SHE did not know how long she sat in the black leather armchair in front of the roaring fire in the hearth that Severus had guided her towards within minutes of Apparating back to his home in Spinner's End, but at least a half an hour had to have passed since the two of them had returned home.

Despite the warmth of the flames dancing lazily in the hearth, she could not help but shiver and grit her teeth, winding a blanket that Severus had conjured around her for warmth, grateful, that he had left her side long enough that she could manage to change her clothes on her own.

She'd opted to change into something more comfortable in the form of a loose grey sweater and black lounge pants that were a bit too big for her, but considering how her whole body was bruised and battered, she didn't mind it.

Her hands were wound over a mug of a Calming Draught mixed into a cup of herbal tea that was supposed to have been intended for Severus.

But, true to form, the stubborn wizard had insisted she take it, that he had no current need of it, but she did. He'd not left her alone until she'd taken the first sip. Dahlia watched with wide eyes, feeling the blood drain from her face as Severus Snape stood rigidly at attention in front of the fire, his profile turned away from her, rendering it impossible for the witch to tell what he might be thinking.

But she could tell by the way that he refused to look at her, that he was furious.

He had not spoken of his anger to her shortly before Disapparating with her back to his house, when they had watched the Riddle House burn to the ground and paint the sky orange and red and yellow with the fire's destructive beauty, but Snape did not need to. She saw the look in his eyes.

She tried her best not to shiver while waiting with gritted teeth for the sometimes-arrogant man to turn around and face her properly.

She wanted this, whatever 'this' was for her, to be over with quickly, for her to receive whatever scornful words Severus Snape wished for her to accept, before retreating to the safety of her bedroom down the hall as swift as possible, as much as her bruised body would let her.

She was halfway through her cup when she decided that she could take no more of the sweetness. At first, she had mistaken it as a mistaken slip of too much sugar on Snape's part and had pulled a face and looked up at him pleadingly with questioning eyes, hoping the man would finally turn around to face her.

"Does it have to be this sweet, Severus?" she pleaded, trying not to shiver when still, the tall Potions Master did not turn around to face her.

He was being almost too gentle in a way that reminded her of Father, and Dahlia was quick to decide that she did not like it one bit.

She took another sip unwillingly, grimacing as the disgusting-tasting and foul-smelling tea sloshed past her throat as she waited for his reply.

"I am…so sorry for the inconvenience, Dahlia." He spat the word sorry as though it were poison on his tongue, his tone dripping in sarcasm and contempt. "It could perhaps help to think of the fact that you are alive and not lying rotting in a ditch or at the bottom of the Black Lake somewhere and draw strength from the fact that I saved your life this morning. After all, you've told me repeatedly, you've survived harsher things than a small cup of medicine, witch," she heard Severus snap in a droll tone.

He was beginning to sound again like his old self, Dahlia thought somewhat bitterly and sighed. He did have a point, Dahlia sighed.

The notion that Severus had been forced to come to her rescue this morning made her flush. She tiredly closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the rest of the chair.

She opened them after a moment to find Severus finally looking at her, out of the corner of his gaze, as if on guard and mistrustful of Dahlia.

He did not believe that she was going to finish the Calming Draught, as she had promised him she would when he'd handed it over and had commanded her in a clipped tone to drink every last drop of the prepared mixture.

The blush speckling along her cheeks darkened a shade further as she awkwardly cleared her throat and swallowed down hard.

"I—I will finish it, Severus, I promise. It's the sweetness, whatever you slipped in here is too much." She awkwardly traced the line of her neck. "The sugar. It thickens my throat. I…prefer not to drink it all at once, Severus."

It seemed to take seconds before the man was convinced, though she saw a momentary kernel of distrust welling in his black eyes.

"Yes. Do," was all he remarked to her in a flat and listless voice as he kept his hands folded behind his back and stared into the depths of the fire as though he could not see nor hear the witch now sitting in his leather armchair.

