Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Elrin Danse is my own creation, as well as the story.
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bushChapter Six
The Potions Master did not stop to speak to Elrin but swept out through the office door just as the Headmaster came through it, his robes billowing out as he dived down the stairs. She felt a little disconcerted, but Albus took her by the arm and set her down for a tea and chat about how she was getting on and did not ask about why either of them were there or what it was that had happened. Relieved and not wanting to discuss it, she stayed to talk with him and Fawkes for quite a while, glad to feel at ease. The wondrous sound that she had experienced and which was in fact still hurtling through her blood had thumped something deep within her: pushed her into a state of mild bewilderment: a blurred form of shock she supposed. She felt that she was sane, and yet the sound was still there, booming and roaring through her soul. It made her think of the Slytherin Common Room, not knowing why, except that it had a connection to it. She needed time to absorb this shaking of her foundations, this vibration which seemed to shake the very centre of the world itself: to settle it into her body and her thoughts. The heady verse that had come out at the end had echoed though her as well, stirring up secrets from the hidden chasms of her psyche but Severus' reaction appeared dramatic. He had been hit hard by the poem: the look on his face totally unreadable. No clue then: but was the response good or bad?
She knew there was nothing to be afraid of in this resonance. It was rather like Severus in it's nature - tempestuous, dangerous, intense, only with this sound there was an equally potent tenderness and a beauty so fine that the two together made some kind of fierce harmony and more astounding than either of them as separate powers. The tea and scones that the old man pushed gently onto her was welcome and his deep kindness balanced her wandering mind until, feeling more solid and stable, she thanked him, and retired to her room. Throwing herself into the comfort of her bed, she was aware of the fact that the day had not been a total disaster. In fact, with the exception of his sudden departure after her translation, it had been quite a day.
The next morning she was awoken early by an owl that hammered on her window and which thrust its way in when she opened it, bringing in a flurry of snow. It must have been freezing out, because he was gripping tight to the parchment, or was it because, as she found out when she read it, that it was Severus' black owl?
Elrin,
Attendance, my office, 9 o'clock this morning.
Severus SnapeIt wasn't a question, so she didn't answer it. So the owl returned into the blizzard, empty clawed.
Short and harsh. Should she have expected anything else? Didn't he have classes?
At breakfast, he was obviously perturbed by her lack of response to his note and he bent down so speak so close to her that she felt his hot breath in her ear.
Don't do that. Have you any idea what that does to me?
He asked in his low voice if she was available at nine and not engaged elsewhere, and she, feeling stronger that morning and proud of not bending to him too easily, told him coolly that she was at his disposal without turning her head, continuing to eat her scrambled eggs undisturbed.
Not to be disposed of, mind.
So after breakfast she once again entered his office as he was sorting out what looked like an assortment of bottled jars full of mysterious liquids and objects. The light in the dungeons was not much brighter than it had been in the evening, though it was still dark with snow outside. He appeared to be busy but glanced up as she stood before him, and talked to her as he opened and sniffed and rattled jars.
"Damn third years, always stealing property," he sneered. Think they know what they are doing. Idiots," and shot one jar into a bin behind him.
There was a beautiful collection of very delicate looking scientific tubes and blown glass of various sizes on one table that she moved towards, curious.
"I recommend that you do not go near those," he growled a warning. "They belong to a particularly fine collection of mine. I do not wish them broken."
"And you think that I am likely to?"
What does he think I am? Ms. Clumsy?
"I would not rate your chances of survival if you did," he muttered, cursing at yet another student's inconsiderateness in leaving a perfectly good jar of lionfish bladders open. That jar hit the bin with a crash.
"Severus, are you going to tell me.." she began, but was unable to finish.
"No, he snapped, not looking up from his work, "I am not. I do not wish to speak of it."
