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Chapter 14: Once Unkind

That you were once unkind befriends me now,
And for that sorrow which I then did feel
Needs must I under my transgression bow,
Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel.
For if you were by my unkindness shaken
As I by yours, you've pass'd a hell of time,
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken
To weigh how once I suffered in your crime.
O, that our night of woe might have remember'd
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits,
And soon to you, as you to me, then tender'd
The humble slave which wounded bosoms fits!
But that your trespass now becomes a fee;
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.

—William Shakespeare: Sonnet No. 120

Sariss was sitting in her study, grading some essays before she intended to get ready. However, she seemingly couldn't concentrate. Her mind kept wandering back to her graduation ball—for, apparently, no apparent reason.

~*~

"I must have hit my head somewhere. You two look awesome!" Rick exclaimed exaggeratedly when Sariss and Aurora came up the narrow stone staircase that led to the Slytherin girls' dormitory.

Aurora wore a dark green dress, whereas Sariss had chosen a black one and gloves. Gloves were important when she was supposed to dance with others, even though the word 'others' would most likely only include Rick and perhaps Professor Dumbledore.

"Thanks, Rick," Aurora said. So did Sariss who added, "I'm not so sure if I'm comfortable, dressed up like that."

Rick ignored it. "I'd so like to accompany both of you. Can't we make a sandwich?" he joked.

Sariss sniggered. "I'd like to see the dance that would work that way."

"I'm sure Rick would figure one out," Aurora said dryly.

"You can bet on that."

"Hey, Rick, thanks for going to the Ball with me. No one else would have—."

"Ah, don't mention it. That's what friends are for—although I can't see why you didn't simply ask someone. How about Crane?"

"Taken by and with Claire Redfield."

"And that sixth year? Leon Whatever-his-last-name was? He threw a few… well… lingering glances at you."

"Everyone throws first glances at me, stops, flinches and then walks past," Sariss said. "Honestly! I hate that! What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Oh come on, nothing's wrong with you. Quite the opposite. Rory, support me there. What do you say?"

"I don't know. I'd kill for hair like yours, Sariss."

"Oh please, stop it."

"But it's true."

"All of that should prove quite obviously that looks aren't everything, shouldn't it? Take you, for example. You're pretty and popular. And what am I? Granted, today, I look quite all right, although you've forced way too much make-up into my face—."

"Only because you don't get any colour in those cheeks. You're so sun-sensitive that I'm almost inclined to believe Malfoy sometimes. Just kidding, of course," Aurora said.

"But that doesn't change how the others react to me. Take your time and watch me as soon as we're up there. What do you want to bet that the only fellow student I'm going to dance with is Rick?"

"Is that a promise or a threat?" Rick asked, very much trying to cheer her up. "Hey, smile a bit. School's out. You're top in every subject—."

"Not every subject."

"Almost every subject then—and it is a bit much make-up, Rory."

"Since when do you have any sense for girls' make-up?"

"I was just saying…"

Sariss sighed. Somehow she wanted nothing more than go to sleep.

"You're feeling a bit lost, now that you've finished school, is that it?" Aurora asked, realizing that Sariss's mood was deteriorating more and more every second that was passing. "That's it, isn't it?"

"Partly. I don't know what's wrong with me. Everyone's so happy now. I should be too. I counted on that. But instead, it's so… I don't know."

"Come on, let's go. You'll feel better as soon as we're up there," Rick said. "Hey, Rory, wouldn't want to keep that Ravenclaw bloke waiting, would you?"

"His name is Julian Clearwater, and I've just detected jealousy coming from you," Aurora grinned. "He's jealous, isn't he? Huh, Sariss, tell me."

"Well, it's possible—."

"Jealous? Me? No way!" he said. "Sariss, we're leaving." He took her hand, placed his as of yet unoccupied arm around her waist and made such a show of a dramatic exit that he made Sariss laugh.

"You did that on purpose."

"Of course. If I'm going up there with the two loveliest ladies available, I can't have one of them look like she were led to the gallows, right?"

"Right."

"So, is he jealous?" Aurora came after them. "You were alone with him. Is he jealous?"

Rick clamped Sariss's mouth shut.

"Don't you dare. You're ruining her make-up! Took me hours!" Aurora exclaimed.

"Oops, sorry. Good you didn't struggle or something," Rick apologized.

"Yes," Sariss said and tried a smile. Surprisingly, she succeeded.

"What yes?"

"Jealous," she confirmed.

"I'm not!"

"No use denying—There's Julian! See you later." And off she was. Her date almost immediately dragged her off onto the dance floor.

"You didn't really have to tell her, you know?"

"Oh, come on. As if it would make a difference."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"Yeah, right… Just look at them dancing. If he drops his hands only an inch lower…"

"Hello. Haven't you forgotten someone?" Sariss asked. "Sariss, would you like to dance?" She gave an imitation of his voice. "Yes, Rick, I'd love to."

"Of course." He grinned. "If you can endure my feet trampling on yours…"

"Can't be worse than what Rory's going through just now."

"Do I really sound like that?"

"Almost."

And with that, they danced.

As Sariss had already predicted, she was dancing only with Rick. No one cut in. But they were having a great time, although he from time to time glanced in Aurora's direction, particularly when she returned to her date Julian who was indeed torturing her feet.

"Go to her. Save her. I can't bear to look at that for much longer," Sariss said.

"But you—."

"I'll be okay. Thanks for putting up with me."

"I still don't understand why no one cut in, pretty and nice as you are. Just look at Laveau. The bitch isn't half as pretty as you and Rory put together and—."

"Rick. It's alright, really. I'm fine. You made my day, okay?" She kissed his cheek. "Now save Rory and admit that you're jealous. She wants to hear it from you."

"Oh dear. Really?"

"Uh-huh. She told me."

"Did she really?"

"A thousand times."

So he went off towards Aurora who looked fairly relieved when he cut in. They looked good together, Sariss thought, making her way off the dance floor. Now if they'd only admit it to each other.

