Thank you to all of my readers, and I do hope that the rest of you will follow suit. It's really nice to get feedback on what I can do to improve the story or just to know that I'm doing fine. In any case, I hope you continue to read, and I don't think that this fic will be ending any time soon, and may very well have a sequel.


Blackbird Fly

Nine

The anticipation of the Halloween Masquerade seemed to slow time for the two weeks between the Hogsmeade trip and the actual Ball, and Hermione's new Trio and its own little melodramas seemed to slow too, as if they were waiting for the Ball to really hit their climax.


The weeks were filled with stolen moments in hallway alcoves for a quick snog with Severus, and the novelty of being with him had yet to wear off. She had always thought that relationships just got old after a while, that the feelings wore off as time went on, and that was a great deal of why marriage had always confused her.

Her parents were her only real example of a long-lasting relationship, as her grandparents were either bitterly divorced or dead, and as far as she knew, they were nothing more than really good friends or ridiculously prudish. She'd never seen them kiss on the lips or go out for anything romantic; they would go out to do practical things and run their dental practice—no movies or fancy dinners out for them. Hermione had often wondered why they had ever gotten married in the first place.

Severus, she knew, was nothing like her mild-mannered, white collar, washed-out father. For starters, Severus just had to look at her with those beautifully dark eyes of his and she knew he loved her. He had never so much as glanced at her without that same intensity he had shown from the first day they had met. He was holding her hand or taking her arm whenever he could; she had never suspected that he would be so touchy-feely, but she didn't mind it at all, finding it to be rather sweet.

It was still so odd to know that she was dating him—that Hermione Granger, insufferable know-it-all extraordinaire, was going steady with Severus Snape, Death Eater turned Order member spy with an attitude. Hermione had to wonder if he still thought about her.


He hadn't been happy like this before.

Helene . . . she changed everything; he felt so sappy and lovesick around her, but this time, it was okay for him to feel this way. Lily had never let him just be him and he had always just felt so awkward and clumsy around her instead of the natural ease and elegant grace he exuded around Helene.

She was certainly not beautiful; cute, yes, but in a quirky sort of way. She usually wore her hair down, gelling the wild bush into submission using a quick technique Isolde had taught her. Her hair didn't fall in soft waves; it looked more like a curly mane than silk, but it complimented her ovular face and wide-set brown eyes. Her body was average, healthily thin and averagely tall, but he wasn't really interested in her because of looks. To him, that was hypocrisy in the purest sense: no girl he could think of would be interested in him for his looks.

Her mind was the fascinating part of her. She was intelligent, and her memory was incredibly efficient; she was also clever in her intelligence. The cleverness bred resourcefulness and wit, while the memory gave her the ability to recall the most nonsensical facts at the necessary moments. It was like opening infinite presents each day; Helene could always surprise him with the next admission or random thought. The intelligence had also made her a bit arrogant and socially awkward, and she obviously despised admitting that she was in the wrong, but he was the same way, so he couldn't really fault her for it.

All in all, it had been decided by himself, his id and his superego that he and Helene were a very good match if they put the proper amount of time and dedication into the relationship, and while his id was very much into the idea of shagging her (and soon), his superego quietly reminded him not to cock this one up too.

For all he cared, the Ball could never come; he was terrible on first dates.


Isolde was slowly falling apart.

It was all his bloody fault.

Ever since Severus had talked to her about the idea of him "liking" her, she couldn't stop thinking about the idea of dating him and kissing him, really kissing him. Then she would replay every moment, every conversation, searching for hints that she might be different from the girls she knew he had dated and strung along; maybe she wouldn't get hurt, though she doubted the likelihood.

Besides, Helene and Severus had all but forgotten their matchmaker once they had officially gotten together, too entranced by each other now that the unresolved sexual tension had been semi-resolved. (They hadn't yet shagged). But now they never came to her room, and she had to see them separately, because seeing them together meant that they would forget her and start to gradually leave her out of the conversation and the like. It was, she knew, entirely unintentional on their part, and she still fully approved of the romance; she just hated being on the fringe of their friendship.

Either way, it was back to meals alone in the Great Hall and songwriting in trees for her. She worked alone in the library, finding it difficult to get anything done with Helene and Severus around. She found another good spot, surrounded on all sides by books instead of the large windows that merely leaked garish light into her darkness. She preferred to work by firelight; it reminded her of warmth and of old times.

Her newest company, though, would take some getting used to.


Sirius had seen his opening, and he had taken it, for no matter how much he cared to deny it, he was of Slytherin blood; it was a part of him that he could not deny or neglect.

When he noticed that Isolde had been effectively cast from the Trio, albeit unintentionally, he swooped in, joining her when she ate meals outside and when she was playing her guitar, though she solidly refused to sing in front of him. She would show him the songs she had written and sometimes play the instrumental parts or let him listen to it through the box, but her voice would never join. He, of course, had to make his marvelous singing voice known, choosing to sing a beautiful rendition of "I'm a Little Teapot," including the embellished dance moves he had improvised. Sirius was careful, and Isolde even more so; it was a game to them, in a way. Who could stand playing "Just Friends" the longest?

He knew that The Marauders were always watching him, making sure that the Slytherins didn't get him. Sirius had tried to curtail their behavior by threatening to hex their balls off if they screwed this up for him, but Lupin, the aspiring lawyer, had smugly informed him that just watching him couldn't screw this up for him because they wouldn't come any closer than they needed to. "Besides," James added, "we're only protecting you."

Sirius laughed, a short hollow bark issuing from the grimace twisting his handsome mouth. "That's funny, Prongs, very funny. A shame, then, that she is hardly a threat. I am her friend, and you'd damn well better get used to it."

