"Whatcha thinking about?"
Thomas flicked an idle pumpkin seed at Lydia from the bowl he was eating out of. They were both sitting in the Ravenclaw common room which was empty except for them. Lydia stared into the crackling fire.
"Eh," she shrugged noncommittally. "Stuff. You know."
"Yeah, I guess." Thomas yawned and popped another handful of seeds into his mouth. "Got a lot on my mind, too. Too much going on, first there's that Divinations packet due tomorrow, then that three foot essay for History, and on top of all that, we've got to master that glowing charm for Flick," he said, using the affectionate shortening of his Head of House's name. Not that he ever used it when addressing the little man himself, of course.
"Mhm." Lydia blinked distractedly, only half listening to her friend. "If you need help with that paper, just lemme know."
"Yeah, I just might. So what's happening, anyway?" Thomas emptied the bowl and sent it flying into the wall. "Oops! I guess I need to work on that charm."
"Reparo," Lydia said absently, with a flick of her wand. "Do try and be more careful, Thomas." She still didn't look up.
"Hey, is there something wrong? You seem a little, I dunno, distracted. What's up?"
"Nothing." Lydia tore her eyes from the dancing flames and smiled weakly. "Just a lot of work, like you said." Well, that and a whole lot more on her mind than just schoolwork...but he didn't need to know that. Best just keep quiet.
"You can say that again. Is it just me, or are the teachers getting meaner as the year goes on? Oh well." He yawned again and pulled a Chocolate Frog from his robes. "Hey, only a week until the Halloween Feast," he said as he munched. "Who you going to the dance with after? Marc Prescott?"
Lydia shrugged. "Maybe, I dunno. Yeah," she amended as she felt Thomas' inquiring stare. "Probably."
"Good." He laughed a trifle nervously. "I wasn't sure for a moment, there. The way things are going, I half expected you to say you were gonna be going with Snappish Snape."
"I beg your pardon?" Lydia demanded, a little too sharply. Her braid whipped around as she turned to face him. "Where did you get that idea? Thomas-"
"Hey, calm down." Thomas raised his palms placatingly. "Don't go getting all bent out of shape on me. I was just kidding, alright? Can't you take a joke?"
"Not when they aren't funny," she grumped, resuming her stare into the fireplace.
"What's gotten into you lately, anyway?" he asked, his turn to stare quizzically. "You seem so...irritable. And distracted. It's like I can't even talk to you anymore without watching what I say all the time."
"Look, it just wasn't funny, okay?" She heard the annoyance creeping into the edge of her voice and tried to block it off. "Just drop it."
"I didn't mean anything by it," Thomas said, sulkily. "It's just that you're the only one who he doesn't look like he wants to kill during class time. He's barely said a word to you since-" He trailed off nervously, glancing at her through the corner of his eye.
"Since my parents died," she finished bluntly, without blinking an eye. It had been nearly five months now, and she found she could talk about it some, as long as she didn't think to hard about it.
"Er...right." There was an awkward pause, during which she hoped he would just let things lie. No such luck.
"I mean, the whole class is beginning to notice," he went on, blithely. "I mean, it wouldn't be a big deal with anyone else, but I don't think I've ever seen him so unhostile befo- What?" He drew back from the Look she was giving him. "What did I say?"
"What do you mean, people are beginning to notice?" Lydia asked him slowly, wondering if she was asking too much too quickly.
Thomas shrugged. "I dunno. People are talking about how you've managed to get on his good side, or something. There are a few rumours flying around, but nothing major."
"What sort of rumours?" God, she thought uneasily, the conversation was going rapidly downhill.
"You know, just stupid little things." Thomas looked at her warily. "What do you care, anyway? It's not like you're out boffing the teacher or something-"
"Thomas!" Lydia gripped the arms of her chair so hard her knuckles turned white.
