Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling will own everything except Sasha Winters, Richard Ferlong, a few others-etc. etc.
Author's note: This is somewhat of a "part one" of a longer story. Give it time, I like to draw things out a little ¦¬,
Prologue
Chapter One:
Foul Weather
It was too windy to be considered hot. The harsh gusts thrashed the sparse trees until they swayed in a perpetual slant. The sun was clouded and the sky was a sickly gray. The air, however, was heavy and sticky; an unusual forecast for the far north region of the United States.
The little coffee shop on the corner of Park Avenue was just as humid. The back of one's shirt would cling to the chair; hair would stick to the neck and forehead, only to be blown about again by the wind. The steaming coffee only added to the discomfort and people squirmed in their seats. Sasha sat beneath the shade of the coffee house, stirring her now cold coffee in a torpid silence. Her eyes traced the outline of Fern's Cup unconscientiously over and over, while her one stagnant hand rested upon a thick volume. The title was concealed beneath a stained brown paper cover. The birds pecking near by suddenly took flight in a foul commotion as a group of people bustled by.
"Damn Muggles," she muttered, being aroused from her thoughts. She frowned down at the full, yet cold cup in her hand and whispered a heating charm over it. Picking up her coffee, book and umbrella she traveled down the street, avoiding contact and discourse with anyone. Sasha's disposition was quickly failing along with the morning weather. Opening her umbrella, she felt the first drops of rain.
Perfect. She mentally cursed Stephen for sending her to this continent. Surrounded by hundreds of Muggles and this abhorred atmosphere, one could choke on the exhaust and fumes that flowed from those loud, metal contraptions that rode around on the pavement. She looked up wearily and scanned the eyes of a person walking towards her. They seemed to dull. They showed no interesting emotion and she lowed her eyes back to the ground in disappointment and disgust. Of course, she mused, muggle London was not much different, but the wizardry community at least had none of this. Again, this brought her to think of Stephen. Her jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed involuntarily. This was most definitely all his fault. Turning a corner, her meditations were suddenly cut short.
The thing that she had collided with was quite solid and unyielding. She fell and hit the wet sidewalk with a gasp of shock while her umbrella crumpled.
She looked up into a pale and calm face. The man that now held out his hand to her was rather short. That, of course, would have to do with her position, but when she accepted the proffered help she realized he was a head shorter. His look was of mischief and humor, and when he smiled a mouth of crooked yet white teeth gleamed at her. Sasha was indignant at his calm demeanor.
"My apologies, I did not see you." He smiled again and didn't seem to notice when she pushed his hand away that was still restraining hers.
"That," she said dryly, after a minute of gathering her things, "was obvious." She collected her umbrella and bent for her book. Another hand came down and snatched it up before she could, however, and Sasha's displeasure heightened. This was not what she needed at the moment. Straightening and glaring at the man who obtained her book, reached out a hand to take it.
"Very interesting thing you've got here," He remarked coolly, though inwardly nervous courtesy of her obstinate manner. He tapped the book and made to open it when she stepped forward threateningly. He glanced at her, his eyes roving her highly appealing figure. Her face had a foreign beauty, though, in his opinion, her ominous eyes were uncommonly veiled. The colour was intriguing in it's self, however: a shrewd, deep sapphire that far surpassed dark, endless pits. Her dark brown hair was erratically French-braided to the back of her head, as strands fell out at the sides and into her eyes she pushed them aside with a silken indifference.
"Would you like to have some coffee?" He asked suddenly while holding the confiscated book to his chest. Sasha quirked a disdainful brow. Was this man, this impudent, bothersome, wretch of a man actually inquiring to steal more of her schedule? She could have laughed had the situation not been so irritating. Her time and patience were quickly coming to a sharp end. She remarked evenly,
"No thank you, but I would give me that book instantly, heartily apologize for inconveniencing me, turn and walk away in that direction as speedily as you can, with dignity of course." By the time she was finished her voice was strained and there was a slight twitch in the fingers of her right hand. Her eyes sparkled unnaturally, giving them an even more eerily spectacular effect on the man. Again she extended her hand and again it was denied its true prize. The man chuckled and took her hand for the second time into his and shook it slightly.
"Richard Ferlong. There is a restaurant down the street," he said after a moment, "my treat."