"Very well," she acceded, " but would it…"
"No," he said glaring at her dangerously, his hands spread on the table, his face stony. "I have made my wishes clear. And there is an end to it, "
What was there in his eyes? Defiance but something else. Something she had not seen before in those black depths.
At her still silence, he growled, exasperated beyond his normal limit. "It is irrelevant to the research."
She nodded outwardly.
Still want to know though.
He was very eager for her to be here this morning.
"I don't have classes until this afternoon, so we can get down to some work."
"On the parchments." Part of her was dreading this. Fawkes said that it would not be easy.
With him breathing down her neck.
"Yes, on the parchments," he said, irritated at her density, paused in his inspection, and then said "Are you going to be – difficult?"
Difficult? He is asking her if she is going to be difficult?
"In what way?"
The answer confirmed his suspicions and he glared at her. Then it dawned on Elrin that he was struggling to hold himself in check, to lower his habitual hostility and she smiled inside.
Hah! Boot on the other foot now. He needed her to translate. He had nearly – assaulted her. He had been so sure that either she was a plant or she was a fraud and now he needed her. Which meant that..
"If you are going to make strange sounds like yesterday's performance, perhaps I should put a Silencing Charm on the door," he suggested with a certain mockery to his voice. It sounded like a sense of humour.
The Phoenix was not someone to disrespect: he had better not scorn those 'strange sounds.'
He saw her scowl and sighed.
"I respect Fawkes. I do not scorn him or his ways," he said with a deep mock bow hand on chest, his hair flopping down over his face.
Was he making fun of her?
Wary, she decided to ignore the remark and positioned herself by the fire since he did not invite her to make herself comfortable.
"No mysterious noises. Just silence."
She could almost hear him breath a sigh of relief, though he made no sound.
"I will give you the translation if you will write the notes," she suggested. "I am afraid of forgetting what I receive. As I have said, this may take some time."
He then left the stacking of equipment and stock, took another parchment from his collection and joined her in the opposite chair with a small notebook, some scrolls as well as writing equipment. "I will read unless you speak."
It was her turn for relief. He waiting impatiently while she 'performed' was hardly ideal. In fact sitting so close, almost knee to knee was already disturbing, the bottom of their robes mingling on the rug below. She settled down with the new parchment that was not quite as delicate as the last and was a whole piece, not a fragment, closed her eyes and tried to tune in to the sound that Fawkes had uttered. It took her some minutes, and he read as she struggling inwardly to forget his presence and the sound of her own heartbeat. Smelling nutmeg mixed together with his male scent kept her mind preoccupied for a while. Then the memory of the Phoenix song began to engross her again, her body relaxing, and slowly, very, very slowly came one word, then two. It was coming quicker than she thought.
"In it is the secret & not in the English." She could hear the scratch of his quill in a small bound book.
"And this shall be printed beautifully in red ink and black upon beautiful paper made by hand.
She waited for the next, thrilled now. As she became excited, nothing came for a quite a few minutes. After she became composed, it began again and then as the next passage shifted into her mind, she hesitated. Slowly it came:
"The rituals shall be half known and half concealed: the Star and the Serpent are one and not two;
Nor let the fools mistake love; for there are love and love."
She could hear him shift in the chair.
Uncomfortable? Talking about love? Not what you expected?
However, she could still hear him writing.
" There is the Star, and there is the Serpent," she continued, and gradually, piece-by-piece it came, taking what seemed like hours.
Her body wanted to arch with pleasure at the next words.
"He is the secret Serpent coiled about to spring: in his coiling there is joy. If he lifts up his head, he and she are one.
If he droops down his head at her, and shoots forth venom, then is rapture of the earth, and they and the earth are one."
The phrases dropped in, one by one.
Concentrate. Concentrate. Could he not feel the intensity in this text that was almost taking over her body?
What did Fawkes say about honesty?Then she halted.
"Continue, do not hold it back," snapped the intimately close voice, the sound a physical shock, so deep was she. Have held on desperately to her composure while speaking the last words, she frowned.