A slower tune was coming up now. Perfect.

Sariss sat down on a bench against the wall.

"Miss Ravon, are you already tired?"

"No, Professor Flitwick. Rick is on a rescuing mission. He's rescuing Rory's poor feet… Hello, Professor Dumbledore."

"Sariss, my dear, shouldn't you be dancing? My, how pretty you look in that dress. A good choice I must say."

"Thank you, sir." She blushed beneath her various layers of make-up.

"Say, would you grant an old man a dance?"

"Of course," Sariss said. "Excuse me, Professor Flitwick."

"Yes, yes." He waved dismissively.

Dumbledore led Sariss back onto the dance floor.

"Oh, thank you, I almost feared Professor Flitwick wanted to ask me for a dance. That would have looked quite awkward."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Filius doesn't care about that. I bet he finds the thought of anyone taller than himself having to bend down to him at an impossible angle hilarious… So you're wearing gloves. I can't deny that I appreciate that. Do they warm your hands at least?"

"No, but they kept Rick's from freezing and yours too, I hope."

"Thoughtful of you."

"Yeah, considering that there aren't so many people who come so close to me, I'd think it… well… not so good if they were freezing. It might keep them from coming back."

"I see… So what are you going to do now that school's over? With marks like yours you could very well enter Ministry services…"

Now that was a topic she was comfortable with. "I've already been thinking about that, too. I'd like to."

"Well, you'll surely receive a letter quite soon," Dumbledore said. "What did you have in mind? Auror, Obliviator—?"

"Auror," Sariss replied. "Rick and Rory have been considering that for a while, too."

"I see. I think it would suit you, all of you… Your talents could prove quite useful there. Even though Voldemort seems to be gone, there are still plenty of Dark wizards out there who only wait for someone to gather them again."

"I know."

"I thought so… But that's not the only reason, is it?" Did ever anything escape this man's mind?

"You see, it's because… Er… If I release my powers in combat, they might not cause so much trouble. If I deliberately release a bit of them, they surely won't cause so much trouble accidentally, don't you think?" she stuttered.

"I understand very well."

"And before you say something against it," Sariss added quickly, "I know that it's dangerous and dirty work. I don't mind. I'm not afraid. I do not fear Dark wizards and if they choose to get themselves killed, who am I to object? Each time there'll be one less to worry about."

"Ruthless, huh?" He looked at her over the rim of his spectacles.

"When it comes to the Dark side, yes."

"Still out for revenge?"

"I'll always be. Till the day there's nothing left of Voldemort's reign of terror."

"You're very determined, aren't you? A real Slytherin."

"I do not intend to become a Dark witch, Professor Dumbledore, if that's what you're implying."

"I sure do hope so, my dear. We'd stand no chance against you if you were to change sides."

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult."

"Neither am I. It was just a statement."

"A statement. I think I can take it for a statement then."

"May your choice be the right one. Either way you'll fulfil your destiny."

"I never was a great believer in Divination, sir, but I have to admit there's more to it than meets the eye. It just seems that I do not have the slightest bit of talent for it. Lacking the Inner Eye completely, as Professor Trelawney liked to point out incessantly and at great lengths."

"Well, you did well in Arithmancy and Muggle Studies instead. Excellent basis for working with the Ministry. You might be around Muggles quite often should there be an attack, although at the moment it is awfully quiet out there. Too quiet. Call it a sense of foreboding but I'm not the only one who thinks that Voldemort is only waiting for someone to strengthen him again…"

"Then it is decided. I shall be an Auror."

"I'm very proud of you, little one, you know that, don't you?"

"Thank you, sir."

Dumbledore walked her towards a huge bowl with a swirling liquid in it. Snape, the Potions master, was sipping some of it out of a glass that greatly resembled a crooked champagne flute, his usual sneer firmly in place, but neither the Slytherin girl nor Dumbledore were truly affected by it.

"Severus," Dumbledore said. "Why don't you take Sariss off my hands for a moment? Those old bones need some rest whereas her young ones surely demand some more exertion."

"I don't think Miss—."

"This is really not necessary, Professor Dumbledore," Sariss said at Snape's obvious discomfort. "I'm alright on my own, really."

"You don't mind, my dear, do you?" Dumbledore said. Sariss felt inclined to shake her head no. She wouldn't have wanted to appear impolite. Snape was after all her Head of House. And leaning closer, Dumbledore added in a fairly audible whisper, "Despite of what he might say now, he knows how to dance. Really. I'm an eye-witness of his considerable skill."

A scandalized look must have crept onto Sariss's features. She could feel it settle in place, along with a slight blush of embarrassment or something like that. Dumbledore had never spoken like that before.

It was almost a relief that Professor Snape too had been caught quite off-guard by the headmaster's whisper, as Sariss could see quite openly as she chanced a quick look at him. The sneer had distinctly wavered and been almost instantly replaced by a half-hearted glare.

"Don't give me that look, Severus. There's not a single law that would forbid you to enjoy yourself." He actually took the glass out of Snape's now surprisingly limp grasp and set it onto the table.

"Headmaster…"

Somehow, to Sariss, they seemed like father and son.

"There. A new song has started already. Go and dance." He extricated his hand from Sariss's and placed her gloved hand into the Potions master's, smiled with twinkling eyes and scurried away.

Sariss felt awkward. She didn't dare move for reasons that were beyond her. She didn't know what to do; she couldn't think of anything. Snape's hand was warm. The warmth seeped through the material of her glove. He was warm like anyone else. Like Rick. Like Dumbledore.

"Miss Ravon?"

"Yes, Professor?" she stuttered insecurely, squirming under his gaze.

"We are being watched already," Snape said. "So we'd better get a move on."

The limp grasp he had on her hand became tighter and he gently pulled her after him. Then he placed her other hand on his shoulder and rested his other hand on her waist.

