Wishes
By: Airelle Vilka
Chapter 18 Silk Sheets and Death Eaters
The magical clock had struck two in the morning, and Snape had still not returned. Airelle bashed out a few chords on the mini-organ, and resumed her pacing around her friend's bedroom. She had not, of course, gone upstairs to her own bed as he had commanded; Snape was crazy if he thought Airelle would stay in her room while he was being interrogated by Voldemort. No, she would wait. Although now, her patience was slowly thinning. The ex-Auror tried valiantly to push the worst sorts of thoughts out of her mind, and hummed quietly. Stopping in front of the fireplace, she stared up at the tapestry above it – the serpent, and the Latin inscription.
"Knowledge itself is power," she translated for the umpteenth time, and crossed her arms. "That's the truth, indeed. Now I wish I had the knowledge of where Snape is." Airelle took several steps away from the fire, and sighed, rubbing her eyes. She still had not removed her modified robes that she'd worn that night. The crystals were as bright as ever, and looking at them cheered her somewhat. But not enough.
"Where are you?" she whispered to the walls, refusing to lose hope. She had tried everything to take her mind off the ordeal – polishing her wand, thinking of classes and work, singing, playing the organ, talking to Almathea, even drink – but nothing helped, just as she'd expected. There was nothing to do but wait. Wait for either Snape to return, or--
She slumped on the bed, and gathered the green silk sheets to her in crumpled folds. Glancing around the room, she decided that the roaring fire was still not large enough, and pulled her wand from her robes.
"Incendio!" Airelle yelled, and the green-tinged flame sprang up so hard that sparks flew this way and that like tiny firecrackers. The Illusions professor let her wand fall, and drummed her fingers absently on the bedpost, then traced them over the carvings around it. She was not sure how much more of this she could bear…
Suddenly, Airelle heard a noise coming from across the room, inside the entrance tunnel. Somebody was coming.
She jumped up from the bed and ran forward, but then stopped in the middle of the marble path. What if Snape was…gone… what if the person coming was Voldemort? Or one of his cronies? What if Snape revealed the location of his bedroom to the Death Eaters? What if-- Now, she understood why Snape had insisted on her going to her own bedroom. Voldemort could not get into the castle… but maybe if he disguised himself as Snape… no one knew she was here—oh, dear, we had a problem. How could she have been so foolish? Snape knew that if anything happened to him, Voldemort would go after Airelle first, because she doubtlessly knew of his being summoned. That was why he had ordered her to worry about him in the morning. If Voldemort or another Death Eater had disguised himself as Snape, Dumbledore would probably see through it the next morning. Or at least Airelle would…and there, she'd be under Dumbledore's protection. But tonight—Dumbledore did not know. And here she was, the only witness who knew that Snape had been summoned-- Great, some Auror, she thought, and prepared to defend herself if necessary.
The noise grew louder, and Airelle looked around for a place to hide. For all its furnishings, the room was surprisingly bare. The only places that could conceal a person were the bed… maybe behind the armchair… the bath (but she did not want to be closed into a tight spot)… and that was it. Since none of these sounded appealing, Airelle decided to stand right next to the entrance of the tunnel. If she was lucky, she might take out the Death Eaters from behind when they entered, and even have a chance to escape via the tunnel herself… if she was very lucky, that is.
Closer…closer… there was definitely something sliding down… Airelle drew her wand and took a breath. Here we go.
The 'something' turned out to be a person, in black robes with a hood up. He—or she—was at the moment kneeling on the floor, breathing raggedly. Airelle wanted to step forward and remove the hood, but stayed put. This could be a trick. Her fingers tightened on her wand.
True to her wish, the figure lowered its hood. Airelle recognized the long black hair immediately. There was no need to even see the profile.
Snape.
It took most of her willpower to stay where she was. This could easily be Voldemort, who had drunk Polyjuice Potion. But how could she know—
A thought hit her. Almathea. She would recognize her true Master. But the problem was—how would she get him into the bathroom?
Meanwhile, Snape staggered towards the bed. Sinking down next to it, he raised his wand and muttered words she could not hear. There was a screeching sound, and the bed slid to the side, revealing a small trapdoor. Airelle watched in amazement as Snape pulled on the handle weakly. Finally, it gave way, and the wood went up. Snape's arm reached inside, and pulled out a tiny bottle. This must be his private cabinet, where he had gotten my potion the last time as well… Closing the door, he crawled back and raised his wand again. The bed went back into its original place. The next thing Snape did almost startled Airelle out of her wits.
