The remaining week of the holiday sailed by at light speed. Class rolls were distributed and Charlotte was highly surprised to see Draco Malfoy on the 5th year roster.

"If he's anything like his father, he has no love for Muggles…what's he doing in my class?"

"For someone in possession of an advanced degree, you can be amazingly obtuse," Snape said, looking up from his own paper. "No doubt his father instructed him to take the class to observe and provoke you."

"Oh. Well, he provokes and I'll provoke back – I have full power to assign detention and deduct house points. I will not be intimidated by a 5th year, no mater who his father is."

"I would advise you to treat him like any other student – and to act like any other teacher."

"Right, right, don't worry; I won't do too much damage to Slytherin's precious House Cup lead."

"Very considerate of you."

"How often does he call you all together?" Charlotte asked into the ensuing silence.

"It varies. Usually only when he has a use for us," he answered absently, making marks on his parchment.

"And do you always come back – like you did?"

"No. Sometimes I return far worse, it depends on how pleased Lord Voldemort is with my performance."

Severus could almost see the un-asked questions as they danced across Charlotte's face. In the end she said nothing. He watched her stare unseeing at the papers in front of her. She had looked so relieved to see him that morning. He had expected Poppy and her Pepper-up potion, not the girl who had impulsively grabbed his hand and sat by his side all night. "I wanted to help," she had said, her can-do American spirit rising to counter the shock of what she had seen. She really had no idea of what Voldemort was capable of – no idea what he himself had done as a Death Eater. She had seen the mark, knew, at least in part, what he was and still considered him a friend? It was laughable – Severus Snape did not have friends. He had family, colleagues, enemies but not friends. There was a Muggle school of psychoanalytical thought that suggested people who avoided friendships and other intimate relationships were afraid of getting hurt. Severus wasn't afraid – he had been hurt, he knew all about pain. There were simply very few people on this earth he considered getting to know a productive use of his time. Moreover, being a double agent presented a whole host of problems for the establishment of any relationships. If his turncoat nature were discovered by the Death Eaters, anyone Severus actually cared about would no doubt be painfully put to death before his eyes. He deserved the pain Voldemort inflicted upon him, but no one deserved death for having the lapse in good judgment to care about him.

Malfoy had approached him before the meeting. Oh yes, he still remembered Charlotte. She had committed two unforgivable sins in Lucius' eyes, she had resisted his Imperius and she had dared talk back to him. Lucius was a patient man; when the opportunity arose he would exact his punishment. Snape had been concerned for Charlotte when Malfoy had told him his designs on the girl – wasn't that the sort of thing a friend did? He didn't really enjoy the idea of anyone at the mercy of Malfoy, but the thought of Charlotte being subjected to Malfoy's idea of punishment stopped him cold.

He glowered at his parchment. She was attractive, with bright eyes and a ready grin, but not heart-breakingly beautiful, nor was he consumed by lust – although it had been a long time since he had worked in such close quarters with an attractive young woman. Don't be ridiculous, he thought, thoroughly disgusted with his line of thought. She is a silly American child, the sort who considers everyone a friend, practically your student. But he had not missed the awkward, anxious look on her face after the feast…. Unhelpful mental images made being in the same room with her suddenly difficult. I am far too old for schoolboy hormones! He walked purposefully over to the bookshelf farthest away from Charlotte and made a selection at random. It was hard work to stay focused on Miriam Saporo's Discourse on Transitive Properties of Powdered Fungi, but somehow he managed to lose himself in the text and hardly exchanged another monosyllable with Charlotte for the rest of the evening. Once she was gone, it was easy to rationalize it away. He could not be attracted to Charlotte, it was absurd. Even if he was, what then? It was highly unlikely that she had any interest in him beyond their so-called "friendship." He did not have time to waste in foolish speculation. Men of his ilk did not fall in love with pretty girls and then live happily after. If they were lucky, men like him died in the line of duty, having in some way atoned for the misdeeds of their past. Severus fully expected to die on the receiving end of one the Unforgivables, either as a traitor to Voldemort or on the field of the final battle he knew was not long off. Each time the Dark Mark burned his skin, he wondered if it was the last time. That was enough to send his hormones back into the corner of his mind, at least for the time being.