If she did not retain a hold of herself, he would be very sorry indeed.
She breathed slowly and continued.
"The work of the cauldron and the work of the wand; these he shall learn and teach but he may make severe the ordeals."
She thought of him immediately.
No, surely, someone else. Thousands of years old. Silly.
Some compelling thought must have struck him too, because there was suddenly no scratching of quill.
"The Star comes from nowhere and the Serpent knows where he is."
Still no scratching of a quill so she half opened her eyes, and he was staring into space, the feather motionless in his hand.
"Continue," he commanded immediately, recovering, writing fast. Several minutes passed.
"There are four gates to one palace;
The floor of that palace is of silver and gold;
Lapis lazuli & jasper are there; and all rare scents;
Jasmine & rose, and the emblems of death."
"Op- opo-nax." She stumbled at the word.
That can't be right.
"And Kyphi."
She opened her eyes again to be met with two glaring black eyes and hurriedly closed them again.
"Eye of Salamander, root of Inkberry, Scorpion's Tongue and Cranberry, seek ye in the moon's tide."
"Inhibit the first, dice the second, crush the third and do not sink the forth."
"The gross must pass through fire;"
And heard him grunt with satisfaction.
Something must be right then.
She continued:
"The number is nine by the fools; but with the just is eight, and one in eight, solve the first half of the equation, leave the second unattacked."
There was more detail, more herbs, and more strange ingredients. They had been at it slowly for some time. She was beginning to tire. If she opened her eyes he might snap at her.
So?
So she opened her eyes slowly. He was still writing.
"Am I slow enough for you? "
"It is sufficient," he said as he finished.
"Are some of the names alright? That Op something."
"They are recognisable. Whether they are correct, remains to be seen."
Quite.
"Opoponax. Wards off evil influences. Kyphi – ancient Egyptian – ceremonial," he explained, and then become aware of the fact that she was boldly looking at him.
"You have stopped," he said accusingly.
"I can do no more for the moment." She lifted her chin. There was no way he would get her to compromise on this. He must have seen the look in her eye or the set of her mouth because he yielded, though reluctantly.
"Very well, that will be sufficient for the day," he said. "I will begin to make a potion and collect these ingredients. Eye of Salamander might be hard to track down," Then wandered off into his Potions mind, presumably organizing how to obtain what he needed, ignoring her. Moments passed.
That must be it then. He had gone into his reverie, leaving her there.
She was about to get up to leave when he spoke, breaking the quiet.
"Would you take a drink?" Both the question and its accompanying civility jerked her out of her inertia.
What a shock.
"Yes, I would, thank you. Coffee please, black, no sugar." He approved by the look on his face and made a movement with his hand and a cauldron that had been bubbling away quietly, tipped hot liquid into goblets ready for his collection. She was grateful for his apparent lack of aggression towards her, as she felt surprisingly vulnerable. Opening herself like this to this curious language and her inner self, meant that she did not also want to battle with him at this moment, despite her new found strength since the day before.
His need in this matter must be great. No wonder he had been fearful of her, no wonder he had tested her. She must have got something right. He was holding himself back because of his precious parchments. Holding back so he didn't crush her and wipe out the information. It must be hard on him, to be this courteous. Tough.
"Four gates to one palace – that is that glass instrument over there, the biggest one – one that I did not want you to go near," he said, handing her the hot goblet. " It has four glass connections to it and a base made of a mixture of silver and gold, blown in with the glass. He spoke with unselfconscious pride. "The last thing to be made in it –" and stopped abruptly, staring at his coffee. Then he avoided looking at her for the next few minutes and turned the subject away from it and talked about some of the bizarre ingredients and their origins.
Did he trust her then? Doubtful, but the poem had shifted something in him.
She had the impression, though it was only an intuition, that he had recognized it, and accepted its authenticity.
I'm bloody sure of it.
