Chapter Ten : Angelina

"It requires more courage to suffer than to die." – Napoleon Bonaparte

After supper, I made my way down to the dungeons carefully, using only deserted corridors and hidden passages, and mentally thanking Fred for showing me the latter – then quickly dropping the thought again; thinking about Fred only brought more hurt. And I was probably in for an evening full of hurt anyway.

Part of me was still convinced I was mad for even venturing down there. Maybe I really should just let him continue in his hubris, thinking he could alter the pure essence of magic. Hey, he might even be successful, and I would be free again.

Unfortunately, I was not so delusional as to really believe that. And so I had to be the one with common sense, it seemed. Bringing him to do something I'd really, really rather avoid.

Okay, honesty check there, Angelina. I did think of Snape as an 'arrogant, greasy and vicious bastard', as he had so aptly put it. Plus he was ugly as sin. Maybe not quite as ugly as Filch, but a close second. But still ... that one moment, when we had locked eyes, I had seen warmth in his eyes, and a tenderness in the way his hand had reached out for me that I would have attributed to just about anyone but him. And also, loathe as I was to admit it, he had quite impressed me with his little speech about desire. Hurt me, yes, which was why I had impulsively lashed out at him with that rather unfair remark about his Death Eater days, but also impressed me.

Were some fairy godmother to materialise in front of me and grant me a wish, I'd still thank her on my knees if she undid the bond between us. But still, for the first time I felt something other than total revulsion when thinking about Professor Snape. Okay, that was not much. But given my present situation, I clung to any straw I had.

I came to the door to his office, feeling him in there, and indeed before I could knock, I heard his voice, "Come in, Miss Johnson." So I entered to find him –what else– sitting and reading a huge, ancient tome about counter curses. His gaze rested on me briefly, then he sighed. "Salazar Slytherin must have been three sheets to the wind when he decided to found a school together with someone like Godric Gryffindor. Just what does it take to make one of you understand a simple 'Leave it be' ?" His voice sounded more tired than cynical.

I stifled a smile and, sitting down in front of him, replied, "Better arguments for starters."

His eyebrows rose. "Elaborate upon 'better arguments'."

"Well, it has been four days since the Zingsti came upon us," I answered. He tensed at my words, but remained silent, and so I continued, "And I, for one, have reached a decision. The truth may be unpleasant, but I will not close my eyes to it again. So tell me this, please, honestly : in these four days, has anything you –or the headmaster– did made even the slightest difference to the bond between us ? So much as visibly influenced it ? If the answer is yes, I will admit that I was wrong and that the beliefs of my people are just myths, and will leave a much happier woman."

He clenched his teeth and remained silent for a long time. Finally, he shook his head.

I nodded – that was what I had been expecting. "Then, I am afraid, you fail to convince me that you will find some way to break the bond. I think that if you are honest to yourself, you must admit you don't even believe in it yourself anymore, do you ?"

Again, no answer; not that I had expected any. His scowl was answer enough.

We sat a while in silence, but I waited him out this time. Finally, he pressed out between clenched teeth, "So what are we going to do now ?"

Now comes the hard part. I summoned all that was left of my courage –show him you're a Gryffindor lioness, girl– but still my voice came out in little more than a whisper as I said, "You ... told me about desire two days ago. And you were right, even though I could not admit that then. So we ... should maybe get to know each other a little better – we might find something we like in each other, and it's easier like that ..." I lowered my eyes, feeling too self-aware suddenly.

I heard a harsh snort from him. "That might require a miracle, on both sides, Miss Johnson. But seeing as I cannot honestly claim to know of any alternative, I suggest we go forward with your plan, for now."

I took a deep breath, still staring at the tips of my trainers. "Okay. But the first thing I would ask of you is to go easy on insults, please. They certainly don't make it easier for me to find you likeable."

He was silent for a moment, but then answered, his voice barely above a hiss, "I will try."

I just nodded, not trusting my own voice at the moment.

Silence sat between us again, broken suddenly by the rustling of clothing, then by him saying, "If we are to talk, we might as well go somewhere more comfortable. Follow me, Miss Johnson."

I looked up in surprise; then, deciding that I'd rather not risk ruining the first trace of concession on his part, just followed him mutely to the back of his office, which curiously enough seemed to be basked in the last orange rays of the setting sun ... down here in the dungeons ? But it was faint sunlight alright ... it was streaming through two glass plate windows flanking a door, which Snape opened and stepped through.

