Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

A/N: Sorry if this took a while to post…and the next one will take time as well. I am very busy this summer-- job, volunteering, homework, working on original fiction AND fanfiction. Oyy….and I had four wisdom teeth pulled at once today (June 25) and I'm in pain. Eep-- STITCHES! ACK! Well, on the bright side… I finally discovered what it's like to be sedated! grin I gotta include that experience at one point in this chapter… watch for the words 'fuzzy colours' ;)

P.S. Yep, this is no coincidence. This chapter is named appropriately after the song "Bathwater," by my favourite band, No Doubt. :)

Chapter 13 Bathwater

Whatever Airelle Vilka may have expected when coming to her friend's quarters, taking a bath had definitely not been part of it. Nevertheless, leaving Snape behind, she made her way towards the door and turned the round wooden knob carefully.

It opened full swing, even though Airelle had only given it a slight push. She was immediately covered with an onslaught of steam, as if she'd been looking into a tea kettle. The initial hiss of air startled her so much that she stepped back.

"Go on, don't dawdle," said Snape's voice from somewhere behind her. It sounded vaguely annoyed. "The steam won't kill you."

Airelle snorted loudly on purpose and stepped inside, ducking to avoid hitting her head on the low frame. Once she did, the door swung closed on its own accord behind her. But she was too busy to notice, anyway.

She stood at the top of a small staircase, consisting of just three steps. From what she could tell by a cursory glance, this room had an even lower ceiling than the bedroom, and was about ten times smaller. It looked like it had been converted from a dungeon prison cell to its present form; the walls, at least what she could see of them, were dark and devoid of decorations. The steps were light green and marble, like the pathway in the bedroom, but beyond, the floor was made of huge square copper-coloured stones, fitted together as if they'd been puzzle pieces. About five feet from the steps was where Airelle's eyes rested at the moment.

It was a bath, of course, but nothing like she'd ever seen. It looked more like some sacrificial pool of the olden days. Triangular in shape, it took up most of the room, and was bordered on the edges by stones slightly smoother and lighter in colour than the surrounding floor. There were no faucets in sight; the obsidian black water was still and emitted steam like cooling soup. But it was the thing above the water that caused the Illusions professor to smile.

A chandelier-- a giant candelabrum, to be exact-- hung directly above the bath, illuminating only the black water and leaving the rest of the room drenched in the darkness. The reflection of the candles stood in the center of the liquid triangle, now and then undulating slightly with the water.

Slowly, Airelle descended the steps, Snape's long robe dragging behind her. She had not taken it off since their little trek through the corridors, and it was obstructing the use of her hands. Walking closer to the bath, she drew in a deep breath. At least one good thing came of that venture-- the water was definitely not stagnant, but fresh…. And yet, how could it be, if there were no passages to clean water, not even faucets, anywhere?

Airelle put her hands on her hips and looked around once more. There was nothing on the walls, not even a single torch, painting, or vanity mirror. That in itself made her suspicious, but she shook her head and decided, Well, I suppose I'd better get started. No use standing here aimlessly.

Reaching up, long sleeves falling down her arms as she did, Airelle unclasped the top of Snape's robe and let it fall with a glide. This left her in a nightgown from the Hospital Wing that, in effect, showed off the fact that she was only slightly more than skin and bones. She had not been accustomed to eating much, and, though she was stronger than anyone gave her credit for, Airelle basically looked as if some of her students could beat her up easily. Glancing at the door again, and yawning inadvertently, the Illusions professor removed her headband and strap, loosening her hair, which began to gleam silver in the candlelight. Working mechanically, she scooped up Snape's robe, extricated her wand from it, and placed it at the edge of the bath. If there was anything she'd learned as an Auror, it was that there existed a thin line between caution and paranoia. Next, she took off her shoes and placed them on the edge, too. The floor was freezing beneath her naked feet, and she longed to go into the water, which was by now spouting a good deal of steam. Airelle was just about to put a foot into the bath when--

"Don't you think you ought to undress first, dearie?" came a voice directly out of the air, and Airelle's heart sank deep into her stomach. The ex-Auror did two things at once – jump in shock and grab her wand off the edge of the bath. She stared wildly around for the source of the voice, but saw nothing—only the dark stone walls.

