Author's note: Thanks go to Butterfly and Blaise, the most loyal reviewers who write the longest and most entertaining reviews ff.net has ever seen in all of its existence. Positively spiffing of you!

Chapter 15: Let Me Tear Your Heart Apart

Open your arms and let me show you what love can be like.
It's all tears and it will be 'til the end of your time.
Come closer, my love.
Will you let me tear your heart apart?
Now all hope is gone; so drown in this love.

—HIM: It's all Tears

Sariss was a bit unsure as to how to approach Severus Snape the next morning—or rather noon. Because of the dance she had decided to sleep in and skip breakfast. It had been a long night last night, after all—and what an ending!

She felt nervous—she felt like this quite a lot lately—as she made her way down the marble staircase, chancing looks at the entrance to the dungeons. What would she do if he came up there now? What would she say? What had last night meant to him, the kiss and all?

Had it confused him as much as her? And yet, her thoughts were clear, clearer than they had been for a very long time. It was now he who occupied her mind and not Voldemort. Severus—it felt strange to think of him like this—Severus had not only managed to drive him from her mind. He had managed to drive the memories back—at least for a while—and bring thoughts of the present and future into her mind…

When she arrived at the high table, most of the professors were already assembled, the students chatting happily with each other, the world outside, under attack by Voldemort, completely forgotten. Inside Hogwarts things changed constantly, yet they stayed the same. It didn't matter who fought against whom, the headmaster kept those things from those children as much as possible. He had always done so.

"Good morning, Professors," Sariss said.

"Good morning?" Dumbledore laughed. "For you it might be. Having slept late, huh?"

Sariss smiled sheepishly. "Quite a night last night, wasn't it? You were up until the wee hours of the morning, too, if I recall correctly…"

"Indeed, indeed. But, my dear, you must keep in mind that once you're in my age you don't need very much sleep anymore. You, however, as far as I can tell, enjoyed yourself very much, didn't you?"

"I was a nice evening… A lovely party…" Sariss trailed off as she saw the Potions master walk through the doorway. She forced her eyes back towards Dumbledore and McGonagall. "Excuse me? What did you say, Professor McGonagall?"

"I said to me it looked like you had more than just a 'nice' evening."

"I have no idea what you might be referring to…" Sariss tried to look innocent and also—if only a tiny little bit—mildly scandalised.

McGonagall, however, only nodded knowingly. And Dumbledore's eyes twinkled especially expectantly as Severus Snape sat down on Sariss's other side.

"Good day, Professor Ravon," he said.

"Good day to you, too, Se—Professor Snape," Sariss managed to break off before his first name slipped over her lips. She had tried his name several times this morning and suddenly found it very kind to the ear when she said it. How strange a thought that was… But he had just said 'Professor Ravon.' Had he ever called her that? Yes, once. And laying so much emphasis on the 'Professor'—it was confusing. She didn't know how to react to that, other than sticking to the 'Professor' herself.

"Good day, Severus. You, too, seemed to enjoy the party last night very much," Dumbledore said merrily, his light-blue eyes twinkling as always—almost always.

"Indeed, I have, headmaster," he replied curtly, returning his attention to his lunch. He hadn't even looked at Sariss for more than a few seconds, not much more than a look in passing.

A fact that somehow tore at her.

So it really hasn't meant anything…

Despite herself, Sariss felt disappointed.

But he hadn't promised anything, had he? Perhaps he had only acted on the whim of the moment… She didn't want to believe that he had kissed her to hurt her; no, they were past that and, after all, she would have sensed menace or cruel intentions. There hadn't been any bad feelings between them for quite some time. Supposedly Sariss would have felt it if he had borne a grudge against her—but why didn't she feel anything coming from him now? Was it because there were too many people in here, too much excitement still lingering in the hearts of the students, remnants of last night? Or was he just hiding his feelings very well at the moment?

She knew he was very good at that. How else could she have managed to stay in the same room with him when she had been a child and not yet been so good at forcing back other people's emotions, especially when they were strong emotions—he who had so much pain, hate and—yes—even regrets and suffering inside of him? The regrets of a former Death Eater. Many regrets. And guilt, too. It tormented him still, after all those years. That might be the reason why he was pushing everyone away from him, why he was so cold and severe most of the time… He had locked everything up inside of him not unlike a scream that would not come out. And if it did, it would shatter the ears of everyone listening to it…

Not unlike her own state. Only with her it was mostly the powers…

No, she wouldn't hold it against him if it hadn't meant anything to him. Perhaps he had needed it. She had to admit that she had. At that moment it had felt right—somehow. The right thing to do…

She would just try and build up the walls again, the walls he had broken through last night, having scratched at and hammered onto them for quite some time already and then finally broken them down…

Listlessly, Sariss picked at her food. She suddenly didn't feel very hungry anymore.

"If you'll excuse me…" Snape got up to leave—she noticed he hadn't eaten very much either—and turned to walk away, most likely back down to the dungeons.