***

"Good afternoon to you all, and welcome to American Muggle Studies." Professor Charlotte Parnell could already tell that her last class of the day was not going to pose any problems – it was the third year class, primarily filled with round-eyed, docile Hufflepuffs. She wished she could say the same for the fifth-year class. It did boast Muggle-born Hermione Grainger who was generally regarded by her professors as one of the brightest students at the school. Countering Miss Grainger's enthusiasm were three slouched figures on the opposite side of the room: Draco Malfoy and his goons, Crabbe and Goyle. Draco was clearly less than pleased to be there, but he was quiet enough during her lesson. She suspected that would soon change, once he had got her measure. She returned her attention to the expectant third years. "How many of you are from Muggle families?" From there she went on to talk about the basic differences between English and Americans, pass around some authentic Muggle artifacts (a ball point pen, compact disc and polaroids, all from her trunk), and assign homework (three feet of parchment on 'What I hope to get out of this class and what I know about Muggles so far'). Finally the last of them went out the door. She gathered her notes and headed to the potions classroom and the other side of the teacher's podium. Snape had been doing his best to avoid her since term began, but their lessons continued regardless of his minimal participation. He hardly spoke, except to give her directions or evaluate her performance. Hogwarts became a lonely place, Celeste was the only person Charlotte spoke with on a daily basis, which was all well and good, but it was hard to take a walk or eat lunch with a painting. She still had her weekly chat with Dumbledore, and had been invited to tea with Flitwick a few times, but Charlotte knew it wasn't the same – she actually had to pay attention at staff meetings now. She had attempted to take the bull by the horns, without success.

"Are you mad at me?"

"Not currently," he replied, "but if you waste my entire supply of Milk Thistle extract, I may have to revise my opinion."

Charlotte put a stopper in the flask she held over her cauldron and flushed. "You just haven't been very talkative lately."

"Not all of us have the need to fill every waking moment with mindless chatter."

"As usual, civility is in short supply in the dungeon," she muttered acidly. She felt rather childish – he didn't have to talk to her. She was an adult, if he wasn't interested in being friends, she could deal. Contact was kept to a minimum, lessons and meal times. Unfortunately, her subconscious did not get the memo, sending nightmares that made her skin crawl or dreams that made her blood boil. Both starred the same figure, and both left her gasping for air in the middle of the night. During the day she kept her mind focused on more practical matters. She was grading papers in her classroom one afternoon when the door swung open angrily, banging against the stone wall. Snape swept into the room, robes billowing behind him.

"What sort of game to you think you're playing at?" he snapped, leaning over her desk.

"I suppose it wouldn't do any good to tell you my office hours are over for the day?" she answered, carefully setting her pen down.

"I overheard Malfoy complaining that you had given him another detention. Do you honestly think that wise?"

"Surely the infamous Professor Snape is not opposed to detention?" she asked sweetly, "You seem to hand out enough – to everyone except Slytherins. You were the one who told me to treat him like any other student. Students who don't do their homework and talk through class get detention." She paused, "Honestly, you'd think his father would have instilled some sense in him."

The Potions Master was not placated. "I suppose I should not be surprised at your levity."

"Very American of me, isn't it? I have Draco in my class, not Lucius. If Draco was stupid enough to sign up for this class, he needs to at least pretend to care about it." She leaned back in her chair and sighed. "I've had a lot of time to think recently and the thing I keep wondering is: how will it end? When we meet again Lucius will have no compunction about using an Unforgivable – if I escape, he'll find me again. It's kill or be killed. But if I kill I'm in a world of trouble not only with the Ministry, but with the Dark Lord himself for killing a loyal follower. It won't end until Malfoy and Voldemort are both dead – or I am." She swallowed hard. "It's getting tiresome waiting for the inevitable, pretending to be something I'm really not, putting up with snide comments from blond-haired children who shall remain nameless."

"Use of an Unforgivable does not condemn you automatically to Azkaban. There would be a hearing, of course, but in a case like that…." He looked straight into her eyes, "Dumbledore would not allow you to be taken away."

            "Are you telling me to kill Malfoy?" she asked

            "I am telling you, when the time comes, you must take what steps are necessary to ensure your survival."

***

            Her conversation with Snape had done a little to reassure her, as had the idea for a new project that might prove of some use if and when she returned to Oxford. As she perused the stacks in the library, she heard an all too familiar arrogant voice coming from nearby.

            "…my father says she's not even a real witch, Dumbledore's keeping her safe for some reason." That got Charlotte's attention and she held still, listening.

            Crabbe/Goyle, to whom this comment was no doubt addressed, muttered something suspiciously like "Muggle lover."