"Well, unless you'd like to swim in your nightgown," said the voice again. Slowly, Airelle glanced up. The chandelier couldn't be talking-- could it?

"Forgive me if I frightened you," continued the speaker, and this time, Airelle was certain it was coming from the ceiling. Her eyes scanned the top of the hanging candelabrum and went wide.

How could she not have noticed it before? Unless Airelle was hallucinating, there was a painting… hanging precariously on the ceiling as if it were a wall, with the front pointing downwards. The picture was that of a full-figured, curvy woman in a green and black velvet dress, with gold-tinged skin and dark brown ringlets that hung off her shoulders. Leaning her elbows on the face of the painting as if it were a transparent floor, she stared down at Airelle pointedly.

"Almathea," she supplied when the startled professor did not find enough air in herself to speak. "I am the Keeper of this room."

"Oh," said Airelle calmly, for lack of a better sentence. The painting just kept looking her over.

"I cannot even remember the last time I've seen another woman face-to-face," muttered Almathea, brushing back her curls with a sweep of an elegant hand. "Perhaps two centuries… it was some Gryffindor girl, if I remember rightly. I am surprised she made her way down here, considering that only Slytherins usually get the dungeons. But you are not a Slytherin either," she added matter-of-factly. "Dear, dear, you must be close to my Master's heart indeed, for him to bring you here."

Airelle stared up at the woman, unsure which bothered her more – the fact that she'd called Snape 'Master' or that she said Airelle was close to his heart. The Illusions professor decided to take care of the easier one first.

"Your Master?" she asked, finally lowering her wand.

"Why, of course," said the painting. "Whoever owns the room is my Master, and the acceptor of my services. Some Keepers do not have one for centuries… they go mad," she uttered with a small but visible shudder. Blinking several times, Almathea waved her arms impatiently. "Now, come, come, you heard him – do not dawdle and take your bath."

Airelle, already slightly dizzy from keeping her head up at such an unnatural angle, lowered her eyes back to the water.

"Err… do you mind?" she asked, tugging at her nightgown slightly. Airelle was never comfortable with exposing more than was needed, not even in front of her female friends or fellow Aurors, let alone a strange picture.

"Oh, relax, will you?" laughed Almathea. "You are just like my Master. He was hesitant too… but believe me, after seeing him, I think I can take anything."

Airelle wanted to ask what that meant, but then wisely decided that she did not really wish to know.

Oh, screw this all, she thought, and slipped off the rest of her garments, anxious to get into the steaming water. She hoped there would be no comment from overhead, but of course, Lady Luck had thrown in the towel concerning Airelle Vilka long ago.

"Rather pale, and slight of frame, are you?" declared the painting nonchalantly. "Do you eat at all?" She gestured to her own ample form and grinned. "Of course, judging by your edginess, it looks like you do not have much time to do anything in general, much less eat."

Airelle ignored the remark and stuck her foot into the water. It was a bad idea; it was freezing, even colder than the ambient air.

"Bloody heck!" Airelle yipped, jumping backwards. "This thing is letting off steam-- how can it be so cold?"

"Ah, the steam is just the after-effect of the potion that was put in here," said Almathea. "He told you about that, did he not?"

"Yes," replied Airelle, wrapping her arms around herself and shivering. "There are no hot water faucets or anything here; I am not surprised this bath is freezing…"

"Leave that to me," muttered the painting, and waved her hand slightly. The water hissed and boiled, and Airelle stared back up beyond the chandelier with a look of surprise on her face.

"How did you--"

"It is the Keeper's job, my dear, to meet the needs of my Master. I control this room entirely. He told me to make you comfortable, so I did. There are not many Keepers left in the castle," Almathea said sadly. "Most rooms, especially the baths, are controlled via pipes and such. I suppose they got rid of the Keepers because they were too much trouble. After all, we are immortal, and we cannot leave our frame as other paintings do. But the job has its privileges."

"How long have you been one?" asked Airelle curiously, now tipping her toe back into the bathwater and finding it warm.