All of a sudden she noticed a very small and tightly folded piece of parchment lying in close proximity of her goblet. Had he—but how? How had he managed to slip her a parchment that discreetly? Or had it been lying there all the time? She couldn't have missed it—or could she? Sariss had to admit that she had been too busy shoving her food around on the plate and too lost in her thoughts to notice anything…

She looked up questioningly as soon as her brain had processed the information, but he was already at the doorway, his robes billowing behind him like the wings of a very large bat.

After a few more minutes, so as not to arouse any suspicions from the headmaster, whose eyes and mind never escaped anything, Sariss set down her fork onto the plate.

"Excuse me, Professors. I have very much work to do."

Dumbledore nodded, chancing a look at her plate. Sariss groaned inwardly. He was treating her as though he were her father—again. Child, did you do this? Child, have you done that? She remembered very clearly… But she had to admit, he had cared for her when she had had no one… Yet, she was a grown-up woman now, for heaven's sake! And he was still—sod this! There's a parchment to be read. What would it read?

She got up, the parchment firmly clutched—and hidden—in her hand. She couldn't very well read it here, could she? Thus, she sneaked out into the Entrance Hall and sat down on the staircase.

The Hall was empty except for her.

Carefully, she unrolled the parchment. There were only two words written there.

Kiss me.

"What?" she whispered, confused.

The words vanished. Sariss bent closer over the parchment, shoving her hair out of the way, as words began to spread anew, the scrawl a bit more urgent-looking, perhaps…

Kiss me!

"Who—or what—are you?" she asked softly.

The words disappeared and were replaced by two new ones.

The Parchment, what else? Silly question, really.

Kiss the parchment? This was so bizarre. A new Zonko's product, perhaps? Did Snape—Severus—actually have a—granted, very strange and dry—sense of humour?

Sariss shrugged and did as requested.

The parchment answered after a few seconds.

Mmm… As soon as you'd started unfolding me, I somehow knew it would take more than one request to make you do this. I wish I had been bewitched to ask you for another kiss—but the poor parchment that I am…

A slow smile spread across her face as she read this—and she blew another kiss onto the parchment, having to throw her hair behind her shoulders once more as she had only magicked part of it to stay on top of her head, which it would too if Sariss didn't absent-mindedly fumble with it so much.

If written words could actually express a smile, then these ones did it now, loopy and large as they had become.

THANK YOU!!! And now here's your reward…

The writing disappeared and was replaced by a scrawl that she recognized. Severus Snape's meticulous, reserved, handwriting. Her smile disappeared. What if…

She held her breath as she began to read:

Sariss.

I was not sure as to how I should approach you in front of all those people. I apologize for, perhaps, making you believe that I had forgotten or was ignoring what happened. I do not know what it meant to you, the kiss we shared, last night. If it meant to you as much as to me—.

This is useless. Forgive me. I'm not good at writing those things or, for that matter, expressing them at all. I never was.

Once I see you alone, I will try and explain the reasons for my behaviour more clearly. They could fill a book—but then again, they might not. I might just use them as an alleged reason to see you…

S.

PS: If you feel like you should, maybe, see me, completely non-committal, of course, you can find me in my office—as though you'd need to be told that…

PPS: You probably find my struggle with words highly amusing by now. How about hearing me stutter personally as I try to form reasonably coherent sentences?

By now, some large tears were trickling down onto the parchment. Tears of silent laughter as well as something else that could not quite be fathomed that easily. He had moved her deeply; that much was clear. Somehow, Sariss realized with a smile, this was the letter she had been waiting for all her life. How shy and with how much reserve he had chosen the words… She suddenly became conscious of the fact that it must have cost him quite some courage to approach her the way he had done it. No one had ever dared to do that. They had been too frightened. Even those who had never met her before. And even before they had touched her icy skin. It was the power. Even when she suppressed it, it seeped through every pore of her. Dumbledore had explained this once. A powerful wizard—and thus not quite so afraid of her.

The thing with Severus—unquestionably a powerful wizard, too—on the other hand, was a complete mystery to her. Why it had to be him… And why now? When she had been a student there had been nothing… But he had never touched her skin until a few months ago, she suddenly realized. When he had touched her, and as far as she remembered it had only been once—no twice—he had only touched her back and her arm, no bare skin… If he had, and if the two of them had reacted to it the way they did now… Trouble. Scandal! In retrospect, it was funny, but if…

Stop! No ifs anymore.

Should I… Should I go see him now?

Wouldn't it be better to let a few minutes pass or even an hour or so? Just to make it not appear as though she were too keen on seeing him, too interested? Goodness, she had never done anything like this. Ever. But he had been so shy in this letter. She would never have thought that behind all this superficial coldness was such a… such a cute—.

I'm calling him cute! I can't believe it! I am twenty-seven; he's thirty-seven years old, and I start to think of him as cute, which he is quite obviously not.

Oh, but he is! the voice spoke up. Sariss rolled her eyes at herself.

What the hell, he was stuttering like a teenager, too. When it was so hard for him on paper when he could think about what to write down first, how hard would it be to actually say what he wanted to say—unless he had rehearsed, of course.