"What?" he shot back. "Fine, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I brought it up at all. I forgot you don't like to talk about that kind of thing." He sat back moodily in his chair, arms crossed, staring into the fire. Lydia heard his uneven breathing and knew things had gotten a little out of control. Tonight, though, she was in no mood to try and smooth things over again.
"I'm going up to my room," she said without looking at her friend. "I'll see you in the morning." Thomas made some unintelligible noise that sounded vaguely like a grunt of assent. For some reason, that just irked her even more. As if she needed his approval to do anything!
Angrily, she jerked back the bed curtains and yanked them closed again behind her. She lay in the darkness, hissing silent streams of anger, like a teakettle boiling over. "Stupid git," she snarled to herself. "Daft, senseless prig! So bloody thick sometimes!" She lay back, repeating a string of insults through her mind as she stared at the ceiling. "Ah, what's the use?"
She rolled over on her side, thinking she could at least to sleep early. As she first closed her eyes, she thought herself too wound up to relax enough to do anything but stare at the inside of her eyelids. But either she was more tired than she thought, or the pseudo-argument with Thomas wore her out. Either way, she was asleep before she could do more than think about it.
"Lydia?"
"Mph?"
"Hey, Lydia, giddup." An hand shook her, none too gently.
"Mm...g'way. Wha'ya want?"
"C'mon, ye great lump. Stir yerself!" Taylor's persistent voice cut through the clouds of sleep that fogged Lydia's brain. "Thomas wants to talk t'you. Says to tell you he's sorry, and he's got something to tell you." She shook Lydia harder. "C'mon, get yerself up!"
Groaning, Lydia opened her eyes and yawned. "He couldn't have told me before I fell asleep?" she asked rhetorically. "What's he want, anyway?"
"I dunno," Taylor said, much to Lydia's disappointment. "Just that he wants to talk with you. Oh yeah, did you hear about Cho?" Lydia shook her head. "Well, I guess Flitwick decided to shift the dorming around, so she's going to be moving out tomorrow. Gonna be staying with a group from her own year, instead." Although she was only a fourth year, there were so many of them in the Ravenclaw Tower that she had roomed with Lydia and Taylor instead. For the most part, Lydia hadn't even noticed the year's difference, but she was glad for the younger girl that she was going to be living with people her own age.
She climbed out of bed with difficulty, still blinking the sleep from her eyes. She pulled her shoes on clumsily and staggered over to the stairway.
"You gonna be alright?" Taylor called after her. "Sure you don't wanna wake up a bit more before you go?"
"I'll be fine," Lydia assured her, her hand groping for the banister. She clomped down the stairs, shrugging her robes straight as she walked. Thomas was waiting for her down at the bottom of the stairs, looking uncomfortable and a little ashamed.
"Eh- I guess I want to say I'm sorry," he said scuffing the toe of his shoe on the floor. "I was being a bit of a prick tonight."
Yes, Lydia thought to herself, you were. Out loud, she said, "Yeah. But if you didn't, I'd think something was wrong."
Thomas looked hurt for half a second, then suddenly brightened. "Yeah, well, that's what I'm hear for," he bragged, a grin on his long face. "What would you do without me, anyway?"
Sleep? she almost suggested, but bit her tongue.
"C'mon," he said, grabbing her by the sleeve of her robe and dragging her towards the stairs leading to the kitchen. "Let's go get something to eat, I'm starved."
"Thomas," Lydia laughed. "When are you not hungry? Didn't your parents ever feed you when you were little?"
"Never and not enough," he said cheekily as they climbed the stairs. "They said themselves they're surprised I don't weigh as much as Hagrid."
Lydia was laughing so hard at the thought of Thomas blown up with the girth of one of Hagrid's pumpkins, rolling down the halls towards the kitchen that she almost missed the top step. Instead, she stumbled forward, straight into a familiar, hard faced student.
"Watch it, you stupid girl." Mitchell Sarrington glanced up and recognition slowly dawned on his pale face. "You again?" he snarled, drawing himself up. "You need to learn to watch where you're going. Daft Ravenclaws." He snickered unkindly as he looked her up and down. "No brains, no sense, not even particularly good looking. I wonder what he sees in you..."
