress the surface of the hot liquid with the tip of his ladle, she wondered if he took as much care in lovemaking as he did with potion-making.
So engrossed was she in staring at him, Claira became slower and more careless in her work. After a short time, Professor Snape lifted his eyes from his six cauldrons and stared straight back into her eyes. Then, he looked down at her draughts and cocked his brow.
"Would you mind telling me, Miss Bell, why you have neglected to add wormwood, nightshade and lacewing to your cauldrons?"
"Erm, I…well, it's just that I - Oops?" Claira bowed her head in shame. She felt like such an idiot. How else could she have responded? That she was too busy sizing up his bedroom skills?
He stalked over to her table. Peering into her cauldrons, he frowned.
"This is much too thick - here, allow me." He took the mixing spoon from her hand and added the missing ingredients, as well as a fist full of ginger roots. Within a few seconds, her batch was up to par.
"Sorry, Professor. I wish I could blame it on fatigue but, if truth be told, I simply lack the experience. I only studied alchemy for one semester." Staring into a cauldron, Claira began popping bubbles with her spoon.
"Be that as it may, I thought you expressed an extraordinary amount of promise tonight. Your knowledge of ingredients is astounding; I doubt even my best student could have prepared everything that was laid upon that table. If indeed you did learn those skills in such a short amount of time, I could only imagine the talent you would possess if you chose to study under a true master." Severus rolled his eyes. It was unnerving how his tongue kept spitting out words that his brain had not approved of. He could not recall the last time he had paid anyone a compliment - not one that he truly meant, that is. If he were not careful, Claira would think he was a gentleman; his previous years spent as a Death Eater had stripped him of that title ages ago.
"Thank you." She looked up and smiled. His little pep talk somehow had restored her confidence.
As four a.m. came to pass, both Severus and Claira were exhausted but, at last, they had finished the potion. Claira's eyes were half closed and she had developed a stagger in her walk. Professor Snape, however sore from leaning over cauldrons all night, showed no signs of fatigue. For him, sleep was an undeserved privilege. On the rare occasions that he did manage to doze off, horrible nightmares of his past would pay him tribute; even dreamless sleep potions would not erase the haunting images from his mind.
"There is nothing further we can do tonight. The vaccine must be left to mature for twelve hours. I will have the vials ready for you to pick up by the afternoon." He strolled to the door and held it open for her. "Get some rest, Miss Bell. I hear Professor Moore is teaching the students how to deflect a disfiguration charm today. No doubt you will have your work cut out for you."
"Oh, I'm sure there won't be anything Poppy and I couldn't handle. But, thank you for the warning." She cast him a weary smile and brushed past him. "Goodnight, Professor."
He closed the door and let out a deep groan. To say he was not attracted to the girl would be a forgery of his inner truth. Her subtle beauty and soft manner deserved his admiration. And beneath her delicious appeal lay a modest, intelligent creature eager to learn and adapt to new ideas. To think that such a gentle, fragrant flower was unwed and free to roam about the garden of the unclaimed, both baffled him and aroused his male interest.
But, as with all flowers of rarity, one must be careful of the thorns. He was not a man of benevolence, nor did he care to be pricked by prongs of obligation and commitment. No, he preferred to be free of those burdens. If that meant having to live a life of solitude and, partake in the occasional employment of a whore to douse his sexual cravings, so be it.
With the light rustle of his robes, Severus dimmed the lights and swept out of the laboratory. He retired to his bedchambers: to the cold, placid sheets that brought his true desires little warmth.