"I thought I told you to go to your own bedroom," he said suddenly, and collapsed on the floor, the bottle still un-drunk in his hand. Airelle blinked, and the next thing she knew, she was kneeling next to him, rapidly unscrewing the cap.
"Thank heaven you're alive," she murmured, pulling his head up and tipping the potion into his mouth. "Come on, don't you dare die on me after this one." She shook him, and Snape gulped down. Airelle closed her eyes tightly, and opened them again. She had given him a Restorative Solution, to dull the pain after… after…
She looked him over, and recognized what Voldemort had done— the Cruciatus Curse.
Shuddering, Airelle unclasped her friend's hooded cloak and threw it aside on the carpet. Snape's eyes were closed, and the dark rims around them were even more prominent in the firelight. She touched his forehead— and it was cold as ice.
"I got to get you into bed… you're brave, and stupid, stupid…" She realized she was mumbling nonsense, and worst of all, hugging him tight to herself. Airelle let go for one second and composed herself. Then, she heaved Snape up with great difficulty. He had slipped into unconsciousness, and it was not an easy job hauling a grown man. Airelle noticed that his black robes underneath the cloak were dirty, as if he'd been dragged through mud a great deal. There were also thorns here and there; the meeting had taken place in some forest…
Airelle suddenly thought of something, and would have smacked herself if she were not holding Snape. You dunderhead—are you a witch or what? Setting him down, she grabbed her wand off the bed, pointed it at her friend, and shouted, "Wingardium Leviosa!"
Snape's limp body immediately floated upwards above the bed, and waited for her next words. Airelle paused, thinking. Should she leave him there and just put him down? Or maybe… since he was probably covered head to toe in dirt and sweat, and grime…
"Hmm…" she said aloud. "Snape will probably kill me when he wakes up, but…"
Grabbing a piece of cloth off the mantelpiece, Airelle tied it around her eyes and took up her wand again. "All right," she uttered shakily, holding onto one of the bedposts for orientation, "let me see… Accio…"
Ten minutes later, the door to the bath opened, and in came floating an immobile body, covered from neck down with a silk green sheet. Airelle, holding her wand and her former blindfold, entered right after it, and stared up at Almathea, who looked absolutely shocked.
"Is this your Master?" asked the professor. The painting nodded numbly as Airelle came down the steps in a very calm manner, the power of the Levitating Spell pushing Snape's body ahead of her.
"Can you take care of this?" she asked, looking up beyond the chandelier. Almathea, who by now had recovered from her shock, glanced at her, then at Snape, and began to snigger uncontrollably.
"What?" asked Airelle.
"Wow… you must have really…tired him out," the Keeper choked between giggles.
"ALMATHEA! That is not funny," glared Airelle, coming to a halt in front of the dark pool. "He had a nasty run-in, and is rather dirty from the fight. Can you fix it?"
"Did you give him a Restorative Solution?" asked the woman, twirling her brown curls and still smiling.
"He took it himself," replied Airelle, "as soon as he came in. I merely helped. But I think he has a fever, and needs help. I'm returning the favour for his taking care of me during the Runespoor incident."
"Uh-huh."
"So," said Airelle, "please hurry. I need to get him into bed as soon as possible."
"Well, I'm sure he'd like that very much," said Almathea, grinning still more.
It took Airelle a while to get the double-entendre, and when she did, she flushed indignantly. "Ha, ha…you and the Weasley twins… or even Alica and Tracy… could be great friends, with your twisted minds and all, honestly…" she growled, putting on her blindfold again as Almathea began to laugh out loud, not able to contain her mirth.
"All right," continued Airelle, reaching out with her arms and placing them on Snape's shoulders, "can you help me?"
""I'm the Keeper, dear," said Almathea from somewhere on the ceiling. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it." And with that, there was a whoosh, and Airelle found herself with a silk sheet on her head. A splash of water, and then, Almathea's voice said, "Remove the blindfold, dearie, you won't need it."
Airelle did as she was told, and found Snape in the bath, large bubbles blossoming and nearly going over the edge. "Are you sure it is safe?" she asked, looking at her friend's still unconscious form with uncertainty.
