Gomen ne! I hadn't meant to take so long with this part. I can only say that it was spring break and I had no access to my computer. But, as Martin Blank put it, "It's not an excuse; it's a reason." So, I humbly present the sixth part of "Listen:" A Winter Thaw. I hope you enjoy.

Ladymage Samiko ;)


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Listen for My Heart

Part 6 ~ A Winter Thaw

If there was one place Eiluneth Pierce was as steadfast as steel, it was in the classroom, Severus Snape reflected, rubbing his ear, which was still ringing. He had been deep in trance, but not deep enough, and her whisper in his ear had had all the impact of a megaphone.

It was certainly odd. While she remained quiet and deferential outside of their lessons, she would not allow him to cross her on any aspect of when and how and where she taught him. She was still quiet--and very polite--but her word was law. And nothing was stranger than hearing her little voice saying, "Excuse me, Professor, but you must try again now," with a distinct emphasis on the 'must.'

But it worked. He learned. Very slowly, very painfully, but he learned.

Speaking of painfully. . .

"Miss Pierce," he shouted over the gael wind, "I believe it would be more prudent to retire indoors." He would certainly appreciate it; his nose felt frozen and Silca seemed to be trying to burrow a hole in his neck. Being out in the open on a stormy December day was not his idea of fun.

There was no response from the tiny hedgewitch, who stood at the very edge of the Astronomy Tower, arms outstretched, her dress and hair flying out like a flag behind her. Of a sudden, her voice rose in a bian sidhe cry that took flight with the wind. Startled, Severus was immediately at her side, gripping her shoulders as though afraid she would attempt to jump off.

Eiluneth returned to herself with a start. Turning quickly, she nearly fell over the edge, and was able to regain her footing only because of the hands at her shoulders. She stared wildly at her companion for a moment before breaking free and fleeing down the stairs.

Snape blinked a couple of times, then took off after her. As her pupil, he had become especially sensitive to her 'signature' and was able to follow her trail with ease.

He found her easily enough; she had tracked straight back to her rooms. "Miss Pierce?" he said sternly, opening the door. "What in the hell was that?"

"It was nothing," she answered quickly, avoiding his eyes.

His eyebrow lifted. "Nothing? You scream bloody murder and nearly fall from the tower and you tell me it's nothing?"

"I said, it's nothing!" she shouted at him, than ran to her bedroom door. "Now let me alone!" It shut with a solid finality.

"Well, well, well," Severus mused as he made his way back to the dungeons. It was the first time he had ever heard her yell. "I wonder what that was about. . ."

It was an hour later when a knock on his office door caused him to look up at a very penitential girl standing just outside. "I just wanted to apologize for my reaction earlier," she said softly, avoiding his eyes. "I know you were only trying to help. . ."

"Me? Trying to help?" Snape's face twisted wryly. "I am rarely known to 'help' anyone. I merely request that if you wish to kill yourself, you postpone the action until end of term? But I accept your apology. Now if I may return to my work?"

"I--" she began, then stopped. "Well, then, good afternoon, Professor." She bobbed an odd curtsey and disappeared.

"I wonder. . ." Snape looked after her thoughtfully for a moment before turning his attention back to the papers he had been grading.

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Much to Snape's eternal dismay, certain things began to appear not many days after this last conversation. Ribbons wrapped the banisters. Holly liberally decorated the candles and doorways. Evergreen branches littered the floors. It all meant one thing:

Christmas had come again.

Snape despised Christmas. It forced him to do things he ordinarily never did. Or rather, Christmas made Professor Dumbledore force him to do things he ordinarily never did. Personally, he had never figured out the reason for celebrating. Besides, sitting around watching everyone "making merry" more or less just made him nauseous.

But there was nothing for it. He would simply have to endure it just as he did every other year.

First on the list: Christmas shopping. Snape was obligated to buy at least one thing for every teacher just to avoid all of those nasty recriminations or accusations of favoritism. He shuddered as he remembered the time he had accidentally bought Sprout something (he couldn't recall what) that was slightly nicer than the gifts to the others. Rumors about his being "sweet" on her had lead to numerous insinuations and teasing on a scale never before seen in the staff room. Gods, that had been a pain in the arse.