Dahlia smiled briefly at the last second that the wizard spent gawking at her, before returning her attention to her cup and decided to down it all at once.

Father used to tell her that downing whatever it was causing her such suffering could end the ordeal that much quicker than that of lapping drops. She brought the cup near her lips, quelling her breath at count down, and drank the rest, much to her chagrin.

Her steadfast determination and resolve were not enough to keep her from pulling a face of disgust as the burning liquid went down her throat and she set the cup down on the side table, though not before showing Snape its empty contents, frowning as the man barely acknowledged her, sighing. She awkwardly folded her hands into her lap and sat rigidly in her chair, waiting, with shivering breaths, for supposedly Snape's next words to her.

If she had felt any guilt about what had happened earlier, it was gone by the time Severus Snape had forced her into this chair in front of the fire. She'd spent the better part of the last half-hour justifying her actions well enough that should Severus accuse her of doing anything beyond logical reasoning and protecting him, she would be able to answer his questions promptly and shut down any ridiculous foolishness or insults he might subject her to.

So far, however, beyond ordering her to drink the tea that he had brewed for her, he had said very little to her, giving Dahlia only a brief, withering look of irritation before turning his back to her for the third time and staring moodily into the depths of the fire.

If Dahlia hadn't been so preoccupied in trying to deduce how she thought their conversation was to proceed going forward, she would have realized that her patient, was, in fact, nervous.

The only thing the witch had assumed of Severus thus far in regards to his strange behavior was that he was still furious with her for allowing herself to get captured.

But she could not have guessed, not in a million years, that he was currently summoning up enough courage within himself to ask the witch for his favor owed if Dahlia Hawthorne would join him for dinner.

Severus gritted his teeth, hating himself for his cowardly behavior, that he could not even turn to look at the witch properly, that he was wishing, just once, he'd have been Sorted into Gryffindor. He thought he could have made do with some of that famous Gryffindor courage right about now, but he hadn't.

After several minutes of a thick, excruciatingly uncomfortable silence that lingered in the man's dimly lit living room, Severus finally turned around to face Dahlia, the irritable expression still very much intact, and plastered all over his face like a Permanent Sticking Charm.

He looked exhausted, the pale skin underneath his eyes dark and sallow-looking.

This, at least, he had in common with Dahlia, though Severus wasn't currently sporting one hell of a nasty black eye.

He spoke, killing the silence.

"I don't need to explain to you, Hawthorne, why your behavior in the graveyard was extremely foolish," he began in a low growl, his fists clenched at his side. "You are intelligent enough to know why it was stupid."

Severus's voice was coarse and rough sounding, and for once, had nothing to do with the scarred tissue at his throat that was still mending, which strangely put Dahlia at ease.

It gave the wizard a tangible sense of vulnerability almost, which had been otherwise absent in the brief time she'd known him thus far.

He turned slightly at the waist and proceeded to observe Dahlia precariously through the faint amber light cast throughout the room thanks to the fire in the hearth as if she were some wild, unstable creature he had caught and wasn't quite sure what to do with.

His shadow-raven black hair was wiry, and in desperate need of a haircut, if he would let her, half obscuring his gaze, his black eyes glittering until she swore there was nothing left of any emotion.

"Why didn't you call for me?" he growled, causing Dahlia to jump in her chair and to blink owlishly at the wizard as Severus Snape's scathing voice brought her back to her present dilemma at hand.

She shot him a furtive, guilty look and tried not to squirm in her chair.

It was not exactly the question she had been expecting and was ill-prepared to respond.

"I…" Dahlia stammered as her breaths caught in her throat as she looked at him, the shattered pieces of her heart turning to dust in her chest as he saw the hurt and anger glistening in the wizard's narrowed black eyes.

She frowned at the intensity of his gaze, her eyes lingering on the scar that now snaked its way diagonally across the poor man's face, that perhaps another few rounds of a poultice made from Dittany leaves would lessen the scarring, but nothing would take the marking away completely, and more to the point, Severus might not even want her to remove it for him.