Lily tried to placate him, prying herself from James's side to go to his, her hands clasping around his arm. Sirius shook her off, removing his arm from her grasp and hissing, "You think the same way they do, Evans. Don't deny it." He turned to face his friends, steely eyes meeting theirs.

"Look, I'm not exactly a poster boy for Slytherin rights or anything, but this one is so beyond different that I can hardly believe it. They're just Houses, for Merlin's sake, not ways of life! They hate her there, everyone but Snivellus and Fermier, anyway. She's terrified of Black and Lestrange and their lot! She's different, and I like her, so you may as well get used to it!"

He stormed out of the common room at that point, hoping that his friends had not only gotten the message, but that they would still be friends with him.

Refusing to dwell on the situation, Sirius calmed himself down: he had a study date with Isolde in the library, and he was probably late.


It took him ages to find her, his only course of action being to wander through the aisles of books, combing through the labyrinth of shelves and paper and ink until her found her. Isolde was wandering the shelves of books on music, though there were few books on Muggle music.

He paused, wanting to memorize the way her tapered fingers trailed along the sides of the books and the way her coppery hair cascaded down her back and the way it caught the light just right, giving it the appearance of spun gold. She moved quickly and silently, naturally stealthy and agile in her movement. She bent slowly to reach for a book, her hands soft and fluid as they lifted the soft-cover book off the dusty shelf. She stood again, flipping it open and reading it quickly, her eyes darting across the yellowed pages. Isolde slammed the book shut and tossed it back on the shelf, and Sirius felt himself return to his body, his throat dry.

"Hey." Sirius felt shy for the first time in his life. Isolde looked at him, her eyes wide; they were pure red, Sirius could certainly never forget that, but when the light struck them just right, they turned a flaming shade of scarlet. He'd taken the time to notice little things like that, finding himself entranced by nearly everything she did.

"Hi," she replied nervously, a bit frightened by the glazed look in his eye.

"Found anything good, then?"

"Erm . . . not really. Quite a few of these books just tend to bash Muggle music, and I can't really find anything on popular wizard music." Isolde bent over to pick up a book from one of the lower shelves. "I might be a bit longer, so maybe I could meet you somewhere so that we can study."

"No, no," Sirius answered, keeping himself in check, though he did surreptitiously give her the old once-over. "Just looking around for a bit longer isn't going to kill me." He began scanning the titles as well. She was right; there weren't many on Muggle music, but there was a book of Wizarding lullabies tucked away on one of the shelves. He pulled it out and blew on it to get rid of the dust on the cover. "Try this one; they're a bunch of lullabies, but they're really pretty. I remember them from when I was little; my nanny would sing one to me every night. You'd like them, I think."He gave her the book, watching anxiously as she flipped through it.

"Thanks," she said with a genuine smile on her face. Isolde ran her fingers over the cover; she loved leather bound books, preferring them over all others. Then she looked at him for the first time; he was tall, but not too tall, and muscular, just the right size to hold her. Sirius had intense grey eyes and shaggy raven hair juxtaposed against his pale olive skin. His face was aristocratic, his face perfectly sculpted; a dark Adonis. Her dark Adonis?

Boys shouldn't be so pretty, she thought morosely.

He saw her sadden a little, and before he knew what he was doing, he slowly herded her against one of the bookshelves, never breaking eye contact with her. Sirius saw a bit of fear leap to her eyes as she bumped into the shelf, but he didn't let up, bringing his arms to hold hers to her sides. Isolde's lips parted and Sirius slowly bent his head, carefully nudging her just enough so that he could meet her lips with his.

It was a chaste kiss, but it was still passionate in its purity, the emotion behind it. She gasped when she felt a jolt slide up her spine and he felt it too, wrapping his arms around her waist as hers went around his neck. It took a sharp throat clearing to break the two apart, Sirius turning to see who it was.

Met with the surly visage of Severus Snape, he fled, pecking Isolde on the cheek as he swept away to try and clear his muddled head.

Isolde slumped against the bookshelf and slid to the floor, ignoring the tirade Severus was currently throwing her way.

What have I gotten myself into?


Hermione met Severus outside the library once he had tired himself out from shouting at Isolde over her "stupidity and utter lack of foresight" for nearly half an hour while Isolde just curled into fetal position, facing the unforgiving bookshelves while Severus made slow careful cuts into her psyche. He had left her there, shivering between the bookshelves.

"Severus, what happened?" Hermione asked carefully, wary of the scowl he wore, remembering it from her days in the future as her Potions Master's trademark expression.

"Chase!" he cried, "I saw them! Her and Black—together!" He sounded nearly hysterical, almost comical for someone who rarely released control of his emotions, least of all in a public place.

Hermione pulled them into an alcove and cradled Severus's face between cool hands, pressing her forehead against his, satisfied when his eyes closed and his breathing slowed. She kissed him gently on the mouth, soothing him before pulling away.

"What happened, Sev? You can tell me."

"I-she kissed him. I saw Isolde kissing Black!"

"And what is so bad about that?"

"They're not supposed to like each other! She's a Slytherin and he is a Gryffindor who's been my worst nightmare for years and years and now she's kissing him! She's supposed to be my friend." He leaned against the wall, pouting quietly to himself.

"Severus, how long have you two been friends?"

"Just since you got here, sweet."

"And before that?"

"We—" He paused, hesitant about the truth. Severus had never spoken to her before this year, usually just joining the other Slytherins in taunting her and teasing her or simply ignoring her in a Slytherin-wide lockout, cold-shouldering her for months on end. He was no better than Black, really, and worse, in a way, because he was now trying to be her dictator. "She's let us neglect her."

Severus Snape would have to apologize. Even worse, he would have to mean it. Sighing, he grabbed Hermione's hand and led her down to the kitchens.

They both had reparations to make.