"Don't fret, I'll fix him up," assured the painting. "I won't kill my own Master… yeesh. Now, go on, and leave the rest to me."
Shrugging, and taking one last look at the Potions Master, Airelle mumbled a thanks and headed out of the room, the silk sheet still on her head.
It took thirty minutes for the splashing of water to stop. All this time, Airelle had been sitting on the rotating chair next to the organ, revolving until she became dizzy. The door flew open, banging off the wall with an almighty crash.
"Sorry!" came Almathea's voice from inside. "I don't usually open doors."
Airelle was going to reply, but she was interrupted by the appearance of a shape in the doorway. It was Snape, and he was apparently awake and dressed, both of which were good things. He came into the light of the room, squinting, as Airelle rose from her chair and the door to the bath was shut by a prompt from its Keeper.
"Yell at me for not listening to you later," she said before he even opened his mouth to speak, and walked closer. "Come on…"
She grabbed him by the elbow as if that would help, and he followed her towards the bed. Wrenching back the covers, Airelle waited for him to assume a half-reclining position, his shoulders supported by a pillow leaning against the headboard. Then, she threw the bunch of silk sheets over her friend (even though he was still wearing his now-clean black robes) and sat down next to him.
"How do you feel?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"Like I have been torn to shreds, sewn up, and torn again," he replied, blinking up at her. His long obsidian hair was still damp from the bath, and his eyes looked more alive than last time… less glassy… a good sign.
"Ouch. Did Almathea—"
"Revive me?" Snape smiled darkly. "Yes, the potion and her own brand of magic did well in restoring me to consciousness. The pain has passed now, although I am still sore. And I remember what has happened all too well."
"Then I was right; it was the Cruciatus Curse," she said.
He nodded.
"That bastard…" Airelle clenched her fists so hard that if she'd had long fingernails, she would've certainly drawn blood from her own palms.
"I am glad to see you are so worried about me," he said, looking up at her.
Airelle snorted as if she would not admit it. "Who said anything about you? I wouldn't want anyone to suffer any of the Unforgivables."
"I see," said Snape, although he did not look like he believed her.
"What happened?" she asked, wanting to take her mind off the subject. Snape sat up some more, wincing slightly in the process, and she leaned in to listen.
"We are safe, for now," he said, and Airelle let out a small sigh of relief. "Voldemort informed us all that the Yule Ball's attack was performed by a vigilante, a follower of the Dark Arts, but not a Death Eater. Voldemort said that he appreciated the deed, but that it had set back his personal plans for Hogwarts. He has dispatched a couple of Death Eaters to track this anonymous vigilante and persuade him to come into the Dark Lord's circle. Either that, or they…well…" He paused. "…dispose of him."
"What else?"
"Voldemort," Snape continued, "also said that since his plans were interrupted, he has to change them now… he shall inform us all of what shall happen in the months to come. He won't even confide in his closest Death Eaters concerning the information. Odd, really… it must be something big…"
"And you?"
"He trusts me as his agent at Hogwarts," said the professor. "However… he was angry with me for not contacting him just after the attack occurred. 'You are so far away from me,' he said, 'that perhaps you forget where your true allegiance lies.' Of course, I denied everything, and left myself to his whim."
Airelle winced almost as badly as Snape. She hated the idea of having to be obsequious to a Master, with a capital M. It was not like having a boss to work under… no, with Voldemort, your whole life, your very existence was devoted to him—you gave up your freedom, and could not ever say 'no' to him. It was a horrible notion.
"And it was then that he punished you with the Cruciatus Curse," murmured Airelle, leaning on the headboard as well.
"It was not even a punishment," said Snape. "More like a… reminder. Of what I was. And what I shall always be, until the day of my death. The mark will go with me even to my grave."
"Don't say that," Airelle interrupted gently, even though she knew it was true. The Dark Mark was forever. But then again… "Snape, it does not matter what brand you have… it's what you do with it." She felt as if she were a character out of Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter, confronting a Hester who had the red A on her chest. "Sometimes, it's not the mark on your body that hurts," she said quietly, looking away. "It is the mark inside… and no one can wipe it off except you."
"Now you're sounding philosophical," said Snape bitterly, and neither of them looked at each other.
"But I am right, aren't I?" she asked strongly, staring at the crossed swords and the tapestries on the wall. "No matter how much good you do, Snape, you always feel that nothing is enough to erase what you had become."