I followed quickly, curious as to where we were headed, only to find myself in a little ... garden of sorts, on a gravel-strewn path flanked by grass and two silvery birches. Orange light was coming from what seemed like the evening sky above me –but on a second look was probably an enchanted ceiling like the one in the great hall– and flooding the whole garden and the rooms beyond it through windows all around. Snape, who had continued down the path, had reached what seemed like a little plaza with a wooden table and a couple of chairs, and lit a thick candle standing on the table. The whole setting had such a serene, calm and peaceful air that I could do nothing but stare for a moment. A retreat like that was about the last thing I had expected in Snape's private domain.

He turned towards me, and with a touch of impatience in his voice said, "Close the door, Miss Johnson. And stop gawking ... Arabella Figg was Potions mistress here before me, and this was her design." With a start, I did as I was told, then went to him and sat down in a chair opposite the one he had chosen, but I still found it hard not to stare at the surroundings.

"Very well, Miss Johnson," Snape's voice sounded unusual in here, richer somehow, rolling, "tell me about yourself, then."

I swallowed a sigh – I should have expected him to leave it to me to begin. I'm a lioness, he's a snake. You can do it, Angelina. Haltingly, I began, "Well, my full name is Angelina Yorosi Johnson. I am the eldest child of my parents, my two brothers –twins– will turn five this summer. My family is huge, loving, mostly crazy and spread over four continents, and most of them are wizards and witches. I, myself, am not the best of casters, but I have an affinity for Medimagic, and some day I want to become a healer. But for now, I am happy playing Quidditch, and Alicia, Katie and I have accepted a contract as a reserve chaser team for the Holyhead Harpies, starting this autumn. I love animals, and I have a meerkat familiar named Gbo. I ... I used to date Fred Weasley for more than a year, but that ... has come to an end now. And I am proud to be a Gryffindor."

Summed up like that, my life sounded pathetic even to myself.

Snape had listened to me without comment, although a slightly pained expression had settled on his features. When he saw that I was finished, he raised his eyebrows, saying, "I fail to understand how basic biographical details will make any difference, but if you insist ... I am Severus William Snape. My mother, a pureblood witch, married a Muggle lord, much to the scandal of her family. I never knew her, as she died giving birth to me. So I grew up in the Muggle household of Lord Snape, who was a kindly father to me throughout his life, together with his two sons from his previous marriage. However, my mother had enspelled her private room in the manor to be Muggle-proof, so it lay undisturbed, and as soon as I had been taught how to read and write, I discovered my magical heritage in the books she had left there – and it became the focus of my life. My magical talents lie in the arts of Potions making, as you no doubt were able to guess, as well as Evocation and, ironic as that may sound right now, counter-magic. And, as you already know as well, soon after I left school I joined Voldemort's forces and became one of his inner circle, the Death Eaters. For reasons which I do not wish to discuss I came to regret this decision and went to Dumbledore, who helped me keep up a double identity during the first war against Voldemort. Ever since I have been trying to get some sense into the dunderheads populating my classes, with little success so far."

"For reasons which you do not wish to discuss ?" Now it was my turn to raise my brows.

"Indeed," he responded. "This is of no concern to you. We are not playing Truth Or Dare here, Miss Johnson."

"Well, we better had," I replied hotly. "Secrecy is not going to get us anywhere."

Snape closed his eyes, looking even wearier in the dying light of the day and the flickering candlelight. "Miss Johnson, as I told you, you are asking about things you neither understand nor should want to. But since you seem to be unable to stem your curiosity, I suggest a deal : question for question, truth for truth – except for anything pertaining to Voldemort or my Death Eater time. There is too much danger involved here, the amount of which you do not even begin to grasp."

I sighed. "I fail to see how I could 'begin to understand' it if you refuse to tell me anything. But your deal is accepted. Ask your question."

His dark eyes, glittering in the light of the candle, mustered me for a moment, then he asked, "What prompted you to date Fred Weasley ?"

Ouch – trust Snape to start with a low thrust like that. I glared at him, but forced myself to answer nevertheless. "If you are expecting some romantic story, you are wrong. One thing just led to another last year at the Yule ball, and we both liked the result. We had great fun together, and I do not mean that just in a sexual way. Neither of us had any pretensions of love, which is all the more ironic because I now know we indeed were in love with each other. But that's past the point anymore. We ... tried, but the connection is gone."

Snape closed his eyes for a moment. "I am sorry to hear that. Ask your question." Amazingly, that even sounded sincere. But maybe I just misinterpreted the tiredness in his voice.

Okay – since he did not hold back, no reason for me to. "Have you ever been in love ?"

His facial features hardened for a moment. Then he visibly forced himself to relax, and answered, "Payback, I assume. Well, I fell in love only once, and I am not sure if the feeling was truly reciprocal. But I will never know anyway, as Fiona was a reckless woman, and she thought that a pregnant Auror would be an easy target. Alas, she was wrong."

"Oh," was all I managed to say. Then, getting a grip on myself, I added, "I am really sorry. Ask your question."

