Long time, no see, ne? Well, one of my projects for this summer is to finish all of my fanfics. Probably won't happen, but it's a goal, anyway. Ah, well. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little bit of Christmas in May. ^_^ Have fun!

Ladymage ; )

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Listen for My Heart

Part 8 ~ Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

The past could hurt--terribly, Eiluneth knew, though she imagined Professor Snape would deny that fact. Perhaps not now, but then he was drunk, and doors opened when a person was drunk. She would probably never see this side of him again, especially if he remembered all he had said when he woke up in the morning. But for now, as she remained as still and silent as a statue, she was grateful. Grateful he trusted her enough to drink with her, to talk with her. Grateful that she could give him a person to talk to, to let out feelings he had probably locked away and denied for over a decade. Everyone needs someone who will listen to them.

She could tell he had shut himself down again, retreating behind the walls that had been painfully erected to shut out the people of the world and to hold close the sharp-pointed memories of a long-dead life.

It was hours more before she dared move; beyond the dungeon walls was the cold, stony light of pre-dawn. She found that the man had fallen asleep in his chair, still clutching the photograph of Lily and baby Harry. Both figures watched him with ill-concealed concern. Eiluneth removed the class photograph, replacing it in his desk drawer, before trying to gently shake him awake.

"Professor," she whispered. "Professor, it's almost morning. You should be in bed."

"Hmm?" Severus' eyes opened slightly and he stared at her, unseeing. "Sorry, Lily," he mumbled with a tiny half-smile. "Got caught up in my research again."

So much lost, Eiluneth mourned, not only the loss of his friends and contemporaries, but for the man he could have been, the merest glimpse of whom she had seen in the picture of an eighteen-year-old boy. "Come on," she said aloud, "You should be getting along to bed." She helped him out of the chair, bearing his weight with a strength no one would have guessed she had. He stumbled along with her help, falling rather than laying down on the bed when they reached it. With a ease born of long practice, she slipped off his shoes and socks and unbuttoned the top of his robes, loosening the high, close-fitting collar. He would not thank her, she knew, if she readied him fully for bed, dressing him in a nightshirt or pyjamas or whatever else he wore (or didn't) to sleep in. She tucked him in, smiling at the peacefully sleeping face, then ducked out the door to return to her own room. It was late (well, early, actually) and she, too, could use the sleep. But first, a small preparation to make. . .

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Snape awoke in a foul temper, his head aching, his mouth feeling stuffed with cotton. Groaning, he sat up in his bed, desperately trying to remember what he had done to end up like this. A large spot of white on his night table caught his eye; he picked up the piece of paper (yes, paper, not parchment) and read:

'Professor Snape--

If I know one thing, it is that the two of us will awaken tomorrow feeling somewhat under the weather and so I have taken the liberty of preparing my mother's infallible cure for you. Please drink all of it. It will make you feel much better. Just one piece of advice: Drink it as quickly as you can.'

Somewhat to his own surprise, he found himself following her advice, drinking from the cup that also stood on the table. He could taste why she had written to drink it quickly. However, the concoction worked almost immediately, improving his physical condition to its normal state. Unfortunately, he couldn't say the same for his mood once he remembered nearly everything that had happened last night. Then, he noted a postscript added at the bottom of the paper.

'I would very much like to thank you, Professor, for an evening well-spent. Though I know you would not have confided in me under normal circumstances, I am very honored that you trusted me enough to do so. And please know that I will keep all that you told me in strictest confidence and will never speak of it again unless you wish it.

Love,

Eiluneth'

Severus put his head in his hands and groaned. Thrice-damned liquor! He should never have let that girl through his door. He should never have told her anything. And yet. . .

He picked up the photograph of Lily and Harry, which lay next to where the note had been. For the first time in many, many years, a third figure had come out to join the other two. While Lily smiled happily at the man standing beside her, Severus Snape glared at any who would view him and question his right to be there.

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As Snape prepared to face the festive world outside his chambers, he decided to simply let the matter lie. Miss Pierce had promised never to speak of it again unless he brought the subject up and, oddly enough, he had total confidence in her discretion. So, as far as he was concerned, last night (and that morning) had never happened.

He sighed in exasperation as he swept down the castle's hallways. Unlike the students' presents, the teachers' were left under the tree in the staff room, where they all gathered to open them. Snape wondered sourly (and not for the first time) if it was a tradition instituted by Dumbledore simply in order to force him to be sociable. Well, it wasn't as if it was very successful, anyway.

He picked his usual chair in the furthest corner of the room, distancing himself from the activity while still able to observe it. Minerva chattered animatedly with Hagrid while Dumbledore murmured phrases in Fang's ear, scratching his stomach. The other teachers were in a good-natured argument on the nature of the fabled ugallu demon. Even Binns seemed to be enjoying himself. Eiluneth, he noticed suddenly, also sat a little apart from the general group, though her smile told the world she, too, was having a merry Christmas. Snape was tempted to emulate that old Muggle from the story and proclaim "Bah humbug!" to the group before returning to his rooms.