Almathea stopped to think. "Hmm… more than a thousand years," she finally said. "I came here soon after the founding of the school. This room, in fact, is one of the oldest in the castle."

"Really?" said Airelle, slipping off the edge into the bath. It was glorious, but shallower than she'd expected; and Almathea seemed to have read her mind.

"Would you like that deeper, dear?" she asked, yawning. Airelle nodded, and with another wave, the water rose several inches up to the ex-Auror's shoulders. One more gesture, and large white bubbles began to blossom out of the bottom of the bath, swimming up to the surface and enveloping the whole area in a matter of minutes.

"Self-cleaning soap," said Almathea proudly. "Together with my Master's potion, it makes for one heck of a scrubbing."

Airelle grinned and, supporting her elbows on the edge of the bath, let her legs float up in front of her. The water felt strangely tingly; she supposed it was the potion.

"So, Almathea," she asked, feeling a tad more comfortable with the painting hanging above her, "did Snape-- I mean, your Master-- ever, erm, say anything about me?"

"As Keeper, anything spoken between me and my Master stays between us," said the painting seriously. "But he expected you to ask, so he allowed me to tell you some things… such as that I know of your long friendship with him."

"Uh-huh," muttered Airelle, dunking her head and running her hands through her drenched hair. When she looked back up, there was a small glass table next to the bath, complete with a hairbrush, a bottle of some clear liquid, and a dark green towel.

"Green seems to be the predominant color around here," she laughed, swimming in a backstroke towards another end of the triangle shape. Airelle could not remember the last time she felt peaceful enough to enjoy a bath like this. Probably another effect of the potion, she thought.

"It has been for ages," said Almathea from above her head. "And my Master is very proud of his House."

"Tell me about it," smirked Airelle. "Proud enough to bias himself as a teacher."

"Do you find that bad?"

"Not exactly… I understand where he is coming from," said Airelle, stroking her chin. "But I wouldn't mind to see him take some points from Slytherin one day."

"Ah," replied Almathea. "Perhaps he shall get his chance at the Yule Ball… after all, Slytherins are still teen-age students, and I bet they'll be doing some things they shouldn't--"

Airelle glanced up quickly, black eyes glinting. "How do you know about the Yule Ball? You said you couldn't leave your frame."

Almathea laughed. "You're a sharp one, aren't you? Well, my Master has spoken to me about it… and I can communicate with other paintings as well, vocally." She winked. "You humans are not the only ones who hear voices."

"I see," said Airelle. "Yes… the Yule Ball… I am a little nervous about that…"

"Why?" The painting looked incredulous.

"Did Snape ever tell you about the last Yule Ball we have ever witnessed?"

"Ah, well…" Almathea paused. "Yes, I believe he did. Something about a song…"

Airelle smiled. "Then you know that he is the last person to 'dance' with me. And now, we go again, but as teachers. It is like some strange sort of déjà vu."

"I do not see why you should worry, dear," said Almathea. "You two are still friends, are you not?"

"Well…yes."

"And you have proven your friendship even after such trying times… you should have no problem coming to some silly ball."

"I suppose you're right," Airelle sighed, giggling as a few of the soap bubbles scoured her feet. But how could Almathea know? Airelle supposed that what she was really afraid of was…well, something occurring. She cared for her friend immensely, but the last time, she had almost allowed her sense of friendship cloud her judgment. No one knew that she still woke up some nights, trembling at how close she'd come to joining Voldemort along with Snape. It sounded awfully cliché, but since then, Airelle had learned not to ever let anything hurt her. But now, with Snape back in her life, she was beginning to let her guard down again. What if she allowed something to happen, and regret it afterwards? It did not need to even go that far-- Snape did not even know just how much seeing him again meant to her. Airelle promised herself once that he'd never know. And with Voldemort back, and Snape a spy, Airelle could easily become a liability for her friend. And that was the last thing she wanted. So… what was she to do?

"Act like you did in your youth," Almathea said suddenly, snapping Airelle out of her daze and back into reality. For a second, Airelle thought the painting had heard her thoughts, but then realized it was just a coincidence. Apparently, she'd been talking about the Yule Ball all along.