He did not reply, and Airelle turned her head towards him. The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. She could see his profile, high and angular, with the hooked nose and fathomless black eyes, staring down into oblivion, as if he were not there at all.
"I speak truth," she continued, not giving up. "But no matter how many people judge you, it is nothing compared to what you think of yourself. You have done so much good, and gone through so many dangers, endured pain that I would never have the courage to face… that anyone would forgive you. I know… I know I did."
Snape stirred for the first time, and rotated his head in her direction. To Airelle's surprise, he was smiling.
"What?" she asked, staring at him.
"I have heard that before," he replied, eyes glittering. "You told it to me… once."
"No, I did not," she said incredulously as if her biggest secret had been ruined. "We stood near the Shrieking Shack…and then even before… on my first night as a professor at Hogwarts… but I never said I had forgiven you. In fact, I did not even know it myself until now."
Snape shook his head, and the strange smile was still on his face. "Yes, you did. In fact, you said it to me in this very room… when you were under the influence of the potion."
Airelle blinked. "Was that… did I say that—when I was having my hallucinations?"
Snape nodded silently, and Airelle made a 'hmph' sound. "Well then," she said, "my whole confession's been ruined. You know."
"I knew long before that, Airelle," he said.
"WHAT? Am I that obvious?"
"Well," he replied, "I did not know exactly, per se… but I guessed."
"Great, wonderful," she answered blankly. "You knew it before I figured it out myself. Fantastic."
"Do not feel so upset," he said. "At least now you do not have to explain yourself."
Airelle gave Snape a sardonic grin. "Thanks very much."
"You're welcome," he replied in exactly the same tone.
They looked at each other for a while. Then, Airelle said, "So when are you going to tell all of this to Dumbledore?"
"First thing tomorrow morning," he replied, sitting up even a little further next to the headboard.
"Oh, good, then you're feeling better," she chuckled. "A regular survivor, are you? Well, then you won't be needing me any longer, I think I'll go—" She made to get up, but Snape latched onto her transparent sleeve and would not let go.
"Aren't you at least going to tell me what you have been doing since I left?" he asked.
"Worrying," said Airelle without thinking, and immediately wanted to clap a hand over her mouth, because Snape began to smile. "Well, what did you expect me to do, party?" she asked viciously, but the smile still did not disappear from his face.
"I suppose not," he said, releasing her sleeve. "At least someone was worried."
"You think it's fun?" she glared at him. "Try it sometime."
"I have," he replied, and Airelle could not say anything in return. They sat there for a minute or so again, when—
"You're still thinking of the Dark Mark, aren't you?" she asked.
"What makes you say that?"
"Just a feeling, that's all."
"Are you certain you were not meant to study Divination instead?" he asked, and Airelle made a face.
"Very comical… I'm not that bad at things other than Divination… after all, I did fairly well in helping you recover."
At that, Snape looked at her in a deep and perusing way, and Airelle had to scowl. "Oy… don't sweat it, Snape. You helped me once before… you do not owe me anything, if that's what you're worried about."
"Oh, it wasn't that," he said after a while. "It wasn't that at all."
"Then what?" she asked, turning back to him, intrigued.
"Strange how a smart witch like you can be so thick on the most obvious things," he replied, smiling. "No one except Dumbledore has ever done that for me. Helped me when I was down… even after I stabbed them in the back."
"You…" she said quietly, looking down. "I told you… I forgave you, maybe even a very long time ago. We were both young and inexperienced."
"And yet you did not give in to me, or to Voldemort."
"The question is…" she said hotly, looking up into his eyes now, "not what happened in the past, or what my thoughts were. The question is what happens now… and whether you will ever forgive yourself, and stop running away from this." Airelle grabbed his left sleeve and pulled up, revealing the Dark Mark branded black on the pale skin, black, almost unreal as if it had been drawn in ink. Snape pushed her away on instinct.
"No!" she yelled, which was absurd because they were so close together, and there was no need to raise her voice. "I am as old as you are—not some naïve little girl who cannot take it. I have seen it before, don't you remember? I was one of the first to see it… on Graduation Night. Or have you forgotten?"
"No," he replied, just as acidly. "I have not forgotten. But you would have never joined, like I had. You've never been like me."