Sariss chuckled at the thought. She could almost imagine it. Him, standing in front of the mirror, asking his reflection for advice on what to say—Wait a minute! I did that when I prepared my apology…

Shaking her head at herself, she decided that today was to be her generous day. She'd go and see him right now. And, she had to admit, she was very, very nervous. The anticipation was killing her, but of course, she'd never admit this. She was also nervous because of the fact that her mind seemed completely blank as to what to say when she'd finally stand face to face with him. What if they just stood there, gaping at each other, and no words would come?

Taking a deep breath, she got up and—a little hesitantly—headed down the staircase to the dungeons, the letter still clutched in her hand. If she could help it she'd preserve it forever, keep it as a treasure. When did a girl receive a letter remotely like this one? The closest thing to a love letter she had ever had?

Nearing the classroom in which the entrance to his office was located, she realized that her cheeks must still be wet from the tears and quickly wiped them away. No tears, when all the sadness that was constantly there, always lurking in the back of her mind, was for once held in check by something that came very close to genuine happiness.

And after all, who wanted a maudlin wreck of a woman for a (I can't believe I'm thinking in those terms…) girlfriend?

When she reached for the door handle, she noticed that the door was lightly ajar. Thus, she cautiously pushed it open and slipped inside. Very quietly…

Severus Snape was not in his office. He was in the adjacent classroom, this classroom. He was arranging some jars and bottles on one of the shelves. Maybe it was just her impression, but somehow his hands didn't seem so clever anymore and his mind not really concentrated on what he was doing. He kept shoving the objects around; once having set them down, he soon took them again and placed them somewhere else. Apparently he had difficulty in deciding if he should sort them by name or by use. And if he were to sort them by name, then by which one? Many of the ingredients were referred to by different names, such as aconite, monkshood, wolfsbane… Clearly, he had been looking for something to occupy himself with until Sariss came—hopefully.

Now, what would have happened if she had let him wait? Sariss had to bite her lip to keep herself from laughing, when she heard him groan with desperation at the task he'd obviously set himself.

Enough was enough. She decided to deliver him from the evil he had manoeuvred himself into—by slamming the door. Hard.

He whirled around, startled, and dropped a package of fluxweed—or rather, it had been supposed to become a package one day. Severus had just been tying it up a bit when he had dropped it.

The expression on his face was priceless. Sariss almost felt sorry for him.

She rushed towards him and dropped to her knees as he had done; the thread had come loose and the fluxweed was scattered on the floor.

"I'm a clumsy creature," he muttered apologetically.

"It was my fault. I startled you," Sariss replied softly, shoving another handful of weed towards the heap that was largest. Then she began arranging the weeds so that they could be tied up again. It reminded her of binding a bouquet of flowers, only that this was dried weed, no blossoms, no green, only dry, rustling, brownish herbs…

Severus did the same. Another heap, another arrangement. He took the thread, carefully wrapped it around the fluxweed so as not to make it break more than it had already.

"I'll get you another thread," he said, reaching for his wand.

"No need," she whispered, conjuring one up with a flick of her wrist and making it tie itself around her little herbal bouquet. Then she reached out to take it and hand it to Snape.

But she never got this far. He took hold of her hand before even her fingertips touched their destination and turned it around until her palm faced upwards. Running the very tips of his fingers in little circles over her palm, he murmured, "Those hands really do magic…" Like a shock it felt, the tingling sensation that, at his touch, had started creeping up her arm. Then he bent his head and pressed his lips to her palm.

Struck by lightning.

"Severus." She said his name to buy herself some time to string together the following sentence. "This er… highly amusing and… very lovely parchment here promised me some explanations as to why—"

"Er… Yes," he interrupted. He indicated the door. "Office."

How very eloquent he—.

Shut up.

The anxiety Sariss had felt only minutes ago had completely disappeared. She had completely forgotten to feel nervous as soon as she had sensed his emotional turmoil.

"Sit," he said curtly, as the door fell shut behind her.

And she sat down, in the same chair she'd already been sitting in once before, however in a situation much more unpleasant.

Don't count your chickens before they're hatched…

"I… er…" he trailed off and anxiously ran a hand through his hair. "I can't seem to find a way to start…"

"How about an explanation as to why you… behaved so…"

"Distant, strange?" Severus provided.

Sariss nodded.

"First of all, because I feel strange," he faltered. He closed his eyes. "As to why I would prefer it to be kept secret, should there be more… between us…" (She could tell that he was not used to using phrases like this one.) "You do know that I made a mistake, chose the wrong side…" he trailed off, opening his eyes and throwing a brief look towards her—perhaps to assure himself that she was still listening, that she wasn't showing any signs of not understanding what he meant.

Sariss nodded again. "You were a Death Eater. I know that. I always knew…"

"Yes," he said unsteadily and turned away. It pained him to speak about this. He still suffered because of what he had done back then. Sariss inwardly made a vow as to never ask him what exactly he had done. For one, because she sensed how much he must be regretting every single one of his deeds, secondly, because she knew what Death Eaters did—and she stubbornly refused to picture him like that.

