Disclaimer: I am not, never claimed to be, and never will be a poet. Just thought I'd mention that. All Harry Potter related characters, plot, and objects are not mine, and never will be. Go see the Prologue.

A/N: (Sniff) Smell that? That's the scent of freshly beta'd fic. Gotta love it in the mornings. There's a slight warning for questionable consent, but you'll recognize it when you see it. There's also some Snape-teasing. Don't complain; you know you like it.

Trying Not to Get Slapped

Then a new though entered his mind.

Merlin's hoary beard, I've killed her.

oOoOo

All traces of a sneer were gone from his face, and he was seconds away from full-blown panic. "Oh Severus, now you've really done it," he whispered angrily with a hint of fear.

He took her limp hand and pressed it against his thin lips, staring at her unmoving form with wide eyes. He toyed with the ring that adorned her finger.

Snape stared at her blankly before yelling out, "I am a gods-forsaken fool! Why did I need proof? Why didn't I believe you?"

Gathering Noira up into his arms, he held her still-warm form against his chest and he cursed his brashness and stupidity. I kill everything I touch…and I had just started to feel…to understand her, to realize there was something palpable between us that could have grown…and I've fucking killed her.

He held her, and thousands of thought continued to whirl through his mind. What do I do? What have I done? How could I have hurt her so with one spell? She's a fey, nearly immortal, powerful…and I've torn her mind apart like an old parchment.

He lifted his head when he felt something stir in his arms.

It was Noira awakening from her faint. She's alive! She's alive! He sat up and caressed her face as she looked up at him, blinking confusedly. "Severus," she mumbled. "What happened? My mind felt…"

Oh shite, she knows.

In a panic, he pulled out his wand and Stupefied her before she could say more.

"Gods, what do I do with her now?" he questioned out loud. He wasn't sure if he had left her with permanent damage—Legilimency could resemble a botched Obliviate if pushed too far—but he couldn't take her to anyone for help. He couldn't take her to the infirmary; Madame Pomfrey would ask too many questions and possibly figure out that Noira wasn't exactly human. Dumbledore would ask just as many questions, he would definitely find out that her state was his fault, so Snape couldn't take her to him. Besides, Dumbledore might tell the Tha'abas, and then Snape would have his head handed back to him on a silver platter.

Snape whipped off his professorial robes, and remained in his trousers and shirtsleeves. He took the robes and laid them upon the ground and bundled Noira up in them like they were a blanket. He picked her up and carried her to the fireplace. He was surprised at how unnaturally light she was. Where to take her…where to take her? Deciding, he shifted her body and reached for the Floo powder.

"Noira Rohal's quarters," he called out. He stepped into the green flames and felt himself swirl through the Floo system. Reaching her quarters, he stepped out, only to be thrown into her spell barriers.

"For the love of…" He hit the barrier, and was thrown backwards back into the Floo system. Staggering out of the hearth, he stumbled and swore when he realized he was back in the same office. Nearly falling, he caught himself before he dropped Noira, and reached again for the jar of Floo powder. He tossed it into the fire and headed into his own rooms.

"Deka!" he called out.

A house elf popped into view. "Yes, Professor Snape."

Snape shifted Noira's weight and carried her to his bedroom. He called back over his shoulder, "Get an Invigoration Draught and a Calming Draught from my stores. Touch nothing else."

Deka was the only elf Snape ever allowed in his rooms, purely because he touched nothing unless told to, left his experiments alone, and remained silent about anything he saw. Hopefully, the elf would remain silent about this as well.

Snape kicked the door open to his bedroom, and laid her down on the bed. After a split-second's hesitation, he decided to remove her boots and her vaya. He placed those items on a nearby chair.

Deka popped into the room. "Here is the potions Professor wanted."

Snape took the potions and checked the labels and the contents to make sure they were the right ones; they were. He turned back to the house elf. "I trust none of this shall be repeated to anyone?"

Deka bobbed his head rapidly. "Yes, Professor Snape. Deka is keeping all of Professor's secrets." And with that, the house elf popped away.

Snape sat next to her on the bed, and he placed the bottles of potion on the nightstand next to them. He pushed her hair back from her face, and propped the pillows up. Oh Merlin, I hope she doesn't remember much. Pulling out his wand, he whispered, "Enervate."

Noira sat up with a start and winced. "Bodais, santaniat ko' nir mon srishio."

"What?" He hoped she was fine.

She rubbed her fingertips against her temples. "I said, 'I feel like my mind has been scrambled.'"