And they danced—fortunately not too close…

~*~

She smiled at the memory. She'd had received pitiful glances from the other students, but it hadn't been so bad actually. He had been quite a good dancer—Dumbledore hadn't exaggerated—surprisingly good actually. A voice in the back of her mind perked up, And as far as I can tell, he still is…

Don't even start—or, perhaps, do start… Please…

~*~*~

"What's taking them so long?" Ron asked while pacing up and down the common room in his transfigured costume, which, according to Ron himself, were above all tights and a much too brightly coloured jacket and medieval boxer shorts.

"I don't know. It's always the same with those girls, isn't it?" Neville said.

"How would you know? You only asked Parvati a couple of hours ago. No time to match your costumes," Ron answered.

"Especially when you've chosen the present time, right, Neville?" Harry said with a wink.

"Well…" Neville began. "It was a last minute date and thus a last minute costume. Parvati and I'll probably be the only ones not wearing something completely out of date."

"This, dear Neville, is a medieval costume. It's historical, not out of date," Ron said with as much dignity as his disguise would allow—although Harry had to admit that neither Ron nor himself—at least he hoped so…—looked as ridiculous as he had feared at first. Fact was that many Gryffindor boys had been bullied into wearing similar clothing by their girlfriends. More than once during the last days, Harry had heard something along the lines, "This girl's boyfriend does it, so why can't you too?"

"They could really hurry up a bit. Ginny doesn't need any additional make-up or something. So what's taking them so long?"

"Probably want to torture us a bit; or they want us to grow accustomed to our clothes so we wear them daily?" Ron joked, although the look of terror on his face could have been faked or not.

Neville slumped into an armchair and propped his head on his elbow. "Anyone care for a game of Exploding Snap?"

"I think I'll need my eyebrows tonight, Neville, thanks but no," Harry declined the offer. He was not that desperate yet. Anyway, the girls were supposed to come down any minute now. Otherwise, they'd be late and that was something neither Ginny nor Hermione nor Parvati wanted. As Harry understood it, Hermione had agreed to do something to Ginny's hair. Harry had overheard them. Hermione had said something about 'taming her rebellious curls.'

Harry liked those rebellious curls. They were like fire and unutterably soft. It was a pity that she always twirled them around her wand and fastened them with it. More than once, her wand had spluttered a few sparks and singed her hair. Now that he thought of it, he should have given her something to fasten her hair with for her birthday present…

"What are they doing up there? Brewing a potion to make them… I don't know what?" Ron exclaimed. "Hermione looks just fine to me."

"She's doing something to Ginny's hair. I don't even want to imagine," Harry said. "Perhaps Parvati's having a hand in it, too?"

Just then, they heard soft giggles and clicking footsteps.

"Finally!" Ron shouted. "What took you so—?" His jaw virtually hit the floor. "I don't believe it. Is that really you, 'Mione? You look awesome!"

Neville had jumped to his feet and only stared, speechless.

Harry, too, stared dumbstruck, although his attention was far more caught by Ginny. "Wow…"

"Thank you," Ginny said as she ambled towards him, her burgundy-coloured skirts rustling. She wore the necklace and bracelet Harry had given her. They matched her dress as well as her hair perfectly. Hermione had arranged it into careful curls. Shiny and fiery red, they were a nice variation to the way Ginny usually wore it. But somehow, they concealed the fact that Ginny could be such a whirlwind sometimes. Anyway, she was beautiful.

Harry suddenly didn't feel awkward in the slightest anymore. Let them point. Let them talk. Let Malfoy taunt me because of the tights (no matter that the girls insist on calling them 'leggings'). He has no Ginny by his side. And they're quite comfy, now that I think about it…

"Can we go?" Hermione asked and then added with a broad smile. "Has everybody gathered up their jaws again?"

A chorus of, "Alright," "Let's go," and the like answered her.

"After you, your highness," Harry said and motioned for Ginny to scramble through the portrait hole before him.

"Thank you, Sir Harry," Ginny answered. "But I think I need your help to get my skirts through the hole. Help me?"

Harry chuckled. "A dress, which a lot of material has been wasted on, right?"

"I guess I brought it onto myself," Ginny said. "I should have been a tad more modest perhaps."

"Well, I find the fact that only a fraction of all that material is above your waist…" Harry began, "well… nice."

As a matter of fact, her arms and shoulders were bare; the dress only held in place by two delicate straps. Ginny's skin was very light, almost no freckles on those parts of her skin. Her mother always made such a fuss about that during the summer holidays when freckles erupted all over her nose like mushrooms. One could almost watch as more and more of them appeared. Ginny herself thus regarded herself as a cursed redhead. Too sun-sensitive and light-skinned, catching sunburns all too easily. But Harry loved every single one of her freckles.

"This dress reveals nothing that you haven't seen already."

"You're quite right about that, my Queen. There," he helped her gather up her skirts and gently guided her through the portrait hole.

"Thank you."

As they made their way in direction of the Great Hall, chattering about this and that, Harry idly wondered how long the transfiguration would last on their clothes. Ginny might like to keep the dress as long as possible.

Ron moaned quite audibly that he'd have to do those 'awkward dances' they'd learnt in their dancing lessons. Ron as well as Harry himself had been dragged there along with roundabout every other student with a girlfriend. Other than that, there had been nothing special about them. They'd learnt their steps and when and how to change partners if the dance required it. It hadn't even been that funny; it had been hard work. The result was that even that small crash course had led to rather splendid results, as even Harry had to admit. He was quite relieved that he knew how to dance now, still shuddering at the thought of the Yule Ball in his fourth year at Hogwarts. That was something that needn't be repeated—especially when he was with Ginny, and when she was even prettier than usual although that seemed almost impossible. She looked so regal tonight as she walked beside him, her arm linked with his.

Harry was determined to make that evening unforgettable—especially when he thought about the fact that the N.E.W.Ts were approaching faster and faster and soon he'd have only little time to spend with his very personal red-haired whirlwind.