The insolence of this thick man was clear now. What would Stephen have to say when Sasha got back in London saying that the volume had been in her hands one moment and stolen by a sniveling muggle the next? Now a little more then anxious to have the possession back, she smiled pleasingly, deciding to take a new position.
What Richard saw was rather fetching. The woman's eyes were hard and cold, haughtily disgracing him in only the silent way they could, when her features suddenly relaxed. They became warmer and to his absolute pleasure she smiled a generous smile. She held out her arm enticingly, and with much vigor, Richard took it. She began to lead him down the street.
"If you turn here the restaurant-no, not here-what are you doing?" The man had hardly enough time to pronounce the framed sentence when she dragged him out of the main street and into an alley. It was wasted and dim, though when inside the overhanging shadow one could see every detail. Sasha pushed the confused man away with undisguised disgust. He was composed enough, though his eyes betrayed a feverish anxiety. Coolly Sasha removed her wand and stepped closer to the man.
"Do you know what this can do to you, what I can do to you?" It was quite audible, yet barely a whisper. Though there was nothing initially to be afraid of he shivered at her silken voice. Her words were innocuously spoken, the meaning so very overcast, but the darkness gave her quiet terms and soft motions a sinister and dark appeal. Richard found himself wishing she had become angry. Cold, humorless eyes and their owner's body that seemed to slither out of the darkness towards him caused a spasm of insecurity. All too quickly he realized how vulnerable he was, though why, in the face of this harmless woman, he was at a loss.
"No, I didn't think you would. Would you like me to show you, then?" Sasha answered her own question just as she had asked it, and not waiting for a reply, flicked her right wrist.
The heavy tome flew out of Richard's hands and landed safely in the arms of his apposer. The woman still pointed the polished stick at him with her book tightly clutched in her left hand. Her expression was unreadable: pale and serene with those eyes just as deep and unyielding as before.
Sasha turned on her heel and stalked out of the damp alleyway. It was still raining, and raining heavily, and no sooner had she stepped out of the shadow then the thick, fat raindrops splattered against her. Sasha had left her crippled umbrella at the corner, and of course, it was nowhere to be seen, though her spilt coffee cup lay trampled and sodden in the flooding curb.
No sooner had she stepped out into the pouring rain then a firm hand arrested her. She wrenched it away and spun around being ready to face Mr. Ferlong once more, but the face she turned to see was much more agreeable to her then the former would have been, yet the face of a stranger.
"Well, when Stephen said you weren't back yet, I never thought I would find you harassing the local Muggles." The voice was harsh and dark, matching perfectly the eyes that accosted her with formal disdain. She had no time to protest as her tall acquaintance pulled her into the alley and disapparatated.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
"So?" He had his arms crossed over his chest and was scrutinizing her with hollow eyes. She faced him in her mopping, drenched robes, shivering and dazed.
"So what?" She asked calmly. This calmness was not of serenity but of nothingness. Her limbs had become burdensome weights, her drenched clothes difficult and wretched. Her mind was dazzlingly blank and clear, her thoughts seemed to be clotted and slow.
"So where is my book? Pray you haven't lost it," he sneered taking a step closer. Sasha gazed into the disdainful face. It was too pale, she mused; a sallow colour that accentuated his pitch hair and eyes. His hair was shoulder length and glossy, giving it a greasy, oily appeal. The nose was generous and his mouth was thin and bloodless. It gave the owner a fierce countenance. The eyes were his most startling feature, however. They were deep and endless: swirling black wholes, an endless abyss, where, if you were to be sucked in, you would be lost forever. Most were at his mercy in those eyes. Most.
"Severus Snape, then?" Sasha had wondered about this customer for whom her latest errand had been the courtesy of. His tastes were foreign and strange, thus her trip to America. Four other requests had sent her to Romania, Germany, Croatia, and Senegal. Quite specific and strict orders on the volumes, and most of the books had been on ancient potions, prospective volition, and foreign liquids. Somewhere she had heard that he was a professor, and by his product selection, she had guessed poisons, potions, or elemental brewing. The tome she had tucked under her muggle clothes was especially difficult to obtain. Not only had Muggles, one hundred and fifty years prior, confiscated it, but it had also been shrouded in muggle security. One's wand doesn't enjoy performing magic in air gushing with waves of technology. If the alarms, security, buttons, knobs and magical low profile were not enough, the location was truly troublesome. The book had been displayed in a glass case, underneath other dusty volumes, in a Muggle museum.
