A Midsummer Interlude
by Cross
Disclaimer: Neither of these characters belong to me but to their respective authors. Hopefully, those authors will be forgiving enough to not have me assasinated after they read this. I am using the definition of 'midsummer' to mean the summer solstice, which should be around the end of most school years.
He walked down the hallways, staring mindlessly ahead of him. Contemporaries waved a half-hearted greeting, half-hearted due to his rather well-known cold nature, but then stopped to stare as he passed by. The slightly dark hollows under his eyes were not surprising, particularly not to those colleagues that had known him when he was a student. Despite his indifference to a sport that involved pointless shufflings of a rounded object and offered great potential for bruises, fractured or even shattered bones, and possibly concussions, he could understand readily the rush of adrenaline that came from competition, the desire to prove one's greatness, and the sweet lassitude that came from success. Therein was the cause for grey pallor and concave cheeks, eyes bright with a fervor and intelligence beyond his years and sleepless hours spent in the school library, usually with a certain companion of long, flowing white hair and eyes as dark and as brilliant as his own.
That last thought sparked him to quicken his pace, glancing quickly behind him all the while. Students swerved to avoid him, although a few of the Slytherin girls paused and attempted to question him on some petty detail. He dismissed them with a curt shake of his head, knowing that they were only wasting their time and his in the natural need for attention. He understood that as well as anyone. By now, the whole school knew exactly the object of his affections was and more than one bathroom, as far as he had heard, had been filled with the sound of heartbroken sobbing on the day the news had broken. He smirked but then it soured into his usual sneer. A choice few, most not of his choice, had learned of this relationship beforehand and merely smirked into their drinks or grinned openly. He gnashed his teeth together and then stopped abruptly as he grimaced. A friend, who had tinkered somewhat in the art of Muggle dentistry, had warned him only a few weeks ago that the frequency of such actions might cause some nerve damage. He was trying to be more careful about it, especially since she had been present during that conversation and tended to remind him a great deal of it. It did not help that he was reduced to the state of adopting milder expressions, since his scowls, sneers, and frowns did nothing more than elicit an amused smile from her. Such a response did not bode well for good morale among the students, who should only know from their professors what their professors taught them. If they wanted to find out more, they would have to exert their powers of observation and who in all the different worlds still did that? The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like all curiosity had died with his generation. Aside from the terror any sane person would have at the mention of Voldemort, Death Eaters, or Dark Marks, they all seemed to plod along placidly in their lives, asking nothing, demanding nothing. If this was the way the worm turned, he desired very much to yank that nematode around by its crop and reverse its direction.
Of course, that complaint did not include Potter or those infernal Weasley brothers he called friends or any Gryffindor for that matter. Those folk were merely born troublemakers and not worth a second thought. The fact that by excluding them from his thoughts meant that he was thinking about them did not do anything to lighten his grim disposition. If anything, the air around him abruptly chilled and the torches lit all around the passageways seemed to grow dimmer.
At last, after what seemed like an eon or two, he reached his destination: the Infirmary. After checking around corners to assure himself that Madame Pomfrey had indeed left the building and was visiting her elderly sister, he entered. With the end of the school term for the summer, it was not really necessary to install a replacement in her stead, so no fear of that. The beds were all stripped of their sheets and only bare mattresses on steel frames, neither of which had a speck of dust on them as of yet, attested to the meaning of this chamber. Heaving a sigh of relief, he turned around to shut the doors and managed to repress a yelp of horror as he faced Headmaster Dumbledore.
The great man himself said, eyes twinkling as always, "Did you need something, Severus?" His eyes remained fixed on the younger's face, no invading questions about the heavy ornament on his head nor his disheveled appearance.
"No, Headmaster, not at all, " the younger man replied, cursing his discomfiture even as he nearly shuddered in relief at the realization that his statement flowed smoothly, not a hint of a stutter in any of its phrases.
"Well, then, I believe I will just close off this chamber and seal it. No one really wants to come back and do some fall cleaning before the new term, do they?"
"No, Headmaster, I doubt very much that they do." A slight smile, a very slight smile, appeared and the effects of it upon that sour visage were quite amazing. Anyone that did not know the young man might have taken him for an engaging, enterprising young man rather than what he really was, a cold, secretive man with more than a few skeletons in his closet. At least, that was the image he attempted to present to the rest of the world.
Dumbledore smiled kindly at him and then just barely turned his head towards the door. He caught the gesture, however, and walked resignedly out into the hallway. Moving to the right of the broad archway, he glanced furtively to the right and to the left. There was really no place that could shelter him, no place that could offer him refuge.
