Notes: This took entirely too long, but I hope this chapter is action packed enough to be worth it.
!TRIGGER WARNINGS! Please note that this chapter contains TRIGGER WARNINGS, and that the trigger warnings themselves might contain SPOILERS. If you want to see the trigger warnings, please scroll down to THE END OF THE CHAPTER in order to read them. General warnings will be up here, but trigger warnings that contain spoilers will be at the END of the chapter.
Warnings: General warnings for language, both suggestive and cursing, violence, blood-status discrimination, alcohol consumption. Remember to check the END OF THE CHAPTER for trigger warnings.
394
Horace Slughorn did not screw around when it came to parties. While you had thought the event might take place in the same ballroom as the lectures, Slughorn clearly had something more intimate in mind, and had reserved the entire bar of The Atticus for his little soirée. And apparently, he didn't just give out invitations on a whim. The entrance to the bar was cordoned off with a velvet rope, and a neatly dressed doorman stood to the side, checking tickets. Tickets that you were very glad you had given to Snape to handle, because even if you had managed not to leave them behind at Hogwarts, your dress didn't have pockets. You had clung to his arm the entire walk through the lobby, and had no intention of releasing it, even after you had entered the bar, which was full of chattering people, and was nothing short of pristine.
Since you had arrived at The Atticus, you felt as though you were in a constant state of time travel, and tonight you were going to party like it was 1899. Gleaming with polished rosewood, brass accents, and burgundy velvet, the lounge was a delicate balance of old fashioned and classically luxurious. The bar itself took up one side of the room, with two velvet coated bartenders standing between the glossy counter and the back wall, which was backlit through frosted glass to show off the assortment of bottles that lined the shelves. Among the standard bottles of dark whiskeys and clear vodkas, were more ethereal looking liquors and wines that you imagined must have been magic made. Your mother would have a field day in a bar like this, and you swore to yourself you'd find a way to bring her here to experience it firsthand.
Dotted throughout the main floor were tall standing tables, each draped in wine-colored cloth and sporting ornate floral centerpieces. On the wall opposite the bar were several private booths with circular velvet benches and low rosewood tables. Each alcove was framed with long, gauzy drapes held back by brass fixtures, and one of the four booths was closed off, obscuring its occupants from view. And finally, towards the very back of the bar on a low stage, was an ivory coated jazz band. Or at least, you thought it was a jazz band. You couldn't quite pinpoint any of the music being played, nor could you identify any of the instruments being used. But the atmosphere of the whole affair was one of class and sophistication, so jazz seemed like the proper assumption.
You felt wildly underdressed in a sea of jewel toned dress robes, which apparently was the current fashion trend, some glittering with precious gems, others whispering with extravagant silks. Were all witches and wizards this flashy, or was it just a Slug Club thing? You and your professor were positively drab in comparison, and your mortification only deepened as you noticed that Snape was leading you directly towards the Malfoy's, who were standing idly at one of the high top tables and looking like they ate peasants for breakfast. As you approached, you couldn't help but wonder how many innocent animals had died to make their ensembles. Lucius wore lavish robes of white and gold, the collar trimmed with white and black ermine fur, while Narcissa's dark, flowing robes were dripping with black, gold tipped feathers. They were among the few who hadn't adopted the vibrant trend of gaudy colors, and it made a bold statement; they looked absolutely stunning together in black and white.
Layered in pastel green with only pearl earrings in terms of jewelry, you felt decidedly out of place no matter who you were standing with, so might as well stick out from the crowd while in good company. Snape finally extricated his arm from your grip as you neared the table, and you were ready to mourn the loss of contact, but he replaced it by settling his hand on the small of your back, a position you were becoming increasingly more comfortable with.
You smiled a bit anxiously to the husband and wife at the table, and you were ready to receive arrogant looks from the pair of pureblooded aristocrats, but it was actually Snape who got the exasperated once-over from Lucius.
"Severus," he drawled, attempting to sound conversational, but his face read 'disappointment' in every line. He lifted a heavy old-fashioned glass from the table, swirling the dark liquid within. "Good to see you've put in the bare minimum this evening."
You were rather taken aback by this blunt criticism of your professor's attire, but Snape didn't miss a beat as he deadpanned, "How many puppies did you have to kidnap for that outfit, Lucius?" Your eyes skittered over the white fur with black spots draped over Lucius's shoulders, and you clapped a hand over your mouth to keep from actually laughing out loud. Snape gave your waist an indulgent squeeze before he finally released you, placing both of his hands on the table as you tried to suppress your giggles.
Lucius, however, did not seem quite so well versed in 1960's Disney animated feature films, and looked positively bewildered by Snape's comment, as well as your reaction to it. His pale skin had taken on some color, because even if he didn't get the joke, he did know he was being made fun of. "Wha-? How dare you. I would never stoop so low as to wear dog-"
"Would you like a drink, Gwendolyn?" Narcissa interrupted, completely unfazed by her husband and your professor's squabbling. You quickly pulled your hand away from your mouth, looking sheepish as you turned toward her, but she merely smiled enticingly as she held her own glass out to you. "They have some positively divine elf made wine," she explained, the coupe glass full of fizzing lavender liquid. It smelled like elderflowers, and Narcissa smelled like Chanel No. 5 as she sidled closer to you.
You probably hadn't needed to put blusher on, now that you thought about it. You could feel your cheeks warming up all on their own now that Narcissa had made herself so close. God, she was beautiful, and you honestly weren't sure if you were apprehensive, or attracted. Both, probably. You fumbled the glass from her fingers, glancing over at Snape, who was watching with some interest. You'd been planning on stealing some alcohol, not having it offered up to you so blatantly. "I… uhm… I mean, I didn't bring any mon-"
"Oh, please," Lucius interrupted, snapping his fingers at a nearby waiter, who was all too happy to drop everything he was doing in order to tend the Malfoy's table, the couple at the nearby buffet looking quite put out. "It's on my tab. Don't worry yourself." It was your turn to look bewildered. Was this man really offering to buy you a drink… in front of his own wife? But Narcissa didn't even bat an eye, and Lucius glossed over the proposal as if it were nothing before returning his attention back to your professor. "Severus? Ogden's Olde?"
Snape looked entirely nonplussed at the offer, as if this were a regular occurrence between the two of them. "Naturally," came his easy reply, and the waiter scribbled the order carefully. You felt Narcissa nudging the glass towards your lips playfully, and you suddenly remembered you were supposed to be doing something. Taking a sip, you winced at the smudge of lip-gloss left behind on the pristine glass, but she hadn't been wrong; it was divine. Sweet and cloying, but also herbal and flowery, like nothing you'd ever tasted in your life. It was crisp and refreshing, and Lucius didn't even wait for your verbal approval, the flutter of your eyelashes reason enough to order an entire bottle. The waiter returned not long after with two firewhiskey's, two fresh coupe glasses, and a squat purple bottle that popped loudly as its the cork shot across the room, much to the waiters dismay. Soon you had a fizzling glass of your own, and it clinked delicately against Narcissa's before you took your first proper sip, the bubbles tickling your nose.