"Come, come, dear, I am sure you'll be fine," continued the woman, hiccupping and smiling. "Now, I think you're squeaky clean, so grab that towel off the table, and get out of my bathtub."

Laughing, Airelle complied and, diving one more time, came up next to the edge of the bath. The copper stones gleamed as she splashed water onto them, climbing out easily and pausing to rest on the edge, her feet still in the bath. She stretched her arms in the air over her head, ignoring the rivulets of liquid that her dripping hair trailed uncomfortably down her back. If Almathea could make a table appear out of nowhere, she could probably clean the mess as well.

Bringing her hands down, Airelle moved her feet around in the water and watched the ripples distort her reflection in silence. She looked herself over, from her shins to her thin arms, complete with scars that she termed 'close calls' – curses that had singed her during her Auror days. No true fighter of physical Dark magic could say that he or she did not have any scars; no one was that lucky. One look at Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody gave ample proof of that. Which was why Airelle was so skeptical of Gilderoy Lockhart's praises of his own proficiency in combating the Dark Arts. After all, the man's face was flawless. Airelle bet that the only scars he had were those of paper cuts from endless hours of autographing fans' books and journals. She, on the other hand, had quite a few—mostly on her wand arm, and one on the left side of her lower lip, visible only if one looked closely. There were also some on her stomach and back, where she'd been whipped with some Stupefying Spells, Disarming Charms, and even the occasional Pain Curse. Nothing like Cruciatus, though; she hoped she would never experience any of the Unforgivables.

"What time is it?" she asked Almathea, looking back up.

"About two and a half hours past midnight," replied the painting. "Why, are you in a hurry?"

"Somewhat," Airelle laughed. "You see, I am not supposed to even be here. Snape sort of stole me from the Hospital Wing." As she remembered, Airelle grinned because the accident had been so stupid. To think-- burned by eggs, of all things. Her Auror colleagues would have a fit of laughter if they knew.

Almathea grinned down at Airelle. "I see… must have been quite a trip."

"Tell me about it," said the Illusions professor, remembering Voldemort's books and how she had to get one of them away from Alica and Tracy. It was foolish, perhaps, to let them leave, but then again, the notebook probably would not cause any harm to them in one night. She'd get it from them by tomorrow. And what was tomorrow anyway? Airelle suddenly discovered that she had no idea how long she'd lain unconscious…

"Almathea-- what day is it?"

"Thursday, December 16th," said Almathea, blinking and shrugging.

Airelle stared, horrified. The only sound in the room was the drip, drip of her hair leaking water on the stone. "But that means the Yule Ball is tomorrow!"

"That's right. You have been in the Hospital Wing for several days, my Master told me. He knew you'd be agitated when you found out."

"Oh, no… that means, I have class tomorrow… and then, then… the dance."

"Do not worry," said the painting in a motherly manner. "Dry yourself before you catch a cold. My Master would not like that, I fathom."

"Ohh… right," she said, pulling the green towel from the table and nearly sending the bottle next to it to the floor in the process. "Right," Airelle repeated, standing, wrapping the warm cloth around her stomach, and resigning herself to the process of drying. Her mind was elsewhere, of course. She had not even prepared her lessons, much less the dress robes…

There you go, acting like a teenager again, said a voice in her head, chastising her to keep calm. There is nothing to be nervous about. Go on with your life, will you?

Airelle sighed and, moving the towel, began to dry her hair furiously. This was the last thing she needed to be thinking of right now. Those books of T.M. Riddle's were more important.

"Almathea," she began, "d'you think--"

The door opened with a creak, and in came a tall, thin, black-robed figure that could only be Severus Snape. Airelle fought the urge to gasp and immediately whisked the towel in front of herself, holding it like a shield and not even bothering to wrap it around her.

"Calm yourself," her friend said casually, standing next to the doorway and looking straight down at her from the steps. The light from outside fell on his black eyes, which were strangely glassy; and it was then that Airelle realized he'd put a temporary Blinding Charm on himself. Thoughtful.

"I merely wished to know if you are fine," he added, his hand still gripping the doorknob. "And to tell you to hurry. I have the potion ready."

"She is doing well, Master," said Almathea, bowing her head even though Snape could not see her.