But he had a feeling Albus would never let him get away with it. It was Christmas and Christmas should be celebrated. Whether he liked it or not.

One by one, the gifts were distributed. Albus chortled over the ice cream maker and began plotting flavors with a house elf. The others were used to Snape's unimaginative gifts and received them with polite thanks rather than overwhelming enthusiasm. Eiluneth's gifts were opened with more interest; she seemed to have read every professor aright and had given them very specific presents. Sprout received a very rare Dragon's Blood tree seedling, Hagrid, a monstrously-sized puppy. Each gift was small in itself, but infinitely appropriate. Snape looked forward to his own somewhat nervously. How much had she managed to read of him?

When he opened the box, he blinked, puzzled, at the four candles that nestled within before taking the card that lay atop them. He silently read the small, ornate script:

"May your path shine ever-clear before you

May you be given the knowledge to walk it wisely,

And the strength to walk it well.

May all that is good

Go before you,

Walk beside you,

Follow in your wake,

And reside within you.

Merry Christmas

Eiluneth Pierce"

And then, in even tinier letters:

"I promise to explain later."

"Thank you, Miss Pierce," he said politely, tonelessly.

"You're welcome, Professor," she replied, smiling softly.

"C'mon now, Miss Eiluneth," Hagrid rumbled genially. "'s yer turn teh open yer gifts."

"Of course, Hagrid," she said, her smile growing deeper. With no further delay, she began unwrapping her own presents, exclaiming, apparently genuinely, at each one.

Oddly enough, Severus found himself becoming more tense as she worked her way through the small pile. He was beginning to regret his somewhat extravagant gesture. Standing, he moved next to the fireplace. She would thank him, of course--enthusiastically, since her consideration for others' feeling was so great--but the odds that he had picked something she would appreciate. . . It would have been better to ask her what she would like in remuneration for her efforts. Or maybe just thrust a sack of galleons in her hands. Then she could buy herself whatever the hell she liked.

As the box was large, it had found its way to the very bottom of the pile. As she picked it up, Eiluneth regarded it with some confusion. She knew it had to be from Professor Snape; she had opened gifts from all of the others and her parents' and brother's were waiting in her room. And yet, it was such a large box. Everyone else (except for Headmaster Dumbledore, of course) had received those cute, little inkwells. He wouldn't use such a big box for an inkwell. . . unless he had run out of boxes, but those came with the inkwells. . . and he certainly wouldn't have gotten her anything else. . .

She opened the card that was taped to the box and read the cramped, spiky hand:

"To Miss Eiluneth Pierce--

In spite of what you may think, you have fully earned the right to these.

Severus Snape.'

She looked up at him briefly, eyes puzzled, then turned her attention back to the box when she saw there was nothing to be learned from his expressionless face. Carefully cutting the ribbons, she removed the lid of the box.

Folded neatly inside were professor's robes, full-length, in a gorgeous, rich blue. As she pulled them out, the other women made 'oh's of admiration, though she did not hear them, her senses lost in the overwhelming sea of blue. They were definitely tailored for a woman's figure, taken in at the waist, flaring at the hips, with laces all the way up the front, which could be pulled as tightly or as loosely as she would wish. She had no doubt they would fit perfectly. The robes were also definitely practical; the fabric was a light wool that would be appropriate for all but the hottest days of the school year and the sleeves, though full and bell-shaped, included ties at the cuff and elbow that would wrap the extra fabric around her forearm and keep it out of the way as she worked. Eiluneth rose, holding the robes in front of her. She laid them carefully on the chair she had just left and stepped quickly across the room to where Severus stood.

He watched her, puzzled at her reaction, for two seconds before she threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek, in the same spontaneous manner as a young child. "Thank you, Professor. Thank you," she whispered. He then stood pilloried as she began sobbing into his robefront.

His arms at his sides, not daring to move, his eyes searched the room for something--anything!--that could extract him from this situation. Just what was one supposed to do when a colleague was crying on you? His nearly panicked expression would have been extraordinarily funny if the others hadn't thought the whole scene rather touching. Finally taking pity on the man, McGonagall rose from her chair and crossed over to the two. Tsking in annoyance, she took one of Severus' arms and placed it around the girl's shoulders, then moved the other one just below it. With a raised eyebrow that said, 'Now do you know what to do?' she motioned everyone else out of the room, even the headmaster, and closed the door, leaving them alone.

Snape awkwardly patted the girl's shoulder. He ransacked his mind for words, finally saying the only thing he could think of. "Hmm, well. You're welcome, Miss Pierce." It didn't seem to have much of an effect. "Um, Miss Pierce? I appreciate the sentiment, but the moisture is beginning to soak through."

She jerked away from him as though jolted by electricity. "Oh! Professor! I'm so sorry! I din't mean--" She was cut off by Snape's upraised hand.