As you nursed your drink, listening halfheartedly to Lucius and Snape's continued bickering, you took an opportunity to scan the room. You recognized a few faces, including a handful of the lecturers from earlier in the day. Though you hadn't been entirely interested in the other speakers, you made a mental note to try and introduce yourself to some of them. The point of coming here was to make connections and possibly land yourself a job; the least you could do was pretend you were blown away by their presentations. Flattery was everything at an event like this (probably).
Slughorn wasn't hard to spot in the crowd either; flitting his way from table to table, he looked like some sort of rotund social butterfly, cocooned in an amethyst velvet smoking jacket. At least he was wearing loafers instead of slippers this time. You made another mental note to seek him out and thank him for everything once again. You ultimately wouldn't be here without him. And if he really had passed your information along to Damocles Belby… you very well might owe him a great deal.
Despite the sheer number of wizards in flashy robes, there was one figure conspicuously missing from this spectacle of flamboyance. You hadn't seen Lockhart at all since you'd arrived. He'd been rather adamant that he would be in attendance… Had he flaked out? Or was he a believer in being fashionably late? You didn't have your watch on you, but you suspected it was nearing foppishly late at this point. Not that you were dying to see him again or anything.
"Now, Gwendolyn." You jumped slightly, returning your attention to Narcissa, who looked entirely too amused by your skittishness. She'd moved a bit closer, leaning one elbow against the table as she clicked her black lacquered nails against the stem of her glass. Though she still bore that charming smile, there was a glint in her eyes, something calculating and cold, that made you a bit nervous. And your nerves were almost immediately justified as she explained, "Severus told us last night that you're a half-blood."
There was a clatter of ice as Snape's drink thumped onto the table top, and you jumped again at the force of it, glancing towards the two men across the table. Snape appeared utterly scandalized, his heavy brows pressed together as his eyes blazed, while Lucius looked like Narcissa was trying his patience, sighing with a withering roll of his eyes. When the Malfoy's had mentioned that they'd heard so much about you last night, you hadn't been sure exactly what that entailed. But considering the color creeping onto Snape's sallow face, he'd perhaps been a little more thorough than intended.
"Did he," you asked with forced politeness as your eyes flicked back to Narcissa, though it was clearly more of a statement. You weren't exactly upset with Snape, but you just weren't sure why he had mentioned it to them in the first place, especially considering how conversations about your parentage with Slytherin's usually ended.
But Narcissa's sultry smile never wavered as she reached out a hand, caressing her fingertips down the sheer fabric of your sleeve, her touch leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. "Is that how you came about this charming little gown?" she asked, tilting her head coquettishly, and you shivered at the touch. Whether you were scared or horny, you couldn't actually tell. But you at least you had the presence of mind to be defensive either way. Because you knew a compliment when you heard one… and that had not been a compliment.
"Yes it is," you confirmed, reaching down and pinching the seam of the skirt between your fingers, holding it out to show off the flow of the chiffon draping. It was a gorgeous dress, even if it was muggle made. You actually felt quite beautiful in it, and damn it, you weren't about to feel ashamed over that. "It was my mothers. Do you like it?" you asked, returning your gaze to Narcissa. But you quickly dropped your skirt at the look in her eyes; a sharp, wicked look, like a predator that had just ensnared its prey.
"So, she's the muggle then?" Narcissa asked without pretense, and you felt your hackles rise. You stood up quite straight then, taking on a defensive posture that put you a good three inches taller than the other woman (and you weren't even wearing heels). You weren't going to be intimidated by anybody, goddamn it. She might have a pretty face, but you were starting to get over that, now.
"That's right," you answered confidently, a warning edge to your voice as you took another sip from your glass. You were becoming rather tired of defending yourself and your mother against pure-blood elitists. DeJarnette already gave you enough trouble back at Hogwarts. You didn't want to deal with this here too. Why were they even interested? They weren't petty school boys, they were grown ass adults. And they were clearly close friends with Snape. Surely they knew about his blood status, right?
"And what about your father, dear?" Lucius asked suddenly, and you turned to face him now, finding a much softer look on his features. He, at least, didn't look like he wanted to eat you alive. Rather, he just seemed mildly curious, like he didn't really care who your mother was. "I must say, I don't recognize the name 'Goode', and I'm quite well acquainted with most wizarding families."
You didn't doubt that. You shifted your stance, your defensiveness wilting now that you were faced with a slightly less aggressive interrogator. "Goode is my mother's surname," you explained, a little hesitantly. "My… uhm…" It was only now that you realized what he'd actually asked you. You rarely spared a thought for your biological father. It had only ever been you and your mother, and you'd been quite content with that arrangement for 18 years. "My father was never in the picture," you finally settled on, draining your glass for the distraction, because it felt odd to refer to him as… He. As if he were a real person out somewhere in the world. Which surely he was but… thinking of your father was like thinking of a fictional character, and to endear him to yourself in any way felt impossible.
Narcissa moved to refill your glass, and you allowed her. She seemed a little put out now that her husband had taken over the cross-examination, that strange hunger draining from her demeanor. But now it was Lucius who looked entirely stricken by your revelation. "Never in the… But he would be the one responsible for your wizarding half. Surely you know who he is?" he asked warily, leaning in earnestly. He was seemingly very concerned with your paternity, and it baffled you.
You glanced to Snape then, who appeared increasingly uncomfortable, but apparently unable to bring himself to interrupt. Between the Mafoy's line of questioning, and your professors escalating discomfort, you got the ludicrous impression that you were 'meeting the parents'. Were you being evaluated for something? Worthy of association?
Looking back to Lucius, you simply shook your head. "Not at all. Neither does-" you caught yourself, before confessing that your mother didn't know who your father was either. You didn't need to give them another reason to think lowly of your mother. You certainly remember what DeJarnette had thought of her. "I mean… I wasn't exactly planned."
Your slip didn't seem to go unnoticed, a brief flicker of distaste marring Lucius's handsome features. "I see…" he murmured absently, before shifting his gaze to Snape, his icy eyes narrowed with suspicion. "And Dumbledore never deemed fit to tell you?" His question was aimed toward you, but the scrutinizing look he was giving Snape was… alarming. Just what the hell was he suggesting?
You set your glass down on the table, your fingers tracing over the curve of the stem, because your anxiety demanded you do something with your hands. You looked back and forth between Lucius and Snape, trying to read whatever sort of silent conversation they were having with their shared glaring. "Why would Dumbledore-"
"Hogwarts uses some very old magic to discover young witches and wizards coming of age, in order to invite them to the school," Snape cut in quickly, tearing his eyes away from Lucius to address you directly. His face was stony and unreadable, except for his usual sneer, which didn't faze you anymore. You hung on to his every word, which he delivered much like a lecture, in full teacher mode. "A relic from the age of Salazar Slytherin, this magic is also capable of distinguishing blood status. His original intention was to bar muggle-borns from the school, but now it's used to identify the exact parentage of each student, as well as determine whether or not a family will require a visit from a school representative to explain the situation."