Her guest had an odd expression on his face. It was the animalistic character of curiosity and scorn, though, however raw it had been it was gone when Sasha blinked.
"Yes," he stated inclining his head in a jerked movement. Sasha only nodded and said, "Sasha Winters," and turned in the direction of her room to change into a pair of dry robes.
"My book?" He sounded incredulous and irritated. Sasha stopped only to pull out the thick tome from her apparel and change her mind. She handed it to him and began towards the door leaving dark, wet footprints on the carpet.
Sasha had noticed his hands. She had watched them as they had deftly taken the book from her. They were as pale as his face, the fingers slender and swift. They looked calculated; as if their job was to perform exact, efficient movements. The palms were wide, the narrow shafts of his fingers looked calloused yet soft.
"Where do you think you're going?" Again his whispered voice arrested her from her sunken speculations. His voice could have been carried away on the slightest breeze of wind.
"To exchange this American Muggle money. You have your book, now I presume I need not stay here any longer." She didn't wait for his reply but opened the door and left.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
At least she could go home now, Sasha mused. Stephen wouldn't be pleased that the customer grew so impatient that he came for the tome himself, but it was already done. She had only been three days tardy, and only because of the ancient book's former location and situation.
The rain had not let up and Sasha could feel the water running down the sensitive skin of her back. A full bag of galleons, sickles, and knuts pulled at her belt. She trotted softly behind an abandoned shop and dissapperated.
With a slight pop she reappeared in her rented apartment. It looked deserted, and Sasha relaxed as she made her way toward her bedroom. When she opened the door a ruffling gush of icy air wafted into her. This, amplified by the fact that she was wet to the bone, caused a violent shiver to run through her. The only other occupant looked up and steadily cast his pitch eyes over her trembling body.
"What are you doing?" Sasha hissed angrily as she eyed the smoking cauldron and the blue flames that licked the black pot. Ingredients were arranged on a high table near the brewing potion and on a similar high stand rested the opened volume. The brown paper had been removed, yet the title was resting against the stand and unreadable.
"This potion can not wait. Your own tardiness has caused this inconvenience," he snapped. He was now paying no more attention to her then he was to a passing fly. She stood in the doorway sometime, observing his movements, murmurs, brewing and his reading. Every now and then he would turn upon the book and read swiftly, then back to his potion and cauldron.
Sasha didn't know how long she stood there, long enough that she lapsed into another reality. Severus Snape, if what she heard from Stephen was true, was a professor. What could he possibly need with such a rare specimen? She wondered if he had any connections with Durmstrang. She had never seen him before, especially not while she was in school there. Her youth was marked by tragedy, first the death of her mother when she was two years old, then her father a few years after Durmstrang graduation. She remembered the graduation, how she had wanted to see the rest of the world.
---
Gruetcher shook her hand tightly and came forward to give his honored student farewell. They shook hands and at the last moment he pulled her forward into a restraining hug. The girl flinched and tried to pull back, but he held her tight and whispered softly in her ear, "Goodbye Sasha. Good luck to you and God bless."
She pulled herself away and bowed curtly, inwardly sick and nauseated. Gruetcher was a cruel man. He was of medium height and a hard demeanor. He was usually silent and haughty, reminding Sasha of the school's hall statues. Karkaroff was watching them from a group of his friends. Sasha walked past them when he stepped into her path.
"Sasha," he said approvingly. She nodded in return and made to sidestep him. He caught her arm and turned her around.
"Where are you going so soon? The ceremony isn't nearly over." He was grinning as he looked over her shoulder towards the doors. "You seem in a hurry to get away."
"Goodbye Karkaroff, maybe one day I shall have the misfortune of seeing you alive and well."
---
Severus Snape looked up from his completed work. She was still standing there, shivering and wet. Her eyes were glazed over and her lips were firmly pressed together. They had taken a blue tint and her cheeks were very white. Her hands were balled to fists and she gazed at the opposite wall with a vacant look. Snape stepped closer and reached out a hand. He touched her arm and shook her.
Sasha drew away from him and glanced at his former occupation.
"Finished? Already?" She glanced up at his face and caught his eye as he was watching her. Her head felt weary and her legs weak. His stare was cold and penetrating.
"You're still wet," he said coldly. It wasn't a question, but an accusation of sorts.
Sasha didn't feel wet, she felt tired. The cold wasn't there anymore; it was just a shadow of fatigue that loomed over her now.