"Nonsense, girl!" he barked. She stepped back, startled. "And stop apologizing. You have no reason to. Though," he continued in a more ordinary tone of voice, "I confess to being somewhat puzzled. I had no idea my present would elicit such a response."

"You don't know," Eiluneth sniffled, "how much this means to me, sir."

"I think I have some inkling," he replied drily, fingering the darkened patch on his robes.

She laughed damply. "But you see," she continued, returning to her chair for the robes, "this is something I've been wanting all my life. Something I can never reach. The fact that--"

Once again, Severus cut her off. "You should stop talking nonsense, as well, girl," he informed her, without his customary harshness. "I tell you again, you have fully earned the right to wear those robes. Your magic may be different from an ordinary wizard, but believe me when I say this, Eiluneth Pierce, you are fully the equal of any one of us here. Including me."

Eiluneth stared at him for a long moment, her eyes wide, before covering her face with her hands and bursting into tears once more.

"Damnation!" an exasperated Snape exclaimed. "What is one supposed to do with crying females?" he asked the air. "Why can't they just accept the truth? Is it against the law of Nature? Bloody hell," he muttered. "Women should come with instruction manuals."

"I believe," commented a voice, which Snape identified as the Fat Friar, who happened to be passing through, "that one is supposed to embrace them and comfort them by telling them various things such as, "All will be well," though I wouldn't know, of course. I believe that a kiss usually helps as--"

"Damned if I will!" the man shouted, outraged. "If you think I'm going to start spouting absurdities and acting like a love-sick young whelp just because that woman's common-sense has obviously deserted her, you're even more air-headed than that floating fat-head, Peeves!"

"Well, if you're going to be like that about it. . ." replied the friar, slightly miffed as he floated out of the room once more.

He stalked over to Eiluneth, roughly grabbing her by the shoulders. "Listen, woman. You know me well enough by now to know that I never inflate anyone's ego by lying to them. I said what I said and I meant it. And dammit, woman, if you keep crying over it, I--I'll damn well take the bloody things back!"

Her hands landed flat on his chest as her eyes flew up, startled, to meet his. He watched them, puzzled, trying to read the emotions in the jewel-bright depths and, at the same time, trying to figure out how this tiny slip of a girl could bring out such a strong emotional response in him.

And then the look in Eiluneth's eyes changed, growing darker and more mysterious. And, as though they possessed the power of an Imperius curse, he felt himself responding. He pulled her close against him and bent his head to hers, caressing her lips gently with his own.

Severus expected her to pull away--in surprise, in disgust, in something--but Eiluneth apparently had her own ideas and leaned into the kiss, almost collapsing against him. He deepened the kiss and her hands flowed upwards, her fingers tangling themselves in his hair.

It was this slight stimulus that brought him out of the trance he was in, out of the emotionally charged haze and back into reality. Snape pulled back sharply, breaking away from her hold and practically shoving her in his haste. Dazed, she struggled to keep her feet. He wanted to help her, but didn't dare. Just as he didn't dare look in those eyes--those soft, questioning, ever so innocent eyes.

"Professor. . ." she whispered, her voice thick with wonder and confusion.

"Don't," he said sharply. "We will stop this right now. I refuse to carry on with a casual affair and you don't--can't!--care for me. You have no clue as to who and what I am."

"Professor!" This time her voice was astonished and rich with indignation. "I don't know what you think I am, that I would do this 'casually!' Professor, I c--"

"I said, stop, woman!" he roared. "I say you cannot because I know you cannot! Nor will I allow it!"

"Allow--!" she gasped.

"I made the mistake of telling you something of myself last night," he continued, forcing his words into a cool, calculating tone, "which I regret." Eiluneth flinched as though he had slapped her. "And your conduct today, I imagine is due in a large part to that. Well, as it happens, I have the antidote for my sorry little tale right here." He whirled to face her straight on. "Can you honestly tell me," he asked coldly, "that you could love any man who wears this?" With a vicious yank, he bared his arm to the elbow.

She stared at it, not understanding what it was, for long moments. Finally, she breathed, "The Dark Mark. . ." Snape waited, glaring defiantly at her, watching for her rejection. "The Dark Mark. . ." she repeated, musingly. Suddenly, her eyes opened wide and her mouth made an 'o' of surprise.

"That's it!" Eiluneth exclaimed excitedly. "The Dark Mark! That's it! Professor, I've figured it out! That's what I can do!" She gave a little skip of delight, then folded the man in a lightning-quick bear hug. "Now I know I can do it!" She flew across the room to her chair, snatching up her new robes, then to the door. "I must go find Professor Dumbledore! Professor, stay right there," she commanded. "No, go ahead and do whatever you want; I can find you whenever, anyway. Oh, finally I know what to do!" With that she dashed out of the staff room and down the hallway, her footsteps sounding clearly in the sudden silence.

Severus stared blankly after her. "I will never understand women," he muttered.

"Amen," replied the Fat Friar.