You stared at your professor, your own brows knitting together as you took in this information. You remembered the awkward visit from Professor Quirrell back in the summer of 1983, when the shy young Muggle Studies teacher had arrived on your doorstep with a letter, and had used a magic wand to prove a point. He'd explained that you were a witch, and that you had apparently gotten it from your father's side according to their records. And you remembered that your mother had barely even questioned it. She'd always asserted that you were different, extraordinary, and from what little she remembered of her encounter with your father, there'd been something different about him, too. Something that had attracted her to him in the first place. Quirrell had mentioned that it was unusual to have to make this sort of visit to someone with a magical parent, but the Headmaster had insisted that you would require such a visit.
Dumbledore had known, all this time. You could have known, all this time. And it made your stomach churn with doubt and apprehension to even think about.
You realized you'd been staring intently into your wineglass when you heard the unmistakable sound of displeased rich-person tutting. You glanced back up to see Lucius shaking his head with a positively mournful look on his face. "Seven years, and no one has thought to tell you your true heritage," he lamented. And it truly sounded like a lamentation. As if not knowing ones origin was something worthy of the deepest sorrow.
"I never thought to ask," you murmured, lifting your glass from the table and draining it. It went down easily, sweet and syrupy, and you pushed away the empty coupe with a wince, your head already swimming a little. You didn't want to think about this. Not right now. This was a thing that hadn't even been a thing 15 minutes ago. You sort of wished you could go back to when it wasn't a thing at all.
"Well, you ought to," came Lucius's sharp retort, and your eyes snapped back up to his. He looked a little upset with you, which was… odd. All of this was odd. Why did he care so much about who your stupid dad was anyway? Why did Narcissa care if your mother was a muggle? It wasn't like you'd ever see them again after this, right? They were Snape's friends, not yours.
"Why?" you decided to ask, suddenly wishing you weren't at this table at all. Wishing you could head back up to your hotel room and bury your face in those blue pillows again. More than anything, wishing you could press yourself into Snape's side and have him tell you that you didn't have to listen to the Malfoy's any more.
"Well, it could be important, sometime down the line," Lucius explained casually, as if the reason were oh, so obvious. "Knowing what family you're a descendant of could have… all sorts of benefits." He shrugged a shoulder, glancing over to Snape again as if seeking backup, but all he got was a steely glare from your professor, and Lucius rolled his eyes in return. "I'm just saying. It couldn't hurt to know…"
You weren't privy to any conversation that came after that. You were aware that they were talking… or, well, someone was talking. Everyone was talking. But it was all background noise now. You could hear blood throbbing in your ears, the sensation muffling the rest of the sound around you as you stared down at the table, at the lovely centerpiece that sparkled with magical flora. You were trying to count your breaths, to clear your mind, to push the idea of your father out of it, because you refused to have a malicious seed planted in your brain by some yuppie. At least it felt malicious. What good could actually come of knowing who'd sired you? What did it matter?
You were feeling woozy. Two glasses of wine without anything to eat had probably been a mistake. Your body felt warm and heavy, but your head felt chaotic. It was time to leave this table, you decided, maybe go socialize with someone else. Literally anyone else. And you didn't care whether Snape joined you or not.
"Pardon me," you said quietly, dipping your head politely as you excused yourself from the table. You could feel eyes on your back as you made your way toward the buffet, and you had your suspicions as to who they belonged to. You were comforted that he was still watching out for you… but you were also a little miffed with him, too. He could have told them to mind their own business. Could have risen to your defense. Hell, he could have just not told them you were a ruddy half-blood and saved everyone the trouble. But then again, there was a chance they might have questioned you on it anyway. They were certainly on a mission tonight. Ugh, god. Forget it. It's over with now. Time for cake.
And dang, there was a lot of cake. You were momentarily distracted from your emotional turmoil by the sight of mountains of food piled up on the large, round table punctuating the center of the bar. Like everything else, the food at this party was no joke. And you were pleased to see that no one was being shy about it either. There was nothing worse than wanting to stuff your face, but feeling socially obligated to eat with your pinky out. That didn't seem to be a problem with the present company, so you experience no shame as you loaded up your plate with every available sweet and pastry on the buffet. You were delighted to see that for every cream puff and jam tart and petit four you snatched up, a new one materialized in its place. It was like something out of Willy Wonka, and you couldn't be more thrilled.
You were contemplating which flavor of macaron you wanted to treat yourself with when Horace Slughorn appeared by your side, a cocktail glass in one hand and a broad smile on his face. He looked over your plate with playful interest before asking, "Dessert first, my dear?"
You smiled warmly as you placed a yellow macaron onto your plate. "Life is short," you explained simply, and that earned you a good natured chuckle from the older man. Slughorn was growing on you rapidly, and you found you quite enjoyed being in his company. He was a worldly man who enjoyed worldly pleasures, and that was something you could appreciate. You were pleased that he'd taken the time to come and visit you now, as he was a friendly face while you were feeling adrift.
"That's my kind of philosophy," Slughorn commented genially, before perusing the buffet himself and plucking up a chilled shrimp canape. "Though I prefer the savories myself," he explained as he took a nibble, and you couldn't help but giggle, picking up one of your jam tarts and joining him in the indulgence. "So tell me Miss Goode, how did you enjoy your first day?"
You took your time savoring your blackberry tart, because you needed the time to come up with something good. Telling him that you were entirely disenchanted by the days lectures probably would not be a good look. You dabbed your lips with a napkin, taking the chance to wipe off that damn lip-gloss. "It's been enlightening," you conceded, deciding that wasn't really a lie. You certainly had been enlightened as to how far advanced your own education was under Snape, and how far behind everyone else seemed to be. You gave Slughorn a sincere smile then, reaching out and placing a hand delicately against his arm. "I can't thank you enough for… Just for everything. For inviting me. For giving me this opportunity. It means a great deal to me."
Slughorn beamed, and he patted your hand with his free one as he proclaimed, "No trouble at all, my dear. It's been a pleasure having you here." You slipped your hand away then, and he took a sip from his glass before tipping it towards you confidently. "You'll be going places, young lady. I can feel it. I'll have you know that I owled your credentials off to Mister Belby this just this evening." He nudged you with his elbow then, and gave you a sly wink as he explained, "I slipped in a little note myself. Just a personal letter of recommendation. With any luck, he'll take notice."
You felt fresh heat crawl up your neck. What exactly had his note said? "Oh, you didn't have to do that..." you began, but Slughorn merely shook his head warningly. He clearly would not be accepting your protest, and you slumped slightly, bowing your head in submission to his kindness. "Thank you, Horace," you said softly, and he appeared quite pleased with your use of his first name. Picking up another pastry, you looked the little lemon macaron over critically, but your sudden apprehension was not pastry based. "Is he… I mean, is Mister Belby looking for an apprentice?" you asked warily. You hadn't remembered him mentioning needing people for his research. Just generous charitable donations.
"As a matter of fact, he is," Slughorn confirmed as he peered down into his glass, swirling the last few chips of ice left in the dregs of his scotch. "A few, actually, I think. He mentioned something about assembling a team to assist him with the werewolf trials in Albania. It sounds like he already has a selection of test subjects lined up, so he just needs extra hands on deck. Folks to help with data collection, potion brewing, that sort of thing."
