1 Chapter 2
Snape was angry. Cyra liked him when he was angry – she always wondered how slim the border was between the controlled anger and the apoplectic hysteria. When he was angry, like so many other times, he used his silky, threatening tone; but she was always prone to thinking what it might be like if he flipped. If he lost it. Went mad – flew at something or someone; screamed in manic rage. She smiled quietly to herself. She'd like to be there to see that happen.
At the moment though, he was just prowling round his office whilst Cyra sat motionless in a chair. He hadn't spoken since he'd found her at the bottom of the stairs. He'd hissed at her to get up and follow him through the corridors to his office, and for the rest of the time the air between the two of them had remained silent. But it wasn't as if she'd needed his guidance to go anywhere; she knew the Hogwarts corridors like the back of her hand – and anyway, she'd been to his office so many times before.
He was skulking the small area of the cold stone room like a giant bat, the glass jars luminous on the walls with their sickly jelly-like fluids. Cyra was not put off in the slightest. The office was of no interest to her, and she was not the flinching type. He was her subject – she was regarding his response to her with interest. His eyes were narrowed and his lip was curling, but he didn't speak. Often, his eyes strayed as though he was going to look at her, but something would stop him and he would abruptly turn on his heel and pace the other way. Cyra's own eyes followed his every movement. She was pretty sure Snape knew she was watching him. Perhaps that was why he seemed wary to face her – most people avoided doing so when they knew the intensity of her gaze.
Suddenly, he stopped pacing and turned to look her in the eye. Black against blue, they stared each other out. He was directly opposite her, and his face was so close she could see every pore on his pale skin. The scorn in his eyes seemed to set his face in a mask of disgust. Cyra smiled inwardly. He liked her.
"Perhaps, Dracado," he said icily, "you wouldn't mind telling me what this is all about; what this little night-stroll is all on account of. Why do I find you sneaking down passages at two o'clock at night? There must be some kind of reason."
Inside her mind, Cyra corrected him in that two o'clock at night should in fact be phrased two o'clock in the morning. She didn't say anything.
He looked at her sourly.
"Well?" he hissed, "I'm waiting."
And so am I, thought Cyra, but don't stop now.
Snape glared at her. She didn't say a word.
"I'm waiting, Dracado," he repeated.
She didn't reply. The anger was flickering in his eyes. Cyra sat in silence. She could almost feel the anticipation tingling over her. Snape's eyes narrowed so thinly they were barely more than slits. Cyra's own eyes remained steady, but the excitement was thrilling. She smiled very slightly.
Snape looked infuriated.
"Something funny?" he hissed. Cyra noticed with a funny tingling feeling that he seemed to be having difficulty controlling his temper. "Dracado, I said is something funny?"
His hands were balling into fists. This was so good. She didn't say anything. Her smile was widening. Snape's breathing quickened.
"I said, is something funny?" he spat through clenched teeth.
Cyra's breathing was becoming faster too. He was cracking. Her eyes bored into his furious ones gleefully.
"Answer me, Dracado." She pressed her lips close. Her smile pushed up her cheeks restlessly.
"Stop sitting there quietly. Tell me. Now!"
She pressed them closer together, so hard her mouth was white with the pressure.
"I won't hesitate in giving out a detention."
Her lips couldn't suppress it any longer. The excitement was swelling inside her, almost bursting out. She wanted to laugh. This was so funny. This was brilliant. It felt so good.
Snape's breath was rasping with muted frustration.
"Stop it!" he spat. "Stop it!"
She wouldn't. She couldn't.
"Stop it!" he repeated. Louder. Losing control.
She couldn't keep it inside any longer. She laughed.
His breathing was fast, irregular. He was out of control.
"Stop it!"
She laughed. Right in his face. Right in his pale, angry face.
"Stop it!"
More than angry – beyond anger. Fury. Rage.
"Stop it Dracado, stop laughing."
She was hysterical herself. On and on and harder and harder she laughed. Violently.