She felt a tear trickle down her cheek. "You don't have to talk about this, if it pains you so much," she said softly, barely audibly.

"I do. It makes me a target. I'm a marked man," he replied hoarsely. "And if you decide to be with me, it will make you a target, too. Even more than you already are—."

"I'm not a target. Not anymore. Why should I be?"

"Who wouldn't want to use your powers? Who would let you fight for their enemy if they can help it? Who wouldn't rather kill you than risk to fight you sooner or later?" he spoke up. "Either one of us could be used to get to the other one. You could be used to make me—."

"He's still after me? Is it possible? After all this time?" she whispered more to herself than to him. If he wanted her he would have had a dozen opportunities, every time she went on a mission, every Death Eater raid she had been sent to take care of—but she had almost never been alone… Was that it? Was Voldemort only biding his time?

The deadly seriousness in Severus's voice made her shiver. Fear. Fear for her…

"I wouldn't place it beyond him. I wouldn't place anything beyond him…" he whispered bitterly. "You realize that an 'us' is far more dangerous than a 'you' or a 'me', don't you? The way it is now, either one of us could be killed any moment—and you are aware of the fact that his… style… has changed considerably since he was restored, that he is much more cruel and vicious than ever before—and I know what I'm saying. I know it because I was there when he first rose to power. I took part in it. And if you asked me if I liked it—and I know you'll ask me this some time or other, who wouldn't?—I'd say yes. I even enjoyed it. The answer is yes."

Sariss swallowed. He was already afraid for her, knowing what Death Eaters were capable of, what he had been capable of when—.

And despite everything he had written—no rather confessed—in the letter, he was hurting her, deeply, projecting the hatred he felt for himself towards her, pushing her away from him to protect her, from danger, from Voldemort, from himself—or rather from his past—and in doing so, he protected himself, too; he guarded his secrets. How much into detail would he go to accomplish the task he had apparently set himself now?

And that when minutes ago…

More tears threatened to come. She blinked them back.

He glanced over his shoulder, but didn't really look at her. She couldn't see his face through the curtain of his jet-black hair.

"Still here?" he said, deliberately making his voice sound cold, but he was not in a state to force his emotions back. The words pained him as much as they were supposed to hurt her, to drive her away. She had never felt emotions as strong as his were now. They could break her heart, if she let them invade her… Pain, desperation, guilt, hope… A heart-breaking mixture…

Sariss didn't reply, she couldn't. Her voice was not to trust at the moment. She bent her head, briefly rubbing her temples, and allowed her hair to obscure her face. It was very useful to hide her expression at moments like this when she couldn't keep up her composure any longer. That was why she always let a few strands of it fall down on either side of her face… To hide herself. I don't see you. You don't see me. It was as easy as that.

And now it was extremely useful, since she felt she wouldn't be able to hold back the tears for much longer. He had all but called her to him and then—he wanted to push her away again, throw her away, hurt her enough so she would not go near him again, not flirt with disaster…

He walked past her then, his billowing robes causing a light draught, stirring her hair. She raised her eyes, yet not her head and saw him standing at the door. He had opened it. "You might want to leave," he said, his voice not as controlled as it usual was.

Sariss stood up, slowly, not trusting herself enough to look him in the face. She would really start crying if she did. She would. It was too much. Simply too much. What if he didn't react at all?

Even more slowly, she walked towards the doorway—or maybe it only seemed so to her. The difference was startling. When she had walked through this doorway earlier that day she had been in high spirits, almost applying for a permanent seat on Cloud No. 9… And now…

When she had almost reached him—Severus was still standing there, his hand holding the door open—apparently it had a tendency to fall shut—she decided to say something, no matter if her voice obeyed or didn't…

"Was it true, what you wrote in the letter?" she asked, already standing in the doorway—the door would surely fall shut any moment now—her voice thick with unshed tears. She had to hear his answer. She had to hear him say what she knew already. If he'd decided he didn't want her despite the fact that everything about him screamed at her that this was not so, he'd have to tell her that straight out. She would stand for nothing less. "Was it the truth?"

"It is the truth," he whispered very, very softly. And as soon as he had uttered the words, the tears started to flow, unhindered, no forcing them back. Silently she cried, only allowing very small sobs to escape her. She couldn't have held them back, as she needed to breathe…

It seemed she couldn't will her feet to move anymore, yet they were moving, but slowly.

She didn't have the strength to make the decision permanent, and it wasn't really her decision if she left now. Everything was blurry. And it was not only that way because of her watery vision. She couldn't tell which of the emotions she felt were his or hers or anyone's… Thus, she waited for him to decide whether he rather wanted her out of there or in—.

"It is the truth," he repeated softly.

And then she felt him put his arm around her, guiding her back inside. She mechanically set one foot before the other, and again, and again…

The door snapped shut.