Nevertheless, he was going to keep that "stiff upper lip" and with that resolution in mind, walked determinedly towards the ancient faculty chamber where they had met several years ago to discuss the appearance of a Death Eater in the Infirmary at the bed of a young woman, who he still did not get along well with but was nevertheless a person to be admired. After all, it was not her fault that she had fallen in love with such a disreputable character as she had done.
The chamber was cool, despite the approach of summer's heat and was refreshing to his perspiring forehead. He sat down in one of the solid, wooden chairs and surveyed the room with narrowed eyes. Satisfied with his visual investigation but still wary, he placed his wand on the table and allowed himself another sigh of relief. That was replaced by a convulsive gulp that left him coughing for air.
"Severus! Whatever are you doing here, darling?" He caught the raised eyebrow she cast on his unusual garments and that only added to his agitation.
"Tre-Sybil, please, do not sneak up on me. I am a very paranoid person."
"I am quite aware of that, Severus. I can see you are a man with a great deal of tension." Her sultry tone raised a shiver up his spine but he managed not to show his revulsion. Not most of it, anyway.
"I also foresee several...outlets for that tension."
"Sybil, I thought you were heading down to France to do a survey of ancient Druid practices with an esteemed archivist...Edmond, was it?" She chuckled and he smiled. If she had looked closer, she would have noted the hunted look beyond his thin lips and dilated pupils or how his hand was clutching his wand hard enough to snap it in two if it had not been possessed of a few warding spells.
"It is kind of you to remember, Severus. No, his name is Etienne deMatin. But you are right on the mark about the survey. It is actually how the Druids used to study omens through the entrails of their Muggle sacrifices. It was a rather common practice among the ancient peoples, though, and there really is not much to it. All the fuss they make over a bit of flesh."
Her voice trailed off at that bit but he did his best to keep a blank face.
It worked. Professor Trelawney might have been flaky and her predictions little more than wishful thinking but she had a sense of etiquette despite it all. After giving him the appropriate valedictions and an adieu, she left the chamber. He had the strange sensation to cheer and dance as soon as she was gone and immediately felt uneasy afterwards. It was not so much that he felt guilty for not being able to reciprocate those misguided feelings but rather that she should bring out that much relief, that much emotion in him. Extremes were dangerous and it was always wise to keep a cool head.
It was considerable irony because despite his having a cool head, his pulse was anything but that. The problem was that he could never stay away too long. He had tried to once, merely as another trial of endurance, when an assignment was given to attend a convocation of representatives for the various schools of magic, both major and minor, of Europe. The subject was the question of whether they should form a federation, a league if you will. The idea fell flat on its face, of course, every school, down to Vichschlott's in Liechtenstein, was too proud of their own to even conceive of the possibility of being listed under a common category. For diplomatic reasons, he refrained from offering his opinion that they were being far too indignant about the matter and if they would really consider the pros and cons, it was apparent that one day such an invention would be necessary, if only to keep their presence in the world. With the inauguration of the States as a leading, if not the foremost, world power, skepticism about magic and magic users was growing in leaps and bounds. The thought made him rise to his feet, as if jerked by a puppeteer, and he began to pace around the chamber, occasionally stopping to rest but always resuming his movement.
Despite the need to keep their society, their culture, hidden, there was a certain limit to how far such a need would go. He was a fond believer of "everything in moderation". Without the introduction of Muggles into their world, the possibilities that they would be reduced to inbreeding in the far future was entirely possible. It had happened during the thirteenth century and had cost them a deadly price as well as taught them a valuable lesson. The lesson had obviously been forgotten with Voldemort but in effect, his presence had been a necessity, a wake-up call. Never again could they allow such a rebel in their midst. Never again would a possible tyrant be allowed to grow among them. They would be watchful. They would be selective. In the end, they must submit to the call of the power that ran in their blood but that would not mean reckless usage or abuse.
-These dreary thoughts wearied even him and in his forgetfulness, he walked out of the chamber. Instantly, an arresting figure of white and aquamarine began walking in his direction. He turned to run but then stopped and with his eyes narrowed in concentration and his thin lips narrowed in concentration, he turned around to face her. That was his first mistake.
Then, he made his second mistake. He began to talk to her.