So, here he was in Diagon Alley on his day off to find something he could buy enough of to satisfy everyone's greed. He quickly settled on inkwells that, once you filled them, never dried up or ran out. He bought one for himself, too, reasoning that he needed an ocean of red ink to cope with the garbage he received on a daily basis that was dignified with the name "homework."

There were two people left on his list after that. Dumbledore, of course, required special consideration, even if Snape did loathe him at this time of year. And though he had assumed Eiluneth Pierce merited an inkwell (hers was a purple one at the bottom of the bag), upon reflection he decided that he should buy her something else, as well. She had been teaching him for over a month now, without pay and without complaint, generous with her time and merciless in her requirements. At the very least, she deserved something for being able to put up with him at four o'clock on a Sunday morning.

Dumbledore was simple. Snape simply stopped in at The Old Curiousity Shop, a place chock-full of Muggle items. He spotted something called a "Home Ice-Cream Maker" and knowing the Headmaster's love of sweets, purchased it immediately. He also thanked the gods that he would not be around to see the results of Dumbledore's attempts.

Miss Pierce proved more difficult. The curiousity shop provided nothing he thought she would want, though, he admitted, he knew next to nothing about the girl, anyway. Most things in Diagon Alley she wouldn't be able to use. Books she couldn't read, wands that wouldn't even twitch, brooms she could only sweep the floor with. Wasn't there anything that girl could use?

As if in answer, he found himself before a shop window. After staring at the display for several moments, he opened the door and went in.

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"What child is this who laid to rest on Mary's lap is sleeping?" The clear soprano drifted through the castle when Snape returned. He looked around for the source of the music.

"Oh, you won't find her here," Dumbledore told him, smiling, as he emerged from a nearby corridor. "She's been singing like an angel since she rose this morning." He winked. "Don't tell her, but I cast an Crescere charm on her. Her voice truly embodies the spirit of the holidays. Candy cane?" He offered Snape a stick. "A voice like that should bring happiness to many. A joy to hear, an absolute joy. Well, I shall see you at dinner, Severus. Enjoy wrapping my present!" With a cheery smile, he disappeared. Snape looked blankly at the red and white candy in his hand, shrugged, and made his way down to the dungeons.

"Peace on Earth. . . Can it be? Years from now, perhaps, we'll see. See the day of glory, see the day when men of good will leave in peace, live in peace again. Peace on Earth. . . Can it be?"

Severus had spent the remainder of the afternoon in his chambers, savoring a glass of cognac and listening to Eiluneth sing. It was absolutely beautiful. Her voice in itself, he admitted, was nothing out of the ordinary: she had a clear soprano voice, strong, if untrained. He had heard others with voices as good or better. What lent her voice its power was her sincerity, her passion. As he made his way to her rooms, it was almost enough to make him believe. Peace on Earth. . . perhaps. . .

He found her in her sitting room, balancing on a ladder and trying to secure a berry chain to the wall. ". . . Can it be?" she finished softly.

"A question we all ask ourselves, Miss Pierce," Severus remarked. Startled--she had not heard his entrance--Eiluneth turned, losing her balance. With an instinct he hadn't known he possessed, Severus leapt forward, catching the girl before she hit the floor. Surprised blue eyes stared into his own startled black ones and it struck him once again how very tiny she was. As he lifted her and set her on her feet, she seemed to weigh almost nothing at all.

"That's twice," he commented.

"What?" Eiluneth snapped back to herself, blushing furiously.

"That's twice I have saved you from the unpleasant consequences of falling from a height," he replied with a wry quirk of his lips. "I hope you are not intending on making this a habit."

"I--uh--I--" Eiluneth closed her eyes, pulling herself together with visible effort. "Thank you," she said finally.

"You're welcome," Snape returned, amused. "Now, if I may ask you why you were on one of those archaic contraptions to begin with?"