Wordlessly, he guided her back towards the chair, but before they reached it, Sariss turned around and threw herself into his arms, openly crying now. The tension had been too much, and the sudden release caused a few breakable objects to do just that. For once in her life, Sariss didn't even wince when she heard the tiny explosions, since Severus had hesitantly put his arms around her and gently rubbed her back.

"Don't—try and—push me—away—again," she forced out shakily, her voice muffled since she had nestled into his robes, her arms around his waist, intending to never let go—or at least not in the near future. "I couldn't—."

"I'll have to do that. I can't very well talk to you as it is now," he whispered into her hair and gently began to extricate himself from her grasp.

"Then don't," Sariss sniffed and swallowed another sob.

He continued despite her weak protests, tilted her head up to make her face him and smoothed her hair back. It was already sticking to her cheeks.

This gesture of his was so tender, so loving, that it did the complete opposite of what he supposedly wanted to accomplish by doing what he did: Fresh tears came.

"Sariss, what have I done to you?" he asked more himself than her and wiped them away—a totally useless action… He never had a chance. "I didn't…"

She couldn't answer, hiccoughing that she was, gasping for air—and his question didn't actually call for a reply either. But finally she managed to say, "You were right. I'm not as unbreakable as I'd like to be." She was interrupted by her own hiccoughs.

Hearing herself make those noises, she began to laugh. It sounded more like choking than laughing. After a few moments she had willed herself to breathe reasonably normal again and said, "Listen to me, I sound like a baby. I'm sorry. I didn't want to cause a scene or what. It's just that…" She resumed hiccoughing. "Oh no, not again—just ignore it." Raising a hand to her face, she wiped her eyes and then, for the first time since Merlin knew when she looked at him, really looked at him.

Severus had dropped his hands to his sides as he stood there, hardly two feet away from her. He looked helpless, somewhat shaken even. Of course, he could never have been prepared for a reaction like this. He might have thought she'd merely flee from his office, run away… The classic reaction, very simple. Like everyone else, he had no idea of what was lurking under the surface of Sariss Ravon's pale and—according to others—beautiful face.

A miserable creature was there, finding not enough happiness inside of herself to make her life worth living, letting herself be enveloped by the positive feelings of others, and sometimes, when she caught the negative ones, feeling dreadful, crying until no more tears would come. She had never told anyone about how she really felt, not even Aurora who had known her for over a decade, who had slept in the same dormitory for seven years. Sariss had cried herself to sleep silently. It was worst when the world was asleep, when emptiness invaded her, the complete absence of anything… And Sariss had become used to it, paying no longer any attention to it, pushing it away, ignoring those moments, waiting for them to pass…

"I'm messing everything up, aren't I?" He ran a hand through his hair. Sariss noted that he did this quite a lot when he was in the same room with her. If he kept this up, he'd be bald very soon… "Again, I've forgotten that I have to be even more careful with my emotions when I'm around you than around anyone else. And I promised Dumbledore I would be more careful, so as not to repeat the little row we had—."

"You spoke to Dumbledore about me?" Fortunately, she sounded normal again.

"Of course."

"What exactly has he told you?" Sariss was suddenly highly attentive. Perhaps Dumbledore had found out and told him something about why the Dark Lord had done what he had done, why he had wanted her like this, or perhaps dead, in the first place… Maybe he had found something that could make that certain incident undone…

"Nothing that I couldn't have figured out on my own if I had just opened my eyes and ears and looked and listened to you."

Sariss slumped into the chair. "So he hasn't told you anything that could be of use to somehow make me—."

"No," he said simply.

She nodded, staring into nothingness. No tears anymore. Empty—at least for now. That was something to be grateful for.

"Sariss," she heard him say. "I am at a loss. I don't know what to make of you."

"I don't blame you. I don't know it myself," she whispered bitterly and then moved to get up again.

Well, at least we might not be arguing so much now.

After having taken a few steps and found that her legs obeyed, she said, "If you'd rather have me leave now, I wouldn't—"

"Do you honestly think I can let you go now, when I couldn't even let you go when I all but threw you out?" he asked, stepping closer and taking her hands. She was still clutching the letter. "What I said is unforgivable, what I did is unforgivable. First, I all but command you to come and see me and then I hurt you for the sole reason that… that I get cold feet at the crucial moment. That seems to happen a lot. Me backing out of some thing or other…" he trailed off. He ran his hand through his hair one more time. "Before you came I knew exactly what to say to make you… I don't know… leave or stay… Rather the latter than the first, I guess. And I really wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted to be perfect—and then I realized, no matter what, I never was and I never will be, not with all that I—."

It seemed that he'd never spoken so much before. Sariss interrupted him. "I once heard a wise man say there are no perfect men. Only perfect intentions," she said softly, gazing at him intently, glad that he had his emotions under control once more, at least the ones that brought her close to going insane, making her want to die instantly.