There was a chance he would choose to keep it as a physical reminder of what he'd gone through, to never forget what was important.

But why did she feel the need to reach up and touch the disgusting scar, and kiss his forehead, to do something, anything, to thank him? He'd saved her life, and she knew she did not want to come across as ungrateful to him. She watched him withdraw his wand from around his waist and set it on the mantlepiece, along with hers.

For a moment, she was startled at how similar their wands looked.

And more to the point, besides, how…right, they looked, alongside one another laid out side by side like this.

The room was dark and lit only by the fire in the room. She felt him staring at her, his eyes burning brighter than flame, and remembered she owed him a reply.

"I'm sorry I didn't call for you. I thought I could handle it, I…didn't count on Antonin Dolohov being in Little Hangleton today."

Severus stopped dead in his tracks, his stare ripping right through her, making Dahlia flinch.

"You cannot face something like that on your own, witch," he hissed softly at her. His jaw was cut like steel as the wizard seethed, and then regarded Dahlia with the contempt and all the assuredness of a man who knew he was dealing with a witch who was naïve as to the ways of the world. "You will alert me or anyone else who happens to be in the vicinity should Antonin Dolohov, or any other witch or wizard who's had prior affiliations to the Dark Lord, approaches you, Hawthorne. Preferably me, but whoever is near and available will suffice. I don't want to see my Healer get hurt, and this is a much more serious threat than you seem to realize."

She shook her head no.

"I couldn't get you involved, Snape, you're…I…couldn't see you get hurt too. I care about you," Dahlia answered smoothly.

To which his eyebrows rose by way of response as she proceeded to stare at him, somewhat defiantly. He moved towards the fire, his back to Dahlia for a moment.

He turned again to look at her after a minute or two of facing away from her and cocked his head to the side.

"Is that so?" he sneered. "You make me blush, witch," he barked, and she knew he thought she had misspoken just now, that he could embarrass her with her own words.

But what Severus did not know was that Dahlia meant exactly what she had just said, that the confession slipped out before she could stop it, much less process what she was saying to him.

She felt the edges of her mouth turn down and her brows knitted together, her shoulders slumping forward in defeat.

"Did you not just hear me?" she asked, unable and unwilling to disguise the hurt that she heard in her voice.

"Yes, Hawthorne, I did," he snapped, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes at her question. "Have you already forgotten that I was just in the room when you announced it?" he growled, glaring at her, and Dahlia nodded, blushing slightly.

Of course, he knew. The man was a Legilimens, for god's sake. He had to know, or at least harbor an inkling.

She thought she saw the beginnings of understanding on his face, but Snape was not allowing himself to believe it for one second.

"I needed to be involved, Dahlia!" Severus snarled, the edges of his lips curling upward in a twisted sneer, as he heard his voice increasing in volume. "You cannot risk your life like that, you almost did, for me. You were very nearly killed this morning, and yet here you sit worrying after my safety. Why?" he growled through clenched teeth, narrowing his gaze and glaring at her as he faced Dahlia.

His hoarse voice sounded worn out and exasperated as if he were talking to one of his young first-year students and had no patience instead of an adult witch of thirty-four years old.

"Tell. Me," he hissed in a demanding tone.

Dahlia would have retorted back immediately, but something of the shift in Severus Snape's countenance made her hesitate.

He had spoken to her just now with a certain sense of defeatism as if he thought he could not be bothered to argue with her, but also, strangely enough, there was a twinge of melancholia just barely able to be detected beneath the seething anger in Snape's voice.

He had his back turned towards her now, but only halfway, with his right hand on his hip and the other pinching the bridge of his slightly hooked nose as if he were suffering from the beginnings of an excruciatingly painful migraine, and perhaps, Severus was.

In truth, she was beginning to feel more than embarrassed and upset by the worry and trouble that she had caused her patient.

She was honestly not sure what to think of Snape's sudden change in attitude but could only do her best to ignore it and answer the question that Severus had just posed to her.