He nodded, his face still showing some tense lines around his eyes. "Is there any reason beside your belief in the power and importance of Zingsti, and the undeniable way it plays havoc with our bodies and minds, that you insisted on this rigmarole ?"

I just had to smile. That was a pretty complicated way of saying, 'Do you like me at all ?' I answered, "Yes, there is. The way you insisted on not just 'mating like beasts in rut', to paraphrase it. That impressed the hell out of me. I'm not even sure why, but it did."

"Interesting answer," he remarked, "considering that you seemed rather angered at first. Well, ask your question."

Somehow, I doubted I wanted to hear the answer to the question if there was anything about me he liked. So I asked instead, "What is the thing you dread most about Zingsti ?"

Snape inhaled sharply, and remained silent for so long I was beginning to wonder if he'd refuse to answer. But finally he said, "Since I do owe you another answer : the closeness. Not just the normal way that lovers reach out to each other when they join, although I would not feel comfortable with that either, since we hardly know, or like, each other. No, what I am talking about is the way we react to each other, how we open up if we so much as lock eyes. I really dread what will happen if we so much as touch, let alone lie together. I have always been a most ... private person."

I nodded. "I can empathise with that; not so much for any great need of privacy, but –sorry– for letting you so close to me. You have been working hard on making me fear and loathe you for five years."

His lips curled up in what in another person could perhaps be called a smile. "I can imagine that, Miss Johnson. If I were you, I would probably run like hell. The fact that you came down here, again, surely shows that the Sorting Hat placed you correctly."

Whoa – that was as close to a compliment as I was likely to receive from him. Emboldened, or maybe just too tired for fear, I put my right hand on the table, outstretched, palm up. "You know, there is only one way to stop our fears to have power over ourselves, or so my great-grandfather said."

Snape tensed, and mustered my hand through hooded eyes for a moment, saying, "So we have progressed from Truth to Dare, haven't we ? I must be more tired than I realise to even consider this ..." and stretched out his left hand, his fingertips brushing mine.

The feeling of his skin on mine was incredibly intense. It was like seven years ago, when I had stood before a pile of wands at Ollivander's, grabbed the mahogany one, and suddenly every fibre in me had sighed contentedly, "That one's mine". His skin was warm, dry and somehow seemed to fit mine, to belong. Without any conscious effort of mine, I reached out, tracing the lines of his hands, wanting to touch more, to feel his strong, sleek hand, to reach ... His hand reached out as well, our fingers entwined, joined, and a warm, pleasant feeling rose up from my fingertips and began to spread through my whole body. And slowly, the frantic pulse I could feel through his skin began to slow down, to match mine, till finally I felt our hearts beat at the same time, as one.

I looked up from our entwined hands in wonder, and my eyes met his. But the opening was slower this time, not so much a falling as a gentle pull, the call of a soul to its mate, promising that neither would ever need to feel alone again.

For the span of a dozen joined heartbeats we just sat there, lost in the moment.

Then Snape suddenly jerked back his hand as if he had been burnt. Turning away from me, he pressed forth through clenched teeth, his voice harsh, "Go. Go now. This has been a mistake."

I drew back, repelled by his sudden disruption of our connection and his words as if I had been pushed away with a hot poker. Trembling, I felt my self-control wavering and threatening to break down any second – so I did as he said, getting up hastily and fleeing his rooms without looking back.

I dashed along the deserted dungeon corridors, not really looking where I went, and more by instinct stumbled through a secret door leading to a small unused room where Fred and I had made out occasionally. I threw myself on the old couch facedown, just sobbing for a while until the shock had left my system and sanity was slowly returning.

When the panic had left and my mind had finally resurfaced, I sat up, trying to think this over as calmly as I could – which was a difficult process as anger about his harsh rejection and relief about not having gone further were warring inside me. The feeling of linking with him had been among the most wonderful and intense experiences I had ever had – while it had lasted. Now, however, my mind caught up with my instincts and reminded me of whom I had shared this with, and the thought made me feel nauseous.

Yes, I decided, on balance I was rather glad that Snape had stopped this while he still could – I had little doubt that we wouldn't have ended up on top of each other had we continued, and that was something I now found I definitely was not ready for ... I hoped I ever would be, in fact.

Still, anger at his rejection continued to burn inside me. I had been the sensible part of this long enough, I decided. Now it was his turn, and bugger my understanding the nature of Zingsti better – he should have a pretty clear idea by now, as well. I might have the Gryffindor courage to go down there and face him, but I also had Gryffindor pride.

As I slowly walked up to Leo Tower by means of another hidden passage, I swore to myself that no matter how sick the pull of Zingsti would drive me, I would not seek him out again unless he came to me first.