"Oh, Sariss," he sighed. "Who but you would have refused to leave when I gave you the chance to do so? When I all but slapped you in the face?" He let go of her hands completely now, only to raise his hands to her face, touching her eyes, her cheeks, her lips, slowly and tenderly, like the wings of a butterfly. Sariss dropped the piece of parchment she had been clutching much too tightly all the time. It probably was wrinkled and smudged and who knew what else.

Nothing to frame and keep forever…

Who cares about a letter when there's a man like this? A man who can break you and heal you again within a couple of moments only by looking into your eyes and touching you?

I'm afraid I'm not in a state to answer you right now…

At that moment, he had cupped her face as he had already done once and leant in, running his thumb over her lower lip, sending waves of electricity through her. "You realize that I will most likely not ever let go of you again if I can help it?" he whispered only inches away.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't. I could have left. I still could," she replied softly, as she ran her hands up his chest and cupped his face as he still cupped hers, "but I won't."

Although a part of me screams for me to simply run.

After a few moments of looking into each other's eyes, they simultaneously inched towards each other.

Sariss tilted her head a little to the side, an automatic movement. Unfortunately, so did Severus.

Sometimes this lovely nose of his could really prove to be quite an obstacle…

She tilted her head to the other side, now quite deliberately; but so did Severus.

Oh yes. You're so right about that.

Which part of it do you mean? The 'lovely nose' part or the 'obstacle' part?

Both.

Sariss giggled at the absurdity of this situation. "This doesn't work. Hold still," she whispered, now serious again. "Hold still…"

Putting her arms around his neck, she stood on tiptoes and then brought her lips to his. It was the first time for her to kiss instead of be kissed… He did hold still as she did so. But not for much longer. He lowered his hands and snaked them around her waist, lifting her off the ground for a moment as he pressed her against him, chest to chest, lips on lips.

Sariss's eyes fell shut, she felt drowsy as though he had wrapped her in cotton wool, but it felt heavenly, being engulfed by his warmth and want. It felt so good to be wanted. And he did. Quite obviously. She felt it even stronger now that he had ceased trying and emotionally pushing her away.

She sighed into his mouth as he deepened the kiss, parting her lips—all but making sparks fly from the electro-magnetism that was between them, drawing them towards each other—teasing and caressing her, so patiently, making her want to drown in him, encouraging her to let go of her bashfulness and reserve, making those familiar feelings of light-headedness—and, yes, perhaps it was even passion—spread through her body, the same as he had done the previous night.

All conscious thoughts fled as she gave in to him completely, opening her mouth under his, drinking him in, his taste, savouring him with breathless determination to memorize this moment, the feel of his lips, of his tongue and his teeth, every movement of his be it as small as a slight shifting of his hands on the small of her back or as exciting as the tip of his tongue gently moistening her already tingling and prickling lips…

~*~*~

After a very long time, Severus pulled back, catching his breath. He had no idea if all of this had gone as intended. Would it prove to have been a good or a bad thing that he had held her back when she had almost left? He couldn't tell her the real reasons why he wanted it to be kept secret. If he did, she would fear for him even more than she did now. And she would be shocked, too, that he still answered to the Dark Lord's calling.

But he had held her back for the simple reason that in that letter he had written what he seemingly couldn't force out when he was talking to her. The letter. Goodness, for hours he had pored over it this morning and it had nonetheless resulted in a somewhat stuttering demonstration that he couldn't find the words with which to describe what he felt. It wasn't something as simple as love. Thus, he couldn't use that word. It was more. He was drawn to her. The feeling in his stomach was similar to the one that tugged there when one touched a Portkey. Everything was swirling and blurry until he had arrived at his destination. And that destination seemed to be her.

Be that as it may, the bewitched parchment had been the stroke of a genius. If she did what the parchment requested to reveal its secrets it was a good sign already—and then when she had come to him he had first acted clumsy and then heartless.

Well done, Severus Snape. You're an idiot trying to back out of it again only because you start thinking about the Dark Lord and your association with him, he scolded himself.

If only there weren't such a discrepancy between what he wanted and what he should do; between kissing her and not bringing her even more to the Dark Lord's attention. It had to be a secret. No one must now. No one must be given the chance to report anything about their relationship to anyone who was associated with Voldemort. As long as no one knew about how serious Severus's intentions were, he still had an ace up his sleeve in case something should happen…

Hurting her to save her from him—and, perhaps, from himself, too—what an incredibly stupid idea that had been. He had hurt himself even more than he could ever have hurt her. But in her case it was one and the same. It didn't matter which one of them felt it. She'd feel both either way.

He hadn't thought about that. Not really. The words had somehow come out—and that when he had once accused her of not thinking before speaking… What an irony that he had almost thrown away what he wanted most because of not thinking about what his words could do…

The mirror had not lied. Severus only wondered how he had lived before she came back into his life—no, not back into his life, since this was not the girl he had once taught in class, no student; this was an overwhelmingly beautiful, strong—and yet so very vulnerable—woman, a mystery, a riddle to be solved or perhaps not to be solved. A woman with lips so soft as her words could be harsh, with lips so sweet as her tears were bitter and salty.