Lydia felt the blood drain from her face. "What did you say?" she asked lowly, ignoring Thomas' bewildered stare. Mitchell laughed.
"I think you know what I mean," he said cruelly. "I'd never have suspected our dear Head of House to be consorting with the likes of you." He noticed Thomas' expression and his smile widened. "I see you haven't told your faithful sidekick yet," he said. "Shall I be the first to let a little light into that thick skull of his?"
"Shut up." Lydia felt white hot rage begin to creep into her veins. She clenched her fists at her side. "Just shut up. Go back to the dungeons where you belong, you damn snake." She nearly choked on her fury. Mitchell just laughed again.
"I'll be seeing you," he taunted over his shoulder as he walked down the hallways. "Real soon, I'm bound. If I decide to hang around our dear Professor's private rooms, that is..." His voice faded down the corridor, and Lydia allowed her hands to unclench. Her breathing was heavy as she followed the Slytherin sixth year with a glare that would have set Voldemort himself back on his heels. It wasn't until she turned around that she noticed the expression on Thomas' face.
"Oh my God," he breathed, staring at her with a mix of horror and disgust. "You are boffing the bastard."
Lydia took a step towards him, he took a step back, gazing at her with wide eyed revulsion. "Thomas," she began, holding out her hand. "Please, Thomas. Listen to me."
"Oh my God. No wonder you got so uptight whenever I- Merlin's beard, you and...oh man. Oh man."
"Thomas, would you please stop being a stupid prat and listen to me for a minute?" Lydia grabbed him by the sleeve of his robe and yanked him into a nook in the hall. "First off, shut your mouth, you're starting to attract flies." She took him by the shoulders and stared him straight in the eye. "Are you prepared to listen to me for a minute? Thomas?" She shook him, her black eyes boring into his green ones. "If you ever thought of yourself as my friend, then for Merlin's sake just give me a second to explain!"
Slowly, Thomas shut his mouth and nodded once. Lydia released his shoulders and stepped back, taking a deep breath.
"Remember last week when you tried to stop me from getting myself killed?" Lydia twisted a length of thread between her fingers, not looking her friend directly in the eye. "You went to find Dumbledore but ended up bringing Snape back instead." She looked up and bit her lip. "That's when it started."
* * *
"What-" Lydia paused, hating herself for what she was about to ask. But she needed to know. "What about you?"
Snape ignored her and continued on without a pause. To Lydia, his disregard of her question came as a relief; she still wasn't certain whether or not she could deal with the possible consequences that her question would birth. At the same time, she felt keen disappointment because she didn't know if she would ever have the courage to ask it again. Snape talked on, oblivious to the turmoil in her mind, of the thoughts in her head. She nearly wept from the ache in her heart and the cold knot in her stomach. She was so aware of his slender fingers on her back, the thin, bony shoulder on which she rested her head. She breathed in and smelled the cool scent of his skin, sharp and clean like a bin of fresh herbs.
She realized that Snape had at last stopped talking but continued to hold her, slender arms clasping her close. Neither of them said anything for a long, long time. Somewhere outside, they could hear the scuffle of Thomas' shoes on the floor as he paced anxiously.
"How-" her throat tightened in fearful anticipation. She could barely force the words out, but she knew that it was either now or never. But why? Why, why ask in the first place? The truth was never kind, why do this to herself?
Because she had to know, she had to ask, to get the words out before they boiled away her control to nothingness. Best ask now while she was at least under her own will rather than forgetting herself and letting the words slip out unsuspectingly at the worst time, the worst place. And she needed to know at that moment, not later, not another day, but now. She had to ask.
"How can something feel this good and still be so wrong?"
Was it her imagination, or did she feel his entire body stiffen under hers? Her heart sank as her question was met by empty silence. Lydia cursed herself silently and started to disentangle herself. Of all the bloody stupid things to do-
A warm breath in her ear stopped her as she moved to rise. Snape held her closer as he whispered in her ear. "Whoever said it had to be wrong?"