She wished he would talk about it. He was evidently used to being a closed shop, holding everything tightly in with bars and shields and armoured weapons. Though what they were doing seemed to enable him to lower them fractionally, as he talked about the making of the potion: his face opening up. Despite the fact that he was gesticulated his annoyance and his impatience about obtaining certain ingredients; it was tempered by his dark enthusiasm. She had never heard anyone passionate before; she had never been that passionate about anything in her life. It was engaging, and she listened and tried to understand what he was saying, sipping the hot coffee.They were deep in the conversation, when a knocking interrupted them. Impatiently he jerked his head.
"A morning off, and they think they can disturb me with impunity," he sneered. "Come," he barked, unmoving.
It was strange, being almost on his side instead of being the recipient of his anger, as if seeing the world from his angle, and it felt curiously safe, very safe.
Remus strolled into the office, his good-natured face smiling, which Severus did not return, but neither did he scowl.
"Ah, Lupin," he said, immediately getting up. "You have saved me a journey. Your potion is ready."
"Thank you" said Remus, but walked over to her, sitting down where Severus had been.
"And how are you Elrin?" he asked as the potions expert busied himself in the corner of the room.
"Very well thank you," she replied smiling, his grin infectious. She felt she needed to balance what he must have understood from their last conversation. They had a short talk about the weather and he made her laugh and they chatted on. He looked tired, his face unshaved, his spirits slightly on edge she thought, though still cheerful.
Must be that time of the month.
Severus approached with his potion but she was surprised to see a malicious look on his face as he handed it over.
Was there something unhealthy in that drink?
"Drink it now, Lupin," he commanded. From his earlier neutrality, he seemed to have changed to wanting his removal. Remus, however, seemed to have had other plans, and the tension increased as Remus swirled the liquid inside the goblet and lounged back, and it was then that she decided that it was time to make herself scarce.
"Severus," she said getting up, her hand automatically touching his arm as she spoke to him. He flinched and moved it away.
Oh hell, big mistake. We were getting along quite well.
"I am going to go now."
He flashed daggers at Lupin behind her and turned back to his work. She knew they had a history of anger between them, but Remus was teasing him unnecessarily.
"Very well," he said curtly, banging jars about on the table.
So the weeks went by as they continued the study, she translating, halting and retreating, and he scribing in contained impatience, having coffee together afterwards and going over some of the points. He continued to turn into 'Mr.Crabby', sometimes, but mostly he was absorbed in their mission and he told her that it had been a long time since he had been on such a fascinating investigation and never one so vital. He did not say it was his dream, because he didn't need to, it was written on his face. His main cauldron was on the boil for most of the time, and he described to her the basic elements of what was happening. She had assumed that he was a bad teacher from his reputation, but he appeared to have a poetic way of understanding things and with her enough patience providing she listened carefully. She was in turn fascinated and went about their business calmly and practically, helping him chop and weigh and stir when he needed to attend to something else or research in the library when it was required. This was, apparently, the first of the several potions in the manuscript, and he was anxious that this one would be perfect.
Early one evening she arrived for their usual session and spotted something in the corner of the room. She let out a little sound of surprise as she came across a bridle lying amongst a pile of books. He looked up from his work.
"You have a horse?" she asked, picking it up.
"That is what bridles are for – yes," he replied tetchily.
"At the school here?"
Why am I so surprised? A broomstick she could imagine, but a horse?"Yes," he said, irritable at the interruption.
Since he was not one for small talk he continued writing at his desk, but there must have been something in her voice because he asked, "Do you ride?"
"Yes." She said, fondling and smelling the bridle. The leather was well kept, soft and polished, the bit was quite old fashioned and pitted, but was well scrubbed.
Tack had such a beautiful smell.
He watched her from underneath his hair, quill motionless.
"Are you capable?"
She paused. "I am capable." She prided herself on her horsemanship, but she was not going to say so. At home, it had been a family joke. They had felt it was a pretentious hobby for someone like her.
