Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 19 Decisions, Decisions

BANG. The clock struck a sixth time, and fell silent. The flames in the fireplace were still crackling merrily as a thin figure made its way across to the marble walkway and pulled on the round wooden handle to the bath.

Inside, Almathea stopped snoozing just in time to see Airelle Vilka enter the room. Her white hair, frizzy as previously, cascaded down over the dark green sheet that was loosely wrapped around her entire body. Her feet were uncovered, and tiptoed this way and that on the cold stone floor.

"Morning, Mistress," yawned the painting, staring down at the professor with smiling eyes. Airelle blinked, registering the odd greeting, and squinted upwards toward the candelabrum and the ceiling beyond.

"What did you call me?"

"Well," Almathea shrugged, tossing her curly locks over her shoulder, "you did share my Master's bed, didn't you?"

Airelle stared.

"What, are you surprised I know? Dearie," winked the painting, "the bedroom may have many innovations, but it is far from soundproof."

Airelle did not even turn pink at the comment. Well, what do you know? she thought. Snape was right about the blushing bit. "Just please, for my sake and sanity, call me Airelle, not Mistress."

"Will do," said the Keeper, and the black water below her began to simmer slowly. Airelle slipped out of the sheet and jumped in, dunking her head under.

"Ahh," she murmured, coming up and smoothing her wet hair over her back and shoulders, "that hits the spot. Thanks, Almathea."

"You're welcome, Mistr—heh, I mean Airelle," answered the other's voice from above. Airelle stretched and began making little circles in the water with her index finger to pass the time as thick, gelatinous bubbles of soap began to rise to the surface and envelop her. She watched the ripples dance across the surface, then dove down once more. The water seemed endless; Almathea could apparently make it as deep as the bather desired. Airelle could not see an inch in front of her, the bath was so dark. But she did feel her hair trailing around her head like seaweed. It was a sensation she had enjoyed ever since she'd been young and swimming on Muggle beaches. It made her imagine herself as a mermaid, that she knew the ocean's endless depths, every nook and cranny. Here, the feeling was similar, except there were no waves and magic was involved.

She touched the wall and pushed off it with her feet, coming out of the water nearly up to her waist and then splashing back into it like a little girl. Although, as of the previous night, she was no longer considered a girl by any means.

Airelle settled herself next to the edge of the bath and looked up at the candelabrum. The light hurt her eyes, but she was determined to pick out the Keeper's face from among the prickling yellow points of the myriad candles hanging above. "Almathea?" she called.

"Yes?" came the voice, but Airelle could not see her anyway. Finally resigning herself to leaving Almathea disembodied for a while, Airelle twirled around in the water some more.

"Say, how are you this fine morning?" the Illusions professor asked, rubbing her eyes with aid of some water to help them focus faster.

"I hardly count six o'clock as morning," laughed the painting. "To me, ten is about the right time to awaken. However, my Master has brought me away from that, for he is an early riser… That was NOT meant to be a double-entendre," she added quickly when Airelle looked about ready to explode into hysterics.

"No," Airelle choked out, "I hope not. In any case, you're right about him. I remember, when we were young—"

"Mid-thirties is not that old, dear."

"All right… when we were students," Airelle corrected herself, "Snape – yes, I am still not calling him by first name – used to drag me out of bed at around this time to go and buy potion ingredients. During vacation days, too. Which makes me wonder why he's always the last one to show up for breakfast, if he still wakes up this early…"

"Oyy, you two must have had quite a history," muttered Almathea, changing the subject completely. "Much more than what he's told me. Because from what I know of his character… I'd never thought of him as the type to bed anyone. Not that he's that horrible or anything, mind you… if you'll forgive me, I just cannot see any girl jumping at the opportunity…"

"I know what you mean," said Airelle. "Severus Snape, the most despised professor in school… the person others would go out of their way to avoid… the former Death Eater. Strangely enough, I, his friend, was the one to do it willingly. And you know… I thought I would regret it. Turns out I don't. In fact, far from it."

"Well, that's good then," replied Almathea, chuckling as Airelle began scrubbing herself with a washcloth. "At least you went through the process rationally, thought it out, etcetera. And you are willing to take responsibility, for your part. Just as long as you two do not play kissy-face in public, I'll be fine with it."

Airelle began to laugh so hard that she started hiccupping, and consequently produced a few soap bubbles that she'd accidentally swallowed. "That'll be the day," she said after calming down. "I have a feeling Snape has not transformed his behaviour a single bit because of last night. I'm his best friend, not a miracle worker."

"Would you find the lack of change upsetting?"

"Are you joking?" chortled Airelle, letting her washcloth land with a wet splat on the stones. "Of course not; Snape was never that kind of person. He will not alter his personality…and I think I like him just the way he is… nasty, prejudiced against Gryffindor, sweeping around and leaving people shuddering in his wake… there's Snape for you, and no other."