~*~*~

On entering the exquisitely decked-out Great Hall, Severus's distinct feeling of awkwardness slowly began to dissolve. The music was playing already. As far as Severus could tell, there'd be all thinkable styles of music for them to dance to. At the moment, the orchestra were playing something that struck him as medieval. And it looked like it, too. Some clothes were stunning. There was no other word for it. Unthinkable that in fact they were who knew what under more normal, magicless, circumstances.

There were some of his Slytherin students gathered next to the buffet, holding goblets of pumpkin juice and from time to time grabbing a piece of pie, cookies or something like that from the table.

Farther away, Severus could distinctly make out the fiery red hair that belonged to the Weasleys. No one could have missed them, not even if you wanted to. If it weren't for that, they would have gotten attention anyway, as the girl was whirled over the dance floor by Harry Potter—his hair a mess just like his father's had been. He, too, wore tights, although the rest of the costume seemed to be of another period of history. Indeed, there was a considerable amount of students who suffered the same or at least similar disguise that Severus did. Most likely for the same reasons that he did.

With a certain amount of relish, however, he couldn't help notice that some of the students had fared much worse. The nineteen-sixties or seventies were quite unbecoming a style in most cases—or so Severus thought. The colours clashed horribly. Maybe they thought it funny. He almost hoped they did. Otherwise, he'd almost feel sorry for them.

Almost.

And he discovered, faintly surprised about that, that he felt quite comfortable and relaxed all of a sudden, something he'd thought he would under no circumstances. That could only prove an advantage if he could hold on to that feeling as soon as he saw her… Where was she?

She's not yet here. You're early.

Roundabout everyone else is here—and dancing and eating and drinking already. She's late.

You'll have to wait. Patience.

Tonight, I possess no such thing as patience.

Patience will be rewarded, don't you know that?

Yeah, right.

Severus sat down and tried to not look as if he had been stood up by his non-existent date. The doorway was in clear view from where he was sitting. He'd see her as soon as she'd come down the staircase.

He waited. The few minutes seemed to stretch beyond infinity. But finally, he saw her. Slowly and gracefully, she crossed the Entrance Hall and entered the room.

She wore a dress of dark green silk and velvet with silver ornaments. The nearer she came, the more distinctly Severus perceived that those ornaments were stylised roses, very intricately made, the thin silvery threads sparkling slightly in the flickering light of the candles.

She looked especially striking that night, and very Elizabethan with those long sleeves and the tight bodice that accentuated her figure very nicely.

Her shoulders were bare, revealing a pair of gently curved collarbones and a large patch of her milk-white skin. A few long curly strands of her hair fell down over it, making a lovely contrast to the pallor of her skin and the dark red of her lips as they framed her face. The considerable rest of her hair was piled on top of her head. How he'd love to dig his fingers into it and make more of it crawl its way over this bare skin of her décolletage. How he'd love to trace those collarbones first with his fingertips and then with his lips…

He really had to stop his thoughts from constantly heading into that direction. It was doing him no good.

Lovely. Very.

I agree. She's beautiful.

Ravishing.

Definitely.

A vision.

Are you going to stare at her all evening?

Yes.

Might be better. She'd realize that something's wrong with you if you kept talking in sentences consisting only of single words.

Shut up.

Two words! And both have more than a single letter! What an achievement!

Shut. The. Hell. Up.

Trying to think of something to say to her, aren't you?

Yes. And I can't, with you rabbitting on and on.

Okay, okay. I can take a hint…

She's coming towards us. What am I supposed to do?

Say what you just told me.

What, shut up?

No, stupid. Tell her you like the way she looks.

He stood up when he was fairly sure that he was indeed her destination. As she walked towards him, a smile tugged at her lips as he gave her a questioning glance.

"I challenge you," she said.

"Challenge me to do what?"

"To do what the occasion calls for—and as it happens to be, I've come to the conclusion that I did not really owe you a dance on Hallowe'en. So I want it back," she stated in a manner that was very much appropriate, considering her costume.

"Who am I to object?" he said, taking her hand and leading her to the dance floor. The orchestra just finished a waltz.

~*~*~

"Play a Volta!" Dumbledore shouted as if on cue—but that was impossible, was it?—and Sariss jumped lightly.

Yes, the dance fit the time she had chosen for her costume—although during said time the dance had had a somewhat scandalous air to it—and yes, she would like to see how Snape would react to her being so close for more than just a few seconds. But did it have to be that?

They'd be dancing far too close at times. Most likely, she'd even feel his breath on her skin. But on the other hand… Perhaps that wasn't so bad…

Considering the fact that she knew perfectly well what he felt, it was completely irrational to act the way she normally did, wasn't it? There was no reason to be afraid of being rejected, was there? She had thought that she had sensed that he… well… that he… was somehow… in a way… interested—or had she interpreted his emotions wrong? If he hadn't kissed her in the dungeons that would be quite a problem… But the way it was…

I wonder how far I can go—before I lose my nerve…

That's the spirit.

"Must have been a real effort of will for you to actually dress like that. In tights, that is," she began.

Step. Step.

"I always thought they were actually considered leggings."

Turn. Clap.

"That's what girls say to make their boyfriends wear them. A small inconvenience considering that the girls in return get to wear really lovely dresses, don't you think?"

My, he looks good tonight…

Nice legs…

Step. Turn. Clap…

"I take it you transfigured most of the dresses in here?"

"Only the ones who took a bit more of magic. The really fancy historical stuff. It's so much easier to do when you don't have to wave a wand and mutter dozens of incantations and it lasts longer, too—or at least I hope so."

Step…

"Yours is very fancy, too. Incredible even, at a closer look. What is it in reality, your transfigured Hallowe'en costume?"

That must be his way of telling you that he finds you really lovely and that you wear a—.

I know that. I'm neither deaf nor dumb. Thank you.

"It's not transfigured. I got it from Gladrags Paris by owl order. Amazing what can be done even though Voldemort's on the loose…"

Step and clap…

"I guess he doesn't care for fancy dresses. It wouldn't suit him either. And as far as I can tell, he'd be most unlikely to wear it—."

