Cura Nihil Aliud Nisi Ut Valeas
(Pay attention to nothing other except that you be well.) --Cicero
Sub title – 'Estne volumen in toga, an solum tibi libet me videre?'
Chapter twelve
Nothing seemed to be able to shift her despair and so she stayed in the ward for as long as Poppy would put up with her, but eventually the nurse began to get tough and threatened to send her packing, afraid for her as she stared into space for hours. Dumbledore had come and spoken to her, and Severus was there when he could, but she would speak to neither of them, just turned her face to the wall, blanking out their words and their existence. The weather was getting warmer, and the beginnings of spring were in the air, but she could not join in the bright sunshine mood that filtered through the windows. There were the sounds of Quidditch practice being played out in the field, the shouts, the clock of the bats against the bludgers, but they could have been a million miles away. She wondered whether she should go home or whether she could in fact even go back. Perhaps that was where she belonged, in a grey world, with grey thoughts and grey feelings and she cried herself to sleep at night in the empty ward. The fire jewel had been removed from her heart, but had been replaced by lead or perhaps her heart had been removed with it or perhaps Voldemort had replaced it. It was just about possible that she could face the students, but that there was no way that she could face the staff. Poppy tried to get her to go out for some walks outside, but she only got as far as the hospital ward door, and snuck back in again. Then one afternoon, Poppy seemed determined and demanded that she go back out into the world.
Which world?
Maybe she had spoken to Albus because he arrived within the quarter hour, and had an intent look as he strode through the ward. For a while, her custom had been to avoid eye contact or turn away, but there was something about him that although her face was turned, she did not block out his words. Maybe she was getting a little better, though she did not feel any different. She was dressed and sitting on the bed looking out of the window at a pure blue sky. He sat down on the bed and instead of talking sat there for a while, contemplating the same scene outside with her. Eventually, after a while, as they sat there breathing and thinking, he said, "We need to talk Elrin."
Speaking seemed difficult since she had been shut up within herself for what seemed a long time.
How long was it, a week, two weeks, three weeks?
"I don't see that there's anything to talk about," she said, studying the bedclothes.
"I want you to come with me. It is time."
Instead of protesting, she caved in.
"Follow me."
As he swept along, he held her arm in his so that she had support, but it felt agreeable as if it were a message of psychological as well as physical support from him. As if she were a part of what he believed to be important.
Can't escape him though.
Her legs were a little weak and the different smells of the school, of polish and stone and fire struck her after her isolation in the ward, but most of all the blast of reality and vitality hit her, as though she seemed to be viewing everything from a completely different perspective, as if she had become a stranger, even more so than when she was a stranger, because she was innocent then. She ached for those days, when she didn't even recognise the reality of the place, because her innocence was intact. She could believe herself to be a good person, a moral person who could never destroy anything, physically or psychologically. As they went round one corner, Severus stepped out of a classroom door into their path. Both Elrin and he hesitated and paled, both staring at one another for a second or two and then she dropped her eyes quickly. Continuing his pace, Albus greeted him pleasantly, and so pulled her gently in his own direction, leaving one perplexed potions master behind.
He was so - so substantial, so overpowering and awesome. He looked straight at me, guarded and tired. He must hate me.
The headmaster opened a door into a class in session with Minerva teaching the second years.
Why am I here? I don't want to be here.
Bounding the huge room, were enormous Victorian cages holding a variety of living animals and birds while the class was in progress. As they approached through a door behind them, she and the headmaster stepped softly in and sat down so that the students could not see them. The Professor had just finished chalking out a weird mix of signs and symbols on the blackboard for an exam and she then strolled up and down the rows, scrutinizing the parchments. It was quiet, except for the odd chattering and squeaking of those in the cages and the scratching of quills. The students were all bent over their tasks, Minerva tutting when she heard the occasional whisper and bending down to ask a student what the problem was with their quill.
Elrin glanced at Albus, but he was concentrating on the scene before him.
What on earth am I suppose to be watching?
Eventually, after sitting there for a while, Minerva spoke.
"I suppose," she said, "that you have all done? Because it is time to finish." As she collecting up the scrolls, the students relaxed a little, some making faces, others looking worried, others glanced around at the two statue like figures behind them and made sure they were behaving themselves, nudging others to indicate with their heads that the headmaster was behind them.
"Very well," said Minerva, lifting her head up. Always tall, always dignified, always very correct, was Professor McGonagall, but with a compassion that students could sense despite her strictness. They had no idea of her wicked sense of humour that she expressed in the staff room, where she entertained the staff rolling about in their seats. "That is all. You may pack up and go. Give me that Honeycutt, thank you."