Your heart was pounding rapidly. You could feel it throbbing in your throat as you attempted to swallow your macaron, but your mouth was suddenly very dry. You felt as though you were on the verge of something very important, and you were caught between being excited, and being frightened. "Is… Isn't that sort of dangerous?" you asked tentatively, your head bowed toward your plate but your eyes covertly watching Slughorn.
Slughorn appeared thoughtful for a moment, before taking a deep breath and puffing out his great big cheeks with a contemplative huff. "I imagine that's a risk you have to take, when working with werewolves," he explained seriously. But his brooding tone shifted as he caught your worried eye, offering a reassuring smile instead. "Don't let that discourage you, dear. If I know Damocles, he's taking every precaution to ensure the safety of all involved. Mostly to cover his own behind." Slughorn chuckled at this, and you attempted to join him, but the sound caught nervously in your throat. Slughorn drained the last of his drink before asking, "Have you ever been abroad, my dear?"
You shifted uncomfortably, fearing that your answer would be remarkably underwhelming. "I can't say that I have," you admitted, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth. The truth was you'd never even been out of London before you started attending Hogwarts. You'd been a homebody your entire life. Was… that about to change? Did Slughorn think you had that kind of chance? "Though I… certainly wouldn't rule it out."
Slughorn smiled broadly again, and this time he was the one patting your arm amiably. "That's the right mindset to have, my girl," he chortled. His confidence in you was strange. He barely even knew you, but he seemed so eager for you to succeed. Even if it was just so that he could say he played a part in it. "With your spunky attitude and quick wit? Well, as I said, I sincerely believe you'll be going places."
You smiled indulgently. You don't think you'd ever been described as 'spunky' before, but you'd take it. "Like Albania?" you teased, but even as you said it out loud, it made your heart flutter and your spine shiver. Could you actually…?
Slughorn barked out a jovial laugh at this, and he nodded, tipping his glass towards you again. "Like Albania," he concurred, and gave you another wink before peering into the aforementioned glass, finding it deplorably empty. "Well now, I think I ought to be making my way to the bar and continuing the rounds." He smiled up at you then, and reached his hand out for yours. "You keep enjoying yourself, alright?" he insisted, and you smiled affably as you took his hand, giving it a firm shake.
"I will, Horace. Thank you." Slughorn squeezed your hand, before trying to pat it awkwardly with the other one, which was still holding the glass, before he released you and tottered off toward the bar. You watched after him fondly, but your smile wobbled a bit. This party was turning out to be considerably more terrifying than you had anticipated. Between the Malfoy's giving you the third degree, and Slughorn suggesting that you actually had what it takes to work with a Potions Master like Damocles Belby, on a venture as important and possibly world changing as curing lycanthropy…
You closed your eyes, your plate of pastries trembling slightly in your hands as you swallowed down your nerves. You were unsure what to do, what to think, what to feel. You'd come here to do exactly this, to make connections with people, to possibly find a job, to find a future. But Albania… You weren't sure you could even point it out on a map. It was near Greece, right? You knew nothing about the country, and now here you were, contemplating the possibility of leaving your home for this faraway place, to work on the project of your dreams. You wanted to help people. But were you willing to leave your life behind in order to do it? You suddenly weren't very hungry any more. After setting your plate on the tray of a passing waiter, you were contemplating a trip to the ladies room for some peace and quiet when you felt an arm snake around your shoulders.
"I've been looking for you all night."
You yelped, nearly jumping out of your skin at the voice and the touch, and the owner of both quickly disengaged, holding both of his hands up in surrender. Gilderoy Lockhart appeared repentant, offering an apologetic smile that, despite its clumsiness, was absolutely gleaming. "Did I frighten you?" he asked soothingly as he reached out a placating hand. "I'm awfully sorry, I didn't mean to." His tone was pacifying as he gestured towards himself, placing the fingertips of one hand against the chest of his sapphire dress robes. "It's Gwyneth, right?"
You were clutching your own chest, trying to get your breathing under control. What you suspected was supposed to be an attempt at a smooth move had just left you rattled, but the absurdity of his question made you bubble with laughter. You hung your head a moment, gathering your wits up before peering back up to him with a wry smile. "Just… Just call me Gwen," you suggested, and Lockhart beamed, recovering quickly from his blunder.
"Gwen it is," he confirmed, reaching out to take one of your hands. You didn't pull away as he lifted it to his lips, and you felt that same giddy sort of flutter you'd experienced the last time he had done this. Winking one of his charming blue eyes, he moved to settle his arm around your waist this time, leaning in close so you could properly hear him. "I have been looking for you all evening, you know," he repeated, mouth close to your ear, his warm breath brushing over your neck. "Can I buy you a drink?"
Your heartbeat began to pick up as you gazed about the room. Why had he been looking for you, exactly? He'd said last night that he was looking forward to seeing you again, but frankly you thought he was being facetious. He was Gilderoy Lockhart for god's sake. He could have any woman he wanted; they practically threw themselves at him. So why had he chosen you…?
Okay, wait. Pump the breaks. He was just offering to buy you a drink. That didn't have to have any other implication other than wanting to talk to you. Lucius had bought you a drink, and you were (pretty) sure that he hadn't been trying to come on to you. You didn't see the Malfoy's, or Snape for that matter, as you peered around the bar, and it didn't take you long to come to a conclusion. Fuck it. You were entirely overwhelmed with everything that had happened, and you were ready to disengage. You would gladly listen to Gilderoy Lockhart talk about himself for hours if it meant you didn't have to think about anything for a while. It might even be nice to talk with someone a little closer to your own age. Turning your face up to his, you offered a tired little smile. "That sounds lovely," you accepted, and a look of triumph flickered over Lockhart's face.
"Splendid!" he grinned, practically radiating with excitement as he slipped his arm away from your waist, taking up one of your hands instead as he guided you across the room. "I've commandeered one of these charming little booths," he explained, gesturing into one of the circular enclaves, his deep blue cloak draped across the bench. "Have a seat, and I'll nip off to the bar, shall I?" he suggested, though it clearly was not up for debate. You'd barely turned to answer him when he was already taking off across the room. You smiled warily again as you took a seat in the booth, his energy levels already wearing you out.
While Lockhart was at the bar, you took a moment to scan the room again. You really couldn't see Snape or the Malfoy's anywhere, and that made you a little anxious. Where could they have possibly gotten off to? Wasn't Snape supposed to be watching you? You did let out a little sigh of relief as you caught Slughorn's eye from across the room. He raised a hand to you in a polite little wave, and you returned it before you settled back into the squishy velvet bench. At least someone knew where you were. Not that you were worried. You were just looking forward to free drinks (oh please, let him be getting champagne) and zoning out for a bit while Lockhart regaled stories of his achievements.
And you did perk up a little when you saw that Lockhart did indeed have two flutes of pink champagne in his hands. You were a sucker for the bubbly, and you were excited to finally get what you'd been craving. Lockhart pulled the dark, flowing curtains closed behind him as he entered the booth, and much like the phone boxes out in the lobby, the alcove was suddenly draped in pleasant quiet. It didn't block all the sound; you could still hear the band and the soft chatter of guests, but it wasn't nearly as loud any more. "Cheers, darling," Lockhart gushed, handing you your glass before clinking the flutes together and settling down beside you. He threw his arm over the back of the bench behind your shoulders, but this time he refrained from touching you.
