Sleep is a very particular paramour. Once Severus had entangled himself within her wiry body, he found it nigh impossible to summon the ability of extraction. His head, as soon as it had hit his uncomfortable, unfamiliar, and completely artificial pillow, he was asleep.

The bed which she had given to him was little more than iron rods laid out in a horizontal fashion, and Severus would have not been surprised had he awoken with stripes across his back.

The sheets, nothing like the charmed linens at Hogwarts, seemed to rub him raw in every single direction. He sighed and rolled over on his back, wincing as the thin mattress gave way to the cold steel. He ran his fingertips up his spine, ignoring the gnawing worry that his vertebrae were protruding far more than was healthy. He wondered, without any particular reason, how the girl was sleeping.

The linens smelt artificially fresh, as if the muggles had to conjure up some overpoweringly odorous perfume to scent their sheets and disguise their filth. He rubbed his nose thoughtfully, wishing it weren't so sensitive to fluctuations.

He smoothed the sheets out with his hand, observing the odd ripples made in the streetlight. It looked like a vast and snowy sand dune, the small whorls and ridges. He threw the coverlet over his head and stifled a groan; he had slept well enough for a few hours, but could his body not eke any more?

There was a knocking, almost a caress at the door. He could hear the nervousness in her footsteps.

.

His voice was hoarse and untamed. He had yet to groom the way it sounded upon first awakening.

I was wondering if you wanted tea or something. It didn't sound like you could sleep either.

Her voice was soft, whispery; he knew that she probably hadn't even bothered going to bed. For some reason, tea sounded like some sort of odd equation to his problems. He nodded, and rubbed his eyes.

Thank you.

He opened the door, still not used to the scratchy, artificial carpet beneath his feet. He much preferred the cool shock of stone than the sickly sponginess beneath him. It made him feel unsteady, as if he would sink through if he dared tread too hard.

She stood there in the hallway, a threadbare robe tossed about her, her hair unfurled and face impossibly fatigued. She gave him a frightened glance, then smiled nervously.

I didn't remember you being so tall.

He smirked, for he had often received the same response from many. Perhaps his lack of robes and defenses had robbed him of any intimidating aura.

She shuffled down the hallway, rubbing her shoulders. Severus, in a rare regression of self pride, squinted. He fancied he could see her spine, prominent in its bleached white glory beneath her olive skin. Her hair swallowed the light, the pools from the hallway bulb slowly forming lazy orbs atop her scalp, then quickly slipping away. Severus found his fingers twitching to take her hair in his hands, and run his fingers through. He sufficed with his own, but found that self satisfaction is never the same.

They entered the kitchen, an odd couple. The striking woman followed by a similarly striking man. There were two mugs upon the small table, steaming tendrils drifting towards the hanging lamp. She wrapped her fingers around hers instinctively,thumbs meeting directly where the handle curved out; Severus followed suit, unused to the smallish grip.

He took a sip, and was pleased to find that she enjoyed her tea as strong as he did. It was not, however, as flavourful as that found within Hogwarts, but quite sufficient. He took another silent drink; she slurped loudly, and flushed.

How does one pronounce your name, exactly?.

He asked this casually, with the same off handed quality as one might ask for a light. She smiled, but in a way that revealed she had quibbled over this before.

Nadyae. It was supposed to sound something like Nadia, but my father's mother's sister was named Nadyae. Personally, I've never been enamored by it. No one can seem to say it, and I have yet to meet another by the same name. You can call me Nadia if you want, it's actually what I prefer.

He nodded, and took another sip, letting the caffeine seep in slowly. He liked the way her name swirled in his mouth, bittersweet. It sounded oddly the way her eyes might, if they could be named. He gave another appraising look.


How old are you? I assume over the age of 16 if you are able to drive, and unless you actually do possess some kind of magic, under 25.

He sounded gratingly superior.

I'm 20, actually. My birthday was several weeks ago.

She looked wistful, and stared into her mug. She poked a slender pinky into it, and proceeded to prod the contents. He gave her another infuriatingly senior stare.

Did your mother never tell you that it's wretched table manners to play with your food?.

She looked up, and offered him a view of the bottom. He peered in, then gave an indifferent shrug.

I was just seeing if I could actually read my fortune through tea leaves. It must be an interesting ability.

Severus gave a sharp laugh. He could picture Trelawney now, in all her melodramatic glory, predicting his death in third year; he also remembered believing her.

There is a teacher, at Hogwarts, who is overpaid to stare into people's dreggs. She does little more than swoon and moan. A seer is a rare and often unstable person to come by.

He answered with the distattachment and air of dismissal of one who has seen all, and who could never be surprised again. Severus ruefully believed that he indeed seen all, but that things never failed to surprise him. For instance, this girl.

Stupid as I may sound, I find it quite unnerving to think that you can't respect someone who could read future's. As for their being unstable, well, it can't be much of a happy job, can it? I suppose anyone would become slightly touched after a lifetime of having to tell people their death.

She gave another meditative look into the mug, and rose from the table to place it into a metal tub. He finished his own with an unceremonious gulp, and handed it to her.

Tomorrow, I think I should take you shopping for clothes. You'll attract unnecessary attention in those....sheets.

She gestured at his robes, and he gave a sharky smile.

She shivered satisfactorily, and went to sink down into a large chair, reminiscent of those in Dumbledore's office. She pulled out a long, angular black tablet, and pressed something.

He jumped as the screeching sound of someone's voice thundered through the room. She turned it down, and gave him an apologetic look.

So, instead of using a hearth, you use a box to floo?.

Severus gave the talking box another fascinated glance.

What? Floo? This is a telly.

Obviously she was confused as he. He shrugged, his hope of being able to escape quickly and painlessly from this fabricated prison vanished.

Good night, then.

He gave a stiff bow, and she returned his salutations with a distracted nod.

Once inside his room, for chamber was no longer an appropriate noun, he sank into the bed, fighting his desolate feeling of isolation with every ounce of his body.

His hand instinctively unfurled to reach for his wand, which he kept with him at all times, even sleeping, and he smothered his wail into the pillow when he did not find it.












A/N: aahhh! In darkness, there shall be light. Or something, anyway, there will be light spots in this ficlet, I promise. Thanks for reviews. Glad to have positive responses.