And there was an explosion of life with scraping of chairs, with pushing and pulling and chattering and laughing and banging desks as they made their way out, until all that were left were the two Professors and herself.
"How are they doing Minerva?" he asked, getting up and striding across to her. Elrin thought she had better follow, though she didn't know why; she seemed to be attached to him like a small dog. "Not too badly Albus. One or two I am concerned about, but on the whole, really not bad at all." Then she smiled and it lit up her face like spring after winter and said with a wicked tone to her voice "though I shall push them much harder, as they can go much, much further."
"Good, good, I am glad."
As she came close she could see Minerva purse her lips and shut her face up guardedly, but was clearly making an attempt to be civil.
"How are you Elrin?" she said, with effort in her voice.
What could she say? Sorry, I've been a monster?
"I am, err, f- fine thank you," and immediately thought of Professor Quirrel and his stutterings. She sounded like him. He too had appeared to be innocent, and then was revealed as Voldemort's puppet.
"Well," said Albus, "we must be getting on," and took her arm again and off they went. Then she knew where they were going, because they approached his office.
"WagonWheels," he said, and he smiled at her surprise and the huge griffin sculpture, which she had always thought was tremendous, revealed its staircase and they both went up to the familiar room. It seemed a lifetime since she had been in it, though in reality it had not been that long. Albus indicated a chair and snapped his fingers for tea and toast. She sat down obediently and stared into the fire that was still on, needed despite the weather outside. Fawkes was doing his usual trick of being asleep.
"Headmaster," she began. After all that she had thought and done, she felt a little respect was in order.
"Albus," he corrected, settling down with her in a chair close to her as the tea arrived.
"Thank you Winky," he said, smiling, "oh and gooseberry jam too. I adore gooseberry, don't you?" Albus was doing the making-someone-especially-a child-at-ease-trick, and in a way, she felt like one. One that had been severely chastised, though none had done so. Winky disappeared without any scorn in her direction. Perhaps she had not been affected by her. She couldn't have brutal to everyone, could she?
"Why did we go to Professor McGonagall's class?" she asked.
"Minerva, he corrected. You are still a member of staff here you know."
"How is that possible?"
"Because I wish it. And because we need you," and ignoring her jerk of disbelief, continued, "I wanted you to see just a little everyday happening where the young people here are taught and encouraged by a dedicated teacher. Nothing special, and just a few students. Just a handful really. I wanted you to see just what you are turning down by turning yourself down. They need protection, they need a safe hospitable environment where they can flourish and become good and perhaps great citizens. That protection is threatened.
She felt sick in her stomach. She didn't want to hear this, friendly fire and buttered toast or no.
"You are really talking about," and she struggled to voice it – "the parchments – the ancient Phoenix" Her voice rose in panic. "How can you possibly expect me to even begin to consider it after what has happened?"
"Well," he said, stroking his beard and adjusting himself in his seat, "it is even more imperative that you continue, and 'after what happened' is a very good reason for you, not only to do it, but to be even more capable than you already are."
"That's impossible!" She cried, getting up, uneasy.
"Sit down, Elrin" he said, and she sat down again, though why she did so she could not have said.
"The best remedy may be for you to do some work," he said, buttering his toast.
"But that would mean – that would mean – I can't. Look what happened."
"What happened was because what was natural to you was changed."
"But without what was natural, I would never have been changed."
"That is perfectly true," and loaded his toast with the thick green conserve, thrilled at it. Her own lay cold on her plate.
This was muddling, and none of it made any sense.
Her eyes flicked to the door.
"There is nothing stopping you leaving you know, though I hope against all possible hope that you do not."
"Am I clear of that – green fire thing?"
"Yes you are, the talisman came out of you whole – your body rejected it completely."
"Talisman?"
"A talisman is an object something made with intent, in Voldemort's case, evil intent to corrupt your natural power – your sound."
"I don't want the sound – I don't want to have anything to do with it any more – I don't want the power."
"The power itself is not evil."
Huh?
"It is one of the most important sounds of the universe, something we all have, and which you seem to have in abundance," he said, slowly.
"Let me show you," and wiping his sticky hands, grasped his wand and drew a three-dimensional coin in the air in burning light in front of them. "On one side is the Phoenix and the other side is Voldemort," and he sketched a quick bird on one and a large V the other.
"They are quite different, but in actual fact they are the same power but with two different faces, one of oppression and force and the other of choice and freedom."
"Surely – I would have thought that the Phoenix would be the stronger."