"Err… yes," said Airelle, still holding the towel as though she did not trust the Blinding Charm. "Umm… nice bath you have here… a Keeper and all…"

"Thank you," Snape replied. "Almathea, kindly make sure Professor Vilka gets anything else she needs. And I brought a spare clean robe for her." He gestured towards his right arm, over which hung a black mass in folds.

"I will, Master," said the painting.

"Thank you," said Airelle, not knowing quite what to do. She looked at Almathea, who gave her a cryptic smile and pointed towards the doorway.

"Well?" asked the Potions professor, putting out his right arm into the room impatiently. "Do I have to stand here long?"

"Oh, right," murmured Airelle, ignoring her logic, which was laughing at how odd this scenario looked, and edging closer to the marble staircase, leaving the light of the chandelier behind. After all, said a voice in her head, Snape cannot come to you, since he'd probably topple down the stairs in this state…

Once closer, she shifted the towel and wrapped it loosely around herself. Holding it with one hand, Airelle reached out with the other and snatched the robe off Snape's arm. He retracted backwards; incidentally, so did Airelle, clutching the robe to herself as if it were her life's savings. Her hair was still semi-wet, and was plastered to her back; she wanted to pull it off, but did not dare move her hand away from the towel. She was paranoid even if front of her best friend—great, just great.

Snape turned and left without another word, the door shutting itself behind him. Airelle glanced towards the smoking bath, and then up at the ceiling. Almathea was still smiling.

"Oh, be quiet," Airelle snapped, but could not suppress a grin as she pulled on the robe and began to brush her hair a bit too vigorously.

She opened the door to the bath ten minutes later, after bidding a farewell to the painting. The sight before her had not changed, except that the fire was roaring larger than she'd remembered, and Snape was now seated in the single armchair in front of it. His eyes were half-closed, and his long fingers drummed on the poker he was holding. In his other hand was a small bottle with a red tinge. The potion, she guessed.

Airelle stepped forward and said, "I hope that did not take too long."

"It did not," he replied, his chin tilting up a bit. "Now, we shall begin?"

"All right," she agreed. "But may I see something first?"

"Depends on what you wish to see."

"That." She pointed towards the organ. The back of Snape's chair was now to her, and she had no idea how he knew what she'd been talking about. But nevertheless, he muttered, "Help yourself."

Nodding, Airelle took several tentative steps toward the instrument, momentarily forgetting all about the Yule Ball and Voldemort. It was even more beautiful up close. The wind tubes and their shutters were small, but, Airelle guessed, more than enough for this room. The sides, set halfway into the stone wall, were intricately carved with scenes from Greek mythology, with which Airelle had been fascinated even before she had found out she was a witch. She trailed her hand over the reliefs and recognized scenes from several famous myths – Pan, Apollo, Athena's flute…

Sitting down in the round chair, Airelle blew on the keys, but only small specs of dust flew up into the air. She swiveled back around, towards Snape's direction.

"You play." It was a statement, not a question.

She could almost imagine Snape's nod. His fingers kept drumming on the poker, gently. "Yes… this was brought here from an antique Muggle shop by magic," he said. "Despite what some purebloods say, Muggles have been able to create some fascinating things throughout the ages. This is one of them."

Airelle blinked, then turned back and played several chords from the Moonlight Sonata. The tubes choked out a small amount of dust, but otherwise, the sound was amazing. Even the tapestries shook slightly.

"Incredible," she whispered. Snape could play this all day, and even with this intensity of sound, no one would hear it because the room was so deep underground.

"Can you play Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor?" came Snape's voice from behind her. Airelle merely snorted with laughter.

"Hah… I wish. My two years of Muggle music school have not taught me that much."

"Move," said Snape, and Airelle rose obligingly. He handed the bottle to her and she took it as her friend sat in her place.

"You cannot be serious," he said. "And I am self-taught in this."

"All right, Mozart," she said sarcastically, standing next to him, "if you're so good, let's see you play it."