Snape summoned a damp towel from the bathroom and used it to wipe the blood off of her face. "Are you alright?" he asked, handing her the potions.

She took the potions and downed them with a grimace. "Wh…what happened?" She lay back down and Snape dropped the towel and started stroking her face. He took the phials from her and placed them back on the table.

He moved his hands to the top of her head before he answered her, and he began to massage her scalp through her hair, under the pretence of checking for further injury. He heard her sigh in relaxed contentment, and then he finally answered her. "We were in our office, and you passed out. Perhaps it was due to your injury this morning?" he said silkily, trying to convince her that this was so.

Noira looked confused at his answer. "That sounds vaguely plausible…but I remember asking you a question…then you said 'Legilimens.' What does that mean?"

Warning! The voice was back. He had to change the topic, and in a hurry. How could he distract her?

"Then I felt as if someone was cataloguing my thoughts," she continued. "I could see pictures of—"

Snape cut her off in much the same way she had done to him before—he took her mouth in a forceful kiss.

She jerked in surprise and his crooked nose ran into hers. Snape winced and shushed her involuntary whimper, holding her head in both hands. Snape tilted his head and held her head firmly in place, muffling her second squeal of surprise with his lips. He could feel the vibrations from her cry against his lips, and the sound drove him onward. He felt her hands scrabble over his back, before finally relaxing and accepting his touch. He urged her to open her mouth using light sweeps of his tongue against her lips. He could feel their feathery texture, and when her lips finally parted, he could taste remnants of the potions he had given her.

He felt her breathing quicken, and he felt her strain against the hold of his hands. She whimpered, and he released her head to hold her against him properly.

He adjusted his position and pushed Noira down against the bed. He grew bold with his touch and moved to fondle her breasts with one of his hands.

That was when she shoved him away.

"Bastard, get off of me!" Noira snarled at him.

She was angry, and rightly so. Snape saw her eyes glare at him and her lip curl in a way that revealed her fangs. She was breathing heavily, and he found her completely magnificent. When her eyes flashed with fire, he knew she would be alright, thank the gods.

Ignoring her ire, he swooped back in for another kiss. Mine, mine, mine! his mind yelled with glee, and for once, he agreed wholeheartedly with the sentiment. He pushed her back down and pinned her with his body.

"I'll have you know that my parents were married," he growled in her ear. "And for your information, you had appeared ill, and I was merely checking on your health when you fainted."

Or not. Liar.

He ran a long finger down her neck and over her collarbone; she shivered in response and tried to keep up her glare as she growled at him. He continued, "And I was simply ecstatic over your vigorous return to health, so I simply could not contain myself. I apologize for my exuberance," he whispered smoothly, and ran his tongue around her ear.

Noira rolled her eyes. "Now you're being sarcastic. Get off; you are heavy."

Snape didn't budge an inch. He ignored her second comment and concentrated on the first. "What was your first clue?"

"The fact that it came from your mouth. Move."

Snape smirked and rolled off of her. "It seems you do have a modicum of sense in you."

"Ha, very funny. And my lips and breasts hold my vital signs, Professor Checking-if-I'm-Alright; you just needed a reason to touch me."

So would any other red-blooded male. Snape inclined his head in a mock bow. "You know me too well."

Snape rose and helped Noira to her feet. As he turned away, Noira slapped him—hard. They both hissed at the stinging pain—she had forgotten about that part of their bondage.

Snape faced her and whispered waspishly, "What was that for?"

Noira pointed a finger in his face and narrowed her eyes. "I know you did something to me earlier, Severus Snape." She rose on her tiptoes until they were nearly level. "I can see your magical residue on me. Also, I did not appreciate your groping." She paused to adjust her bodice. "These are attached, you know."

Note to self: be less forceful with the…

She interrupted his thought with the unexpected; she pulled his head to hers and kissed him soundly before pulling swiftly away. "And before you ask," she said. "That was because I could. However, do not push your luck."

She turned away and waited for him to follow. "Come, it must be nearly dinnertime."

Snape was flummoxed by her sudden shift in mood; he felt like he had been kicked by a Bewilderbeast. He shook his head and followed her, after putting on his robes. A feisty one—at least he would never be bored.

oOoOo

Snape had a difficult time sitting through dinner. For some reason, he kept…smiling, which surely had to be against the law somewhere. For all he knew, it was probably posted on Filch's door.

Realizing the abomination on his face, he quickly changed it into a sneer when Noira looked his way.

"What?" she asked upon seeing him sneer. He merely glanced in the direction of the student body.

"Oh." Noira paused to dab her mouth with her napkin. "They are being a bit louder than usual."