Sariss smiled.

Turn and clap…

He's witty.

In a morbid and sinister way… Well, if you like that…

I do. Very. Jokes about Voldemort are exactly the ones I need. Kind of makes it easier to—

Stop! No evil thoughts when you're supposed to be enjoying yourself and see how far you can—.

I know, I know…

"—especially when you look so very beautiful wearing it, which doesn't mean that you wouldn't if you didn't wear it… erm… wore something… else instead of…" he faltered as he put his hands on her waist.

That was a not very subtle compliment.

But a really lovely one…

And what a slip of the tongue! But he could have finished the sentence properly at least.

I think I know the reason why he didn't.

Which would be?

He just lifted me up.

Why is that?

Are you dumb? We're dancing a Volta, of all things. He was supposed to lift me up.

Who had that idea with the Volta?

I guess I asked for it with my choice of costume and…

You could finish your thoughts at least.

Can't think when that man is so close…

Then go for it, babe!

Don't call me that!

Back already?

He set me down again. Thankfully.

Didn't you like it?

Very… Here it comes again…

I take it a real conversation with you won't be possible in the near future?

Uh-huh…

It felt a bit awkward to be so close to Snape, but now that she was voluntarily it was rather nice. He lifted her up once more. The warmth of his body and his hands, seeping through the silken material of her bodice felt like little shocks.

Tingling sensations raced all over her skin. It felt… heavenly, she had to admit after the first shock about the fact that it was Severus Snape who made this happen had passed. And he had been quite affable during the last weeks…

Stepping and turning and being lifted up for a few more minutes she was. And then he actually bowed in perfect manner and blew a kiss onto the back of her hand, just like he had attempted at the Hallowe'en dance…

Hello! That had been his way of telling you that he accepted your apology and that he's sorry, too! Stupid thing! And what did you do?

I know what I did!

And now you wish you hadn't.

I didn't even like him back then…

Surely not. Perhaps unconsciously?

I like him now. That's all that counts. And you may have realized that I'm not pulling my hand back…

Only like? I'm disappointed. Don't you rather—.

Shut it. You know it. I know it. We don't have to discuss any of it.

I knew it.

Enough. I'm talking to him—or rather not talking but enjoying him kissing my hand… I almost wish you'd feel this, too…

Sigh… Me, too. Me, too—especially when considering where those little gestures tend to end…

Sariss's hand trembled considerably when the Potions master had finished with it.

"Do I win?" he asked. Was it just her imagination or had his voice just now developed an air that could be very well interpreted as husky as well as seductive?

Sariss's mind hadn't yet overcome the all-too-familiar sense of confusion and something else that she couldn't quite put into words. "I beg your pardon? I don't understand…"

"The challenge. Do I win?"

"The challenge. How stupid I seem to be sometimes—don't say a word," she added quickly. "It was not really a challenge. I just wanted to quote you there. The occasion just ached for me to say 'I challenge you' rather than 'Would you like to dance'?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I would like to dance," he said. "And as it happens to be there's a really nice piece of music playing—at least I like it."

"You like that kind of music?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"You just didn't strike me as the type to listen to… slow songs if they aren't classic dance music, that is…"

"I will be delighted to show you what else I am that I do not strike you as the type to be." He looked indeed a bit startled that he'd said it the way he had.

Sariss suppressed a satisfied grin—although the control she'd had over this situation was slowly but certainly slipping out of her once firm grasp and thus began to make her feel as though she'd rather not be there for much longer. Why was it that she always had the urge to run when she was alone with him? And although they were in a crowd of people, it seemed to her that they might as well be alone in the castle.

That sounded rather suggestive, didn't it?

This is starting to scare me a bit. I wanted to see how far I could go and now it's the other way around. I wanted to see how far I had to go to make him back out, run away from me and reassure me that being alone is the wiser option—which it is, if you think about it…

It's not. Why would you—pardon me—long for—?

Shut up. I know what you're going to say. But the point is, I've manoeuvred myself into a situation I don't know how to get out of again. I don't think I'll have the strength to do anything—.

Just act normal, perfectly natural, and normal.

Natural? When he's touching me and making me feel so weird by doing so?

Just try to enjoy it. It feels nice, doesn't it?

Very… But that's not the point here.

No. The point is that now that you could move in for the kill, so to speak, it might be he who does so.

You think so?

Yes.

What do you suggest I should do?

Play along as long as you can. This situation is the complete opposite of what you intended it to be now. Make the best of it. Let him do the work from now on.

And what am I supposed to do while he's 'at work'?

Nice choice of words… You make a bit of small talk.

Small talk.

Yes. Tell him his legs are nice—.

I won't! Although at a closer look…He does indeed have nice legs…

There. And you could say it with a certain tinge in your voice that you don't mean it quite the way you said it…

But I do—I mean if I said it, I would mean it…

Enough advice. Regard yourself as on your own now. I'll just watch…

Great, so now you leave me… What do I do? Well, I guess there's no other way than to play the game till the end. Either way I'm going to lose.

But you want to lose in a very specific way, don't you?

Was that an implication?

Not at all. I only wanted to say that somewhere in that little head of yours you want him to win—although if you're playing a game with no winners, which it might just be, or a game without losers, I can't tell yet… Just be your horrible self. If you want him to run, then you'd better be yourself.

Oh and what am I?

Obnoxious, annoying, stubborn, maddening… You want more?

Please.

In essence: A pain in the--.

I understand perfectly well.

And?

That, apparently, doesn't stop him.

Why's that?

Because he's all those things himself.

Oh, but he's so adorable, isn't he? So cold and warm at the same time, and so mysterious and dark… Incredibly arousing, isn't it? Tell me something. How does it feel, your hand in his, his skin against yours?

It makes me shiver fiercely.

Really?

All over. Oh gods, I want him to never let go of me again. This moment is eternity.