"I need some rest, you may leave whenever you wish. If you speak to Stephen tell him I was detained," Sasha said softly. She moved past the tall professor and into the bedroom.
"No," Snape said at length. "I am to accompany you back," he said this as if he would rather not think about it. "Stephen wants to make sure that you get back in one piece," here he paused.
"It was the only way he would allow me to come and get this, if I got you back to London on my return."
Sasha only nodded and crept off to bed, shutting the door politely yet purposefully, not even bothering to care where Snape slept or went.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Sasha slept until the sun was at its peak the next day. She awoke to a fit of violent coughing, slid out of the bed, still coughing, and crept to the bathroom. A few minutes hot gushing water was running over her naked form.
The steamy shower was relaxing but she could not shake the coughs. They were rough and searing, always shaking her whole frame. After the shower she dressed and left the room. As another fit approached, Sasha crept into the living room, and veered for the couch. One cough followed another; soon she was clutching her torso, doubled up in the attack. When that had subsided, she straightened, instantly clutching her head as a wave of dizziness washed her senses. Her eyes were shut tight as the pain and nausea subsided. When she opened them she noticed Snape standing near the window watching her. His eyes were unreadable, or at least in Sasha's state they were.
She conjured two cups of tea and walked over to Snape.
"You're ill," he whispered as he took the offered tea. Sasha gazed into her cup then removed her wand. A whispered charm poured medication into the liquid. She looked up at Severus Snape once more then sipped down the drink.
"I believe I am. It is the weather," Sasha added gesturing to the window behind Snape. "Stephen will have to wait. I think I should stay here until I am well, as much I as I desire otherwise."
Snape seemed to consider this.
"I used to be a Potion's Master, you know," he said evenly.
"Yes, I know. A professor somewhere," Sasha said as she watched the clouds through the open blinds. She wasn't really paying attention to what he had said.
"Hogwarts."
Sasha nodded and began to retreat back to her bedroom when the wracking pain of her current illness hit her once more. She stumbled and fell.
Someone grabbed her from behind and held her up as the seizure passed. She was faint and delirious as two firm arms carried her to the couch and wrapped her in a blanket. Everything was receding into blackness as she drifted off into a merciful slumber.
Author's note: This is somewhat of a "part one" of a longer story. Give it time, I like to draw things out a little ¦¬,
Prologue
Chapter One:
Foul Weather
It was too windy to be considered hot. The harsh gusts thrashed the sparse trees until they swayed in a perpetual slant. The sun was clouded and the sky was a sickly gray. The air, however, was heavy and sticky; an unusual forecast for the far north region of the United States.
The little coffee shop on the corner of Park Avenue was just as humid. The back of one's shirt would cling to the chair; hair would stick to the neck and forehead, only to be blown about again by the wind. The steaming coffee only added to the discomfort and people squirmed in their seats. Sasha sat beneath the shade of the coffee house, stirring her now cold coffee in a torpid silence. Her eyes traced the outline of Fern's Cup unconscientiously over and over, while her one stagnant hand rested upon a thick volume. The title was concealed beneath a stained brown paper cover. The birds pecking near by suddenly took flight in a foul commotion as a group of people bustled by.
"Damn Muggles," she muttered, being aroused from her thoughts. She frowned down at the full, yet cold cup in her hand and whispered a heating charm over it. Picking up her coffee, book and umbrella she traveled down the street, avoiding contact and discourse with anyone. Sasha's disposition was quickly failing along with the morning weather. Opening her umbrella, she felt the first drops of rain.
Perfect. She mentally cursed Stephen for sending her to this continent. Surrounded by hundreds of Muggles and this abhorred atmosphere, one could choke on the exhaust and fumes that flowed from those loud, metal contraptions that rode around on the pavement. She looked up wearily and scanned the eyes of a person walking towards her. They seemed to dull. They showed no interesting emotion and she lowed her eyes back to the ground in disappointment and disgust. Of course, she mused, muggle London was not much different, but the wizardry community at least had none of this. Again, this brought her to think of Stephen. Her jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed involuntarily. This was most definitely all his fault. Turning a corner, her meditations were suddenly cut short.
The thing that she had collided with was quite solid and unyielding. She fell and hit the wet sidewalk with a gasp of shock while her umbrella crumpled.