Whew…Snape released the breath he didn't realize he had been holding. That was close. It wouldn't do for Noira to realize how tightly he was already wound around her little finger; he would surely be at a disadvantage if she found out.

Snape returned his attention to his chicken and ham pie. As he took a bite, he watched Noira out of the corner of his eye. He still couldn't believe his idiocy from earlier. What if he had actually hurt her? What if he did hurt her? Why did he have to go and pull that foolish stunt? He should have known better than to delve into her mind. Her mind was foreign and complex; if he hadn't of known better, he would have sworn he was using Legilimency on two people at once—a preposterous notion at best. He knew there had to be a logical explanation somewhere, but whatever it was, the knowledge was currently beyond his reach.

He put down his fork and took a sip from his goblet, barely tasting the nettle wine as it poured over his tongue. Why do things have to be so complicated? He didn't know how to share his feelings—anaemic as they were—the scene on his bed was more than enough testament to that fact…even if it had been more of a distraction tactic than anything else. He simply never had a chance to have a relationship like that. After all, he thought sarcastically to himself, being a Death Eater/Greasy Git/Spy/Lonely Bat/Professor/Surly Bastard isn't exactly conducive to having a love life.

But now it seemed that his wretched life was taking a turn for the better. He watched Noira once more out of the corner of his eye, and noted how she brought about a host of conflicting reactions within himself. Snape snorted as he thought this over. When he didn't want to hex her—or wasn't acting like a complete fool around her, for that matter—he actually found her quite…amicable. As evidenced by my forced confession earlier…argh. He was still mad at her for that, though he supposed he should forgive her since he invaded her mind as well, and…nearly killed her in the process. Who was he kidding? He couldn't even remain mad at her. Curse her for getting under his skin! He had grown to care for her, deeply care for her, and it terrified him. He had known her for several months now, and he already couldn't imagine how things would be without her…Like an enamoured fool, he thought. He had never had a need for such frivolous attachments; in fact, he abhorred them. Yet here he was, seeking one out. The thorn in his side had grown into a rose, and he was wary of cutting off the flower before it could fully bloom.

Heh, who was he kidding? He was doomed.

Snape hung his head and put down his goblet. He began to rub his temples, and started when he felt Noira lightly touch his arm.

"What's wrong?" she asked him.

He shook his head. "Nothing. Why?"

"You seem more pensive than usual. And yes," she continued before he could respond, "I know that describing you as pensive is an exercise in redundancy."

That comment earned her a smirk. Since no one was watching him, he allowed himself the luxury of trailing a finger caressingly over her forearm.

Snape decided to change the subject. He inclined his head towards the Gryffindor table. "Watch this," he told her.

"Watch what?" she asked? Sitting up straighter, Noira followed his gaze to the front of the Gryffindor table, to where the Golden Trio sat. "What are you going to do?"

"Just watch." He glared at the back of Harry's head and began counting softly out loud.

"Three…two…one."

They saw Harry jerk his head around as if he had been burned. Harry glanced around the Hall, and then at the Head Table, before rubbing his scar and turning back to his friends.

"What was that?" Noira asked him.

He simply told her to watch him again. "Three…two…one…" and Harry jerked around in seat. Noira stifled a giggle of amusement.

"That is horrible, though you do have a glare that can kill from a hundred paces, no?" she commented with humour in her voice. Noira took another bite of her sprouts before putting down her fork and dabbing her mouth with her napkin. She turned back to Snape. "I know this is terrible of me, but…do it again."

Snape arched an eyebrow amusedly in her direction; he was surprised that she thought it was funny. He would have expected the opposite. In fact, it should have been the opposite. "As my lady commands," he said.

Glaring once more at the back of Harry's head, he had just enough time to see Harry start before he was slapped on the arm.

"Severus," scolded McGonagall. "Stop harassing the child. You give him enough grief in your classes, and don't even try to deny it."

He rubbed his arm and smirked at McGonagall. "Come now, Minerva. He's the 'Boy Who Lived; surely your cub can handle a glare or two?" Or three…

McGonagall narrowed her eyes like the lioness Snape compared her to. At the pinched expression on McGonagall's face, Noira had to bite her lips to keep from laughing out loud.

Once McGonagall had turned back to her conversation with Grubbly-Plank, Noira felt free to begin conversing with Snape once more. "So," she murmured. "How do you do it?—simply out of curiosity, of course."

Snape sat back in his chair. "Truthfully, only the gods may know. I do, however, know that I can trace back this 'gift' to the time Quirrell was here."

"Quirrell?" she asked.