"Stop it!" screamed Snape. Yes. He was screaming at her. He'd cracked. She'd done it. "Stop it stop it stop it!"
She was doubled up in vicious laughter, water in her eyes. She couldn't focus. He wasn't a person anymore. Just a thing. An angry – no, beyond angry – thing; swishing and pleading and screaming.
"Stop!"
Yes. He was yelling.
"Stop!" She threw her head back and laughed so hard that it hurt.
"Stop!" He was in a rage. She laughed in brilliant agony.
"Stop it!" Yes.
"Stop it!" Then the agony was real. His hand came out of nowhere and slapped her viciously round the face. She caught her breath. He was…
"STOP!" …Apoplectic.
There was silence.
Snape drew back, almost looking scared. He had hit a student.
Cyra felt the uncontainable excitement inside her simmer down contentedly. She'd pushed him past breaking point. She stopped laughing. The hysteria had been knocked out by the slap, and the remaining debris of irresistible giggles slowed down into nothing but her smile. Slowly she turned her head away from the direction it had been hit towards and looked back at Snape.
He was looking, if possible, paler than ever. His usually calm face was flickering with involuntary twitches of guilt and other things. He had hit a student. He was backed against the opposite wall, his breathing shallow. Neither of them said anything. She locked her eyes onto his, as the seconds lapsed into minutes. He had hit a student.
Then, very quietly, she gave one last smile. That was all there was left of what had been inside her for so long before. Satisfied. Finally.
She stood up, slowly. Her body felt much less tense now. All relaxed.
She moved to the door, her eyes drifting away from his. She lifted her hand to the doorknob and twisting it softly. With a creak the door edged open. Outside was the wet and cold of the dungeons. Snape was still watching her, she could feel it.
She turned her head and settled her gaze on him again. Withdrawing and scared, he was rooted to the spot, his mouth slightly open. Panicky. Terrified. Regretful?
They were all the same.
With a last, pleased smiled to herself, Cyra Dracado eased open the door and stepped out without being dismissed. It clicked shut behind her.
Another one down.
Snape was angry. Cyra liked him when he was angry – she always wondered how slim the border was between the controlled anger and the apoplectic hysteria. When he was angry, like so many other times, he used his silky, threatening tone; but she was always prone to thinking what it might be like if he flipped. If he lost it. Went mad – flew at something or someone; screamed in manic rage. She smiled quietly to herself. She'd like to be there to see that happen.
At the moment though, he was just prowling round his office whilst Cyra sat motionless in a chair. He hadn't spoken since he'd found her at the bottom of the stairs. He'd hissed at her to get up and follow him through the corridors to his office, and for the rest of the time the air between the two of them had remained silent. But it wasn't as if she'd needed his guidance to go anywhere; she knew the Hogwarts corridors like the back of her hand – and anyway, she'd been to his office so many times before.
He was skulking the small area of the cold stone room like a giant bat, the glass jars luminous on the walls with their sickly jelly-like fluids. Cyra was not put off in the slightest. The office was of no interest to her, and she was not the flinching type. He was her subject – she was regarding his response to her with interest. His eyes were narrowed and his lip was curling, but he didn't speak. Often, his eyes strayed as though he was going to look at her, but something would stop him and he would abruptly turn on his heel and pace the other way. Cyra's own eyes followed his every movement. She was pretty sure Snape knew she was watching him. Perhaps that was why he seemed wary to face her – most people avoided doing so when they knew the intensity of her gaze.
Suddenly, he stopped pacing and turned to look her in the eye. Black against blue, they stared each other out. He was directly opposite her, and his face was so close she could see every pore on his pale skin. The scorn in his eyes seemed to set his face in a mask of disgust. Cyra smiled inwardly. He liked her.
"Perhaps, Dracado," he said icily, "you wouldn't mind telling me what this is all about; what this little night-stroll is all on account of. Why do I find you sneaking down passages at two o'clock at night? There must be some kind of reason."
Inside her mind, Cyra corrected him in that two o'clock at night should in fact be phrased two o'clock in the morning. She didn't say anything.