She looked up into a pale and calm face. The man that now held out his hand to her was rather short. That, of course, would have to do with her position, but when she accepted the proffered help she realized he was a head shorter. His look was of mischief and humor, and when he smiled a mouth of crooked yet white teeth gleamed at her. Sasha was indignant at his calm demeanor.
"My apologies, I did not see you." He smiled again and didn't seem to notice when she pushed his hand away that was still restraining hers.
"That," she said dryly, after a minute of gathering her things, "was obvious." She collected her umbrella and bent for her book. Another hand came down and snatched it up before she could, however, and Sasha's displeasure heightened. This was not what she needed at the moment. Straightening and glaring at the man who obtained her book, reached out a hand to take it.
"Very interesting thing you've got here," He remarked coolly, though inwardly nervous courtesy of her obstinate manner. He tapped the book and made to open it when she stepped forward threateningly. He glanced at her, his eyes roving her highly appealing figure. Her face had a foreign beauty, though, in his opinion, her ominous eyes were uncommonly veiled. The colour was intriguing in it's self, however: a shrewd, deep sapphire that far surpassed dark, endless pits. Her dark brown hair was erratically French-braided to the back of her head, as strands fell out at the sides and into her eyes she pushed them aside with a silken indifference.
"Would you like to have some coffee?" He asked suddenly while holding the confiscated book to his chest. Sasha quirked a disdainful brow. Was this man, this impudent, bothersome, wretch of a man actually inquiring to steal more of her schedule? She could have laughed had the situation not been so irritating. Her time and patience were quickly coming to a sharp end. She remarked evenly,
"No thank you, but I would give me that book instantly, heartily apologize for inconveniencing me, turn and walk away in that direction as speedily as you can, with dignity of course." By the time she was finished her voice was strained and there was a slight twitch in the fingers of her right hand. Her eyes sparkled unnaturally, giving them an even more eerily spectacular effect on the man. Again she extended her hand and again it was denied its true prize. The man chuckled and took her hand for the second time into his and shook it slightly.
"Richard Ferlong. There is a restaurant down the street," he said after a moment, "my treat."
The insolence of this thick man was clear now. What would Stephen have to say when Sasha got back in London saying that the volume had been in her hands one moment and stolen by a sniveling muggle the next? Now a little more then anxious to have the possession back, she smiled pleasingly, deciding to take a new position.
What Richard saw was rather fetching. The woman's eyes were hard and cold, haughtily disgracing him in only the silent way they could, when her features suddenly relaxed. They became warmer and to his absolute pleasure she smiled a generous smile. She held out her arm enticingly, and with much vigor, Richard took it. She began to lead him down the street.
"If you turn here the restaurant-no, not here-what are you doing?" The man had hardly enough time to pronounce the framed sentence when she dragged him out of the main street and into an alley. It was wasted and dim, though when inside the overhanging shadow one could see every detail. Sasha pushed the confused man away with undisguised disgust. He was composed enough, though his eyes betrayed a feverish anxiety. Coolly Sasha removed her wand and stepped closer to the man.
"Do you know what this can do to you, what I can do to you?" It was quite audible, yet barely a whisper. Though there was nothing initially to be afraid of he shivered at her silken voice. Her words were innocuously spoken, the meaning so very overcast, but the darkness gave her quiet terms and soft motions a sinister and dark appeal. Richard found himself wishing she had become angry. Cold, humorless eyes and their owner's body that seemed to slither out of the darkness towards him caused a spasm of insecurity. All too quickly he realized how vulnerable he was, though why, in the face of this harmless woman, he was at a loss.
"No, I didn't think you would. Would you like me to show you, then?" Sasha answered her own question just as she had asked it, and not waiting for a reply, flicked her right wrist.
The heavy tome flew out of Richard's hands and landed safely in the arms of his apposer. The woman still pointed the polished stick at him with her book tightly clutched in her left hand. Her expression was unreadable: pale and serene with those eyes just as deep and unyielding as before.
Sasha turned on her heel and stalked out of the damp alleyway. It was still raining, and raining heavily, and no sooner had she stepped out of the shadow then the thick, fat raindrops splattered against her. Sasha had left her crippled umbrella at the corner, and of course, it was nowhere to be seen, though her spilt coffee cup lay trampled and sodden in the flooding curb.
No sooner had she stepped out into the pouring rain then a firm hand arrested her. She wrenched it away and spun around being ready to face Mr. Ferlong once more, but the face she turned to see was much more agreeable to her then the former would have been, yet the face of a stranger.