"Think you're so intelligent, do you?" she replied, lowering her voice to a deadly whisper. "Well, listen to this piece of news: I came this close to joining you that day… so I'm no angel. I have woken up at night from my nightmares in cold sweat, thinking about how close I had come… and I regretted not coming with you. I thought I had lost you forever, my best friend – the only true friend I have ever had in my entire life. You were gone, and I was convinced there was no way to bring you back. So I resigned myself to being an Auror, to stop others from becoming like you, to save their own friends from confronting the same thing I did on Graduation. And have you ANY IDEA that I worked so hard at my job so every day I could face something worse than what I had seen that night? So I could forget what happened. But I did NOT forget… I could not. There was not a day when I didn't think about what could have occurred if I joined you… where you were now… if you were dead… or worse… MY life has not been peaches and cream, Snape, any more than yours has. And then, when I finally saw you again, here at Hogwarts, I thought you had really changed… that maybe I had, by some miracle, gotten my friend back. But I was wrong. It does not matter if Voldemort perishes or not, or whether you're a Death Eater or not. The Dark Mark has eaten its way into your blood. It is part of you, and you allow it to dissolve you, to consume you. You've stopped fighting it."
At that, Airelle stopped speaking. Snape was staring at her as if she'd just slapped him in the face. It was absolute shock; she had never seen him look like that before. It was more than shock… it was downright horror.
"What?" she asked. "Did you think I wasn't human, that I could just take anything Voldemort or you could dish out? I nearly cracked back then."
He just kept looking at her. Airelle leaned closer.
"Let me see it," she said firmly.
Snape's black eyes narrowed, and took on that unexplainable look that they'd adopted the very day they met for the second time. He slowly moved his left arm forward, not taking his gaze off her. Airelle smiled.
"I want to see you do it," she said softly. "It's not going to be some psychological breakthrough," she added quickly when Snape smirked. "Just humor me. Please?"
"Very well, if you insist," he replied, and reached towards the sleeve. Airelle watched, and it was as if the whole scene was occurring in slow motion. Snape suddenly looked twenty years younger… his face already scarred by knowledge no seventeen-year-old should have held… but his eyes were brighter, full of hope… hope that he had found his true calling in the fold of Voldemort…
"No longer am I Severus Snape, the greasy-haired kid with friends the number of which he could count on one hand! No… with this mark, a new Snape has been born, a Severus Snape with the strength of hundreds to support him, and the backing of the most powerful wizard in the world…"
"Lucius did not want me to tell you, because you were Muggle-born…"
"You stuck by me, every single time. You have never betrayed me…"
"Airelle…stand by me now, in my hardest hour…"
"Are you afraid to look at me?…"
"No. Not anymore."
"What?" asked Snape, lifting up his sleeve. Airelle realized she had spoken the last part aloud.
"Nothing," she replied hastily, lowering her eyes to the Dark Mark. She stared at it defiantly, as if they were in a battle. The serpent seemed alive in the firelight, but it did not frighten her. After all, fear was what you made of it. And Airelle firmly told herself it was just a tattoo. Just a tattoo.
"It's not scary at all," she said, smiling up at him. "Honestly, I don't know how you let such a trifle bother you."
Snape smiled back. "I do not think it's a trifle."
"Well, maybe not a trifle, but…well, perhaps you can count it as something more than a trifle, but less than a—"
"Airelle."
"Yes?"
"You're not making any sense."
"Oh."
Silence ensued. And then, Airelle said something very peculiar.
"Snape, I don't know how to tell you this, but… well… I'm very glad you're alive."
"So am I," he replied, and she began to laugh.
"No, I mean… when I saw you tonight, unconscious… I thought about some things, like…oh… that if something happened to you, I'd positively go ballistic and kill everything in sight."
"Please, don't do that," he said. "I do not want to be the cause of you ending up in St. Mungo's or Azkaban."
Airelle smiled. "Care that much?"
"Drop it, Vilka," he smirked, and reached up to push a loose strand of hair away from her face.
"All right, I think you're the one who needs mental help now," she laughed. "What are you doing suddenly grooming me?"
"No particular reason. Just that you're a mess."
"Thanks for the compliment," she answered, looking down at herself. She was still wearing her customized robes, of course, which were now wrinkled and in need of a good cleaning. Airelle also had not pulled her hair into its original ponytail; the result was a semi-tangled, frizzy white mass that reached down to her waist and gone all over the place. She blew up on another wisp that had fallen onto her eyebrow, and grinned.