"Well," said the old man, stroking the arm of his chair, "it has a strong empathy with what rules both, and he turned to move the coin with his wand and it spun in the air, faster and faster, glowing blue, and then into a burning white ball until it was a blur and pure light and it hummed both high and deep, a mesmerizing, restoring sound and then seemed to switch into a silence. "This is just a symbol of the Deep Magic that is beyond them both." As she watched, he spun it gradually back again into the coin and it stood upright on its edge. Her heart did not feel so leaden.
"You said I was clear – so according to this - I am not."
"You are clean from outside interference, but you still have your inner self to deal with. You as clean as Fawkes, or myself or any of us."
"What keeps us from falling over to the side we don't want?"
"You do." And he moved his wand, so that the coin fell with the Phoenix lying upward.
Huh?
"You have the choice, one way or the other to take it to freedom or oppression. It is your own intent. You bring out what you want to offer the world."
"I didn't have any choice with Voldemort though, did I?" she said crossly.
"No, that was forced on you, but that could not have happened – without there being the potential in you."
She sat upright, alarmed.
"You had reached a point where the scales could be tipped. You were beginning to be strong, very strong, your natural power increasing. You were then open to corruption. Lucius felt it. Voldemort tipped the balance. He used your new found state to throw it over to his side, sealing it with that talisman."
"Something puzzles me: I don't know if it was a dream or not, but I am sure I heard Voldemort say that the talisman would never come out."
"That would have been true if it had not been for the 'incident' in the corridor," he said, looking at her intently, "Tell me, how did you feel when Severus stood in front of the children?"
"Rage, jealousy, contempt that he would sacrifice himself for them, not me. I believed that he thought they were more important than me. I know it sounds terrible. That was what I was like."
"Of course my dear, I am glad that you are being honest, it will help."
She looked doubtful.
"And how did you feel when he put himself into a life threatening situation by linking himself with you?"
"Well, I was absorbed with the sound, but I do remember flashes: anger at first, then amazement and a feeling of awe like being shifted into another world. That he should put himself in mortal danger just for me. I'm not sure how much it was for me or for the students, but in the end it did not seem that there was any real difference anyway."
The headmaster smiled enigmatically.
"Could he have died?" she asked, dreading the answer.
"Yes, if he had not done it for the right reasons. He was also fully aware of how lethal it would be to connect with you. That is what shifted the talisman out." He brushed toast crumbs off his robes. "You lost your innocence. So now you are more aware. You have the choice of ownership. You always have the choice of which side to choose. Everyone does."
She twisted her hands. "But, but, having tasted the heights of oppression, aren't I more likely to be susceptible to it?"
"Or maybe," he said, leaning over, "maybe you are more resistant, exactly because you have tasted the heights of oppression. You are wiser. You are not a child anymore."
"That's kind of frightening."
"Yes, it is indeed, and maybe that wariness may help you to continue to use your judgement so that you do not fall into what you fell into before. I have to say that I have every faith in your ability to do so."
She thought she saw a crafty twinkle in his eye, but maybe she imagined it.
"Severus has done it."
She stared down at her half drunk tea.
"You think that you are the only one to have been reprehensible and done things unacceptable? I have to remind you that Severus was a Death Eater. I leave it to your imagination to think about what he might have done. I cannot speak of it. Only he can do so. Do you not think that Severus has had to come to terms with his past? And yet here he is, working daily as a totally invaluable member of this staff, as well as his other activities. In fact, he is the only one who can really understand what you might be going through at this time. And you did not actually do anything seriously wrong."
She looked astounded. "Only try to kill children – as well as a member of staff!"
"Attempted, and failed, and did it under enchantment, and I have the proof safely hidden away. Severus did not even have that excuse."
"I made myself terrible to everyone, the staff in particular. I saw Minerva's face this afternoon, and I could see that she was trying hard."
"The staff will get over it. Severus has had to face them too. He can help."
"I – can't, can't face him," she admitted. And it was a relief to admit it and then she suddenly felt very tired. "I can't face the staff either – Xiomara, Hagrid. All those kind people I was monstrous to. The thought of it makes me sick with fear. I'm – so - ashamed." Appalled at the thought of crying, she steeled herself.
I have no right to cry. I hate it. Everyone thinks you're either weak or scheming.
"Take it slowly, they know that it is not your fault, because I have spoken to them. Give them time. You faced me didn't you?"
"Ah, you're easy."
"Oh, I am, am I? Well," he said puffing up, "Perhaps I should be a little more like" - as he imitated a lifting of a Severus eyebrow. He did it well, enough for her to burst out in loud, short croaky snorts, but it was laughter nevertheless. He smiled at the effect it had on her and was pleased with himself.