"Airelle, I know how much you love dressing up for All Hallow's Eve and therefore, by similar trains of thought, costume balls. I understand the conventions of Muggle society in that time period. In fact, I appreciate them, especially since they gave form to that beautiful-" he gulped and willed himself not to look at the low bodice or that pale, creamy throat. "A-and I love you dearly. More than my life, more than my soul, in fact. But surely you understand that I cannot do this." He was ignoring the fact that his tone was nothing less than pleading.
There was silence from the other quarter. Then, a sigh reached his ears, followed by a low, husky laugh.
"Snape, if you do not wish to wear it, I would not force you to wear it. I merely wished to ask your help in something."
With a sense of misgiving, Snape said, "What might that be, my dear?"
"I merely wished to ask your help in putting on this necklace." The necklace was a delicate affair of silver entwined with gold in delicate fanciful designs that evoked images of vines, blossoms, and little songbirds and everywhere was the glow of moonstones. He was very familiar with it, having given it to her on the one-year anniversary of their relationship as lovers. He had planned on saving it for her birthday but it was no use. The necklace belonged on her. A Negrave Charm had lightened the true weight considerably.
That brought him back to the station where his train of thought had begun. By the second day of the gathering, he could barely sit through the endless talks and waffling on, not really because they were boring, but because he was afraid someone might catch him daydreaming with some reprehensible look on his face. Needless to say, the nights were even worse than the days. When he returned, he was surprised by the hidden stores of energy he had left. It was not until a week after the convocation had ended that their students saw a return to their real teachers, not the walking zombies they had been passed off with.
He was forced by the heavy, bell-shaped, and very stiff skirts to lean into her to place the necklace around her throat. As he did so, the scent she had used for the evening reached his nose, causing his nostrils to flare ever so slightly.
"What is that?" he asked, inhaling once more to try and ascertain.
As attuned as she was to him, she answered calmly, "Oh, just a new blend my cousin, Simon, sent to me. He wanted me to try it and see what I thought."
"Simon has very good taste,"he murmured, suddenly aware that the chain was firmly clasped about her neck and she was leaning into him as his arms tightened around her waist. "What exactly is in the blend?"
"Oh, Damask rose, Spanish jasmine, and one more...actually, apple, I believe."
Several years ago, he had received a book on the symbology of flowers and finding their meanings quite useful in certain potions, he had taken the time to memorize most of them. According to his memory, the damask rose represented Beauty Ever New, Youth and Brilliance, Freshness, while the apple introduced Sweet Temptation and the Spanish jasmine exuded Sensuality. The knowledge of what each of those meant caused his eyes to widen and the curiosity about what all three of them combined could mean coaxed a sly smile onto his face.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, feeling his hands lowering to his sides, despite the confines of the gown.
"Oh, nothing to worry about," he said lightly. "Claudete."
The doors shut and they were lost in total darkness.
"Illuminate," she said quietly, and the old torches came to life. They were standing face to face and suddenly, the desire that they had so recently discovered sprang into being once again and the table was so very conveniently there.
[We apologize to interrupt you at this time but we are experiencing technical difficulties at the moment. Your regular program should be returning shortly.]
"Did we have to be so energetic?" he grumbled as he spied his top hat all the way in the far corner of the room.
"Well, you were the one who insisted that we stay close to the wall, " she replied, straightening her garters complacently. He frowned and placed the hat beside the cloak and walking stick.
He was about to refasten the cloak when he saw the expectant look on her face.
He groaned and growled out, "All right, all right. I'll wear the bloody things! But don't blame me if you find yourself sharing an empty bed for the rest of the week because I'm incapacitated!"
"Darling, your ancestors used to wear them all the time and yet here you are."
"Well, they probably were not as well-endowed as I am."
"Snape!"
"Fine." He pulled on the breeches, wincing as he did so.
"Are you happy?" he snapped, stuffing his wand in the hidden slot of his walking stick.
She did not deign to respond but merely engaged him in a long, slow embrace of the tongues even as she helped him to fasten his cloak properly.
Checking their relative apparel, they began to walk towards the doorway. As they were standing directly below the archway, he instinctively held out his arm, crooked.
With a solemn smile, she placed her right arm in his left and Potions Professor Severus Snape and Illusions Professor Airelle Vilka walked down the hallway as he used the cane to tip the hat up slightly in the front.
"You know that I would have worn them anyway, don't you?"
"Of course."