"Yes, he was the…ah, Defence instructor four years ago." He sneered before giving a wry smirk. "He suffered from the rather nasty affliction of having the Dark Lord living on the back of his skull."

Noira looked upon him with disgust. "No…is that possible?"

McGonagall joined their conversation once more. "Och, it was a terrible thing. You never would have suspected Quirinus of such duplicity. He was always such a quiet young man."

Snape looked upon her with distaste. "Really Minerva, you never saw it coming, even though he, the troll expert, fainted at the sight of one? And that as the Defence instructor, he couldn't even defend against a wayward grindylow? After all, 'who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"'" he quoted from the Pensieve he had seen. He resisted the urge to sneer (at least to her face).

Turning to Noira, he asked her if she was through yet. When she responded in the affirmative, he preceded her out of the Great Hall.

oOoOo

They returned from dinner and sat quietly in Noira's rooms. Snape had claimed the couch as his own personal domain, so Noira sat in a nearby armchair, cleaning her swords. Snape tapped his fingers against the spine of the Book of Fae. His mind was still on the same path it had been on at dinner, and he was nervous—scratch that—he was Cornered by a Hungarian Horntail Nervous.

He was currently far, far out of his comfort zone, and he had no idea what to do next. He was rapidly falling over a broomstick for her, and he'd be damned if he messed this one up.

Snape put down his book and watched Noira, mesmerized, as she ran a soft cloth over the sword cradled in her lap. She stroked up the blade slowly, thoroughly, and then circled around the pointed tip with her thumb, then back down the other side of the sword. The tip of her tongue was poking out of her mouth in concentration, and every once in a while she'd lick her lips as she started another stroke. She put aside the cloth and picked up a fresh one. Grabbing the bottle of clove oil that she had at her side, she lifted the bottle and drizzled oil all over and down the sides of the blade.

Snape stifled a groan when she began to rub in the oil, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He enjoyed the spectacle for a few minutes, imagining what it would be like to be that blade, until he belatedly realized that his breathing had sped up to match the rhythm of her stroking.

He knew he had to do something, as the torment was becoming nearly unbearable; but what was he to do? Or rather, what could he do without getting himself slapped?

He felt that the room had become unbearably hot, and he pulled the collar of his robes away from his neck. Snape shifted again in his seat, and waited for Noira to finish. Kill me now… Merlin, end my suffering.

She leaned over to put down her swords, and Snape decided to make his move.

He cleared his throat. "Would you like to sit next to me, Noira?" Owl of Pallas… That was the best his mind could come up with? Then again, he realized, most of the blood he needed for thinking had migrated south. He felt the beginnings of a blush flush across his face; good thing Noira was looking the other way. He could read his epitaph now: 'Here lies Severus Snape: died from mortification after being reduced to the suavity of a lovesick fool.'

Noira looked up and smiled at him. "I would like that." Snape moved his book aside, and scooted over so she could sit down. She sat and looked at him expectantly, and he was sure there was also a hint of amusement in her eyes.

Snape just sat there. Alright, so I have her attention, now what do I do?

He made to reach for her hand, but stopped himself. Would she welcome his touch?

The annoying Voice of Reason crept back into his mind. Have the cauldron fumes addled your brain? She let you touch her not even an hour ago. In fact, you were lying on top of her, idiot. But, she slapped me. Because you went all Gryffindor on her, plunging right on in without thinking about the outcome. What kind of Slytherin are you? Woo her; get what you want. But, I just can't reach out without preamble and grab her hand…can I? Yes, you can. Do it already…or are you a coward?

Alright, this inner voice was really starting to pique his last nerve. I am not A COWARD! So do it already…Coward. But… Do it…Oh, alright

He ignored what the voice had said, and went for another approach. Perhaps a simple conversation would be the best way to approach this. Yes, that sounds quite plausible…it was Hadley's advice, after all. We haven't really talked much…

"Noira," he began, "Would you like to visit the Astronomy Tower with me tonight? I overheard Sinistra saying that the stars are supposed to be exceptional…" He dropped off in absolute mortification. The Astronomy Tower What the bloody hell was he thinking? He could have pounded his head against a wall in shame. He sounded like a dunderheaded, hormonal sixth year… Astronomy Tower, indeed.

He continued to mentally berate himself; his mind pointed out that the Tower was probably already occupied…by said hormonal sixth years, and that was enough to cool anyone's ardour. Besides, he was a professor. While the opportunity for dealing out detention would have been wonderful—and he'd just gotten in a barrel of horned toads that he needed livers removed from—he wasn't sure he wanted to face the whispers of the student body (alright, more whispers) if he was seen up there with Noira. After all, the students would assume that he was there for the same reason they were…even though he sort of would have been, damn it.

