Disclaimer: Everyone is JK Rowling's, I'm just borrowing them. I promise I'll not hurt them. And I have no money, I'm a poor University student.

Warnings: a little bit of slash like Harry kissing Draco and Snape kissing… I won't tell… :)

This is the betaed version…, so big thanks for my wonderful beta, Pottergirl!

Midnight meetings

Chapter Four

The very stones were silent around his feet. When he was angry, he moved like a cat. Not that he ever noticed it. It was his nature. When other people got angry, they tramped and shouted, hit the wall and slammed doors with such force that it could bring down whole buildings. This, however, wasn't the case with Severus. When he got angry he never shouted, never hit the wall; he only spoke and moved silently, you had to strain your ears to catch any noise coming from his direction. And it worked. People always feared him. People who got scared by the utter silence and blazing fire in his eyes whenever he got really angry. Well, except some fools he really hated. Like Black. Like Lupin. Or Lockhart. The ones he really would have enjoyed seeing scared were the ones who did not get affected by his silence. Bad luck, you could say.

He ran down the stairs and swept trough the halls as swiftly and silently as a dangerous creature of the night. The dungeons were poorly lit with small candles, he passed through shadows on his way, and he enjoyed it. He never really cared for or liked strong lights, as a matter of fact. It didn't suite him.

He closed his door swiftly and silently, and cursed. He nearly tripped on a small footstool, but it jumped aside. Yes, Severus had the foresight to curse all his bigger furniture to step out of his way if needed to. He tended not to notice smaller objects, as his footstool and chairs when he stalked back and forth as he was deep in thought or, more often, so mad that smoke came out of his ears.

He moodily sat in his worn-out armchair and reached for the unfinished glass of brandy he left on the table. He was sipping it when Dumbledore's orders came in and he'd had to leave in a blur. Normally, he would never let something as good as this go to waste. He cradled the glass in his long-fingered hands, and imagined very creative curses for Lockhart. He most definitely hated that man. He was of the worst kind. He was who he always was, a damned fool. No matter what he claimed he was, he was all much the same. And Albus trusted him with the children! What insanity had come over the headmaster? No, the whole faculty! And Albus let him in, when Severus was here, too. The old fool. He was sure that Albus asked them to patrol the Great Hall on purpose. But he would never, never have a normal conversation with that man. He could promise that much. As if they could have one. Severus preferred intellect over beauty, and Lockhart preferred beauty over everything else. Intellect was very low on his list. And that man had the nerve to tell him he liked him!

A few drops of brandy sloshed out of the glass, wetting his hand. He cursed, and decided to drank the liquid before he spilt it all over himself. He took a sip, grimaced and placed the glass on the table. All the ice has melted and the brandy had become very watered down.

He stood up and proceeded to remove his clothing. Against all rumours, he did take showers and he washed his hair every day. Clean hair always transformed, in quite a mysterious way, into greasy hair after a good hour of working over cauldrons. But he didn't mind. Beauty was something people needed when they lacked intelligence. But beauty was something you lost after 30 or 40 years, and you will never get it back, no matter how hard you tried. But no, he was never jealous.

He stood in front of the mirror. He was never considered good-looking. His face was too angular and sallow. His nose was too big, his forehead too broad. He looked exactly like a Roman. It came from family genes. After all his was a very ancient Roman family. He had the kind of looks that would have been considered handsome some decades earlier. But not now. Now he was ugly. As he removed his undershirt, he looked at the thin, white chest. Yes, he was thin, but he had muscles. A man in his place had to have muscles, he couldn't always rely on his wand. But he was by no means heavily built. He had wiry muscles that didn't really show. He removed his trousers and underwear. Well, at least he had finely-shaped, long legs, but nobody noticed it under the robes. It is quite fitting that his attractive parts were hidden, he mused. And as for the most important parts… he didn't have to be ashamed. Every woman or – man would be delighted with it. Pity, really, that he didn't feel the need to share it with anybody.

He swept his hair back, and examined his whole body. It was the thin, scarred body of a person who had seen too much for his liking. No, he wasn't the least bit attractive. Lockhart was a lunatic if he believed what he said. He was ugly, and he knew it. He growled at the mirror, tea-stained teeth showing.