Author's Note: J.K. Rowlings owns Snape's character and Airelle Vilka owns Airelle Vilka. The characters actually own each other but never mind that...hopefully, those of you who are reading this will have read the story. I left the claims of ownership until this point because I did not want to ruin what little mystery the story might have had.
by Cross
Disclaimer: Neither of these characters belong to me but to their respective authors. Hopefully, those authors will be forgiving enough to not have me assasinated after they read this. I am using the definition of 'midsummer' to mean the summer solstice, which should be around the end of most school years.
He walked down the hallways, staring mindlessly ahead of him. Contemporaries waved a half-hearted greeting, half-hearted due to his rather well-known cold nature, but then stopped to stare as he passed by. The slightly dark hollows under his eyes were not surprising, particularly not to those colleagues that had known him when he was a student. Despite his indifference to a sport that involved pointless shufflings of a rounded object and offered great potential for bruises, fractured or even shattered bones, and possibly concussions, he could understand readily the rush of adrenaline that came from competition, the desire to prove one's greatness, and the sweet lassitude that came from success. Therein was the cause for grey pallor and concave cheeks, eyes bright with a fervor and intelligence beyond his years and sleepless hours spent in the school library, usually with a certain companion of long, flowing white hair and eyes as dark and as brilliant as his own.
That last thought sparked him to quicken his pace, glancing quickly behind him all the while. Students swerved to avoid him, although a few of the Slytherin girls paused and attempted to question him on some petty detail. He dismissed them with a curt shake of his head, knowing that they were only wasting their time and his in the natural need for attention. He understood that as well as anyone. By now, the whole school knew exactly the object of his affections was and more than one bathroom, as far as he had heard, had been filled with the sound of heartbroken sobbing on the day the news had broken. He smirked but then it soured into his usual sneer. A choice few, most not of his choice, had learned of this relationship beforehand and merely smirked into their drinks or grinned openly. He gnashed his teeth together and then stopped abruptly as he grimaced. A friend, who had tinkered somewhat in the art of Muggle dentistry, had warned him only a few weeks ago that the frequency of such actions might cause some nerve damage. He was trying to be more careful about it, especially since she had been present during that conversation and tended to remind him a great deal of it. It did not help that he was reduced to the state of adopting milder expressions, since his scowls, sneers, and frowns did nothing more than elicit an amused smile from her. Such a response did not bode well for good morale among the students, who should only know from their professors what their professors taught them. If they wanted to find out more, they would have to exert their powers of observation and who in all the different worlds still did that? The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like all curiosity had died with his generation. Aside from the terror any sane person would have at the mention of Voldemort, Death Eaters, or Dark Marks, they all seemed to plod along placidly in their lives, asking nothing, demanding nothing. If this was the way the worm turned, he desired very much to yank that nematode around by its crop and reverse its direction.
Of course, that complaint did not include Potter or those infernal Weasley brothers he called friends or any Gryffindor for that matter. Those folk were merely born troublemakers and not worth a second thought. The fact that by excluding them from his thoughts meant that he was thinking about them did not do anything to lighten his grim disposition. If anything, the air around him abruptly chilled and the torches lit all around the passageways seemed to grow dimmer.
At last, after what seemed like an eon or two, he reached his destination: the Infirmary. After checking around corners to assure himself that Madame Pomfrey had indeed left the building and was visiting her elderly sister, he entered. With the end of the school term for the summer, it was not really necessary to install a replacement in her stead, so no fear of that. The beds were all stripped of their sheets and only bare mattresses on steel frames, neither of which had a speck of dust on them as of yet, attested to the meaning of this chamber. Heaving a sigh of relief, he turned around to shut the doors and managed to repress a yelp of horror as he faced Headmaster Dumbledore.
The great man himself said, eyes twinkling as always, "Did you need something, Severus?" His eyes remained fixed on the younger's face, no invading questions about the heavy ornament on his head nor his disheveled appearance.
"No, Headmaster, not at all, " the younger man replied, cursing his discomfiture even as he nearly shuddered in relief at the realization that his statement flowed smoothly, not a hint of a stutter in any of its phrases.
"Well, then, I believe I will just close off this chamber and seal it. No one really wants to come back and do some fall cleaning before the new term, do they?"
"No, Headmaster, I doubt very much that they do." A slight smile, a very slight smile, appeared and the effects of it upon that sour visage were quite amazing. Anyone that did not know the young man might have taken him for an engaging, enterprising young man rather than what he really was, a cold, secretive man with more than a few skeletons in his closet. At least, that was the image he attempted to present to the rest of the world.
Dumbledore smiled kindly at him and then just barely turned his head towards the door. He caught the gesture, however, and walked resignedly out into the hallway. Moving to the right of the broad archway, he glanced furtively to the right and to the left. There was really no place that could shelter him, no place that could offer him refuge.