Snape had been waiting just for that. His fingers fell on the keys, and the sheer force of the music bombarded Airelle's eardrums. This was the way it was meant to be played; the piano, no matter how well it sounded, did not do the Toccata justice. Only an organ could transmit the power and magnificence of it. Airelle stared at her friend; she had no idea he could play so well. Then again, probably no one else did, anyway.

You learn something new every day, was the thought that passed through her mind as she watched him hit tough chords expertly, tactfully, as though he'd done it many times. Dumbledore had been right when he said that music was a magic greater than anything done by a wand.

Snape finished after a while, with a musical flourish, and the organ fell silent. Airelle said, "All you are missing with this instrument and the eerie music, and the room, is a Phantom of the Opera mask."

Her friend stared at her. "The song in Phantom of the Opera was 'Don Juan Triumphant,' not Bach's Toccata."

Now it was Airelle's turn to stare in surprise. "You have seen the musical?"

"I read the book," he replied slowly. "Gaston Leroux was a brilliant writer."

Airelle did not say anything, but was beginning to be more and more surprised at the extent of Snape's knowledge of Muggle art. Just how much did she truly know about him? When did he have time--

"Now," said the Potions Master, standing up and pushing the chair back to its previous position, "it's late, and we should start." Walking towards the bed, he motioned for Airelle to follow. She arched an eyebrow, but conceded in crossing over the marble path and joining him on the edge of the bed. Her hand felt the silk sheets. Nice, she thought. I was right.

Snape pointed towards the bottle, which was still resting in Airelle's hand. "Drink that," he commanded. "It will make your body recover completely from anything the poison may have done to you."

Airelle looked sideways at him skeptically. "Why did you have to bring me all the way to your room just for this?"

He frowned. "I told you… so that I may keep watch over you in case something goes wrong. And the reason you are on the bed is because I would not want you to sleep on the floor-- it is rather cold, even with the carpet."

Airelle had the bottle close to her lips by now, and stopped. "Did you say 'sleep?'"

Snape nodded carefully, long black hair sweeping his shoulders as it always did. "Not for long, though, I think. You shall experience a semi-sleeping state. Hallucinations and such. It is an effect of the potion I could not rectify."

Airelle breathed out loudly through her nose. "All right, then. But are you certain all this is necessary? Was the poison that powerful?"

"I do not want to take any chances," said Snape. Airelle smiled, and he added quickly, "Undiluted venom of any sort is not something to gamble with."

"If you say so," grinned Airelle. "But if I begin to sleepwalk in the middle of my…ah, hallucination… do me a favor and smack me over the head."

Snape's smile was barely noticeable. "Trust me, I shall do my best."

A question suddenly forced its way into her head. "What did you do with that Runespoor, anyway?"

"I subdued it, brought you up to Madame Pomfrey – thank heavens she never asks too many questions – and later returned and sold it on the black market again. It brought me less than usual… one head was missing, after all."

Airelle laughed. "I imagine it did. No one said anything?"

"No," said Snape. "No one at Hogwarts. And as for the serpent, it is a common occurrence for the right head, the cynical one, to be bitten off by the other two."

"Ah… I see. Now…how do the Americans say it again?" asked Airelle, bringing the red liquid closer to her. "Bottoms up?"

Snape paused. "I think so."

"Ah, whatever," she laughed, and tipped the potion into her mouth. And without a single change of expression, Airelle toppled backwards onto the silk sheets that she did not feel anymore.

So many fuzzy colours… she was flying through a maze of colored walls. Back and forth, she tried to memorize the labyrinthine twists and turns, but it was no use. Shapes formed and dissolved before her eyes, and pulsated in the atmosphere—black, purple, pink, green, blue, yellow… It was a euphoric sort of feeling, and yet she was aware that it was not real. Somehow, her arms were stretched out as if she were a bird and soaring above everything-- there was nothing but the endless surges of colour, exploding in front of her face. Turn, and turn again… then, a dead end, and she went backwards, and kept going a different direction… There was light everywhere, blurry, magma-type light throwing itself at her face, and playing with her eyes. Airelle felt strangely dizzy… and then--