"Well, when Stephen said you weren't back yet, I never thought I would find you harassing the local Muggles." The voice was harsh and dark, matching perfectly the eyes that accosted her with formal disdain. She had no time to protest as her tall acquaintance pulled her into the alley and disapparatated.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
"So?" He had his arms crossed over his chest and was scrutinizing her with hollow eyes. She faced him in her mopping, drenched robes, shivering and dazed.
"So what?" She asked calmly. This calmness was not of serenity but of nothingness. Her limbs had become burdensome weights, her drenched clothes difficult and wretched. Her mind was dazzlingly blank and clear, her thoughts seemed to be clotted and slow.
"So where is my book? Pray you haven't lost it," he sneered taking a step closer. Sasha gazed into the disdainful face. It was too pale, she mused; a sallow colour that accentuated his pitch hair and eyes. His hair was shoulder length and glossy, giving it a greasy, oily appeal. The nose was generous and his mouth was thin and bloodless. It gave the owner a fierce countenance. The eyes were his most startling feature, however. They were deep and endless: swirling black wholes, an endless abyss, where, if you were to be sucked in, you would be lost forever. Most were at his mercy in those eyes. Most.
"Severus Snape, then?" Sasha had wondered about this customer for whom her latest errand had been the courtesy of. His tastes were foreign and strange, thus her trip to America. Four other requests had sent her to Romania, Germany, Croatia, and Senegal. Quite specific and strict orders on the volumes, and most of the books had been on ancient potions, prospective volition, and foreign liquids. Somewhere she had heard that he was a professor, and by his product selection, she had guessed poisons, potions, or elemental brewing. The tome she had tucked under her muggle clothes was especially difficult to obtain. Not only had Muggles, one hundred and fifty years prior, confiscated it, but it had also been shrouded in muggle security. One's wand doesn't enjoy performing magic in air gushing with waves of technology. If the alarms, security, buttons, knobs and magical low profile were not enough, the location was truly troublesome. The book had been displayed in a glass case, underneath other dusty volumes, in a Muggle museum.
Her guest had an odd expression on his face. It was the animalistic character of curiosity and scorn, though, however raw it had been it was gone when Sasha blinked.
"Yes," he stated inclining his head in a jerked movement. Sasha only nodded and said, "Sasha Winters," and turned in the direction of her room to change into a pair of dry robes.
"My book?" He sounded incredulous and irritated. Sasha stopped only to pull out the thick tome from her apparel and change her mind. She handed it to him and began towards the door leaving dark, wet footprints on the carpet.
Sasha had noticed his hands. She had watched them as they had deftly taken the book from her. They were as pale as his face, the fingers slender and swift. They looked calculated; as if their job was to perform exact, efficient movements. The palms were wide, the narrow shafts of his fingers looked calloused yet soft.
"Where do you think you're going?" Again his whispered voice arrested her from her sunken speculations. His voice could have been carried away on the slightest breeze of wind.
"To exchange this American Muggle money. You have your book, now I presume I need not stay here any longer." She didn't wait for his reply but opened the door and left.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
At least she could go home now, Sasha mused. Stephen wouldn't be pleased that the customer grew so impatient that he came for the tome himself, but it was already done. She had only been three days tardy, and only because of the ancient book's former location and situation.
The rain had not let up and Sasha could feel the water running down the sensitive skin of her back. A full bag of galleons, sickles, and knuts pulled at her belt. She trotted softly behind an abandoned shop and dissapperated.
With a slight pop she reappeared in her rented apartment. It looked deserted, and Sasha relaxed as she made her way toward her bedroom. When she opened the door a ruffling gush of icy air wafted into her. This, amplified by the fact that she was wet to the bone, caused a violent shiver to run through her. The only other occupant looked up and steadily cast his pitch eyes over her trembling body.
"What are you doing?" Sasha hissed angrily as she eyed the smoking cauldron and the blue flames that licked the black pot. Ingredients were arranged on a high table near the brewing potion and on a similar high stand rested the opened volume. The brown paper had been removed, yet the title was resting against the stand and unreadable.
"This potion can not wait. Your own tardiness has caused this inconvenience," he snapped. He was now paying no more attention to her then he was to a passing fly. She stood in the doorway sometime, observing his movements, murmurs, brewing and his reading. Every now and then he would turn upon the book and read swiftly, then back to his potion and cauldron.