Startled, Lydia looked up at him and nearly cried out at the sight of his open pain, sadness and desire. Suddenly she understood: here was a man so convinced that no one could ever love him that he eliminated every hope, every possibility until he had even himself convinced that he didn't care. But he could not lie to himself forever and now, as he lay himself open before her, she saw the depths of his anguish as he wordlessly handed her his soul.
"Professor-" Lydia buried her head into his robes, weeping silently into the nook where his neck joined with his shoulder. For the first time in months, years, her tears were not the bitter tears of grief or the harsh, stinging tears of sorrow. Instead, she wept for the sheer relief brought about as the questions that had been brushing about her thoughts for the past year were answered. Somewhere she knew that all her fears and doubts had been groundless, that there was never any doubt of the outcome.
Snape said nothing, but pressed his lips to the top of her head. His bony fingers tightened their grip as he held her ever closer, clutching her to him as if though he was afraid that she would disappear from his very embrace.
As her tears dried and ran themselves out, Snape gently lifted her head from his shoulder, wiping the tears from her face with his thumbs. "Your friend, Mr. Applegate will be wondering," he said, his black eyes soft for the first time that Lydia could remember.
"He doesn't need to know," she told him, twisting a strand of his long black hair around her fingers. "No one needs to know."
"True." Snape smiled ever-so-slightly and stood. "Fifteen minutes. You know where to find me." He turned and left, his robes scraping softly against the stone steps. Moments later, Lydia heard him telling Thomas that he was to return to his own dorm and wait until morning to see her. She hid her smile, though there was no one to see. Even his friendship with Lydia wouldn't be enough for him to disobey an order from Snape.
The minutes ticked by molasses slow, each one taking longer than the last until it was time. Lydia rose, cocking her ears for any sound of her roommates. Luck was with her; Taylor was out on a midnight rendezvous with her new Gryffindor bloke. Cho was probably down by the lake, catching up on her sketches. Thomas had already retreated to his own bed, and the common room was empty.
Lydia slipped past the portrait door and padded noiselessly down the steps towards the dungeon. The cold seeped into her robes and she shivered, telling herself it was only a matter of minutes before she would be warm again. As she knocked on the door to Snape's private offices, she prayed that he hadn't changed his mind, that once given the chance to think it over had come to his sense and would refuse her entry. But as the doors swung open, she caught sight of him standing beside his desk and realized that he had been plagued by the same fears as she. His took a step towards her as she entered, one hand half raised.
"You came," he whispered hoarsely, his eyes revealing what his voice did not. "I wasn't certain- I thought you might have..."
She shook her head, letting her hair fall loose from her braid and hang around her shoulders. "I told you once," she said, feeling her stomach flutter with nervousness. She clenched her hands to hide their shaking and closed the gap between them. "I told you-"
And then there was no need for words.
As Lydia made her way back up the Ravenclaw tower in the wee hours of morning, she fingered the small chain that had always hung around her neck since her mother died. The tiny locket swung gently, and when she released the clasp, a perfect, miniature painting of her mother smiled at her warmly. She reached out her fingertip to touch the tiny features and closed the locket again.
Once back in her own room, she carefully unpacked her trunk and replaced the various contents in her closet. And then, as she lay on her bed, her heart singing, she repeated Severus' parting words to her as she got up to leave his rooms.
"And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent."
* * *
Lydia brought her narration to a close and looked at Thomas expectantly. The young Ravenclaw just shook his head, staring at the ground.
"I'd never have guessed," he said quietly. "I'm still not sure what to think." He looked hard at her. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"
"Thomas, I've never been more sure of anything in my entire life," she said fervently. "I swear to you, this is right."
"So he's not- you aren't just....he's not just taking advantage-?"