He carefully folded his clothes, placed them on his chair for the House elves, and went to the bathroom. He sank into the bath, hot water embracing him and making his sallow skin turn pink. He buried his head in his hands, and sighed tiredly. There goes another day.

He hated life. And he was sure that life hated him, too.

The Great Hall was silent again; darkness had filled it after the departure of the Potions Master. The gentle glow of the candle did not touch the walls or the ceiling, it remained only a small, lighter circle in the blackness. The auror, Gilderoy Lockhart, pulled himself up from the floor and massaged his hurt backside, and watched the door where the Potions Master left. He had the strong urge to hex that man, and was sure that he wasn't alone. The Potions Master, grim and annoying, as he was, surely made other people wish to have a very sharp and very poisonous dagger to the hilt in one of his sensitive parts. Or maybe an equally annoying curse thrown in his way.

He smoothed down his robes and looked at the ceiling. It was the time of the new moon. The sky seemed empty, while in reality it was covered in dark clouds so skilfully, that it didn't show. He missed the misty glow of the moon and the twinkling stars. He closed his eyes a little. He *was* tired. And he couldn't forget Severus.

Gilderoy sat down in the chair Snape occupied earlier. He couldn't exactly remember anything before the accident, but the tattered memories of Snape were the clearest ones. He was sure that Snape hadn't been exactly truthful. Something was off. He saw images of Severus swarming trough his head. He saw Severus seated in the room he had been in after the accident. They said it was his room. He saw, in his memories, that Snape had been in his rooms more than once before. He knew he had seen Severus smile more or less over something he had said. He saw books handed back to him with not really convincing, and considerably polite answers that no, he didn't like them. And he saw Severus' blushing face mere inches from his own, eyes tightly shut and swollen lips parted.

The blonde man buried his face in his hands and shook his head. It never did him any good, thinking about the past. He was told in countless occasions that he was a right bastard, so what good was it to him to think back? Maybe he should leave things as they were before, he wouldn't really dare crossing the path of Severus. He seemed very unhappy when Gilderoy brought up this whole mess. Maybe he should leave things as they were. Maybe it would be for the best. He should just go out of his way not to bother the Potions Master. Try not to meet him often. Or more likely never.

And then he would never see that look on him ever again. He groaned and pushed that thought aside. He would think of Severus again when he had a good night's sleep. Or day's… When was the last time he had slept more that 3 hours? He couldn't really remember. He was tired, of course, but he couldn't really show it. Dumbledore needed someone to watch, and he had volunteered. He couldn't just let the teachers suffer when they had children to teach in the morning! Tomorrow, well, today, Dumbledore promised that he would send for help. Well, for somebody he trusted. Or more people. They needed guards for the school, Gilderoy knew only too well. Hogwarts was the most attractive target in Voldemort's eyes. And that's why they needed to guard it heavily.

He caressed the soft glow of the candle. He had lost his old life forever, there was no questioning that. But… he could start a new one. Albus Dumbledore, one of the kindest people he had ever met, had given him a helping hand and a push in the right direction. For that he would be forever grateful. But, after he gained knowledge, he needed friend, and familiarity. Being Gilderoy Lockhart didn't help him. He was told that everything he did was fake. He had stolen memories. He was a liar, a cheater, but, thanks to Albus Dumbledore, it hadn't gotten out. It was no use, he said. And Gilderoy Lockhart had an unfortunate accident, and retired. But people remembered him. They saw the old Gilderoy, not the new. Women threw themselves at him. He was always polite and quick. He always felt uneasy around women. Well, not just women, but all his readers. So he never got near any bigger bookstore, and he changed his appearance a little. He had straight, long hair, falling in his eyes and he wore worn, comfortable clothes, not like the old Lockhart. Not a single woman recognised him now. But he still didn't have friends.

He looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. Then let it out. Yes. He had friends, his fellow aurors, but they were not really close. For close friendship, you had to settle down. And he was required in Hogwarts. Maybe, if he spent enough time here, he would get close friends. Maybe even have the friendship of Severus. Or more.

He looked deep into the small fire, and smiled. Maybe, he would slowly begin a relationship with Severus.

He massaged his eyes wearily, and scanned the dark. He would think about Severus when he had a refreshing sleep. But first, he had to watch.

TBC

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