"I know you have it in you Elrin," and he leant over to her and fixed his eyes to hers over his glasses. Suddenly, like a time before that she found hard to remember properly, she felt desperately, deeply tired. She wished she could believe him, but at the moment it was all she could do to keep awake.
Noticing her drifting state, he quickly got up and clicked his fingers. Dobby appeared this time, dressed in his usual eccentrically coloured and patterned outfits. They seem to get more outrageous every day.
"Would you mind, Dobby," he asked, "taking Elrin to her room? She is rather tired and needs someone to take her and to make sure she is settled."
Delight on his face, Dobby said "I would be proud to escort Madam Elrin to her quarters," he squeaked to the headmaster and turned to her with his saucer eyes and they made their way to her room where someone had lit the fire and her bed was already warmed. She slept a wonderful sleep without dreams or nightmares, the first since her kidnapping and the real nightmare had begun.
She slept so well that she missed breakfast and so it took all her courage, all the reserves in her spirit, to go to lunch at the High Table. She tried to creep in as unobtrusively as possible, but with the exception of Dumbledore, she could feel them flinch at her presence and it seemed that it had taken the edge off their appetite as well as her own. The hurts must have many and deep. Severus was not there, and that was a mixed blessing. She didn't think she could cope with him as well as the side-glances and the attempts to ignore her. Xiomara looked across, but she could not tell from that distance what her face revealed, and she looked away in order not to be obtrusive and Minerva was cool but not quite as frosty as yesterday. Hagrid was missing too.
Well, bit by bit.
She stared at her soup and fiddled with her napkin under the table. Some students had spotted her and were pointing her out to each other, but it seemed only natural.
Child killer. What would the Daily Prophet make of it? Researcher turned murderer. Headmaster disgraced.
The Head leant over in her direction and looked at her as if reading her thoughts.
I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm here aren't I? This is taking forever. Will lunch never end?
Eventually, she managed to escape and rushed back to her room, shaking. She spent the time trying to read, but just recycled the last hour in her mind and she desperately wanted to dive into her bedclothes and hide there until her life had passed by, but she did not. She steeled herself through supper and the same people were missing. She wondered where Severus was. With a jolt she realized he might be with the Death Eaters and pure emotion shot through the centre of her whole body, as sharp and as painful as a spear.
If he is in danger, because of me....
For a second, she wondered about going to the dungeons to find out, but could not bring herself to even move in that direction. Instead she thought she would go to the library for another book while it was still open in a late opening – it would be closed in a few minutes. Stepping along the corridors, students passed, staring at her oddly, many with fascination rather than fear and she could hear them whispering as she moved on. It was quiet in the corridors; many of the students having gone to their common rooms or bed and the flames in the light holders cast their wobbling light over the arches and the stone floors. Used to the stairs by now, she went up, the high walls packed with the paintings row upon row, height after height until they disappeared upward in a mad frenzy, the whole personal history of the school hugging side by side with one another. That funny looking man waved at her, who she always waved to and she gave a small gesture back. It seemed only a small thing to do.
Didn't they get really bored?
She went up another flight, and then just as she came to the library floor, her stairs flung her in another direction. As she hung on, it swung right round to another floor higher up, and then, just as she was about to step off it and get another one, it shifted again, higher still, and then much higher. It didn't seem possible.
This is ridiculous.
She saw another stair come down from above, and that swung about quite quickly. She closed her eyes. There was no crash however, but the other swung its way towards hers and she could see who was standing on it, a figure with its arms crossed looking extremely impatient.
Just her luck.
The two stairs slammed and locked together and then to her absolute horror removed their end attachments so that the whole unit of both stairs hung in midair with both of them on it. She tried looking down, but retreated fast at the sight.
I don't suffer from vertigo, but I might after this. And he is standing there at the end.
"Did you do that?" In her anxiety, she spoke tersely, despite realizing that he probably had not done anything at all. The stairs were known to have ideas of their own.
What was he doing here?"No, I certainly did not. Did you? I am not in the habit of playing with staircases." He stood stubbornly at the end of the stairs, right near the end. He also appeared to be oblivious of that fact.
He was obviously going to be difficult.
"No of course not. I can't do that kind of thing."
"May I ask what kind of thing it is that you do?" He asked, matching her irritation.
"Only try and kill people."
"You must be conscious of the fact that that was not you."
"According to Albus it was."
He frowned.
"Well," she continued, as he stood there puzzled. "He said that the power could be good or bad according to what I decided it would be."