Nevertheless, he was going to keep that "stiff upper lip" and with that resolution in mind, walked determinedly towards the ancient faculty chamber where they had met several years ago to discuss the appearance of a Death Eater in the Infirmary at the bed of a young woman, who he still did not get along well with but was nevertheless a person to be admired. After all, it was not her fault that she had fallen in love with such a disreputable character as she had done.
The chamber was cool, despite the approach of summer's heat and was refreshing to his perspiring forehead. He sat down in one of the solid, wooden chairs and surveyed the room with narrowed eyes. Satisfied with his visual investigation but still wary, he placed his wand on the table and allowed himself another sigh of relief. That was replaced by a convulsive gulp that left him coughing for air.
"Severus! Whatever are you doing here, darling?" He caught the raised eyebrow she cast on his unusual garments and that only added to his agitation.
"Tre-Sybil, please, do not sneak up on me. I am a very paranoid person."
"I am quite aware of that, Severus. I can see you are a man with a great deal of tension." Her sultry tone raised a shiver up his spine but he managed not to show his revulsion. Not most of it, anyway.
"I also foresee several...outlets for that tension."
"Sybil, I thought you were heading down to France to do a survey of ancient Druid practices with an esteemed archivist...Edmond, was it?" She chuckled and he smiled. If she had looked closer, she would have noted the hunted look beyond his thin lips and dilated pupils or how his hand was clutching his wand hard enough to snap it in two if it had not been possessed of a few warding spells.
"It is kind of you to remember, Severus. No, his name is Etienne deMatin. But you are right on the mark about the survey. It is actually how the Druids used to study omens through the entrails of their Muggle sacrifices. It was a rather common practice among the ancient peoples, though, and there really is not much to it. All the fuss they make over a bit of flesh."
Her voice trailed off at that bit but he did his best to keep a blank face.
It worked. Professor Trelawney might have been flaky and her predictions little more than wishful thinking but she had a sense of etiquette despite it all. After giving him the appropriate valedictions and an adieu, she left the chamber. He had the strange sensation to cheer and dance as soon as she was gone and immediately felt uneasy afterwards. It was not so much that he felt guilty for not being able to reciprocate those misguided feelings but rather that she should bring out that much relief, that much emotion in him. Extremes were dangerous and it was always wise to keep a cool head.
It was considerable irony because despite his having a cool head, his pulse was anything but that. The problem was that he could never stay away too long. He had tried to once, merely as another trial of endurance, when an assignment was given to attend a convocation of representatives for the various schools of magic, both major and minor, of Europe. The subject was the question of whether they should form a federation, a league if you will. The idea fell flat on its face, of course, every school, down to Vichschlott's in Liechtenstein, was too proud of their own to even conceive of the possibility of being listed under a common category. For diplomatic reasons, he refrained from offering his opinion that they were being far too indignant about the matter and if they would really consider the pros and cons, it was apparent that one day such an invention would be necessary, if only to keep their presence in the world. With the inauguration of the States as a leading, if not the foremost, world power, skepticism about magic and magic users was growing in leaps and bounds. The thought made him rise to his feet, as if jerked by a puppeteer, and he began to pace around the chamber, occasionally stopping to rest but always resuming his movement.
Despite the need to keep their society, their culture, hidden, there was a certain limit to how far such a need would go. He was a fond believer of "everything in moderation". Without the introduction of Muggles into their world, the possibilities that they would be reduced to inbreeding in the far future was entirely possible. It had happened during the thirteenth century and had cost them a deadly price as well as taught them a valuable lesson. The lesson had obviously been forgotten with Voldemort but in effect, his presence had been a necessity, a wake-up call. Never again could they allow such a rebel in their midst. Never again would a possible tyrant be allowed to grow among them. They would be watchful. They would be selective. In the end, they must submit to the call of the power that ran in their blood but that would not mean reckless usage or abuse.
-These dreary thoughts wearied even him and in his forgetfulness, he walked out of the chamber. Instantly, an arresting figure of white and aquamarine began walking in his direction. He turned to run but then stopped and with his eyes narrowed in concentration and his thin lips narrowed in concentration, he turned around to face her. That was his first mistake.
Then, he made his second mistake. He began to talk to her.