" I used to go riding quite a bit in the country, but since I've been living in a city I haven't had the opportunity." She put the bridle down reluctantly, as if parting from something rather cherished. Severus shifted uncomfortably in his chair and then said almost resentfully, "Minerva has a mount in the stables and doesn't always have the time to take it out – maybe she would allow you to exercise it once in a while."
She flushed, excited.
"Oh, that would be wonderful." Her delight was so evident that he put down his quill and regarded her for a moment. He hesitated, and then plunged.
"I am going out tomorrow morning – early mind you – if you would care to accompany me. The weather outside is more settled. Assuming Minerva is amenable naturally," he said, already regretting it.
She hid her shock carefully, thanked him, and both hurriedly went about their business. Later in the day, Minerva quizzed her about her abilities, and then agreed, offering to lend Elrin boots and trousers.
"What size are they?" she had asked.
"We will make them fit," Minerva replied, pursing her lips, slightly exasperated at the half-witch. But she made it known that she was very glad that her precious 'Xelda' would be exercised and had the confidence that she would be safe with Elrin.
"Too many oats for her and she'll be getting fat. Go and enjoy, my dear."
They mounted up in the small courtyard in the east wing with its cobbled stones, still covered with snow. Severus swung up into the saddle, black cloak waving over his mount's hindquarters, boots gripping hard as the horse was excited at the thought of going out and he had to control him, the horse's mouth gaping and salivating, fighting the bit. Holding him with a tight rein, he swore at him and impatiently twisted in the saddle to see if she was ready. Both of them were well wrapped against the cold with thick scarves wrapped several times round their necks, leather gloves and boots, no hats. He was all black: black hair, clothes, and together with black horse was sharply silhouetted against the white of the snow like some kind of winged predator. She was on Minerva's chestnut mare that she presumed had been chosen because it was a Gryffindor colour. In order to help keep her warm she had let her hair loose and her cloak fell down around her. Once she was on her mount, it was as if she had never been off, with its good horse smell and the feel of its thick winter coat.
Their warm breaths, both animal and human, shot through the freezing air in white clouds as they clipped their way out of the tunnelled entrance. The snow muffled the sound of horse's hooves in the cold daybreak as they walked out the side of the school. She felt her mount underneath her and was delighted by her springy gait and the comfortable saddle. Compared to Severus' more temperamental animal, hers was very well mannered, her eagerness proudly restrained. It was, she thought with amusement, typical Minerva: no horse would dare to be otherwise. His, however, reflected his more excessive character as it champed at the bit, bouncing sideways across the grounds, or perhaps he chose it as a challenge?
Mists remained around the grounds, clouding the trees of the Forbidden Forest with its grey and an owl glided out of them making its way past, the horses flinching. No one was about except Hagrid dragging some branches at the back of his hut – she waved and Severus nodded. Heading out past the frozen lake, they made their way slowly over the grounds into wider territory.
As the school receded, Severus moved his mount on to trot, snow kicking up behind, and she followed. Soon they wound through a deep valley, the hills high up above them still half hidden in mist. He was having difficulty holding his mount back, the horse nodding its head in impatience. Just like him, she thought, and then he let him canter slowly along the narrow winding paths, the movement a rocking motion, all black hindquarters and long swishing tail. Severus rode well, with a good deep seat, she noticed. Something in her stirred at the sight of him and despite the cold, she blushed. He took that moment to glance in her direction and she desperately concentrated on the scenery, glad of the distraction of moving faster. Her own mount acted coolly andcantered sedately along, her motion easy, with her mane flowing out just as her own hair bounced out behind her and Elrin's body became comfortably rhythmic with the strides of the mare and she listened to the thump of the hooves sounding along the path as they rode along, scattering rabbits and other unwary creatures. Through paths and coverts, winding up hill slightly, then down, turning and twisting, having to duck in places with overhanging branches, him slowing to check her now and again, but never overtly: just a swift glance back as he turned down a particular route.