Of course, you'd never admit this to him…

And the moment lasted for hours, hours that passed much too quickly…

~*~*~

It was far past midnight when Dumbledore declared the festivities ended and prompted the guests to go to sleep. The younger students had left quite some time ago already.

Severus Snape didn't want this night to end. Everything had been so perfect. She had been so perfect. Her little hand in his felt and looked so right, as if it belonged there. It was so soft and looked like the hand of a wax doll. Her fingernails were long and polished in a very faint slightly pinkish colour. The delicate silver rings she wore sparkled all the time, so did the moon-pendant necklace. And the way her earrings brushed the side of her throat at every movement of hers, glittering as if they wanted to invite Severus to take their place…

She'd spent the whole evening with him, sometimes making a bit of small talk, then not speaking at all for a long period of time. She'd been lovelier and more radiant than ever before. Severus was drunk on the sight of her, on her strawberry-vanilla scent, on the feel of her…

But now the ball was over…

Severus gathered his courage (somehow he seemed to be such a coward in everything that concerned her) and asked Miss—Professor, he chided himself… Professor Ravon if she would mind it if he walked her to her chambers, just to prolong the evening a bit. He hadn't thought that she'd agree. Thus it surprised him quite a bit when she said, although shyly, "Yes, why not?"

Silently they walked up the marble staircase and headed in direction of her rooms. At night they seemed to be rather on the third floor than the second, Severus recalled. How did she manage to live here when the location of her chambers changed constantly? Severus was suddenly very glad that his rooms and the dungeons were one of the few locations in Hogwarts that stayed firmly where they were…

"Thank you very much, Professor Snape. It has indeed been a nice evening."

They had reached her chambers. All too soon, Severus thought suddenly; he didn't want this evening to end. It had been… nice. Very nice. Too nice.

"Would you please stop calling me 'Professor Snape'? It's started to annoy me recently—even if only slightly." He tried to sound exaggerated, but found that, when it came out, it sounded somewhat awkward, perhaps even a bit shy.

"And what should I call you then, Professor Snape?"

"The staff have taken to calling me Severus—at least under normal circumstances."

"I see. And why is it that I should call you Severus, Professor Snape?" she said, pronouncing his first name very clearly, but clearly laying emphasis on his title and last name.

Damn it, she's enjoying this, he thought. She's enjoying giving me a taste of my own medicine—apparently Potions wasn't the only subject I taught her…

And I know quite a few things you'd also like to teach her…

Dismissing that thought quickly, he finally settled for, "I can't think of any reason why you shouldn't. It's my name. The other teachers call me Severus. You're a teacher. Ergo: You do it, too. Quod erat demonstrandum."

"And that's all there is?" she drawled lazily. Oh yes, she is enjoying this greatly. Even though she wasn't your typical Slytherin, she knew perfectly well how to be one, to act like one. Which she did, at great lengths, whether you wanted her to or not…

At the moment, he would have preferred a bit more of straightforwardness.

"What else should there be?" He could play this game, too; answer a question with a question; hide a question in an apparent answer.

"I'll think about it," she said, ignoring his last statement. "Good night, Professor Snape."

He was perplexed. She's so… I don't know… Had she already been like this when she had been attending Hogwarts as a student? Definitely not. She had even been somewhat shy sometimes. Most of the time, she still was shy… And she hadn't been like this when they'd had that unpleasant row about the Kappas either… She'd never been like this before.

He'd obviously hesitated for too long, as she'd started to turn away from him. Her hand was already reaching towards the door handle. In a few moments, she'd be gone…

~*~*~

"Sariss," he said. She froze. He'd never called her "Sariss" before. "Miss Ravon," oh yes. "Professor Ravon," yes. He'd even said "Sariss Ravon…" But never had he uttered her first name isolatedly… Just the one word; nothing else to accompany it. The way he pronounced it, the last syllable sounding almost like a hiss; a caress. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath until the shivers that had started to run up and down her spine subsided.

"Look at me," he said then, in a very low voice, soft, like velvet. If velvet had a voice it would sound like his, she thought, but immediately slapped herself mentally for even thinking something like that (again) about her former professor; her former teacher—a man who had already been teaching when she'd hadn't even been five feet tall! She was starting to feel uncomfortable—no, wrong choice of words—nervous was a much more appropriate description of her current state. She had gone too far tonight; she had realized this as soon as they had left the Great Hall, as soon as there were no longer other people in close proximity—or even before that. The feeling had crept upon her stealthily. If she stayed near him for a minute longer, she felt she'd lose herself in his emotions…

She swallowed. Then she turned to look at him, if only for a second or even less, before directing her eyes somewhere else—anywhere else—but his eyes, his face. Those few moments, however, were enough to confirm that… she had no idea what. He was gazing at her steadily; the line between his eyes had smoothed out. He wasn't scowling; he wasn't sneering… In fact, none of the emotions one saw usually cross Severus Snape's face was there—as if she'd actually looked him in the face more than a few times in all those months.

He was just gazing at her intently. She had no idea where that thought came from but suddenly it was there: I don't even have to raise my head very much to look into his eyes. I'm only a few inches smaller than he is…

Strange that her brain hadn't registered that earlier.

Once more, she remembered when she'd danced with him at her graduation ball. He hadn't been too keen on dancing at first, but Dumbledore had almost forced him to—as he had forced her to do so, well, not really forced, but made. Yes, Dumbledore had made them dance with each other. It had been an awkward situation. For six years she'd been equally scared of as fascinated by the Potions master; then it had only taken him to give Malfoy and his cronies detention—a definitely unpleasant one—and a concerned "Are you alright?" and the fear had been gone. And hardly six months later, she'd danced with the man who had always kept his distance from everyone. And he had been a good dancer, too; he still was. She almost smiled at that thought.

"Sariss," he said again. The now familiar shiver again.

I've got to get out of here… Who knows how this ends?

There's just a tiny little problem there, dear. You don't want to get out of this situation—or do you?

Not really… Oh gods, I don't know what I want.