"No, Thomas." Lydia shook her head, her black braid swinging. "I'm sure of it. And besides," she continued, "that was a week ago. It only happened twice, maybe three times." She fumbled about for the right words to describe. "We found out that- it wasn't the sex." She saw Thomas wince and searched for a more tactful description. "We didn't need to be in that intimate a relationship. It's enough just to be with him, to know he's there and that...and that he loves me." She said the last part hesitantly.
"He told you that?" Thomas' voice was incredulous.
Lydia shook her head. "No," she admitted. "He hasn't actually said that he has. But he doesn't need to."
"So you two aren't still-" Thomas shook his head. "Sorry, Lyd. It's just really hard to wrap my mind around this right now."
"I know, I know. How do you think I felt when I first realized I was in love with him?"
Thomas looked at her sharply. "You're absolutely sure about that?"
"Yes." Lydia was surprised at the conviction in her voice. "I am. I love him, Thomas, and I'd die for him. And I know he'd do the same for me."
"Let's just hope the opportunity to test that never comes," Thomas said dryly, regaining some of his old humor. He took one of her hands in his own. "If you're sure you're happy, then I guess that's all that matters," he said. "But Lydia?"
"Yeah?"
Thomas looked at her seriously, the beginnings of a scowl darkening his face. "I will not like that greasy bastard just because you're his lover."
"Shutup!" Lydia clapped her hand over her friend's mouth, but it was too late. The sound of footsteps coming down the hall stopped as the owner heard Thomas' voice. Lydia prayed that whoever it was would either discount it as their imagination or not find it important and go away. Please, please, please just make them go away.
Instead, the footsteps grew louder as the person came closer. Giving up all thoughts of hiding, Lydia stepped out into the open hallway, hoping that the person had not caught on to the subject of their conversation.
"Er, hullo, Professor Trelawney," Thomas said awkwardly. "How...um...how are the stars, lately?" Lydia rolled her eyes and stifled a groan.
"They have been most interesting, Thomas Applegate, most interesting." Trelawney's hoop earrings jangled in time with the bracelets on her wrists. Her skinny fingers reached out and tilted Lydia's face up towards the light, her strong perfume nearly choking the girl. "What was this I heard about you, Miss Johnson, and a lover?"
Lydia gulped and opened her mouth but could find no words to say. She bit her lip and stared at the ground, wondering how she was going to be able to get out of this one without the whole school knowing of her unorthodox relationship.
"Lydia!"
She looked up quickly as Thomas hissed her name and saw that he was pointing wide-eyed at Trelawney. When she looked up, she saw that the Divinations Professor had gone blank faced and distant, her eyes seeing beyond what was visually in front of her to somewhere the Lydia feared to even guess at. The skinny woman brushed her fingers over Lydia's face and spoke, her voice low and resonant.
"Lover no," she intoned, staring at something that neither of the two Ravenclaws could see, nor did they wish to. "Lover no, but beloved, yes. Beware the time when the two converge, for with their union space and time will shift its boundaries and change like no other will occur. Remember now where your friends lie, for they will serve you well soon. Even as your bonds grow stronger, so too will the strength of your enemies. Let the joined union of love run its course and place your trust where you would never have before. Forget the barriers of thought you had erected before now, open your mind to what you would never have considered. It is the only way you will survive what is coming."
Her voice trailed off, and she stood for a moment, swaying on her feet as if though all the energy had been drained from her body. Thomas reached out to catch her as she fell.
"Professor Trelawney?" he asked worriedly as Lydia helped him lower her to the ground. "Professor Trelawney, are you alright?"
Trelawney blinked slowly and sought to rise. "I- excuse me, dears. I'm sorry, I seem to have fallen asleep on my feet. Late nights, you know. The sprits seem more active than usual lately. It must have something to do with Halloween fast approaching."
"That must be it," Thomas agreed. "Do you remember how you got down here?"
Trelawney shook her head. "No, now that you mention it, I don't." She frowned. "I don't remember a thing after I walked out of my tower. This is most strange."