"Sariss…"

"Hmm?" she whispered, her eyes still closed, her cheeks glowing with a rosy shimmer. He gently ran his fingertips over her cheek, thus making her open her eyes look at him.

"Sariss… Is this… This makes an 'us' out of 'you and me', doesn't it?" he faltered, chiding himself that he couldn't state it as it was, namely saying something like, 'Sariss, be with me, be my—' 'Girlfriend' sounded a bit strange considering they were both well beyond being teenagers… Was 'lover' an appropriate term? No, too early to think in those terms. And it sounded kind of stupid, too. He had known her since her childhood and still he barely knew her…

Be with me, Sariss.

Be mine.

If she told anyone about how he started stuttering when he was around her, when he should have expressed his emotions, he was afraid he'd have to kill her. Of course, he would never really do that. But he felt so embarrassed, so helpless, so simply out of character. He would never let anyone see him like this as he frantically tried to find the right words to express himself with…

She gave him a small smile, which was nonetheless the first real, clearly visible, tearless smile; the first genuine smile she had ever directed at him, and it was like a ray of sunlight that penetrated the gloom in this room, the gloom in his heart.

"'Us'… 'We'… Sounds good to me," she decided. Her eyes sparkled.

He smiled back as she said this. He could read the amazement in her face. Had he never smiled at her before? Seemed to be so…

"Sariss Ravon and Severus Snape… I shall have to find a tree to carve that into its bark…" he said, half-joking, half-serious.

"I shall have to draw little hearts around your name when I write it down in different colours and shapes—or for that matter, bewitch a stack of parchment to automatically paint some hearts around your name when it's written on it—say when a student addresses his or her Potions essay to you…" she grinned mischievously.

"You wouldn't do that," he chuckled.

"Never underestimate me. Never be too sure about what I would or wouldn't do," she said now, very serious again. "You don't know me as well as you might think."

"I never thought I knew you… That's a lie. I thought I knew you, but now I know I didn't," he replied. "But I'd like to know you, really know you."

"That's quite a challenge you set yourself, when not even my closest friends ever really knew me, when I don't even know me myself."

"I'm all for a challenge. Last night should have proved it quite convincingly."

"And I must admit you're quite good with challenging, too. The mistletoe has proved it quite convincingly."

"The mistletoe…" He shook his head. "I'm still sure that it wasn't hanging over my head when I stopped walking and waited for you to catch up on me."

"I didn't want to catch up on you. You had been getting on my nerves for quite some time through your sheer presence! Why would I have wanted to catch up?" she replied, her voice rising.

"That's quite a temper you have there."

"It's your fault when my temper gets the upper hand around you," she pouted. It made her lips look incredibly alluring. "You're turning me inside out and upside down."

"You really have no idea how you make me freak out. Sometimes I think you do this deliberately."

"Why should I do something like that deliberately? Who wants a scowling and sneering Potions master breathing down her neck?"

Severus was by now enjoying himself quite thoroughly. A bickering contest was something he was a natural at, something he could handle effortlessly, sarcasm, irony and snide remarks all-inclusive and for free.

"A few minutes ago," he began, "you—or should I have misunderstood something about the fact that you had—."

"Oh, shut up!"

"A very eloquent repl—."

Suddenly he found himself in a very pleasant situation again. Sariss had found a way to silence him very, very effectively. She simply resumed where they had left off—meaning that she had drawn him into another kiss; a rather… er… mind-blowing kiss it was. Severus wouldn't have trusted her to kiss him like that. He had thought she was the woman with which to be very careful, a woman in whose nature it was to not make the first step, not ever, and not the second or third either, for that matter. And the way she behaved most of the time he had thought he had sort of learnt to read her—at least a bit… But he had underestimated her even though she had just told him that he shouldn't ever do that—and he had done it nonetheless.

Beneath all this reserve and bashfulness there was something so overwhelmingly powerful, determined, and yet so very sensitive, a vulnerable soul. He had had a taste of her vulnerability and fragility when he had tasted her tears on her lips. She was indeed a contradiction in terms. She was summer and winter, night and day, love and hate, black and white—and she was all of this at the very same moment…

When she had finished kissing him senseless, he took a deep breath and said, "A rather effective—yet unfair—way to win an argument."

"First of all, this was no argument—yet. Secondly, it seems to be the only way to make you shut up, and thirdly, if I had known how easy it is, I would have done it when you accused me of 'undermining your authority'," she smirked, a hint of amusement in her voice as she said the last part.

"Please, make me accuse you again," he grinned suggestively, pulling her near again, and started to undo her hair. She let him. It felt so soft, like silk and satin, running through his fingers like water as the tresses flowed down her back. "Then you can try and see if it really works that way."

"What have I done? I should have left when I had the chance…" She rolled her eyes and smiled at his actions, as he played with her hair. So long and heavy. So smooth. "Unfortunately I seem to be one of those people who stick with their choices…"

"So am I," he mumbled, against her lips again.

"Then I seem to be stuck with you. I should indeed have left," she replied teasingly, their breaths mingling.