Her eyes slowly opened, lids fluttering as if she were some odd-looking Sleeping Beauty. But the fluttering eyelids were not to entice any rosy-cheeked prince. Not that she ever actually wanted to entice a rosy-cheeked prince, but that was beside the point. The fact of the matter was that her eyelashes slowly rose over her pupils. Airelle's vision was still rather blurry, but faintly, she could discern a canopy-- it did not look familiar, and only her sudden recognition of her midnight adventures with Snape stopped her from bolting up directly from the bed. She wiggled her fingers to make sure they were working; and after ascertaining the presence of a tingle in them and the rest of her limbs, Airelle blinked several times and rubbed her temples. Her hair was already completely dry, even though she had lain on it. So, how long did her little hallucination last? -- it had seemed like a mere fifteen minutes--

"I was wondering when you'd finally awaken," came a soft voice from her left. Airelle turned her head, and picked out the sharp, angular features of her friend from among the shadowy curtains. His dark eyes glittered more than usual; or perhaps it was just the after-effects of Airelle's sleep?

"Do not lift your head," Snape warned, anticipating her next move. "You shall probably fall if you attempt to rise non-gradually. Just be still for now, until you conserve your strength."

"How long have I been out this time?" she said hoarsely.

Snape blinked. "Longer than I expected. Three hours."

"THREE?" she breathed. "You mean, it is five-thirty in the morning already?"

He nodded, smiling grimly. "We need to return to the Hospital Wing before they discover your absence."

Airelle tried to sit up, but found that she still could not focus, and splattered back onto the bed. It was then that Airelle realized she was no longer in Snape's spare robe, but only in the nightgown she'd worn under it after her bath. Also, she was lying on the pillows, and the sheets covered her up to the waist. A smile came to her face as she thought of how uncomfortable her friend must have felt when he was preparing her for bed… Oh, if only his Slytherin students could see him then-- Severus Snape, the dreaded Potions professor, sitting at a bedside, wrapping a sleeping woman in his own bed covers, careful not to shift that flimsy Hospital Wing nightgown… Airelle choked on her own laughter despite herself, and said, "So did you sleep at all?"

Snape shook his head. "You had several complications during your recovery. I had to keep you safe."

"What, did I sleepwalk?" she asked, looking up at her friend with a twinkle in her eyes.

"No, but you thrashed about half-crazed, uttering strange phrases."

"Ouch. What did I say?"

"It does not matter," muttered Snape. "What does matter is that we need to get you out of here, now."

"Yes," Airelle agreed. "And you look like you need some sleep. After all, lessons this afternoon… and later tonight, the Yule Ball…"

"I know," he said. "Can you stand now?"

"Let us see," she said, and sat upright slowly, bare feet hanging off the edge of the left side of the bed. Snape watched Airelle as she rose, leaning on one of the bed-posts, and let go.

"As much as I hate leaving this, ahem, very nice room," she murmured, following Snape back towards the passage, the flame in the fireplace now crackling itself dead behind them, "I do not want Madame Pomfrey sending out a search party for me, either…"

The sun had not even risen yet by the time Airelle and Snape stood cautiously in the Hospital Wing, in front of the door to the room they had exited hours ago. Airelle peered inside through a crack. Nothing; complete silence. Madame Pomfrey was probably still in bed.

"I suppose you should go back to the dungeons now and get at least two hours of sleep before breakfast," she said quietly to her friend.

"Yes," Snape replied shortly, perusing her with his bottomless gaze.

"Eh, right…" she said. "Oh, and…"

"What?" he asked curiously.

"Thank you for what you did tonight," Airelle declared earnestly, looking up at him. "After all, I doubt you've ever played Bach's Toccata for anyone else."

"Don't get cocky, Vilka," Snape muttered, but there was a smile in his eyes. "Just go in before someone sees you."

"Yes, Professor," she grinned, and, leaving Snape shaking his head ominously in her wake, Airelle opened the door.

And came face to face with Albus Dumbledore.

"Ah," he said with a smile as both professors' faces dropped in shock, "I see you have finally decided to re-join us."

To Be Continued…

A/N: Yay! Finally, a long chapter! Wait till you see the next one! :) Ouchie… my teeth… sniff Or, rather, my lack of teeth… :) Oh, by the way, twenty points to the house of anyone who tells me where I got Almathea's name from.