A sudden bolt of inspiration hit him; what if he changed the subject before she had a chance to answer?

"I'm sorry?" Oh! Did Noira even hear him?

Now was his chance. "Ahem, So, tell me about your home." That's what he had meant to say—right.

"My home?" she asked. "What would you like to know?"

Severus relaxed his posture and slung his arm on the back of the couch in an attempt to appear inviting—not that it did much. That move had never worked for him before; why should he expect it to now? "Whatever you want to tell me. What you miss, what you'd be doing right now."

"Hmm," she leaned back and he felt a thrill when she rested her head in the crook of his arm. It worked! It worked! sang through his mind. "There is one thing I miss. There is nothing like seeing the sun set behind the Western Mountains."

"Tell me about it." Severus shifted his arm so he cradled her shoulders. He had to fight off a triumphant grin when she did not turn away, but actually leaned against him. I am the most pathetic creature in existence.

"If only I could show you, but this will have to be enough." Noira raised her arms and began to weave an enchantment. "There."

The undiluted hues of a vibrant sunset splashed against every wall. Every surface became coloured with the brightest reds, the purest yellows, orange of every type, and beyond that, a violet studded with silver points. "The air is so pure there, the colours seem to go on forever, never fading until the sun disappears behind the mountains. The colours are so renowned that they have been the subject of many poems:

"When the day has ended,

Look to that yonder hill;

There the painter hath laid down his brush.

"Yellows and gold and red

Of ev'ry hue will mill

To the sound of the evening thrush.

"And when the sun finally plunges past the peak of the mountains, the valley is thrust into a beautiful darkness. The fires on the hillside twinkle almost as brightly as the stars that dance above them; it is a blessed sight."

As Severus listened to her, he found himself drawn into every word she spoke, every picture she conjured. For a moment he felt at peace, and he wished…but it would never be. He had to content himself with only imagining the sights she described as the night went on.

She told him of the forests around her home, how the Tirnai were one with the nature surrounding them. He could taste the excitement in her voice as she described climbing the tallest trees to ride out rain storms, how the heat would dissipate and the wind whip, and how the earth would be renewed by water as precious as tears. He could smell the scent of the rain-washed pine, feel the dewy drops on his skin, and hear the chatter of the forest as its inhabitants crept from their holes. He longed to have such peace, such ease in his life.

"Come with me to the forest."

"Hmm?" The scene she described was so wonderful that he did not want to leave it and return to harsh reality.

She turned to face him and put her hand on his chest. Impulsively, he snatched her hand in his and placed a kiss on her warm palm. She giggled at his gallant impulse, and this time he didn't mind her laughing at him. His breath hitched when she ran her fingertips over his thin lips, teasing and pulling lightly at them. He looked into her golden eyes, and was trapped by the fire blazing there. He wanted to drown in their light, burn in their laughter, and freeze in their fiery heat. Buckbeak could have charged through the room and he never would have noticed. He had forgotten to release her hand; it was all he could do to continue placing reverent kisses against her fingertips.

"Severus," she crooned. "Come with me to the forest."

He was so enamoured, he would have followed her anywhere, glamours be damned. Hell, he would have followed her home like a lost Crup pup.

She pulled her hand away from his mouth and took his hand in hers. He felt her begin to pull away, and self-doubt set in like a rampaging troll—in complete contradiction to everything that had just transpired. What's going on? Did I go too far? Did I push her too fast? Did I mistake her intentions? Of course I did, I'm such an idiot. No one would want me, the 'black-hearted bat of the dungeons,' I…

Um…Never mind.

She had pulled away only to kiss him soundly before pulling him to his feet.

Completely off-centred, he allowed himself to be led out onto the grounds and to the Forbidden Forest, never mind the fact that it was night, and a dark, gloomy, dangerous forest. Did he mention it was night? And cold?

But did Severus Snape care? Indeed not.

He had been completely twitterpated and it wasn't even springtime.

(Not to mention that the blood he needed for thinking was still otherwise occupied.)

A/N: So yes, during the scene with the SnapeGlare™, I plead poetic licence. I know it was Quirrell who caused Harry's scar to hurt, and not Snape. However, Harry originally believed it was Snape, so I'm playing with that here.

Also, check out my one-shot ficlet, "Asking Too Much," which features exclusively Snape…and someone else. It's my first attempt at first-person narration; I hope I didn't mangle poor Severus too badly.