"You really talk way too much sometimes…"

And this time it was his turn to kiss her senseless, which he did, entwining his fingers in her hair as she entwined hers in his, revelling in its feel, its scent, its heaviness.

"What now?" she asked unsteadily when he'd pulled back.

"What do you mean?"

"We can't very well lock ourselves in here and kiss all the time. I don't know how it is with you, but I think at least I would be thoroughly missed. Your absence, however, would lighten the mood of a great bunch of students very much."

"Unfortunately," Severus said, twisting a curl of her hair around his fingers. "But if I had my way—."

"Which won't be possible in the near future because of danger, danger, danger…" she interrupted him. "Continue, please."

He scowled down at her in mock-outrage. "If I had my way, which won't be possible for the previously mentioned reasons," and many more that I can't tell you about, he added silently, "I'd indeed vouch for locking us up in here or preferably in a much nicer and more comfortable room."

"Sounds nice. Another reason to defeat Voldemort as soon as the opportunity presents itself," she replied, a tinge of bitterness but also fierce determination in her voice.

"If the prophecy is right, the opportunity will present itself, hopefully soon."

"The prophecy. May it come true."

He pulled her into an embrace. "May it come true," he repeated, stroking her back, burying his face in her hair. "Gods, I sure do love your hair. It smells so good. And it's so soft…"

"Go on flattering me as long as you wish," she said, snuggling into him. Her arms were around his shoulders, her coldish fingertips moving slightly against the base of his neck. It made his hair stand on end—or so it felt to him at least. "Mmm. That's nice," she mumbled. "How do you do it, being so warm and all, when at first sight you look quite the opposite?"

"Now that's something I haven't been asked yet. I don't know the answer to that question," he replied. "But if you want to you can use me as your very own personal fireplace any time. Just be careful not to melt those icy hands of yours all too much."

She didn't reply to that; she only made a small noise of contentment.

"I should go now," she murmured after a minute. "I still have some work to do. This dance thing and all have mixed up my schedule quite a bit."

"Pity," he said. "But then again, I, too, have lessons to prepare… Work tends to interfere at the most unpleasant moments, or for that matter, at the most pleasant ones."

"Sod's law, isn't it?" She lifted her head and looked him in the face. "Have a nice day, Severus Snape," she whispered, running her hand over his cheek and into his hair, then leaning in for another quick kiss, by doing so sending those delicious sensations through him again.

"You, too, have a nice day. I'll see you at dinner, then?" He wondered if she felt his gaze on her skin. If such a thing was possible at all, it should be searing her. Severus was almost ashamed that he looked at her with those thoughts soaring all about his mind. Almost.

"Yes, you'll see me. Then you can prove if you can keep the charade up."

"That won't be much of a problem. You and your evil temper will see to that," he drawled.

She briefly wrinkled her nose at him and tsked, as she turned and headed towards the door. Her hand already on the handle, she turned around once more. "And wash your hair. It really needs it," she playfully scolded him.

"So you're already commanding me what to do and what not?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "What if I don't want to? It's really not of much use, anyway…"

"I'll bewitch it to turn pink every time you start feeling like… well… you did until a few moments ago."

"I get the point." He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "This emotion-reading business of yours is really annoying," he replied. Then, very thoughtfully, he added, "Should I feel embarrassed?"

"I've sensed much worse than that coming from you already, and I also know a great deal of students who'd blush furiously if they knew that I can sense very strong emotions of any kind." She grinned. A remarkable difference. "But I try not to listen—or whatever you might call it—too much."

"How is it when you're around a lot of people?" he asked curiously. As of yet he hadn't really understood that ability of hers to read emotions, if she filtered them out or not, if she could single one person out at random, tell to whom which emotion belonged. Only one thing was clear to him. When alone in a room she felt his emotional state quite effortlessly, even without wanting to.

"You really want to know everything, don't you?" she asked. "All of a sudden? Isn't that too much information in much too short a time?"

"To your first question: Of course. To your second: Yes. To your third: I don't think so."

She gave a small smile and began to explain. "When there are a lot of people I don't seem to be able to tell one person's feelings from another one's. It feels chaotic and confuses me. I try to shut it out as much as possible."

"Interesting. So I'll be quite safe from getting my hair pink as long as I'm not alone with you."

"If you think so." She smirked. "Is that all for now?"

"If you want me to be honest, no. But I'm afraid my hair would turn pink instantly if you had bewitched it with this naughty spell of yours… Not that you'd need telling. Other than that…"

"Bye, Severus," she said, throwing a smile in his direction, opened the door and out she was.

"See you."

Severus shook his head at himself, when the door had fallen shut. This woman made him act completely weird, made him say things he'd never say if it weren't for her distracting him so… so… Did she do that deliberately? This question simply kept popping up in his mind.

Next chapter:

Slytherin versus Hufflepuff. Sariss heads for something she shouldn't be heading for. Monsters, monsters, monsters, a Dementor—and Snape in a mint-green dress.