"You risked your life for me, Severus," Dahlia all but scowled at him as her brows knitted together. "You followed Dolohov and his men into the woods near the graveyard and up to the Riddle House and faced five talented and battle-hardened Death Eaters all on your own, just to save my life. You knew taking them all on head-on by yourself might not play out. You knew there was a chance you could be killed, but you did it anyway. I did the same thing you did, Snape. I took the very same risk you did."

"No, you didn't, Hawthorne. That's where you're wrong, witch, so allow me to enlighten you: you are naive, Dahlia," Severus growled, turning around to face her fully, clenching his shaking fists in anger.

He looked as though he wanted nothing more than to strike her, but was somehow managing to restrain himself, by a miracle of Merlin and God themselves.

"There is quite a difference between the small risk I took in saving your life this morning and what you did, witch. You were not just risking your life, Dahlia. You were sacrificing it. You are not aware of what they could have done to you had I not come, Dahlia." Severus angrily shook his head as he thought of the endless, horrible, unspeakable torment Dahlia had narrowly avoided becoming Dolohov's latest victim of. "You all but handed yourself over to Antonin Dolohov like a pig for slaughter!" he shouted.

"I—I didn't," Dahlia frowned. "I didn't tell them anything about you, Severus, and I hoped if I stayed quiet and kept my mouth shut then it might save your life. I could have gotten away, I didn't, but I could have. It was a chance that I took, to keep you from harm. The same chance that you took when you took on all five Death Eaters to get me away from them, Snape. You didn't want me to get hurt, so you fought them all. I didn't want you to get hurt worse than you already are, Severus, so I tried to get them to stay away from you. It's the same thing, sir!"

"It is different with me, Hawthorne, and you know it!" Severus shouted hoarsely, sharply maneuvering himself so he could glower down his nose at Dahlia, but in doing so, he accidentally revealed the unhinged look on his face, which only caused her to look up at him in alarm, temporarily at a loss for her words.

"Severus, I don't think I—" Dahlia began, but Severus held up a hand and sharply cut her off.

"Did you forget, Hawthorne, of what I am? Was," he corrected himself with a vicious snarl as he stepped in closer to close off the gap of space that existed between them, all the while rolling up the sleeve of his left arm to reveal his Dark Mark, already beginning to fade, but there was no method of removing it.

She had not been lying when she had told Antonin Dolohov as much, or if she knew of such a method, it was kept a secret from her.

Dahlia let out a startled gasp as he bounded forward and seized her by her shoulders and shook her slightly, not enough for her mended arm to hurt, but enough to enforce his intended message.

"You would have been killed had I not shown up to protect you, and we are not arguing about this, Dahlia!" he shouted. Both of them heard now just how angry he sounded.

So angry that if Severus had not known himself, he would have pitied anyone who attempted to contradict him at this given point in time, Dahlia included.

The witch did not deserve to be yelled at, particularly not after the cruelty she had just endured, but Dahlia needed to take Severus's words seriously.

"Next time, Hawthorne, the moment you spot a witch or wizard that you recognize to be a Death Eater, even just one, and even from a distance, you must make it known to me or whoever else you're with immediately. It's not a matter of deciding whether or not to try to fight them alone or lead them away from who you might be with. There's no choice to be made. You are to tell me or someone else so that the problem can be taken care of. Do you understand what I'm telling you?" he growled through gritted teeth.

Dahlia stiffened and shrunk down slightly at Severus's tone, which was clipped and curt as he glowered at her while waiting for her to speak. She clenched her jaw and quietly spoke.

"I'm sorry, Severus," she whispered, not daring to revert her gaze. Something of the man's eyes was ensnaring her, pulling her in. She doubted she would be able to look away even if she wanted to, with how he was looking at her. "Life hasn't treated me very gently. And I…my words, my actions, will never be gentle towards those who would think me weak. I'm sorry if I offended you."

"Offend me?" Severus growled and stepped even closer, so much that their noses were almost touching.