He took a step towards her. Now he was standing hardly three feet away from her. She could already feel the heat emanating from his body. Sariss kept her head bent and closed her eyes, despite everything revelling in the sensations of warmth this made wash over her.

"Say my name." His voice was barely above a whisper; she couldn't think of anything clever to say as she'd done earlier. No snide remark, nothing. She couldn't think at all. Her mind was completely blank all of a sudden.

He stepped even closer. She could almost feel his breath on her forehead.

'My name is Severus.'

She swallowed and finally raised her head and her eyes, too, to meet his gaze, a searching, questioning expression on her face. Yes, she was definitely quite nervous now—just like him. She felt it now.

However, she had no time to ponder about what the look in his eyes, the multitude of emotions that had suddenly started to emanate from him—he had obviously let down his defences, so clearly could she sense them now; it was overwhelming—meant, since he'd already cupped her face in his so very soft hands… the hands of a Potions Master… and lowered his lips to hers.

I'm dreaming again…

He brushed his lips over hers, exactly as he'd done that night around Christmas and then later down in the Potions dungeon; tentatively; tenderly; so very gently and very slowly, making little shivers run up and down her spine. Instinctively, she raised her hands to push him away, although the evil voice in her head encouraged her to draw him into a deep kiss.

I'm dreaming.

Your dreams come true.

He seemed a bit hurt although his face gave nothing away and said, "I may have mistaken your behaviour, Miss—Professor. It seemed to me that—Forgive my mistaking your behaviour for an invitation." He bowed slightly, said, "Good evening," and turned to go.

This is not a dream.

"Don't." Sariss could hardly believe that the word had come without her even straining to say it. The word had boldly slipped over her lips. "It was. It…"

He went back to her and cupped her face again, merely looking at her.

"It… It still is…"

And once more, his mouth came down to cover hers.

All too quickly, he drew back again, perhaps for fear she'd change her mind again, his hands still cupping her face, his thumb lightly stroking her jaw line and her lower lip. Sariss had closed her eyes as soon as their lips had made contact. She kept them closed now, waiting… Waiting for him to kiss her again, which he did after having looked at her for a few long seconds. She could almost feel his eyes on her skin before his lips met hers.

The shivers again. Sariss leant into the kiss, placing her hands against his chest, then running them up and slipping them around his neck, entwining her fingers in his jet-black hair, that was slightly greasy as usual—something inevitable when you brewed and worked with potions of any kind. Nonetheless, it felt soft and good and, frankly, at the moment she wouldn't even have cared if it had been dirty and tangled. All that mattered was his deepening the kiss—although not invading her—as she'd started to kiss him back, his arms embracing her, the feel of his lips against hers, soft and hard at the very same moment, as only the mouth of a man could ever be, his hands against the small of her back, pulling her almost roughly against his body, as though he had been waiting for this for years on end, lifting her up so that only the tips of her toes touched the floor, enveloping her in a warmth that seemed to light a fire in her that she'd never thought she had inside of herself, warming her to the core of her very being…

She needed no more dreams.

He had very warm hands, she noted absent-mindedly as the heat they emanated started seeping through the thin silky material of the dress she wore—or so it seemed to her now at least. She started to feel light-headed; he positively overwhelmed her senses. It felt as though he were the only thing that kept her upright at all; she had no control over her body anymore; her knees were weak, her breathing shallow… He was definitely kissing her senseless.

This couldn't be happening… It wasn't real… It was like the dream… It couldn't be…

But it was.

~*~*~

"Sariss," he said; then paused, watching, as she froze in mid-movement at the mentioning of her given name, only her given name, nothing else. "Look at me." She was trying to worm her way out of this, he could tell as much from the way she averted his gaze, willing her body to move yet not moving at all—and her silence.

He stepped closer, whispering her name once again. He was now close enough to notice that his breath stirred her hair as he did so. "Say my name," he said, detecting the slight trembling, the little shivers, that must have been crawling all over her. Or at least he thought he did. Gazing intently at her face he mentally willed her to look up which—at some point, perhaps because he said no more or because he was deliberately invading her privacy—she did.

As he caught the look in her eyes, the sight of her slightly quivering lower lip that indicated that his presence, the closeness of their bodies, made her feel highly nervous, he seemed to have lost the ability to speak.

Instead, he raised his hands to her face, cupping it, running his fingertips lightly over her cool, smooth skin, and lowered his lips to hers, only brushing them—but very slowly for the sake of prolonging it as much as possible (who could tell if he'd ever have the chance to do so again?)—so as not to startle her. After all, he might have read the signs wrong, who could tell exactly—especially with this woman?

And indeed, it seemed to be so, as she pushed him away.

A strange feeling passed over him. Something akin to emptiness or hurt, a slight twinge in his heart or soul or whatever he had instead of them—as he couldn't believe he still had those after all that he had done.

With quite some effort, he managed to hide his initial turmoil and said, "I may have mistaken your behaviour, Miss—Professor." Those stupid slips of the tongue, he cursed silently. Just what I need. "It seemed to me that—," he hesitated. "Forgive my mistaking your behaviour for an invitation." He gave a slight bow. "Good evening," he added and turned to go, to leave her behind forever, already thinking about how to drain his mind of the thought of her so it wouldn't revolve around her every single second of the—.

"Don't." It was her voice. Was it a tinge of panic he could make out there?

"It was. It…"

He fought not to rush at her, sweep her up into his arms and bestow deep and hard kisses on her, as he would have liked to do. Instead, he merely took her face in his hands again. "It… It still is…" she stuttered, her eyes very large, and he let his lips brush hers once more. This time, she didn't push him away.

He felt her shiver beneath his touch, much more than she had been shivering the whole evening, and drew back, looking at her face. She had her eyes closed and didn't open them. A distinct blush had settled on her cheeks.

Lovely, was the first thought his dazed mind provided.