"Cheers," you answered, lifting your glass to your face and sniffing it first. It smelled heavenly, but also a bit strange, like no champagne you'd ever had before. It was like almonds and chocolate at first, but on another whiff it became spicy and herbal. And that just made you giddy, because you were having quite a good time exploring magical alcohol this evening. You were already feeling the weight lifting off of you.
"So, how were the lectures today?" Lockhart asked, a hint of teasing in his voice as he crossed one knee over the other, looking quite luxurious as he lounged beside you. "Were they dreadful, or just boring?"
You lowered your glass, your mouth falling open slightly at his candor. He'd sounded oh so regretful yesterday when he'd told Slughorn he'd be missing out on the lectures. But now you had the impression that he was just as jaded as you were. "Dreadfully boring, actually," you conceded, and Lockhart grinned as he took a sip from his own glass, as if he were in on some sort of inside joke.
"As I suspected," he mused, swirling his glass as he leaned in towards you surreptitiously. "I know I said they'd misplaced my reservation, but to be frank, I wasn't too beat up about it. Potions aren't exactly my specialty, but I couldn't deny Old Sluggy when he invited me to become a member." He shrugged a shoulder with a longsuffering sigh, as if it was such a chore to attend these sorts of things, to do such trivial favors for people like Slughorn. Peering back down at you, he gestured toward your glass with his own. "Drink up, darling. You don't want that getting warm."
You rolled your eyes at his confession about not being too bent out of shape over missing the lectures, but having attended them yourself, you could sort of see where he was coming from. Lifting the glass to your lips, you took your first sip of the fizzling champagne, and you were overwhelmed with a variety of sensations. So many different flavors swirled around your mouth in that moment that you couldn't possibly pin point each one, but somehow they all tasted incredible. Lockhart was watching you closely as you drank, amusement etching his delicate features, and you got the impression that he knew you'd never had anything like this before.
"Between you and me," Lockhart continued, still staying conspiratorially close as he spoke, glancing through the small partition in the curtains as if to make sure you weren't being overheard. "I much preferred Slughorn to Snape. Even when we attended school together, Snape was always just so…" he waved the hand that was hovering over your shoulder vaguely, trying to come up with the correct descriptor, but the repulsed look on his face said it well enough. "Well. I'm sure you know. Do you really apprentice for him?" he asked incredulously, and at your nod of confirmation, he shook his head in disbelief. "How on earth have you survived this long?"
You laughed a little at that, shrugging your shoulder as you took another sip. "He's… He's not so bad," you yielded, feeling like you ought to be offended by his implications towards your professor, but finding yourself entirely disinclined to do so. It was easier to just sort of agree with Lockhart. "We work quite well together, actually," you managed to defend, and you found yourself peering out towards the bar as well. There was still no sign of Snape or the Malfoy's. You found that you didn't particularly care anymore.
"That's surprising," Lockhart admitted, his nose still scrunched up in distaste. "Not that I ever had classes with him, but I was under the impression that he was incapable of working with anyone." He looked for pensive a moment, before peering into his own glass and taking another sip. "I mean, besides Evans."
You bristled slightly, arching an eyebrow as you peered over your shoulder at Lockhart. "Who?" you asked, and Lockhart looked abashed.
"Ah. Lily Evans," he explained, and at your bemused expression, continued on. "Old flame of his back in school, I think. Or well," he scoffed with a snort of laughter. "That might be stretching it. If there were any flames between them, it was more like him carrying a torch for her." Lockhart drained his glass before sitting up straight, pulling out his wand from the breast pocket of his robes. "It was painfully obvious that she wasn't interested. As if anyone would blame her." He tapped his glass, and it refilled instantly with more of the pale pink champagne. Stuffing his wand back into his robe, he threw his arm across the back of the bench once more, but this time he allowed it to settle around your shoulders, shifting a little closer to you. "Now he's just a bitter old bastard, isn't he?"
Your head felt like it was full of cotton and bees, a soft thrum buzzing through your veins as you settled comfortably against Gilderoy's side. You were much more lightheaded than you'd been before too; perhaps the champagne was a higher proof than the elf wine. Gilderoy must have had a high tolerance if he was already on his second glass. You were barely halfway through your own. The name Lily Evans felt familiar to you, but no bells were ringing as you sighed. "Yeah… he kind of is," you agreed, your brows pressed together now as you thought about it. That… wasn't right. He was kind to you but… he was sort of prick sometimes too.
Gilderoy leaned in close, and you could feel him nuzzle the side of your head, heard him breathe in the scent of your hair as he cooed into your ear. "Life is much too short to spend it pining, don't you think?" He tapped the bottom of your champagne flute with his fingers, and you lifted it obediently to your lips, taking another long swallow of the inexplicably flavored spirit. "I'm much more inclined to simply seize what I want, when I want it. It saves me an awful lot of trouble." You shuddered slightly as he pulled away to place his glass onto the table, and used his now free hand to brush away a lock of your hair. Dragging a knuckle over your cheek, he placed his fingertips under your chin and tilted your head, your hazel eyes locking with his glittering blue ones. "What about you, darling? What are the things you want?"
You had to think hard, because your brain felt like it was floating on another planet somewhere. What did you want? You wanted to crawl into this man's strong embrace and live there forever, but you couldn't tell him that, could you? "I honestly don't know anymore," you murmured, trying to remember the other things that you wanted… You had a reason for being here, right…? It was still a pretty good reason too, so you grabbed onto it through the haze. "I guess… all I really want to do is help people."
Gilderoy chuckled, his breath warm and honeyed against your cheek. "You sweet thing," he murmured, and took to stroking the line of your jaw, like one might pet a particularly compliant kitten. "I know what you mean. That's what I try to do, with my books. First I help those remote little villages with their zombies or their trolls or whatever. And then I help all of those poor, lonely women who read my books by adding a little fantasy to their lives. It's a very rewarding occupation." You were hardly paying attention to his words, but your eyes were quite focused on his lips as he spoke. When they finally shut up, they curved into that charming smile that was melting your insides. "How's the champagne?" he asked, and you huffed out a little laugh of your own, straightening up a little as you peered into your glass. It was nearly empty now.
"Weird, actually," you admitted, swirling it around and inhaling its aroma once more. Now it smelled like all-sorts, your favorite candy from when you were a child. "I can't figure out what it's supposed to taste like," you admitted, lifting your face dreamily. "It's fantastic."
Gilderoy's smile was handsome and warm, and you found yourself snuggling closer against him. "That's typical for first time drinkers," he explained, placing his hand over yours, holding the glass along with you. "It's charmed, you see. Supposed to take on the flavors of your favorite things." He lifted the glass towards your lips, watching you with a hot intensity that made your pulse flutter in your neck, and… elsewhere. "Take another sip. Really concentrate, now. And tell me, what does it taste like, for you?"
Your eyes never left his as you drained the glass into your mouth, and you swirled it around your tongue before swallowing it down. "Licorice," you murmured, taking a deep breath to try and recapture the taste. "Coconut. And something else… spicy… cloves?" You wanted more, but Gilderoy was plucking the empty glass from your fingers, placing it on the table before returning his hand to your face, tracing your bottom lip with the soft pad of his thumb.
