Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 6 Of Spice and Sultriness

It was warm in the dungeons. Unusually warm. Airelle sniffed, and realized that the air was humid and heavy with spice. The last time she had smelled something like that was in a Romance Shop in Diagon Alley. And it was coming, she suddenly discovered, from the Potions classroom. Another whiff told her that the spice was Romanian, used to accent a Love Potion of the highest degree in the books.

Tracy and Alica had better not be up to their tricks again, thought the Illusions professor, and pushed open the door, intending to find the two Ravenclaw pranksters. Instead, however, after the huge cloud of smoke had cleared from her vision and floated out the door, a giant black cauldron gleamed at her from the center of the classroom. She recognized it immediately -- the one from her and Snape's room behind the fireplace. Someone had heaved it out here. But for what purpose?

She stepped closer and peered in.

The cauldron was still smoking, but empty. Airelle looked up, worry tinged in her eyes.

"What the--"

She did not feel the presence of the figure behind her until it was too late. And that was bad enough in itself, since her inner Auror alarms had not gone off. She did not slack her reserve, ever--

The person-- the man, to be exact-- was taller than Airelle, but short enough that her form molded against his perfectly. She was facing away from him, but she didn't have to look anyway. There was only one person who could make her let a notch of her guard down. Only one.

"I should have known," she said, as long, slender fingers inched their way to her suddenly fragile hip bones and pressed her deeper in, towards the form behind her.

"My, my, Miss Vilka," said a silky, steady voice at the base of her neck, "what are we doing in the dungeons at such ungodly hours?" Long ebony-black hair swept her shoulder as the voice moved up towards her ear, close enough for her to feel the heat of breath.

Unwittingly, Airelle's mouth rose in a grin, and her eyes narrowed. Severus Snape definitely knew how to make an entrance. Only... she had to fight the terrible feeling of wanting to, for lack of a better word, 'nestle' against him. Consequently, something scared her. It did not feel right, and Airelle tried to pull away. But, apparently, he'd anticipated such a move, because he used her energy to twist her one hundred and eighty degrees and pull her backwards so she nearly crashed head-on into his body.

"Are you certain you are in such a hurry?" asked Snape, voice growing progressively softer in pitch. Airelle's cheeks burned, and she did not want to raise her gaze to his. But... didn't he deserve the truth? Finally, she realized that she was more afraid of telling the truth to herself than to him. And what was the truth anyway? She glared defiantly at his chest. Not his eyes.

"No, I'm not in a hurry at all," she said flatly. But somehow, it did not feel like it should have. She had not felt a weight being lifted from her shoulders, or anything of that nature. She had only implied part of the truth-- right?

"Good," murmured the Potions Master, lifting one hand and tilting her chin up, and Airelle was forced to look into his eyes. Her lips parted... but not for a lengthy kiss as she'd naturally expected. It was a pure, wide 'o' of horror.

His eyes were not the usual black. They were a vivid, poisonous green that had swallowed the whites around the pupils and glowed malevolently. And as Airelle looked at their color, high-pitched words, of a voice that did not belong to him, escaped from Snape's lips as they brushed her forehead gently: "Avada Keda--"

Airelle sat up sharply in the reclining chair, her gasp a painful intake of chilly air, the cold sweat still damp on her forehead. Her chest heaved, and her black eyes were open wide as if they'd been stuck on Magic Glue in that position.

"Damn!" she swore aloud, running a hand over her face, which was even paler than usual. Would the nightmares ever stop? And they'd taken a turn for the worse - now Snape was in them...

Her gaze fell on the candle on the table. It had melted to half its size, thick wax dripping lazily down its stem.

Airelle cursed again. Not only had she succumbed to a nightmare again, but she had overslept, and was late for her appointment--

The Illusions Professor, deciding to put the surge of odd thoughts from her mind for now, grabbed her robe and wand, and ran out of the bedroom, mahogany door slamming behind her.

To be continued...