"You wouldn't want him any other way? Say… nice?"

"He can be 'nice' if he wants to," she replied. "But actually… I'd prefer him to be someone recognizable to me. As for a change… maybe if he thought of the Dark Mark differently, like I told him last night… perhaps that shall come with time. But right now… I think he shall remain exactly the way he was. We'll see."

"Yes, of course," said Almathea, and Airelle could just imagine her grinning. "I have no doubt of it whatsoever—"

"Ahem."

Airelle spun around. Both she and Almathea had been so absorbed in their tête-à-tête that neither of them had noticed the subject of their conversation standing right at the top of the small staircase, leaning on the door. He was wearing a gray, immaculately fastened nightshirt that reached to his shins. Like Airelle, he was barefoot, and the look on his face was not a pleasant one. Looks like I was correct in my assumptions, said Airelle to herself with a smile.

Meanwhile--

"Master!" exclaimed Almathea, with an over-enthusiastic tone of voice. "I'm delighted to see you!"

"When you've finished discussing my personality modifications," he replied wryly, "out, if you please."

"Well, I understand," came the painting's hollow voice from above the chandelier, "you two want to be alone… of course, you'll do fine without me, I am just the Keeper of the room, after all… no, I won't be upset at all…"

"Out, Almathea," Snape growled, and Airelle peered out of the bath to look up at the ceiling from another angle.

"Certainly, Master; why didn't you say so in the first place?" beamed the painting. Just when Airelle was wondering how Almathea could 'leave' (technically, Keepers were not allowed to depart from the room), a thick dark mist erupted from the ends of her picture frame and enveloped the painting whole within seconds. Airelle caught sight of Almathea's winking countenance a moment before it was overshadowed by the cloud. Then, she was gone, and the picture now looked like a storm had gathered there.

"It is a Blocking Spell Keepers use to obstruct their getting involved in Masters' and Mistresses' private affairs," Snape explained, closing the door and walking down the marble steps. "It stops any visual and audio contact with the Keeper's room."

"What do they do in the meantime?" asked Airelle, propping herself on the stones with both elbows.

"I do not know; ask her when she returns," he replied, and motioned towards the water. "May I join you?"

"Aw, I'm already clean, and now--" she protested, but laughed when she saw the look on his face. "Yes, you may, I was being facetious."

Without a word, Snape proceeded to unfasten his nightshirt. Airelle forced herself not to look away; after all, this was nothing she had not seen before. But the whole idea was still new to her… However, in the meantime, she coerced her own eyes not to waver from the picture. After all, how would it look if she shied away from her—what exactly was Snape to her at this point in time? Oh, he'd been right; friends first, always. But now, things would change forever. If they shared a bed…—and also, how long would it be until someone discovered the affair?

Her thoughts must have reflected on her face, because Snape cocked his head sideways, looking at her questioningly as he put the clothes on the bottom of the staircase.

"So what optimistic possibilities are running through your mind now?" he asked, half-sarcastically. "It's not about Voldemort again, is it?"

"No," Airelle sighed as Snape slid, much more gracefully than she had, into the black water beside her. "Something worse."

"Worse than Voldemort?" he chuckled. "I must hear this one."

"It's not a laughing matter, I think. What if somebody finds out about us?"

"Oh, that," Snape said as if he'd thought of it a million times already. "As long as we do not give them any reason to suspect anything, they won't."

"I don't know if—"

"Airelle," he interrupted in a more soothing manner than his usual, "they will not." One well-maneuvered swimming stroke, and he had her trapped between himself and a side of the bath. Snape lifted a finger and directed her chin up so she could look at him. "Don't believe me?" he murmured, leaning close to her face. "Nearly all of the people in this school do not know about my past as a Death Eater. And I've been here for years and years."

"But that's different," she said, shivering. "Not many people can just approach you and lift up your sleeve to see the Dark Mark."

"And you think it's that easy to lift a person's defenses and see through to the mind?" Snape retorted, laughing. "You're being absurd. Why, with your paranoia, they'll be lucky if they figure out we are friends at all."

By this time, Airelle felt somewhat more hopeful. Perhaps Snape was right; as long as they were careful, no one would know. After all, not even that many people were aware of their friendship, much less… something like this.

"Better now?" he asked, taking her right hand in his own under the water and bringing it out and up to his lips. "You do not have to think for the both of us, you know. You are responsible only for yourself."

"Mm-hmm," she nodded, grinning. "What a great thing to say the morning after… err… the night."

"Unless I'm mistaken, morning usually comes after night," he smirked back, gliding Airelle's index finger into his mouth and sucking it clean of water. Her stomach twisted and she could only meet his eyes with the accompaniment of a smile and a shake of the head.