"I suppose I should really go now… after all, it is close to three in the morning, and I need some sleep. Even if we do not have classes until the first of January, I still have to go down for breakfast, and so do you. So… 'night…"
She grabbed onto the bedpost to help her get up, but was stopped yet again. Looking back, Airelle saw that Snape had sat up completely and leaned forward to face her. She turned around, kneeling on the bed covers, and asked, "What now?"
"Airelle," said Snape carefully, "do you mind if I did something completely childish and silly right now?"
She stared at him. He was echoing her own words from just a few hours ago. This had indeed been a long day. "All right," she replied, mirroring his gaze, "but don't kill me in the process."
He did not smile. Instead, he said one word.
"Stay."
Airelle blinked three times to make sure she was actually looking at Severus Snape. "What?" she asked. "Did you just say…"
"I asked you something very odd and foolish," he replied, not taking his eyes off her. "I asked you to stay."
"But…" she stammered, "but… what do you mean… exactly…"
"Forgive me," he said. "I am probably frightening you. But don't leave… I promise I will not bring you harm. Just listen to me, for once. You at least owe me that much. After that, you may go."
Airelle swallowed. Something was about to change… she had a hunch she'd never be the same again after this conversation… if Snape was acting this bizarre, then it would be really important.
"All right," she said after a while. "Talk."
"But swear to me, by all you hold dear, that you shall not utter a word of this to anyone," he urged.
"If the information does not hurt anybody… then, I give you my oath as an Auror," she replied. Trust… trust… what a bitter word.
"Very well, then," said Snape. "Perhaps this conversation is all a result of some hallucination of mine, and I shall regret it later… but I must tell you now. Although…you may not like what you hear."
"Try me."
"When I was a Death Eater," he began, looking away, his voice clear, "Voldemort's followers killed many people, as you know. And they would bring the slain ones' survivors—usually wives and daughters—to him. Voldemort would then give them to us… as rewards for good behaviour. Some of my companions treated them horribly… after all, they were only meat. Some were gentle. I thought the practice in itself was fiendish… but I did it as well. At that time, I had learned to block out the screams. You had to learn, or you'd go crazy. In any case… I lost my chastity early… and I always took the women and girls Voldemort gave me. After all, if I had chosen to remain a bachelor, and refused the offer, Voldemort would probably kill the girl and punish me for being ungrateful. I tried to be as temperate to them as I could… the very young girls I often left alone for the night. Unlike some of my colleagues, I never promised them freedom, because I knew that it would be even worse a torment to promise something I could not give. They were somewhat tolerant of me for that reason. I quickly became proficient in the bedroom arts (so to speak), because I readily accepted more and more girls and women, to at least spare them from the embraces of someone like Macnair…" He paused, seeing Airelle wince. Then, he continued again. "During that time, I went through many of them… but I had never bedded a girl who wanted me. I could not blame them… their loved ones had been murdered, what could I expect? —and they were forced into it. However well I treated them… well, you, Airelle, do not know how it feels—how it feels… to see fear in your partner's eyes. Or something even worse—indifference. Many of them had endured torture, physical and mental, and just did not care what happened to them anymore. That has to be the worst kind of victimization I have ever seen."
"So why tell me this?" asked Airelle, knowing Snape was not asking for her sympathy. It was something else.
"In your eyes," he replied, "I see none of that. You are one of the few people who do not squirm even under my harshest stare. You respect me, but do not fear me. In your eyes, I see the passion of something new. You act as if you can go and take on the world, even after all your bad experiences. I want to learn that from you. There is no apathy in your eyes. This is why I asked you to stay… you know me better than anyone. You care about what I think…no one save Dumbledore has ever done that. You are my only chance."
"Is that all it is?" she whispered, nearly choking the words out because even to her, they sounded so unexpected. "Snape… if you want me to share that power with you… all you have to do is talk to me. I cannot give you anything that you don't already have."
"You don't understand," he said calmly. "It is not just that. I have rarely asked for help—but this time, yes…" When Airelle did not reply, he said, "Forgive me yet again. You may leave now, and forget I said anything… I should not have asked this of you, a friend… it was wrong."