She gasped, drawing in a breath, and holding it with how close he was, but she made no move to back up, either.

"No, Hawthorne, I'm beginning to think I was…mistaken about you. I think you might even be delighting me, despite your face and your misguided idea of what you think it means to be ill-used, Dahlia."

Severus bore deeply into her face, and for a moment, Dahlia forgot that he was a good head taller than her, that she was the weaker of them both right now.

For a moment, Severus loomed over her, swallowing her, and overpowering her wholly.

He continued, his gaze hardening, a muscle in his jaw twitching the longer he regarded Dahlia.

"You don't know what it is that you would suffer if you attempted to take on a Death Eater in combat, Hawthorne. It's not like the stories that will be told in the history classes for years to come. It's not pretty battles and glorious deaths of heroes and martyrs. Thousands of men and women fall every day and are never spoken of again. You would cover yourself in blood and gore if you get it in your head one day to take them on should you come up against one in the future, and you would never be remembered for any of that. Is that a fate that you would truly want for yourself? The right to a grisly death, hmm? With your guts in your hands and your screams ringing in your ears as you're killed?" he asked in incredulous disbelief.

Dahlia clenched her jaw and did not flinch.

"I—I'm sorry that I caused you so much trouble today, Severus, I-I give you my word that I won't go anywhere alone going forward if it can be helped," she whispered, her voice cracking and the words tasted bitter on her tongue. "I—I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I'm…grateful that you saved my life, and I…I've not forgotten that. I—I just want you to know that I'm grateful," she admitted.

He paused. For a moment, Dahlia let her words hang in the air between them uncomfortably, before deciding she couldn't take the silence any longer. She parted her lips to speak, but before she could, he interrupted.

"You are a curious woman, Dahlia Hawthorne." Severus turned, twirling his wand over in his hands that he plucked off the mantle of the fire's hearth, seemingly needing something to quell the shakes in his hands.

It was a distraction that he secretly welcomed as he found Dahlia's gaze far too unnerving for his liking. He frowned lightly.

"From the…outcome of your…misadventure earlier, I've come to realize that your intelligence and wit isn't the only attribute of you that tends to cause misfortune, Dahlia."

He raised his head just in time to see the witch lower her own, her all-too-knowing dark brown eyes hidden by strands of her deep red hair that she now wore loose around her shoulders and not up in a bun as she had earlier. It shamed Severus somewhat to admit that her redirection allowed him to feel a bit more at ease with what he wanted to ask her.

"I…I suppose you're right, Severus," she murmured, her tone solemn and much more subdued, and even hoarser than his own, which was to be expected, given how much she had screamed earlier during her time as Dolohov's captive and then again when Severus had reset the bones in her shoulder with no warning.

Her attention flitted towards the mantle, where her gaze rested and lingered on her wand, and a rare glimpse of a wry smile touched her lips, causing a wanton ache in Snape's chest.

He wished he could see more of it. But he noted that it did not reach her eyes.

"Indeed," he agreed, perhaps too quickly than he would have liked, and flinched as he realized that his tone was bordering on biting.

He clenched his teeth, cutting off any words which may have followed.

Reminding himself of his previous concept of handling situations that were similar to this one that only ended in ill feelings on both sides, Severus focused his attention on the handle of his wand, frowning. Severus felt his jaw relax and fingers loosen as he set his wand back up on the mantle, next to Dahlia's.

He allowed himself a moment to appreciate how similar in design their wands were as if they were two halves of one perfect whole.

"Dahlia."

The witch's gaze immediately found his own at hearing her name from his lips, her expression unreadable, save for the vast sense of vulnerability that glistened in her dark eyes. Eyes that had seen far more than he could even begin to fathom and yet, glinted with underlying determination and…something else, a something that had him swallowing down hard at the fact that it was making him nervous that he could not discern what it was.

"Considering what you were up against, you did considerably well," Severus inhaled deeply, forcing the normal curtness from his voice.