"Perhaps you were sleepwalking," Lydia offered. "It happens when you're more tired than you realize. I'm sure that's it."
"Mhm. Perhaps." Trelawney's eyes got that misty, distant look in them again and for a moment, Lydia was afraid she was going to go back into her trance. But the jewel bedecked woman simply shook her head, sending her earrings and bangles into a wild chiming. "If that's the case, perhaps I should get back to my rooms."
"Do you need any help getting back?"
"No, no thank you, dear. I'll be fine."
"Whew!" Lydia let out a deep sigh of relief as she watched Trelawney disappear down the hall. "That was closer than I like to think about." She frowned. "What was all that about beloved and surviving what was to come?"
Thomas shrugged. "She was making another of her predictions," he said. "But I've never seen her like that before."
"You said yourself that everyone knew she was nothing but an old fraud."
"Yeah, but I've never, ever seen her like that. Not all tranced out."
Lydia shivered in spite of herself. "Whatever. It was all nonsense anyway. Finding friends and guarding against enemies, disruption in space and time- it doesn't make any sense. It's all rubbish."
"Well, either way it was a lucky break for us," Thomas pointed out. "At least she doesn't know about you and- you know. She can't go rat us out."
"Mhm." Suddenly Lydia was reminded of something. "Thomas," she said urgently. "Oh God, Thomas!" She wound her fingers nervously in her hair. "Mitchell Sarrington."
"What about him?" Thomas asked, not understanding. Then: "Oh. Oh."
Lydia nodded grimly, chewing on the end of a strand of hair.
"How did he find out in the first place?"
"Sev?"
"Hmm?" Lydia smiled as Snape looked up from his desk, hair falling into his eyes.
"Why don't you take a break and let me do some of that?"
Snape snorted. "Right," he said dryly. "I am not going to entrust my potions to someone of your talent. Or should I say, lack thereof."
Lydia stuck her tongue out at him and threw her book to the table. They were both in his private offices while Snape brewed up batches of sample potions for his First Years. It had been nearly a month since the incident with Professor Trelawney and Mitchell Sarrington. After a long talk with Thomas, she had decided not to tell Snape about how Sarrington knew of their relationship. Though they had wracked their brains over the matter for the rest of the night, neither of them could figure out how he could have known about it in the first place. Thomas had convinced her that they should just keep quiet about it for the time being, and not bother anyone else about it. Not that there was anyone else to bother except for Snape. Even so, she had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach as if she knew that she shouldn't be keeping it from him. Still, she couldn't think of a reason why not to keep it from him. It wasn't as if Sarrington had told anyone about it, for if he had, it would have been all over the school by now.
"I don't know how you managed to make it to your fifth year without failing Potions at least once," Snape was continuing. "You're almost as bad as your mother."
"Well," Lydia grinned and wrinkled her nose at him. "It was a good job of doctoring the thing up, wasn't it?"
"Tell me again, what was the actual color of the potion you handed to me the first day of class? The one that was supposed to be clear?"
"Red," Lydia admitted. "Dark, dark red. But a handful of translucia flowers and you didn't know the difference, now did you?"
"You're lucky I didn't decide to make you drink it," Snape told her, eyes fixed to the cauldrons on the fire and on the desk. "Having your stomach melted is not, I imagine, pleasant."
"I wouldn't know, nor do I care to." She got up and walked over to lean over his shoulder. "Whatcha working on now?"
"Have you the faintest idea how irritating that is?" Snape asked her as her hair tickled his ear. "Bad enough I have to do this with you in the room in the first place, now I have to deal with you over my shoulder as well. Wonderful."
"Well if you weren't so damn engrossed in your beloved potions all the time," Lydia said, leaning hard onto his shoulder. "You're like a rock sometimes, I'll watch you sit there, and you won't move for hours at a time. A bloody stone, that's what you are."
"Go inside a stone," Snape quipped, "that would be my way./Let somebody else become a dove/or gnash with a tiger's tooth./I am happy to be a stone."