"What?" he asked, kissing the tip of her finger and looking up. "Do you find me amusing?"

"No," she replied. "It's just that if I weren't here to see it, I wouldn't believe it—you, being sarcastic as usual, but also quite nice… even sensual."

Snape laughed. "You're acting as if I'd suddenly turned into the Eighth Wonder of the World. And besides… sensual? Me? That was nothing compared to what I've seen in my time. I remember, during my youth, soon after I joined the Death Eaters… I traveled around the world in search of expensive ingredients for potions to concoct for Voldemort. In some countries," –(at this he spoke softly into Airelle's ear, as if the words should not have even been uttered aloud)— "I have witnessed women be reduced to quivering lumps with one adept brush…"

"Lumps? I'm more than you can handle, you manipulative—" began Airelle with a grin, but Snape interrupted her tirade with a kiss so deep she had to tilt her head sixty degrees to encompass all of it. It lasted for a good minute, and when they broke, Airelle felt like resetting her jaw manually in its rightful place before continuing. Snape, however, did not seem to be noticing any of this, and pressed her harder against the bath, as if he could push her either into himself or out of existence. His slender fingers moved expertly under the water to the small of her back and up again in long, skillful strokes. Airelle had figured out the previous night that Snape took great pleasure in giving the lady groundbreaking satisfaction, but keeping himself in control. She guessed it had come from always having to be in check when working for Voldemort. He was hesitant to let it all go ballistic for even a second, and Airelle didn't blame him for that. After all, she had done it herself… that is, up until Christmas night. But now, she felt like returning the favour.

"I've never made love in a bath before," she laughed out loud, running her hand through his black hair, which was wet at this point as well. "It'll be, ah, awfully lonely taking a bath by myself from now on, I fathom…"

"Oh, we aren't making love," he murmured in her ear. "I'm just helping you relax."

"My usual method of relaxation is reading a book," Airelle smirked. Both she and Snape had fallen asleep over such books during their student years quite frequently.

"Then let me introduce you to mine." His tongue drew a thin, wet line from her ear, down, and culminated at the base of her neck. It was a mere fraction, a simple reminder of what he'd done to her just a few hours previously, but it still made Airelle gasp. Snape looked up at her, black eyes shining.

"Any more triumphant looks, and you're getting a sock in the face," she sneered, but could not stop her gaze from revealing her own contentment.

Snape merely shrugged. "Very well, even though you don't frighten me one bit."

"And why not?"

"Nobody's that scary after you've seen them with no clothes on."

Airelle suddenly imagined Voldemort's pants (not that he wore any, but it was fun to speculate) dropping in front of his throng of Death Eaters, and it took all she had not to burst out laughing. For all her maturity, she was still a child at heart. Odd.

"Can't you ever be serious?" asked Snape, and Airelle grinned down at him.

"You try being serious if you're in a bath with a man your students consider to be worse than Voldemort."

"Do they really?" he replied, moving up again. "Foolish children; they know nothing of the Dark Lord."

"'Course not," Airelle said reassuringly, trying very hard to keep from giggling once more. Snape really thought his demeanor towards the students was normal. But then again, Airelle was quite used to it.

"But you do," he muttered, "so you know I'm not truly repulsive, hmm? If I were, you would never allow me to do this…" Airelle could not reply because he put a finger to her lips and gently tilted her head sideways. She had only a vague idea of what he was going to do, and her notions proved correct when Snape traced the outline of her jawbone with a finger. Shifting away a wet strand of her long white hair, he gave Airelle a small kiss on the cheek. He then moved his hands away from her face, and made them resume their position around her waist. She shuddered a little when he kissed directly below the jawbone and the ear. The next kiss was longer. So was the next one. Airelle's grip on Snape's shoulder tightened as his mouth traveled down over her jugular. Each subsequent kiss was deliciously warm, and agonizingly slow; not harsh enough to leave a mark, but, like Snape himself, very thorough. She barely stifled a moan as his tongue caressed the skin over her now hammering pulse.

"When we get out of the bath and back into bed," he said softly, releasing her, "I will show you what it feels like to have every last centimeter of your body tremble with pleasure until you're almost… at the brink of madness…"

"Bring it on," Airelle replied with a grin. "Just as long as we get to the Great Hall on time. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know."

"You're impossible."

"Thank you, Professor."

To Be Continued…

A/N: This was short. I know. I meant for it to be. Didn't want to go too much into detail for fear that Lockhart or somebody innocent like my guidance counselor may be reading… :)

A/N #2: WHOO! Must take cold shower, right now. :) Hey, I'm the one who'll be proofreading this the next morning. TA-DA… I'm just not amusing at 3:30 A.M.…yeesh.