            "And she's been spending a lot of time with Snape as well; I mean to tell my father about that in my next letter. He has it in for Parnell, something about her getting in his way." Charlotte could almost see the boy's lips curl in an unpleasant smile, "Father doesn't like anyone in his way. I hope he lets me watch when he gets his hands on that mudblood." Draco's voice faded away as his monologue moved on to Quidditch and all the games his father had taken him to. When Charlotte peeked around the shelf the young Slytherins were at a table, pretending to study under the disapproving eye of Madam Pince. With trembling hands, Charlotte replaced the book she was holding and left the library.

            It was nearly dinner time and pupils were streaming out of doorways and down staircases towards the Great Hall. She tried to maintain a proper teacherly demeanor and gait when everything inside her ached to be away from the noise and crowd. She had little idea of where she was going, and she thought she might have bumped into a few people but she didn't pause. The further she got from the food the quieter it became. She kept moving up through the castle until she emerged at the top of the astronomy tower. Here, open to a field of stars and the cold night air, her professional mien collapsed and she leant against the frigid stone battlements and began to sob. It was all too much: a man who wanted to get her for 'getting in his way' a son who wanted her dead for the crime of giving him detention and being a mudblood (whatever that was). Lucius would be sure to ask questions about why Snape was spending time with her, which might serve to blow his cover and put his life in danger. To top it off, she was faced with the very real possibility of having to kill another human being in the future. She wanted to crawl in a hole, preferably one that was Unplottable. Strong hands detached her from the battlement and she was pulled into a warm embrace. Only when she was wrapped within the folds of someone else's cloak did she realize how cold she was. Chattering teeth vied for dominance over the sobs and won. Her tears subsided with a hiccough and a sniffle, and she leaned against the obliging chest, remembering how to breathe and inhaling the scent of herbs and spice. It could only be Snape. He was running his fingers slowly through her hair, but otherwise making no movement or sound as she calmed down. The shivering stopped and she gave a last watery sigh. Charlotte had rarely felt so secure; she didn't want it to end. But she couldn't cling to Snape forever. She looked up, unsure of what to say. The lack of space between them made her breath catch in her throat. She was amazed to see real concern peaking through his impassive mask. Charlotte gave him a weak smile. With one gentle finger he brushed the tears from her cheeks and Charlotte completely forgot how to breathe, she could only stare at him savoring the feel of skin on skin. That same gentle finger now went under her chin and tipped her head up to where his lips met hers. And then there was only him as time slid to a wonderful halt. The taste of him, the feel of his arms sliding around his waist, every detail was magnified. At last they broke apart. He pulled her in close again, tucking her head under his chin. A cold wind picked up and she shivered.

            "Perhaps we should move somewhere warmer," he murmured into her ear, his voice making her insides turn to goo.

            The walk was quiet, neither of them quite looking at the other as the moved through the still empty halls. He led her to into the dungeons and to his private quarters. While he redid the wards on the door, Charlotte surveyed her surroundings. His sitting room was furnished with a couple leather chairs, a low slung coffee table, a desk covered in stacks of paper and a well stocked bookshelf. It was all warm earth tones and a far cry from the imposing potions classroom. Snape lit a fire and with a wave of his wand he transformed one of the chairs into a couch. She took a seat and fidgeted, suddenly nervous and unsure. He handed her a hot mug of tea, conjured from who knows where, and sat beside her.

            "Do you want to tell me why you were in the Astronomy Tower?" he asked quietly

            She told him what she had overheard in the library. His eyes darkened, but he said nothing. "When Malfoy finds out I've been spending time with you, will you be in trouble?"

            Snape shook his head, "I will tell him the truth. Dumbledore asked me to help tutor you and to refuse him would have caused suspicion. Lucius does not know that I was the one who rescued you in Oxford, I am simply doing as I was told." He paused, "all the same, it is probably better if you traveled to your lessons by Floo from now on, so as not to attract any further attention."

            Charlotte nodded and took a deep breath. "I don't know any other way to ask this, so I'm just going to ask: what about us? Is there an 'us', or was what happened up there just an accident?"

            Severus put down his tea and sighed. "I don't know. I am not a free man, Charlotte, and I will not be until Voldemort is gone. It is not prudent for us to be involved; it would put you in too much danger."

            "Aren't I already in danger?"

            "What Lucius can do is nothing compared to what Voldemort would do. For everyone's protection it is best if I stay unencumbered."