Lydia rolled her eyes. "There you go again," she said. "Spouting your ridiculous poetic nonsense. Where do you find the time to memorize that stuff, anyway?"
"Just because you may have no time for culture, Miss Johnson, does not mean that I must follow suit." He carefully poured a phial of yellow liquid into the cauldron and sighed with relief when it turned blue. "Thank Merlin that's done with," he muttered as he leaned back.
"You don't sound so good." Lydia's brow furrowed in concern. Her fingers kneaded deeply into his neck and shoulders. "What's wrong?"
"Mm...if you stop doing that, you can leave this room right now and never come back." Snape closed his eyes as Lydia continued to massage his neck and shoulders. "If I don't sound good, it's because I'm not. There was an emergency up in the First Years' dorm last night and I had to deal with it. It seems a Second Year by the name of Draco Malfoy decided it would be amusing to plant dungbombs under each of the beds so that they would go off in the middle of the night. After dealing with that, I had to have a bit of a talk with Mr. Malfoy."
Lydia widened her eyes in mock astonishment. "You actually disciplined one of your own students?" she asked in affected surprise. "This is a first! I've got to go find Thomas so we can let everyone know!"
Snape opened one eye and glared at her. "It was an inter-House matter. I had hoped you would have been observant enough to have figured such an elementary deduction out for yourself. It seems I've placed my expectations too high."
"So it seems." Lydia frowned at the tension she found in his muscles. "Seriously, though. Why don't you take a break? You're all tense and it's making me uncomfortable."
"I should have known this wasn't a completely selfless suggestion," Snape said with his usual sarcasm, but rose from the desk to sit in a much more comfortable armchair. "Don't touch those potions," he said sharply, his eyes closed.
Lydia stopped her hand just inches away from the cauldron. "One of these days you're going to have to tell me how you do that," she complained.
"Practice. Years and years of it. You teach snot-nosed little brats for over a decade and you learn some useful things."
"Oh come on, it can't be all that bad, can it?" Lydia perched on the arm of Snape's chair and leaned into his shoulder. "It must have its perks somewhere along the line," she whispered into his ear.
"Well, yes. The pay is rather substantial," Snape said with a hint of a smile.
"Se-ev!" Lydia swatted his shoulder and hopped to her feet. "That wasn't nice."
"I'm a mean, greasy git, remember? I'm not supposed to be nice." He yawned and stretched. "And besides, it's too late to be polite. What time is it?"
"Almost midnight," Lydia told him, glancing at the mantle clock. "You should get to sleep. You have a class to teach first thing in the morning." She threw herself down on the couch and pulled an afghan over herself. "I'm gonna do the same."
"I'm not certain that's a good idea," Snape said, real worry creeping around the edges of his voice. "They'll miss you at the dorm."
"Would you just relax?" she told him, exasperated. "No one will notice, and even if they do I'll just tell them I was down by the lake with Marc Prescott."
"And when they find out from Mr. Prescott that you were doing no such thing?" Lydia opened her mouth to protest again, but Snape was adamant. "Go. As long as no one knows about- us- then you're going to act as if there's nothing going on. There's more at stake here than just my job and your reputation."
"What reputation?" Lydia muttered, but she stood anyway and threw the blanket back over the couch. "Fine then. So I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Barring a natural disaster or a Death Eater invasion, yes." Snape planted a kiss on her forehead and gave her a gentle push towards the door. "Off with you. Tomorrow's not that far off."
As she walked towards the door, Lydia was plagued with doubts and misgivings. She knew she should let Snape know about what Mitchell Sarrington had said, but for some reason she couldn't force herself to. Every time she tried the words just wouldn't come and she ended up looking like a fool. Still, she knew she should tell him. Tomorrow, she would. She'd tell him tomorrow after supper when they both retired to his rooms.
Tomorrow and the next day and the next, she thought to herself as she walked shivering down the fridged hall towards the dorms. One of these days...