Severus brought his lips to hers one more time, and then something incredible happened. She parted her lips, not only leaning into the kiss but also responding, kissing him back very tentatively at first. It brought forth feelings in him that could only be described as downright sinful—something he hadn't experienced for a very long time. Her hands moved up into his hair as he intensified the kiss, lowering his hands from her face to her waist, embracing her, pulling her close and pressing her against the length of his body. He was sure he'd have lifted her off the ground completely if she had been only an inch smaller, but even so, he could tell that there wasn't very much holding her upright but his arms around her.

The way she was clinging to him, the taste of her, the softness and faint moisture of her lips… Those lips were kissing him; he had almost forgotten what a real kiss felt like, given unconditionally and freely, the complete absence of the outer world as if time were standing still…

If only time would stand still…

~*~*~

The torches on the walls that had burned rather low all the time suddenly flared high, flickering, throwing dancing shadows over the two of them, illuminating the two figures who were too absorbed in each other to notice; even Sariss, who had always dreaded doing any accidental magic of the extent she was capable of…

Finally they broke apart, in desperate need for air; they'd been close to suffocating.

Both equally stunned at what had just passed between them, they needed a few seconds to gather the bruised and battered remains of their wits.

"Good night," Severus said, hesitant to release her, his voice not quite as steady as it was under normal circumstances.

"Good night," Sariss whispered breathlessly. "Severus…" And within a couple of moments she had disappeared into her rooms, closing the door behind her, leaning her back against it, trying to gather her wits again so she could at least grasp what just had happened. She couldn't deny that she had indeed fantasized about this—what it would be like to… How else could she have dreamt it over and over?

All of a sudden, it became clear to her that the thoughts she kept having weren't so new. In fact, they were rather familiar and years old… But she'd dismissed thoughts like these as some sort of a childish crush, which they had been, hadn't they? Admiration for a brilliant mind, respect towards something like a father figure? It had surely been only his intellect that she had come to admire; what else could it have been? He had always—no not always, just most of the time—been… obnoxious, cruel, sneering… What was wrong with her that all of a sudden she found his personality actually charming sometimes?!

Perhaps it was that he was so complex and also complicated, hiding his feelings, his vulnerability under a mask of lacking concern for everything around him—and she knew he was keeping the greater part of himself locked up. Not quite unlike herself sometimes… That much he had given away clearly only a few minutes ago. He had put everything in that first gentle kiss that he hadn't been able to say.

But it had somehow always been his voice that made goose bumps erupt all over her skin. Even when she had hardly been eleven years old, it had been so. The way he'd rushed into the Potions dungeon… "I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses," he'd said. "I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper in death." She wondered if he still did that introduction.

Back then she had not yet been able to define those sensations, had not been able to label his tone of voice as sensual as well as seductive yet. After all, she'd been a student, a child that had even been scared of him—the way he moved, his piercing cold black eyes, the constant scowl on his face, the intenseness of his suppressed emotions—whereas he had been a grown-up man with a temper that rivalled the one she'd developed when she'd grown up (and had a hard time keeping it under control, by the way—he at least didn't cause all those little accidents). Coincidence? Had he unconsciously influenced her in more than just her obsession with Potions? She had so hoped he'd help her find out what that potion had been. If one person could have found out, it would have been him. But he hadn't. No one had. Only Voldemort knew what exactly it had done and she would definitely not ever be able to ask him. She wouldn't even go near him if she could help it at all—but still she wanted nothing more than revenge. Strange, how even now he wouldn't leave her mind, now that it should be filled with—.

However, Severus Snape had managed one thing: He had bewitched her mind, ensnared her senses. Tonight he had. And he hadn't even needed a potion to do so. With a single word followed by a kiss, he had had an effect on her… No spell could ever have caused sensations like the ones he had drawn from a place inside her heart, soul, mind—she had no idea where—that had yet been untouched territory. Did he have any idea what he'd put her through earlier this evening, when he'd been dancing with her? So close, so—sensual… She had had a hard time controlling all those contradictory sensations and thoughts, pushing them into a faraway corner of her mind where they wouldn't bother her too much—and it had been she who had started it!

She had never thought it possible. Actually, she'd always fought feelings like this, feelings that must have been lurking in the back of her mind for quite some time already, now that she thought them over…

Looks like I've finally lost this battle—.

Indeed. You have been conquered. Was about high time, wasn't it?

—and something tells me I've lost the war, too.

That would be me now.

You never stop, do you?

Nope, I'm here to point those things out when you least like to have them pointed out.

Oh, goodie…

Quite a kisser, huh?

I refuse to discuss that with you. You were there. You know what it was like. Question already answered.

Oh, alright. Sigh…

He had broken down the remains of the already crumbling wall she'd built around her heart, her soul—yet he hadn't even had to use force to accomplish this. He'd just needed to say her name in that particular way he'd said it, step close and simply kiss her senseless. Who would have thought it that easy to break her defences?

Sariss slept little that night, pondering… All of this was so strange, so new…

And it had the nice side effect that—without sleeping—she didn't have to dream. She was confused enough as it was.

~*~*~

Severus's thoughts equalled hers in more than one respect as he made his way to his chambers down in the dungeons—yet not in as many words. He could still feel the imprint of her lips on his, the tingling sensation of her hands on his face, his neck, in his hair. He could still taste her, smell the sweet scent of her hair on his robes. A luscious and fruity strawberry fragrance, fresh and light but oh so unutterably sweet.

His arms felt strangely empty. The few patches of bare skin she had touched had seemingly come alive. It seemed her touch lingered although she was not there any longer. He let himself be carried away by those precious moments that had already passed into the past and into his memories.

That night, Severus Snape fell asleep with a smile on his lips. No Dreamless Sleep Potion was needed. He wanted to dream, relive those precious minutes… He felt twenty years younger suddenly, excited like a teenager. Yes, it was very well possible that he was in love… Once again… And, perhaps, she'd love him in return, at least a bit…

Next chapter:

The aftermath. And two people decide that what they're up to is no wise idea—but do it anyway. And Sariss threatens to hex Severus if he doesn't wash his hair…