"What an interesting palate you've got," he teased, and he leaned in very close then, making that warm thrum pounding through your veins turn fiery hot and loud. "Would you mind if I had a taste?"
His lips were outrageously soft as they pressed against yours, and you sighed contentedly as you slid your hands against his chest. He tasted like champagne, the tart kind you were used to, as you relented to the prodding of his tongue. His dress robes were satin, and you could feel the rise and fall of his chest through the smooth fabric. The sound of his quiet moaning filled your ears and dropped straight down to settle between your legs. You always liked the sounds that boys made…
You were panting softly when he finally pulled away, and he dragged his fingers through your thick hair as he allowed you to catch your breath. "You're very beautiful, you know," he murmured against the corner of your mouth. "When I met you yesterday, I just knew… Shame about the company you've been forced to keep, but I'd be happy to provide you an escape from that." That made something stutter in your brain, and you blinked with confusion as you stared down at his cravat. The company you're forced to keep…? Did he mean…? "And as I said, I prefer to seize the things I want when I want them."
His mouth was on yours again and he kissed… wetly. And you knew that you didn't like it when guys kissed too wet, when they used too much tongue, when they tried to eat your mouth. This wasn't what you liked. But you were powerless against it. Your brain was trying to convince yourself that this… that Gilderoy… was exactly what you liked. And your mind smoothed over with that soft, fuzzy buzzing again. This was what you wanted. "Gilderoy…" you gasped as you felt a hand slide down your waist, gripping your hip firmly as he hoisted you into his lap.
"Mmm… My name tastes awfully good on your lips," he teased, nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth. You sighed softly as the sensation sent another shockwave through your body, and you leaned in for more…
The sound of the curtains being throw open startled you both apart, and as you peered over your shoulder to confront the intrusion, your insides went cold with dread. Snape was beyond livid. He looked downright lethal as he stood in the entrance to the booth, his dark eyes flickering from you, to Gilderoy, and then to the glasses on the table. Gilderoy was the first to recover from his shock, and he sat up straight, shifting you back onto the bench seat, an arm still firmly around your waist. He looked nearly as angry as Snape did, but there was also a flicker of fear behind his blazing blue eyes.
"What the hell, man?!" Gilderoy demanded, but any further protest died is his throat as Snape bent over to pick up your empty champagne flute, holding it to his nose and inhaling deeply. You glanced wildly between Gilderoy and your professor as Gilderoy started to disentangle himself from you, reaching for his wand in his robes, while Snape glared murderously over the rim of the glass.
"Now, see here, Snape-" but Gilderoy was cut off by the deafening pop of shattering glass as Snape hurled the flute onto the table, glittering shards spraying over the rosewood surface and onto the floor. You screamed then, pulling your legs up onto the bench as Snape shoved past you. Gilderoy was brandishing his wand, looking panic stricken as he cried "Oblivi-!" But Snape was nearly as quick with his fists as you were. You shrieked again at the meaty thwack of Snape's knuckles colliding with Gilderoy's cheek, and the blonde man fell back onto the bench again, his eyes wide with fright.
But Snape didn't advance further on the other man. Instead, he rounded on you, grabbing your arm so fiercely that you feared your sleeve would tear. He hauled you to your feet before growling, "We're leaving. Now," and shoving you through the curtains. You were momentarily stunned, your cotton filled head throbbing, before you finally found the sense to be outraged.
"Hey!" you cried, whipping around to face your professor. But any glare you could produce wasn't even on the same level as the once marring his own features, and you wilted slightly as he took your arm again, attempting to get you moving as he pulled you across the floor. "Hey, let go of me! Gilder-" you tried to twist yourself out of Snape's grip, turning to look back into the booth, but you found it startlingly empty. Gilderoy was gone, Disapparated, the only evidence that he'd even been there being his glass of champagne, which had spilled out onto the table.
You were tempted to make a scene as you were bodily dragged through the room, but no one was really paying much attention to either of you. Apparently, enough of the commotion had taken place behind the silence charmed curtains that no one had even noticed something violent had happened. The only worried look you received was from Horace Slughorn, who was hovering anxiously at the end of the bar as he watched Snape pull you through the doors.
Snape only relented his grip when he practically threw you into the elevator, following in behind you and slamming the button to close the doors and start the ascent to the fourth floor. You were panting, your entire existence seething with outrage, and you finally exploded with indignation.
"What the hell is your problem?" you cried, your hands tightening into fists as you glared at your professor. But he entirely disregarded you, leaning against the corner of the elevator as he stared intently at the floor indicator. You were not going to be ignored. "Hey! I'm talking to you! What is your damage?" You reached out and shoved his shoulder roughly, but he remained steadfast, your push barely even jostling him. Fine. If he wouldn't respond to physical jabs…
"You're jealous, aren't you?" you ridiculed, feeling angry tears stinging your eyes as you inserted yourself between Snape and the door, forcing him to look at you by proximity alone. He returned your glare, but you saw the irritated twitch of a muscle in his cheek. "You have been since yesterday. Gilderoy showed you up and you've been moping like some sullen schoolboy ever since. Then you barge in and ruin the only good time I've managed to have this whole bloody weekend? You're pathetic." The rage that coursed through you seemed very, very real. But there was a queasiness forming in the pit of your stomach, and a throb of pain in your temple as you spoke. You winced, reaching your hand up into your hair to clutch at your scalp, but keeping your glare as resolute as possible.
Snape watched your every move carefully, and you wanted to smack him for daring to look so concerned. You'd been doing just fine before he showed up! "And why, exactly, would I be jealous of Gilderoy Lockhart?" he hissed, his composure faltering just long enough for you to see your opening, to strike at the soft underbelly that his glowering armor didn't reach.
"Oh, I don't know," you rolled your eyes flippantly, crossing your arms over your chest as you counted off the ways. "He's young, handsome, rich." You sneered up at him, lowering your voice dangerously as you went in for the kill. "Just what have you got going for you?"
The elevator came to a stop, and you once again found your arm pinched in a vicelike grip as Snape dragged you down the hall. You protested, trying to pry his hand off of you, but before you could manage, you were being shoved into your shared hotel room and practically tossed onto his bed. You made to stand right back up, but you were pushed down by a heavy hand on your shoulder.
"Sit down," Snape commanded, and you crossed your arms defiantly as you grudgingly did as you were told. Poised on the corner of his bed, you glared at his back as he dug through his weekender bag. That seething hatred you felt was starting to dissipate, but left in its wake was a sick kind of worry. What was going to happen to you? What had happened to Gilderoy? He'd just left you! What if he came back and you weren't there? Why had he left you in the first place?
Snape spun around, and you jumped as he held out a thin glass vial, the dark amber apothecary glass masking whatever was inside. You eyed it suspiciously as Snape demanded, "Drink this."
You looked from the vial to your professor, before laughing incredulously. "Why should I?" you questioned, and though your tone was petulant, your curiosity was sincere. What kind of game was he trying to play here?