Airelle stared at the bedpost for a moment, then turned back towards him. "No," she said smoothly. "Not wrong. Snape, if you can understand this… well, you have the right idea… but you're going about it the wrong way. We both are."
"Don't tell me you've thought about this, too," he replied, looking at her sideways as if she were crazy of even thinking that.
"Actually… in my dreams… nightmares, really… I have had some experiences, even though they always turned out with you being Voldemort… but hey, it's the thought that counts."
Snape began to laugh. "How interesting. So you're afraid of me, are you?"
"Afraid?" she said indignantly. "Never. Not you. It is what happens afterwards. God, why am I even telling you this? It's as if I drank Veritaserum and am spilling out my guts to you. I hope you don't mind," she added brightly.
"Not at all," he answered. "At least we are discussing this like rational adults."
"Somehow I doubt this is anything similar to rationality."
"Don't change the subject, Airelle," he warned dangerously. "Answer me. Now that you're here, I plan to get it out of you."
"What was the question?"
"What are you afraid of?"
"Me? Hah…" She paused, looking away. "How silly…laughable, really… All right," she said monotonously, "you want to know? The truth is that I trust you, and oftentimes I'm scared of it. Scared of what that trust can lead to… especially since you were a Death Eater, and I'm an ex-Auror… it is absurd…the thing I'm most afraid of right now, is that I'm going to kiss you, like I almost did on the night of the Yule Ball, after your conversation with Lupin. In fact, I'm terrified. You're my best friend—this could absolutely explode in my face later. The whole idea alone deserves a stay in an asylum, and yet I cannot get it out of my head at the oddest moments. I'm afraid you may use me for your own purposes, or whatever you need—or even if not, that I will still regret… if anything happens… I know I will feel horrible, but it will be too late… and I will be a liability for you. It is stupid… if Voldemort finds out, then he could easily capture me and make you do whatever he wants… or even vice versa. Ahem, I think that's it. You may feel free to run out of the room screaming at the top of your lungs now."
But to Airelle's surprise, Snape did not scream or run. In fact, he blinked at her several times before falling back against the headboard, laughing so hard he had to hold his sides.
Well, that's it. I've made him insane, thought Airelle, and, crossing her arms, stared down at her friend. It was a full minute before he composed himself and looked at her seriously.
"Airelle," he said, "you may be my age, but you are still so young and foolish. If you can take care of yourself, what makes you think I cannot? First, you will never be a liability for me, and neither will I for you. Both of us have been through too much to play heroes. We win with cunning, not with barging into the villain's lair waving a wand. Besides… Voldemort could easily capture you even now, and it would not make any difference. It doesn't matter if you are anything more than my friend. You will always remain my friend, and I will always see you in that way first. If it is something more plays no role in the issue. Second, the nightmares you've had are justified. But you are afraid of Voldemort, not of me. You're afraid of what he may have done to me. But if you still have some faith, then mark my words: I will be triple damned in Tartarus before I betray you a second time. You do not deserve that, not after what you did… you were the only one who still remembered, who held hope that I'd come back. You were the last straw… your presence gave me the power to escape Voldemort's clutches… to return to Dumbledore in shame, but still return."
Airelle was silent and apparently very fascinated with wringing her fingers in her lap. If Snape had tried to seduce her, this would be much too simple. But he had told the truth, and it was now up to her. Why couldn't this be easier?
"Vilka… look at me," said Snape from somewhere in front of her. She could only see his black robes, and the folds and folds of silk green sheets. "Look me in the eye," he repeated, "and tell me you don't believe me. If you do, then we shall never speak of this matter again."
She glanced up. Snape's eyes were glittering, eager. Waiting…
She sighed. "What can I tell you? Nothing less than the truth, is that it? Well, the truth is…"
Go on, Airelle. Say it. Say the truth, and it will not be your burden anymore. You've carried it for twenty years; SAY IT. What was that you told yourself? That you'd never let anything harm you? Well, the truth itself is harming you. So let it go. Everyone's always called you strong… well, now prove it.
"Yes," she said plainly, looking her friend straight in the eyes. "I'm sorry it took me so long to admit it… but I do believe you."
"About time," Snape laughed. "Was that so hard?"
"Actually, no. I feel much better. And you know what I just realized?"
"What?"
"You have laughed more times today than I've seen you do in a month."
His mouth lifted in a smirk. "I am not usually this pleased with the circumstances."