They went along in file this way for quite a while, and then further into lighter woody areas. At a particular fork, he jerked his arm, pointing to the other path, and she got there before him, cantered faster along it and he gave chase. She didn't know where she was going, but she didn't care: there was just the cold, cold wind and the heat of the ride, her hair and cloak out wild behind her, full of joy. He passed her, in a black rush of movement at a wider area and then she chased him, turning and turning about as they burst through the untouched snow of the countryside.
His horse was becoming more agitated, so at the opening out of a wide flat area, he nodded at her and gave his mount his head and sped away at a furious rate. For a flash she recognized a sense of pride and immediately pushed the thought away, as that sentiment would reflect a certain relationship, which she did not have, except as a colleague perhaps. She waited a second or two, and then decided to join him, kicking her mount into a gallop, the stinging wind burning her face, the mare's legs furiously moving beneath, hooves drumming. After a while he halted and she caught up breathless. Colour was both in her face and in his. His face was still impassive, but his eyes betrayed his enjoyment. She pulled her horse to a halt, her hands stiff with cold on the reins. It was just at that moment that her mount was suddenly startled by a goose rising out of the grass honking its alarm and it shied, slipping her to the ground. One minute she was high up, the next she had her face in the snow, her cloak about her. It had happened so quickly. The ground was hard, but the snow had softened the fall, and for a moment she was gazing at the tiny particles of snow in front of her, the tiny micro life there, busy under their feet. And then he was above her. As she could feel his hands outstretched on her back, she began to shake, and continued to shake. Then he realized she was unharmed.
"Woman, can you not keep upright? Must I always be picking you up?"
Then aloud she laughed and laughed, twisted round and lifted her hand up so he could help her up. For a second she thought maybe he would ignore it but then he grasped her and pulled her up firmly. Her breath shot out to mingle with his and they both stood there catching their breath while her laughter abated. He glowered; peering at her through his dishevelled hair, wonder as well as irritation in his face, which made her laugh even more. He still held her gloved hand in his as if by some osmosis, she might be able to calm herself. Released of their burdens, the horses had automatically stooped their necks down to sniff the ground for something to eat. As she began to sober up, she was suddenly aware of their close proximity and she looked up into his tightly controlled face, his eyes quite clearly speaking of some unnamed agitation. What was more surprising was that he did not move away: he stood stock still, slightly out of breath, his cloak hanging down to his boots that were plunged into the snow. For the first time being with him at close range, without him being intimidating towards her, she looked straight into those uneasy depths and stayed there. It was as if the cold had disappeared, the horses gone, the world deserted. The silence that fell on them was so intense that they stood staring at one another, neither one making a move until his own horse nuzzled him roughly in the back, throwing him onto her. She felt the solidity of him, thumping into her body so that they both fell in a tangle of arms and legs and cloaks. His legs were over hers and his arms on each side of her on the snow, and they were frozen there, aware of the various parts of their bodies where they touched and where they wanted to: faces nearly touching. Immobile, the warmth from his body was beginning to penetrate hers and her eyes lingered on his open mouth, so near, so very near. Then he broke the tension, hurriedly removed himself and pulled her upright, apologising abruptly. He swiftly turned, gripped his mount's bridle, and averted his face as he stroked the long nose and then dug into his pockets and fed it a carrot, the great velvet lips eagerly grasping it on his gloved palm, taking it and crunching loudly and happily. Then he made another diversion by finding one for her own jealous horse: clearly at ease with the animals, his face turned away from her when he could. A moment had come and gone for both of them and neither knew what to make of it, so they pretended that the moment had not existed. Remounting, they walked silently back to the east wing, each with their own thoughts neither one looking at the other.
Poetry – quotes and misquotations from : Liber AL vel Legis.