            "Just because we aren't – anything doesn't mean I wouldn't care if anything happened to you. It's too late for that by a long shot."

            "I know," he said sadly, "but if it were suspected that I was in any way involved with a Muggle-born, my credibility among the Death Eaters would disappear. I am the only one with access to Voldemort's inner circle, performing my duty must come before my personal wishes."

            "Right then." She swallowed, "I can have Dumbledore assign me a different tutor if you'd like."

            "If you are uncomfortable working with me, I understand, but I would be happy to continue to teach you."

            "I'd like that." I'll take what I can get. She shifted awkwardly, "I guess I'd better go. May I borrow your fireplace?"

            "Of course."

"I do have one more question," she said, reaching for the jar of Floo powder on the mantle

He smiled down at her in a way that made her heart do back flips, "Just one?"

She grinned, "Well, for the moment. What's a mudblood?"

The smile vanished. "Where did you hear that word?" he asked coldly.

"Draco said it. I believe his exact words were 'I hope he lets me watch when he gets his hands on that mudblood' that particular mudblood being me."

            "It is a highly offensive term for someone of a non-wizarding family. To imply someone is a mudblood when they are not is a dueling matter."

            "Wow, wizard profanity. You know, when he isn't driving me up the wall in class, I actually feel sorry for Draco." She smiled at Snape's look of surprise. "Think about it, the poor kid is so prejudiced and manipulated by his father and practically a Death Eater already – not much of a life if you ask me." She shrugged. "See you later?"

            Snape nodded slowly and with a flash of green flame, she was gone.

***

            Charlotte and Snape found a curious middle ground after that night. They were talking again, and had even agreed to dispense with the formality of titles. But there was a new distance, a strain hanging in the air. He was reluctant to be close to her, to touch her in any way. She respected his wishes, having come to the conclusion that a live but unavailable Severus was better than none at all. The never spoke of what happened, but as soon as Charlotte closed her eyes at night he was back atop the Astronomy Tower wrapped in the folds of his cloak. They were careful not to be seen together except at meal times, to avoid giving Draco any further ammunition. In early February Charlotte stepped from the fireplace into Severus' sitting room to find the potions master in a horribly familiar position. He was standing at his desk cradling his left arm, his face ashen. She crossed the room in two short steps and pulled up his sleeve. Stark charcoal against his pale skin, the Dark Mark mocked her.

            Her throat constricted. "When do you leave?" she whispered.

            "Later this evening, it amuses Voldemort to meet during the 'witching hour.'"

            "Is there anything I can do?

            He took her hand, "Stay with me." They sat entwined on the still transfigured couch until dinner time. Severus made her go eat – it would look suspicious for them both to be missing from the Great Hall. When she returned from having picked at her food, Snape was pulling a set of long black robes out of his wardrobe.

            "Severus, do be careful," she said impulsively.

            "I wouldn't be much of a double agent if I were not," he answered with a trace of his usual sneer.

            "No, I suppose not. But humor me and be extra careful, okay."

            He paused in doing the clasps on the robe to touch her cheek. "I will. Do you intend to repeat your performance at Christmas?"

            "If necessary," she replied, hoping that it wouldn't be.

            "Then I suggest you get some rest while you can. No doubt your portrait can perform her usual look out duties. Charlotte please," he said noting her mulish look, "I would far rather you were not here when I leave."

            She sighed, "Alright." There were so many things she wanted to say, but in the end none of them were right. She tentatively stepped forward and kissed him. "Just come back to me, okay?"

            There was someone pounding on her door, which was difficult, since she didn't have a door, she had a Celeste. She stared at her canopy listening to the banging and then realization hit her like a fleet of bludgers and she bolted out of bed. Minerva was standing behind the portrait hole with a tartan robe over her nightgown and her hair pinned up.

            "Professor Snape has returned," she said, watching Charlotte throw on her Hogwarts robe and slippers, "he is asking for you."

            This time was not nearly as bad as the last. He was shaking only slightly and still conscious, if barely. Charlotte walked calmly with Minerva all the way to his bedside, not letting any of the swirl of emotions in her head show through.

            "Charlotte," he said breathlessly as she crouched down by his head, "I tried-"

            "Tried what Severus?"

            "Tried to convince him, but he wouldn't listen, said he wanted to-"

            "I don't understand, what are you saying?"

            He stared at her and collected himself. "In one week, in front of Voldemort and the rest of the Death Eaters, I am to deliver you to Malfoy."