"Oh, really?" she grinned back, feeling a teenage-type altercation of wits coming on. "And what pleases you most about the circumstances?"
Snape's black eyes narrowed very slowly. "That now that we understand each other, I can probably kiss you with impunity."
Airelle looked at him for a second. Normally, she'd have balked and bombarded him with nasty rhetoric concerning his family tree, but now… now, had things changed that much?
"Maybe," she replied, "but I'm afraid I cannot kiss you."
"Why is that?"
"Well," she answered, leaning with one elbow onto his shoulder, "because that would be taking advantage of you in your… ah, vulnerable state."
He smirked. "Vulnerable? How so?"
"I just think the pain, not to mention the ensuing bath, has had an impact on your head. You're actually being nice…thus, you're probably not thinking straight right now."
"You know," Snape muttered calmly, "you're probably right in more ways than one. Maybe I am not thinking straight. Or, perhaps that bath finally cleared my brain of cobwebs, and now I see the most lucid course of action to take."
Airelle, while thinking, What would that be?, suddenly had another recollection of syrupy romance novels seconds before the Potions Master pulled her into a kiss that was twenty years overdue.
The oddest thing about this whole scenario was that there were no voices in Airelle's head, none at all. They did not appear even when Snape reached out with one hand and drew the left side of the bed-curtains around them shut, blocking out the door to the bath, the mini-organ, and the tapestries with the crisscrossing swords on the walls. It was only when he grasped the right side of the thick dark green material and pulled out the silver ropes that Airelle pulled backwards, breathing heavily. Oh, dear. What am I doing?? Even she did not know what to say. All sorts of choices popped into her head, such as, 'We really should not do this,' or 'This is going too fast.'
But instead, what came out of her mouth was, "Wow. You're good."
Snape looked taken aback for a second, and leaned against the headboard again. "You broke the kiss just to tell me that?"
"Well," she said shakily (for she still had not regained her breath properly), "I thought it was worthwhile to say something…I mean, this is…"
"Airelle," replied Snape dryly, "I was joking."
"Oh."
"Relax," he continued in a softer tone. "Thank you for the compliment… and you're doing quite well yourself, for a first-timer."
"How did you—" Snape just stared at her, and Airelle decided not to ask any more questions. It was true; she had never been in contact of that nature with anyone. In her mid-thirties, not religiously committed, and chaste. That had to be a record somewhere. Oh, certainly, Airelle had had opportunities, during her Auror days… but refused the advances. Perhaps she had never believed she could trust any of them; maybe it was just shyness. But in any case, she'd seen and read quite a bit on the subject… but never experienced it. Not anything like this. She licked her lips, which were still crimson and swollen from the kiss. If every man could perform what Snape had just done, then she had definitely missed out on a lot in her twenties. Blast it.
"Never mind," she said. "So… what do we do now?"
He smiled, and she could not help noticing the undisguised wickedness in it. "I think you should leave that to me."
"Rule number one," replied Airelle, crossing her arms and looking away because she had turned beet red, "never make me blush."
Snape took out his wand from under the pillow and uttered a few well-chosen words. The torches went out with gray poofs, leaving the fireplace as the only source of light.
"Rule number two," he murmured back, drawing the right side of the curtains shut so they were both enveloped in semi-darkness, "never make rules for me to follow in my own bed-chambers. And besides," he added silkily, "there really won't be any room for blushing after I'm through with you."
"If you think that scares me," she answered haughtily, "you're losing your touch."
"I'm not losing anything… especially my--"
"Rule number three: quit with those double-entendres! You and some of the students could join Almathea in a club."
"I own the club, Airelle," he replied, drawing her down to him again and closing his mouth over hers. Snape had not been joking; he was dexterous in all respects. She laughed mentally at herself as he pulled her lower lip out, gently, and suckled on it with an almost chilling skill. Heh…honestly, you'd never guess he was talented in this, of all things…shows you never truly know what your regular neighborhood Potions Master is really like…
To Be Continued…
A/N: Well, kiddies, there's your kiss and more. :) I know that was PG-13, not R. But be aware, I deleted the rest of this scene and decided not to continue it, due to my sudden desire for a cold bath. :) And speaking of bath… next chapter, we'll pay another visit to Almathea. So if you thought Chapter 18 was by far not enough… just wait. ;)