"Airelle, I know how much you love dressing up for All Hallow's Eve and therefore, by similar trains of thought, costume balls. I understand the conventions of Muggle society in that time period. In fact, I appreciate them, especially since they gave form to that beautiful-" he gulped and willed himself not to look at the low bodice or that pale, creamy throat. "A-and I love you dearly. More than my life, more than my soul, in fact. But surely you understand that I cannot do this." He was ignoring the fact that his tone was nothing less than pleading.
There was silence from the other quarter. Then, a sigh reached his ears, followed by a low, husky laugh.
"Snape, if you do not wish to wear it, I would not force you to wear it. I merely wished to ask your help in something."
With a sense of misgiving, Snape said, "What might that be, my dear?"
"I merely wished to ask your help in putting on this necklace." The necklace was a delicate affair of silver entwined with gold in delicate fanciful designs that evoked images of vines, blossoms, and little songbirds and everywhere was the glow of moonstones. He was very familiar with it, having given it to her on the one-year anniversary of their relationship as lovers. He had planned on saving it for her birthday but it was no use. The necklace belonged on her. A Negrave Charm had lightened the true weight considerably.
That brought him back to the station where his train of thought had begun. By the second day of the gathering, he could barely sit through the endless talks and waffling on, not really because they were boring, but because he was afraid someone might catch him daydreaming with some reprehensible look on his face. Needless to say, the nights were even worse than the days. When he returned, he was surprised by the hidden stores of energy he had left. It was not until a week after the convocation had ended that their students saw a return to their real teachers, not the walking zombies they had been passed off with.
He was forced by the heavy, bell-shaped, and very stiff skirts to lean into her to place the necklace around her throat. As he did so, the scent she had used for the evening reached his nose, causing his nostrils to flare ever so slightly.
"What is that?" he asked, inhaling once more to try and ascertain.
As attuned as she was to him, she answered calmly, "Oh, just a new blend my cousin, Simon, sent to me. He wanted me to try it and see what I thought."
"Simon has very good taste,"he murmured, suddenly aware that the chain was firmly clasped about her neck and she was leaning into him as his arms tightened around her waist. "What exactly is in the blend?"
"Oh, Damask rose, Spanish jasmine, and one more...actually, apple, I believe."
Several years ago, he had received a book on the symbology of flowers and finding their meanings quite useful in certain potions, he had taken the time to memorize most of them. According to his memory, the damask rose represented Beauty Ever New, Youth and Brilliance, Freshness, while the apple introduced Sweet Temptation and the Spanish jasmine exuded Sensuality. The knowledge of what each of those meant caused his eyes to widen and the curiosity about what all three of them combined could mean coaxed a sly smile onto his face.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, feeling his hands lowering to his sides, despite the confines of the gown.
"Oh, nothing to worry about," he said lightly. "Claudete."
The doors shut and they were lost in total darkness.
"Illuminate," she said quietly, and the old torches came to life. They were standing face to face and suddenly, the desire that they had so recently discovered sprang into being once again and the table was so very conveniently there.
[We apologize to interrupt you at this time but we are experiencing technical difficulties at the moment. Your regular program should be returning shortly.]
"Did we have to be so energetic?" he grumbled as he spied his top hat all the way in the far corner of the room.
"Well, you were the one who insisted that we stay close to the wall, " she replied, straightening her garters complacently. He frowned and placed the hat beside the cloak and walking stick.
He was about to refasten the cloak when he saw the expectant look on her face.
He groaned and growled out, "All right, all right. I'll wear the bloody things! But don't blame me if you find yourself sharing an empty bed for the rest of the week because I'm incapacitated!"
"Darling, your ancestors used to wear them all the time and yet here you are."
"Well, they probably were not as well-endowed as I am."
"Snape!"
"Fine." He pulled on the breeches, wincing as he did so.
"Are you happy?" he snapped, stuffing his wand in the hidden slot of his walking stick.
She did not deign to respond but merely engaged him in a long, slow embrace of the tongues even as she helped him to fasten his cloak properly.
Checking their relative apparel, they began to walk towards the doorway. As they were standing directly below the archway, he instinctively held out his arm, crooked.
With a solemn smile, she placed her right arm in his left and Potions Professor Severus Snape and Illusions Professor Airelle Vilka walked down the hallway as he used the cane to tip the hat up slightly in the front.
"You know that I would have worn them anyway, don't you?"
"Of course."
Author's Note: J.K. Rowlings owns Snape's character and Airelle Vilka owns Airelle Vilka. The characters actually own each other but never mind that...hopefully, those of you who are reading this will have read the story. I left the claims of ownership until this point because I did not want to ruin what little mystery the story might have had.