Snape gritted his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Because I told you to," he insisted, as if that was ever going to be a good enough reason.
You stood up then, your eyes wide with vitriol as you tried to make yourself imposing. "Why should I do anything you say?" you cried, nearing a shout as you took a step forward. You were satisfied when Snape took a step back, but you realized all he was doing was blocking your exit. "You hit Gilderoy and then dragged me all the way up here!" You tried to shove past him, but he reached out to grab your arm again, and you recoiled away from him vehemently. "I want to go back right now!"
Snape leveled you with a harsh glower, but he kept his voice even as he spoke. "Drink this, and you can go," he promised, holding the vial out once again. You were a little pissed off that he was trying to take the high road, acting all calm and collected like he hadn't just been shoving you around for the past ten minutes.
Frowning down at the vial, you considered this ultimatum. At this point, you were willing to do almost anything to escape this horrible man, and get back to Gilderoy while you still had the chance. "What is it?" you asked tentatively, your voice still harsh as you scowled back up at him. There was another throb in the side of your head, and you winced once more.
Snape's ire reduced even further, that worried pang flickering over his face once again like it had in the elevator. "Sobering Solution," he explained blandly, holding the bottle out this time, waiting for you to take it. "You're drunk, and I don't want you leaving this bloody room until you drink this. Do you understand me?"
You glanced from Snape to the vial a few times. He wasn't wrong. You did feel drunk, or high, or something. Your brain still felt like it was full of fluff, and the throbbing in your temple and the churning of your guts only made things feel worse. You were able to recall just enough to know that Sobering Solution was typically stored in dark glass, as opposed to clear… And deep in the back of your swimming head, you remembered that Snape had never given you a reason not to trust him.
Snatching the vial from his hand, you pulled the cork out with your teeth, spitting it out onto his bed. Tipping your head back and drinking the whole thing, the bitter taste coated your tongue as it made its way down your throat. And you were immediately aware of three things; this was not a Sobering Solution, it was a Purging Potion, and Snape had lied to you.
You swooned, dropping the glass to the carpeted floor as you stumbled back onto his bed. The room seemed to spin, that aching pain in your head became a stabbing one, and the roiling in your guts became more pronounced. "Oh…" you moaned, holding your hand over your mouth as you looked up franticly, delirious with panic as your mouth flooded with saliva.
Snape was already standing at the door to the bathroom as he flipped the light on. "I'm sorry, Miss Goode," he apologized, all of his previous irritation having completely drained away as he cleared a path for you. "I'm afraid this isn't going to be pretty."
You felt another surge of agony wrack your stomach and your brain, and you stumbled over your dress as you dashed past him into the bathroom. You skidded to your knees before the toilet, just in time for the violent upheaval of your insides to make its way out. And with each retch of your body, with each splash of pink foam into the bowl, you felt your mind become your own again. And you started to sob violently.
Your turmoil worsened as you felt long fingers brush against your cheeks, gathering your hair back and away from your face to be held loosely at the nape of your neck. Then came the comforting sensation of a cool washcloth held against your forehead. A lean body was pressed against your back, and calming words were being whispered into your ear. "Shh… Get it out," Snape murmured soothingly, even as your sobs grew harder and your retching began to taper off into dry heaves. "You're okay."
But you weren't okay. You were so far from okay, you weren't sure you'd ever be okay again. Though the pain in your stomach had finally subsided, the torment in your brain persisted, and your anguished tears weren't helping. You felt a shift behind you, Snape releasing your hair so that he could reach over and flush the purge away, and you twisted yourself around at that moment, shoving your face into his chest as you clutched desperately at his waist.
"I didn't mean it!" you sobbed, feeling absolutely wretched as your tears soaked into the fabric of his frock coat. He'd gone very still under your hands, and for a moment you were horrified that he might be disgusted with you. "Oh, my g-god," you whimpered, lifting your tear streaked face to meet his. He looked worried, his lips parted, perhaps on the verge of saying something, but you needed him to understand. "I didn't m-mean it! Y-You know that, r-right?" You raised your hands further, fingers gripping at his shoulders as you pulled yourself up to kneel before him. "Please, look inside," you begged, forcing yourself to look into his eyes, wanting to feel the skittery scrape of beetle legs against your skull. You knew the risk, knew that this could ruin everything, but you had to let him know. You had to. "Please."
He sighed heavily, looking away from you as he sat back onto the tile floor, bringing you along with him. His long legs were sprawled on either side of you as you sat back on your knees between them. As he wiped at your cheeks with the wet cloth, you glanced down to see the rag smeared with black mascara. Tossing it aside, he reached out to push your hair back out of your face, cradling your skull in his hands as he stared intently into your eyes… where you felt nothing. No beetles. No invasion. No pain. You felt nothing as he gazed down at you with so much concern in his coal black eyes. "I don't need to look," he whispered, his voice thick and unsure. "I know…"
You were trembling as your sobs started anew, and you didn't even care at this point. You buried your face into his chest again, and this time you felt his arms wrap tightly around you as you howled your grief against his heart. You didn't know how long it lasted, the emotional purge that you suffered after the physical one. But Snape made no move to end the embrace until you were ready. And that almost made you feel worse. After all he'd done for you, all that he continued to do… and you'd… you said such awful…
Your sobs had dwindled off to quiet sniffs and hiccups when he finally broke the silence. "Think you can get up?" he asked quietly, and your entire body quivered at the thought of having to move. You were exhausted, emotionally and physically drained, but you knew you couldn't sit on this bathroom floor forever. Sitting back on your knees, you gazed down at the wet patch you'd left on his coat. But before you could start up a fresh wave of tears, he'd slipped his wand from his sleeve, casting a spell to banish all of the excess tears and mucus from your skull. You were so startled by the sudden ability to see and breathe again, that you didn't even bat an eye when he cast a second spell to Accio your bag into the bathroom, and a third to swiftly undo all of the buttons down the back of your dress. You shivered at the sudden exposure, but you didn't feel uncomfortable in the least.
"I'll give you some time to change," he muttered quietly, pushing himself up from the floor, and reaching his hands out for yours. You took them gratefully, and he hauled you to your feet, before setting down the toilet lid and letting you sit back on it. "I'll be right in the other room," he promised, picking up your bag and setting it into your lap. "Take your time. Come out whenever you're ready to discuss what happened."
"What happened…?" you croaked, staring down at your bag clutched in your lap. Snape sighed softly, placing both of his hands on your shoulders and squeezing comfortingly before turning away and exiting the bathroom, clicking the door shut behind him. You thought you were going to cry by yourself now, but your head hurt too much, and more than anything, you did not want to be alone for longer than you had to be. You made quick work of getting out of your dress, pulling on your stupid bumble bee pajamas instead. You quickly brushed your teeth, desperately needing to banish the taste of sick from your mouth, and you splashed some water onto your face as well, scrubbing away the last of your makeup. Your face looked swollen from crying, and you winced as you spotted a few burst blood vessels under your eyes, surely from the force of your purge. With a sigh, you threw everything back into your bag, and shuffled out into the hotel room.