As quickly as it had come, the vulnerability vanished, replaced by a shocked look in her eyes. He could not blame Dahlia for such a reaction, for his behavior so far did not speak so kindly of him in how he'd behaved around this woman.

So, with strong, careful strides he approached her where she sat in the chair. Dahlia's eyes shifted once again, becoming warier of Severus as he moved to stand in front of her chair.

Severus's sharp gaze did not miss the way that her uninjured hand unconsciously curled into a loose fist on top of the chair's armrest as she gripped it for support.

However, despite being prepared for signs of defense and wariness, he could not help but feel slightly wounded. He would have to tread carefully with her the next several days, perhaps even weeks, to not inflict upon the witch any more emotional damage.

Something in his expression, no matter how slight it was, must have relayed his awareness of his subtle observation, because Dahlia suddenly made a visible show of flexing her fingers, as if stretching the muscles to check for any tenderness.

Her gaze flicked to the side, avoiding eye contact with him for a moment before he found his voice again.

"I believe, Miss Hawthorne, there is a prize that you owe me, and I think, considering the circumstances, I would say that I deserve it, giving my truly heroic act saving of your life this morning, wouldn't you agree?" he murmured in a smooth, silky voice as he fixed her with a pointed stare that almost caused Dahlia to fidget in her seat.

She grimaced and tried not to look sick as she slowly rose to her feet to stand at eye level with the man.

She had hoped, perhaps, in the wake of the disaster this morning had turned out to be, that Severus had forgotten his promised prize—or perhaps she had merely hoped against hope that he had forgotten, knowing the price she owed him would now be triple what he might have asked her before.

He would be compensated for his having to rescue her and risking his own life. He would take something from her in recompense.

The only question was what and when.

She shivered. Folding her arms across her chest, Dahlia jutted out her chin as she met his gaze and tried to look unbothered by it.

"I've not forgotten, Severus. I'm aware," she said. "What is that you want of me, Severus?" she asked, trying to ignore the tremor in her voice.

She could feel his smile against her throat as he moved to stand behind her, almost circling her as a vulture would to his prey. He did this once before moving to stand in front of her.

The edges of his lips twitched as though fighting back a smile, but she thought she could see the faint sheen of sweat glittering on his brow, saw him swallow hard and she came to understand, wide-eyed, that he was nervous.

"I was hoping that you would care to join me for dinner, Dahlia. As I said, considering that I have saved your life and kept my word to you and accompanied you to your father's wake, I think it is the least that you could do for me."

"What does that mean?" she blurted out, feeling sure she had misheard the wizard.

He scoffed and kept his hands folded behind his back, rolling his eyes at Dahlia's question.

"It's customary to share a meal to get to know a person, Hawthorne, or did your father raise you so sheltered that you don't even know what a dinner date is?" he growled.

It did not escape Dahlia's attention that the man was blushing like mad before the word date was even fully out of his mouth.

"Is my invitation that you join me for dinner acceptable to you, Dahlia?" he asked curtly, his ever-serious nature giving him a business-first sort of air about him. He straightened his gait and waited.

Dahlia chewed on her bottom lip and hesitated as she searched Severus's eyes for any sign of a lie, that this was a trick, a trap, that she could not trust, but could find none.

"I—I suppose it is," she stammered, her tongue feeling thick in her mouth as she painfully wrang her hands together anxiously. "What—what time, Severus? And when?"

"Tomorrow, eight, if you're amendable to my terms, Dahlia. Your arm and shoulder should be feeling better by then, I suspect."

Dahlia stiffened. "Whatever you hope to gain if you mean to take advantage of me—" she started to protest, but he interjected.

"Believe me, witch, I would not dare," Severus barked hoarsely. "Regardless of how much I would delight in finding companionship in a lovely witch such as yourself, Hawthorne, I am not the sort of man who would force himself on a woman, whatever others might say of my reputation. And I've no doubt you keep a knife or two on your person for such an occasion in addition to your wand. I'm sure a witch like you would take great joy in the opportunity to use one against me, wouldn't you, Dahlia?"