"As you see," Eiluneth answered, gesturing around the room. "I was decorating for Christmas." He looked around with approval; the decorations she had put up were simple, much more restrained (and in much better taste, he thought) than the effusions disfiguring the rest of the castle. The berry chain hung in single-strand festoons around the walls. A few sprigs of holly were pressed into the wax at the base of each candle. A small pine arrangement was centered on the mantel and an advent wreath stood on the table near the door. "I could have asked for help, I know," the girl continued before he could comment, "but there's something so much more satisfying and meaningful about doing it youself. The old-fashioned way," she added with a small smile.

"I wouldn't know," Snape said in an off-hand manner.

"No," she agreed. "Perhaps you would like to try? I still need to finish this wall."

"I beg your pardon?" He wasn't sure if he was supposed to be amused or insulted.

"I thought not," smiled Eiluneth. "Well, then, please, Professor, have a seat. It won't be but five minutes."

He watched as she easily scaled the ladder and secured the last few feet of the chain. "There!" she said happily. "Now we're ready."

"What are 'we' ready for?" Snape inquired, eyebrow raised.

She looked at him in surprise. "Why, the creche, of course. I realize the school doesn't have one, to avoid any religious conflicts, but don't you know the tradition, Professor?" The question of "Doesn't your family do this?" was implicit.

"I am not inclined to celebrate the Christmas holiday, Miss Pierce," he informed her, "and my family was no more inclined than I."

"Oh." The answer seemed to disconcert her. "Hm. Why don't you come see mine, then? It's a lovely one; my brother carved it for me last year."

"Carved?"

"Yes." Her eyes twinkled. "Mother made sure Tom was exposed to "Muggle" practices just as much as wizarding ones. She used to lock up his wand and his broom for a week at a time," she remembered. "Father wasn't happy about it, but he conceded that it was best to know a little of both worlds. So, one summer, Tom picked up stone carving. He's adored it ever since."

"Interesting," was all Snape would say in reply.

Eiluneth retrieved a small wooden box from underneath her bed and brought it back to the front room, laying by the center table. Opening it, she began to pull objects out.

First was a round wooden structure: the stable, represented by a roof supported by thin wooden posts. "My friend, Sioned, made this, actually," she remarked. "She said Tom's sculpture should always be seen in the round." She set it on the table, then pulled some of the packing straw out of the box, layering it within the stable. Snape watched with interest as a carved donkey and two cows also emerged from the box. He had to admit that the boy had talent; they were excellently done, down to the hairs of the tails. Finally, Eiluneth lovingly lifted the central scene from the crate.

It was a single piece of stone, a base with three figures upon it. There was the manger, with the baby sleeping peacefully in it, the child's face round and happy. At his head, Mary hovered protectively; Joseph stood nearby. The expressions on their faces were extraordinary; Tom had made them more detailed than he could have imagined possible on such a small scale. Mary's was a mixture of love, protectiveness, and hope. Joseph, for all the defensiveness in his stance, stood awestruck, the overwhelming wonder clear on his face.

Snape knelt to study them as Eiluneth placed the figures in the center of the scene. "I have never seen faces this expressive," he remarked. "Not even in life."

"I think Tom was rummaging in my memories," Eiluneth said softly. "When he was born, my mother gazed at him just that way. My father looked dazed, as though he couldn't believe he had any part in producing this miracle, nor that Mother did, either. I've seen shadows of those expressions since, but never as pure as at that moment."

"I see," was all Snape would say.

Eiluneth said nothing in reply. Just as Professor Snape had become sensitive to her presence because of his lessons, so had she to his moods. She knew that if he learned she could read him like a book, he would not be able to cope and would retreat further into his shell. So it was best to pretend not to notice the wistfulness and envy she saw in his face as she looked out of the corner of her eye.

"It is a very beautiful piece," said Silca in her whispery voice as she poked her head out from Snape's veil of hair.

"Yes," Snape drawled, standing suddenly. "A very beautiful piece. It might even be worth something someday."

"It is worth quite a lot to me already," Eiluneth told him, looking up at him from where she knelt.

"Then I wish you joy of it," he said shortly. "Good evening, Miss Pierce." He strode out of the room, with Silca turning to gaze behind at the girl on the floor.