He looked at her sourly.
"Well?" he hissed, "I'm waiting."
And so am I, thought Cyra, but don't stop now.
Snape glared at her. She didn't say a word.
"I'm waiting, Dracado," he repeated.
She didn't reply. The anger was flickering in his eyes. Cyra sat in silence. She could almost feel the anticipation tingling over her. Snape's eyes narrowed so thinly they were barely more than slits. Cyra's own eyes remained steady, but the excitement was thrilling. She smiled very slightly.
Snape looked infuriated.
"Something funny?" he hissed. Cyra noticed with a funny tingling feeling that he seemed to be having difficulty controlling his temper. "Dracado, I said is something funny?"
His hands were balling into fists. This was so good. She didn't say anything. Her smile was widening. Snape's breathing quickened.
"I said, is something funny?" he spat through clenched teeth.
Cyra's breathing was becoming faster too. He was cracking. Her eyes bored into his furious ones gleefully.
"Answer me, Dracado." She pressed her lips close. Her smile pushed up her cheeks restlessly.
"Stop sitting there quietly. Tell me. Now!"
She pressed them closer together, so hard her mouth was white with the pressure.
"I won't hesitate in giving out a detention."
Her lips couldn't suppress it any longer. The excitement was swelling inside her, almost bursting out. She wanted to laugh. This was so funny. This was brilliant. It felt so good.
Snape's breath was rasping with muted frustration.
"Stop it!" he spat. "Stop it!"
She wouldn't. She couldn't.
"Stop it!" he repeated. Louder. Losing control.
She couldn't keep it inside any longer. She laughed.
His breathing was fast, irregular. He was out of control.
"Stop it!"
She laughed. Right in his face. Right in his pale, angry face.
"Stop it!"
More than angry – beyond anger. Fury. Rage.
"Stop it Dracado, stop laughing."
She was hysterical herself. On and on and harder and harder she laughed. Violently.
"Stop it!" screamed Snape. Yes. He was screaming at her. He'd cracked. She'd done it. "Stop it stop it stop it!"
She was doubled up in vicious laughter, water in her eyes. She couldn't focus. He wasn't a person anymore. Just a thing. An angry – no, beyond angry – thing; swishing and pleading and screaming.
"Stop!"
Yes. He was yelling.
"Stop!" She threw her head back and laughed so hard that it hurt.
"Stop!" He was in a rage. She laughed in brilliant agony.
"Stop it!" Yes.
"Stop it!" Then the agony was real. His hand came out of nowhere and slapped her viciously round the face. She caught her breath. He was…
"STOP!" …Apoplectic.
There was silence.
Snape drew back, almost looking scared. He had hit a student.
Cyra felt the uncontainable excitement inside her simmer down contentedly. She'd pushed him past breaking point. She stopped laughing. The hysteria had been knocked out by the slap, and the remaining debris of irresistible giggles slowed down into nothing but her smile. Slowly she turned her head away from the direction it had been hit towards and looked back at Snape.
He was looking, if possible, paler than ever. His usually calm face was flickering with involuntary twitches of guilt and other things. He had hit a student. He was backed against the opposite wall, his breathing shallow. Neither of them said anything. She locked her eyes onto his, as the seconds lapsed into minutes. He had hit a student.
Then, very quietly, she gave one last smile. That was all there was left of what had been inside her for so long before. Satisfied. Finally.
She stood up, slowly. Her body felt much less tense now. All relaxed.
She moved to the door, her eyes drifting away from his. She lifted her hand to the doorknob and twisting it softly. With a creak the door edged open. Outside was the wet and cold of the dungeons. Snape was still watching her, she could feel it.
She turned her head and settled her gaze on him again. Withdrawing and scared, he was rooted to the spot, his mouth slightly open. Panicky. Terrified. Regretful?
They were all the same.
With a last, pleased smiled to herself, Cyra Dracado eased open the door and stepped out without being dismissed. It clicked shut behind her.
Another one down.