Snape was at the writing desk, wearing only his trousers and shirtsleeves now as he sorted out his bag, which he'd apparently ransacked in search of his potions kit. Glancing up upon your arrival, he stood, taking your bag from you and setting it at the end of your bed. When he returned, he held out three more small glass vials.
"Calming Draught, Stomach Soother, and a Dreamless Sleep," he explained, before adding, "If you think you need them." You smiled weakly, but gratefully accepted the Calming Draught and the Stomach Soother, swallowing them dutifully, knowing that they were exactly what he said they were this time. Especially because you were pretty sure you had brewed them yourself. You handed the empty bottles back to him, before placing the Dreamless Sleep on the table between the beds, and pausing as you stared down at it. You didn't want to take it just yet. After a moment's deliberation, you crawled on top of his bed, laying on your side and curling yourself around one of the decorative pillows as you settled in to let the potions work their magic. Snape looked wary, but ultimately joined you on the bed, sitting a respectful distance away with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, his hands folded in his lap as he leaned back against the multitude of pillows.
There was a beat of silence as you felt the relaxing effects of the Calming Draught on your muscles, as well as your mind. You didn't feel so inclined to burst into tears this time when you quietly asked, "What happened?" You had a feeling you already knew… but you needed to hear it from him.
Snape sighed heavily, tilting his head back to stare up at the ceiling. "Love potion," he confirmed finally, and you shuddered to hear what you already suspected. "And a shoddy one at that. It gave you a headache, right? That means it was weak enough for you to try and resist, but every time you tried, it would cause you pain…" You peered up at him, thinking back to the moment he'd come in, how all it took was a whiff of your empty glass to know exactly what was going on. He was so brilliant… knew exactly what to give you to end the potions effects. Knew the most effective way to make sure you'd actually take it. But the fact that you'd had to take it at all…
"Where were you?" you whispered, tightness creeping into your voice as you fought back fresh tears that the Calming Draught couldn't fully suppress.
Snape looked stricken as he stared back down at you, and you felt guilty for even asking him. You knew this wasn't his fault. He hadn't given you a love potion, and he'd come to your aide before anything worse could happen… but…
"Some chaperone I turned out to be," he muttered softly, and you let yourself smile at his self-depreciation. It was a little funny, in a morbid kind of way. He hummed as he rubbed his forehead. You wondered if he had a headache too. "I'd dragged Lucius Malfoy out of the bar to give him a piece of my mind," he admitted finally. "The way he treated you, the things he said. They were deplorable and I…" He sighed again, slumping back against the pillows. "I should never have told them in the first place. After trusting you with my own…" he trailed off, closing his eyes as he recounted the rest. "I couldn't find you after I'd returned, and it was Slughorn who told me he'd seen you in the booth with Lockhart."
You tensed a little, clutching the pillow to your chest even tighter now, staring down at the creases and folds in the duvet. "I went in there willingly," you whispered. You weren't even sure if he could hear you. "I was mad… at the Malfoys. And then he showed up and offered to buy me a drink and I just… I didn't think it would hurt… He was so harmless the night before, I didn't think he'd…" You were spiraling a little. The Calming Draught could only do so much, and you pressed your face into the top of the pillow to staunch the flow of tears.
The bed shifted beside you, and you felt a warm hand against your arm, caressing it soothingly, if a bit awkwardly, as if he didn't really know how to do this. It was such a stark contrast to the death grip he'd held it with before. "This wasn't your fault," Snape said firmly, and you lifted your face from the pillow with a sniff. "Administering a love potion without consent is a criminal offence. You could press charges."
You knew that. It's something you learned quite early on in Potions class, when some stupid girl had worked up enough courage to ask Snape about how to make them. But… "Who's going to believe me?" you whispered miserably, peering up at your professor.
"What?" Snape asked, his hand stilling on your shoulder as he was startled by your question. But he really shouldn't have been.
"Who the hell is going to believe me?" You pushed yourself up with both of your hands, getting on the same level as your professor as you explained. "He's a celebrity. I'd gone in there with him of my own free will, and everything else happened behind closed, silence charmed curtains. All of my evidence just got flushed down the loo. And…" You knew this was serious, but you found yourself smiling ruefully. "And you fucking decked him, Professor. He might press charges against you."
Snape looked… sick. He looked absolutely sick to his stomach as he reflected on your words, as if he knew what it was like to be the victim of some great wrongdoing, and knowing there was absolutely no chance of the perpetrator being even so much as reprimanded. He looked like he wanted to say something to the contrary, to try and convince you that pressing charges, that telling someone, was the right thing to do, but every time he opened his mouth, he closed it again. Finally, he was the one to flop back onto the bed, almost pouting. "He deserved it."
You smiled a little wider, and you settled back onto the mattress yourself, pulling the pillow back into your arms as you curled yourself around it. "I can't argue with that."
There was another beat of silence, but this one was surprisingly comfortable. Maybe it was the Calming Draught, but for some reason you found yourself clinging to the… well they weren't good things, but they were positive things. Snape punching Lockhart had been pretty spectacular. Snape coming to your rescue like some kind of pissed off mama bear had been… well, admittedly, it had been a little painful, but now that you were on the other side of it, it had been quite courageous. And Snape believing you, being righteously angry on your behalf…
God. You loved him.
The silence stretched, and you were wondering if you ought to transfer yourself back over to your own bed, when Snape rolled onto his side to face you, a frown tugging at his lips. "Gwendolyn… What do you want to do?" he asked broodingly, and you felt your breath catch in your chest at the use of your first name. You hadn't gotten a chance to savor it yesterday…
Staring down at the duvet, you considered his question. You were happy, right here, right now. This was quiet. Calm. Comfortable. But you knew this wouldn't last forever. You knew that the sun would rise eventually. The thought of waking up in the morning to go to another bloody lecture, to face the Malfoy's, to have to look anyone in the eye who may have seen you enter that booth with Lockhart... "I want to go home," you said finally, your voice tight.
"Home," Snape repeated, sounding decidedly uncomfortable at the suggestion. "To your mother?"
Oh… Was that an option? God, you would have to tell her about this, wouldn't you? Would it be easier to do in person? Over the phone? Through a letter? Ugh… no… You didn't want to think about that. You didn't want to do any of that just yet. The thought of sinking into your mother's arms and telling her all that had happened terrified you, because you knew she'd want you to do something about it. But you just couldn't… Shaking your head, you gazed back up to your professor. "No… Home to Hogwarts," you clarified, and Snape nodded with understanding.
"We can catch the morning train," he promised you softly. "I don't think there's any reason for us to overstay." You sighed with relief, and you could feel your exhaustion taking over in the proceeding lull of silence, your eyes drifting closed to the sound of the crackling fire in the hearth. They only flickered open at the touch of his hand against your arm again, as he tentatively asked, "What else can I do for you?"
You smiled softly, blinking your eyes blearily before they slid shut again. "Just stay here with me," you whispered. "Please."
There was a pause, and you felt the mattress dip as he properly laid down beside you, his hand still on your arm as you felt sleep tug at your mind. "Alright."
394
!TRIGGER WARNINGS!: Gwen is going to be slipped a potion without her consent. This potion is going to be used to manipulate her. There will be dub-con kissing and touching. None of this is perpetrated by Snape. There will also be vomit.