Dahlia stood rooted and frozen to the spot, not sure what to say in response to such candor from Severus. She thought she'd been able to see through her patient on a deeper level than others, but this, he was behaving well, honestly, laying himself bare before her, just as she had been stripped before him today in the Riddle House and vulnerable.

"You playing the part of the hero makes you bold, Snape," she finally managed, a wry smile finding her lips.

He turned to her with the closest thing she'd seen on his face to a smile yet, large and boyish and quite unlike his usual reptilian smirk that graced his face.

"Bold, Dahlia," he murmured, letting the word roll off his tongue. "That sounds almost lovely coming from you, doesn't it? You deserve someone bold in your life, witch."

"I will decide what I deserve, thank you very much," Dahlia said quickly.

Despite her initial nervousness at the unexpected turn of their conversation and the revelation that this was what he wanted of her to repay this favor she owed him, she was beginning to relax.

There was something precious and vulnerable about the Potions Master of Hogwarts asking her to dinner, presumably here in his home, as Severus Snape struck her as a private man.

Dahlia inhaled sharply.

"Just…dinner?" she asked, biting down on her lip and wiggling her eyebrows at Severus.

"Indeed," he reassured her. "I don't expect it to lead anywhere, or to get me anything from you except perhaps a well-deserved slap to the face, but one dinner with you, an evening in your company I think, should constitute the repayment of your debt to me. A dinner for a debt, Hawthorne. Now."

He strode forwards, still keeping his hands clasped behind his back, and looked almost hopefully towards her.

It took him a moment before he found his voice again.

"Will you keep your promise?" he asked her, softly.

Dahlia frowned as she looked him over in a speculative manner as she walked towards him slowly where he stood in front of the fireplace, her eyes staying locked on his.

She watched the wizard's cheeks turn from ashen to pink in the space of those few seconds, saw the way Severus Snape straightened his posture, and his tongue ran over his lips as if he was tasting the air for his scent. But he did not move towards her to close off the gap of space that existed between them, not even when she was just inches away from him, her nose almost touching his.

He was close enough to touch, that she could put her hand on his chest. A part of her almost was tempted enough to try, but she somehow refrained herself.

"A date? With you? Just one?" she asked softly, having the impudence to raise her eyebrows at the wizard to who she owed her very life.

"Just one," he promised her. "And nothing more than that, and nothing less. Nothing that you would not give me of your own free will, Hawthorne, though I'm told my company is…quite exquisite, who knows, you might find yourself enjoying it, at least somewhat, Dahlia," he drolled, smirking at her.

Dahlia felt herself nod, the edges of her mouth tugging upwards in an amused smile, that he was going to all this effort and for the likes of her.

"I'm partial to Italian," she whispered, stepping away reluctantly and eyeing him bashfully out of the corner of her lowered gaze, hardly daring to believe what was happening to her, what she'd just said.

Severus made a noise that sounded like a growl deep in the back of his throat, but he stepped away from her.

"As you wish it, then," he told her, with an incline of his head. "The snake must retire to his nest now for the remainder of the day, Hawthorne, I can sense you've had your fill of his poisonous company. You should be resting. I'd hate for my...date to be so exhausted tomorrow that she cancels."

Dahlia stepped forward, surprised to find her legs a bit wobbly. The unexpected jolt to her senses caused her to stagger backward.

She groped for the chair and just barely made it as she sank into the leather armchair that she had just propelled herself out of.

She frowned at his self-deprecation. "I never said that—" she started to say, but again, Severus raised a hand and cut her off.

"You don't need to say anything. I know what you mean. It's settled then. Eight, and thank you for accepting my terms, Dahlia."

"Severus—" she said, hurrying after him, but the wizard waved her away dismissively.