Sasha didn't know how long she stood there, long enough that she lapsed into another reality. Severus Snape, if what she heard from Stephen was true, was a professor. What could he possibly need with such a rare specimen? She wondered if he had any connections with Durmstrang. She had never seen him before, especially not while she was in school there. Her youth was marked by tragedy, first the death of her mother when she was two years old, then her father a few years after Durmstrang graduation. She remembered the graduation, how she had wanted to see the rest of the world.
---
Gruetcher shook her hand tightly and came forward to give his honored student farewell. They shook hands and at the last moment he pulled her forward into a restraining hug. The girl flinched and tried to pull back, but he held her tight and whispered softly in her ear, "Goodbye Sasha. Good luck to you and God bless."
She pulled herself away and bowed curtly, inwardly sick and nauseated. Gruetcher was a cruel man. He was of medium height and a hard demeanor. He was usually silent and haughty, reminding Sasha of the school's hall statues. Karkaroff was watching them from a group of his friends. Sasha walked past them when he stepped into her path.
"Sasha," he said approvingly. She nodded in return and made to sidestep him. He caught her arm and turned her around.
"Where are you going so soon? The ceremony isn't nearly over." He was grinning as he looked over her shoulder towards the doors. "You seem in a hurry to get away."
"Goodbye Karkaroff, maybe one day I shall have the misfortune of seeing you alive and well."
---
Severus Snape looked up from his completed work. She was still standing there, shivering and wet. Her eyes were glazed over and her lips were firmly pressed together. They had taken a blue tint and her cheeks were very white. Her hands were balled to fists and she gazed at the opposite wall with a vacant look. Snape stepped closer and reached out a hand. He touched her arm and shook her.
Sasha drew away from him and glanced at his former occupation.
"Finished? Already?" She glanced up at his face and caught his eye as he was watching her. Her head felt weary and her legs weak. His stare was cold and penetrating.
"You're still wet," he said coldly. It wasn't a question, but an accusation of sorts.
Sasha didn't feel wet, she felt tired. The cold wasn't there anymore; it was just a shadow of fatigue that loomed over her now.
"I need some rest, you may leave whenever you wish. If you speak to Stephen tell him I was detained," Sasha said softly. She moved past the tall professor and into the bedroom.
"No," Snape said at length. "I am to accompany you back," he said this as if he would rather not think about it. "Stephen wants to make sure that you get back in one piece," here he paused.
"It was the only way he would allow me to come and get this, if I got you back to London on my return."
Sasha only nodded and crept off to bed, shutting the door politely yet purposefully, not even bothering to care where Snape slept or went.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Sasha slept until the sun was at its peak the next day. She awoke to a fit of violent coughing, slid out of the bed, still coughing, and crept to the bathroom. A few minutes hot gushing water was running over her naked form.
The steamy shower was relaxing but she could not shake the coughs. They were rough and searing, always shaking her whole frame. After the shower she dressed and left the room. As another fit approached, Sasha crept into the living room, and veered for the couch. One cough followed another; soon she was clutching her torso, doubled up in the attack. When that had subsided, she straightened, instantly clutching her head as a wave of dizziness washed her senses. Her eyes were shut tight as the pain and nausea subsided. When she opened them she noticed Snape standing near the window watching her. His eyes were unreadable, or at least in Sasha's state they were.
She conjured two cups of tea and walked over to Snape.
"You're ill," he whispered as he took the offered tea. Sasha gazed into her cup then removed her wand. A whispered charm poured medication into the liquid. She looked up at Severus Snape once more then sipped down the drink.
"I believe I am. It is the weather," Sasha added gesturing to the window behind Snape. "Stephen will have to wait. I think I should stay here until I am well, as much I as I desire otherwise."
Snape seemed to consider this.
"I used to be a Potion's Master, you know," he said evenly.
"Yes, I know. A professor somewhere," Sasha said as she watched the clouds through the open blinds. She wasn't really paying attention to what he had said.
"Hogwarts."
Sasha nodded and began to retreat back to her bedroom when the wracking pain of her current illness hit her once more. She stumbled and fell.
Someone grabbed her from behind and held her up as the seizure passed. She was faint and delirious as two firm arms carried her to the couch and wrapped her in a blanket. Everything was receding into blackness as she drifted off into a merciful slumber.