"Unless you mean to kiss the snake goodnight, Dahlia, then you may as well stay right there," he snapped, heading to the exit. He swallowed hard and inclined his head as he hovered in the door, torn between his desire to linger and want to let her sleep. "If this is to be my reward, then I should be sure to accompany you places more often…"

Dahlia laughed and turned her head away, feeling exhaustion begin to take hold of her, thinking that she was too giddy to ever sleep, but sleep came for her anyways and swept her off into a blissful state, her first in days.

For the next few hours, she did not dream of Father. No. As she slept, she dreamt of Severus Snape.

UNKNOWN to Dahlia, she was not the only one questioning Severus's actions even as she slept. Severus lingered in the hallway for Merlin only knew how long, watching her sleep peacefully.

He was quickly realizing that the witch Dahlia Hawthorne was so much more than her idiotic father would have her think about herself and was too much for any witch or wizard in her life.

But she was not too much for Severus.

No doubt his prickly little Healer thought of him as another set of chains meant to entrap her and keep her prisoner, as Hans had done.

His task ahead was no simple feat, for he knew that he would have to convince her that his growing interest and perhaps even affection for her was unyielding and fierce as her stubborn insistence to fully heal him. And that he'd not meant to trap her, besides.

At last, Severus thought that he had found an equal to stand alongside in a sea of simpletons, tow-headed fools, the lot of them. He could have no other, if he could not have Lily, then he would have Dahlia.

A little coaxing and the witch would see it too. He was certain of it. He frowned as he stalked towards the kitchen, needing a glass of water to quench his sudden thirst.

He reflected on their conversation before he asked her to dinner. He'd not liked being so harsh with his words, but Dahlia needed to understand that Severus was not going to tolerate his Healer attempting to play the part of a hero and getting herself into situations as she had done this morning.

Yes, he was angry with Dahlia Hawthorne for what had happened, and not because he wanted to be, or because it was so easy to be when she would experience the occasional solar flare of her burning temper, likely inherited from Hans Hawthorne growing up.

Dahlia did not deserve to have him angry with her, he knew that. He was no fool. He was upset because he had felt so much fear and uncertainty for the witch that he was honestly offended that Dahlia did not seem to care about her well-being as much as he was starting to. It vexed him greatly.

Severus had not thought much of the witch upon being introduced to her in the ward in St. Mungo's, but he saw her worth now, and he was not about to stand for his Healer making choices with her own life that were so self-destructive and stupid.

Severus had thought for a moment when he'd forced his way into the entryway of the Riddle House, that Dahlia may have been killed, that perhaps he had been too late to save yet another person in his life who had attempted to get close to him.

She'd been in the hallway when he had arrived, and Severus thought he was not soon to forget the horrible sickening feeling he had experienced when he'd first laid eyes on her.

That sinking, cold feeling that Dahlia Hawthorne would never take another breath again, would never look at him with those dark brown eyes that held him ensnared, and the witch wasn't aware of the effect she was having on him.

At least, not that he knew of.

It was a terrible, crushing, dreadful feeling, wondering if Dahlia Hawthorne, as prickly and damaged as she was, but kind-hearted and loyal almost to a fault, could have met such a violent end. Severus was not angry with his Healer for any other reason for the fact that she'd scared him so much.

That was a fear he never wanted to face again.

A/N: Yay, glad he asked her to dinner. A step in the right direction, now let's hope it goes well. But as you can see, Snape is very conflicted. He's relieved that for the most part, Dahlia is alright and not upset for longer than a few minutes after he saved her, but he's still angry about her situation in general, with Antonin Dolohov on the loose.

He may seem mean and insensitive here, but it's because he was scared for her well-being, and well, he wouldn't be the Severus Snape we know and love if he wasn't snarky, was he?

Though it's my hope to soften up his hardened exterior somewhat, over time, as the story progresses.

Anyways, it took a while to edit and post this since this chapter is longer and much needed to be said for the sake of character development and plot progression, etc.

And every time I decided to read through it and check for spelling/grammar, I ended up adding or changing something completely. I've been working on this particular chapter for a few weeks now, so I hope that everyone likes it. Let me know what you think in a review!