"Ah. That is accurate. However, in that particular circumstance, it was forced upon you. You are aware of that I presume?"
"Yes, but it doesn't help. I still feel –"
"Guilty?"
"Yes," she whispered, her mouth dry, not daring to look as he came closer, his robes slithering on the steps as came towards her slowly, step by step.
"You have no conception of guilt," he sneered bitterly.
"What do you mean?" she lifted her head up to look at him.
"Do you think you have done anything worse that what I have done as a Death Eater?"
"I don't know what you have done."
"It would not be beneficial for you to know, but I was part of that cortège, heart and soul. I was their potions master. Work it out for yourself." he said sourly. " I live with that knowledge every second and it was my own will that sent me there, but also my own will that drove me out. Then I had help here, especially from Albus. Now, I struggle daily with ignorance and carelessness and hubris. I guard others and myself against falling into that part of hell, because I know exactly what is in it."
She stared at the slight hunch of his shoulders as he spoke. She gained the impression that he never said these things normally but that it was an exceptional statement that she was privileged to hear in this private island in the air.
His closing presence made her aware of the vulnerability of her position relative to the earth below. Every time something was said, he moved forward a little. There was of course, nowhere for her to retreat.
"When is this staircase going to release us?" She looked round, trying not to panic.
He shrugged his shoulders. He was closer still. "When it feels like it," he said, as if he were merely bored. He moved a fraction again.
"Do you that you now recall what happened to you when you were kidnapped?"
"Yes," she said, as if it were shameful.
"Would you do me the courtesy of informing me about it?" he commanded abruptly, startling her.
"I – he – V-Voldemort put his hand on my heart where – my sound originates – he knew about it and this green fire came out of his frightful hands - and I blacked out with the pain."
Better to keep it short. Don't want to talk about it.
"I presume that you were not able to function," he snapped.
"No, I couldn't move nor make a sound. Lucius Malfoy was there, he had a mask on, but I would know him anywhere and it was he who had overheard us outside the door and who also experienced the pain and who told his Master. He thought it was most amusing and wanted me to believe that I was being given something, not being tortured." She paused, "I don't know how you can stand being around him."
He was silent, still regarding her. He moved again.
"Did Lucius – harm you?" he asked, tautness in his voice.
"No. He was just being himself. He seemed human beside his Master. Voldemort – was – was – as you already know, the stuff of nightmare. I never realized that anyone could not only be so malevolent, under that repulsive guise of civility and sanity, but also be so physically terrible to the human mind." She bit her lip and began to sweat with the thought of it.
Why was he bringing this all up? She hadn't even told Albus yet.
"And he told me that – that we – us two - would reign over the school – together – bringing up his generations of Death Eaters."
Severus sneered.
"He said the talisman would be permanent."
"Then he was wrong, wasn't he? He said with his dangerous velvet purr. "It would not be the first time."
She wanted to sink down there on the steps and was not sure if it was caused by him approaching so close or whether it was their levitated height.
"I – I realize I haven't thanked you," she said, swallowing. "I am so sorry I haven't done it before. You deserve better than that." she said in a low voice.
I feel sick.
She continued and she looked away over at the portraits on the walls who were no doubt trying to listen. "If it hadn't been for you, not only would the students have been killed as well as yourself, but I don't even want to imagine how much worse I might have become,"
Keep calm; don't let him see.
"I remember how I was as well as what I did. Everything." She was not able to face him, but looked down to see his black shoes and the buttons on the lower leg of his trousers.
Oh, heavens, he is so close, close enough to -"Don't you – hate me?" She asked desperately, glancing up.
For answer he stooped down and with one hand held her face and kissed her on the lips firmly with his hot mouth.
Falling through a black sky.
Her body wanted to crumble against him. She could feel the heat coming off him and the smell of him made her want to shut her eyes and never wake again.
"It doesn't appear that way, does it?" he growled and the wide curve of his mouth lifted a fraction.
The stairs had finally decided to move, shuddering and groaning as they shifted, and both of them stood there as they moved downward, their bodies hardly apart. When they got to the lowest floor, he seized her by the hand and they made their way to his office. It was cold in there, and instead of making the fire with his wand as she thought he was going to do, he muttered something at the back wall, and it disappeared into a small corridor leading up some steps and through a heavy door into a massive drawing room cum study. It had a vast latticed window on one whole wall with the darkness of the night behind it and above, the ceiling was carved in white intricate patterns in between the arches that met at odd angles.
With his wand, he closed both the curtains, and the wall behind him, and flashed 'Incendium' to the depths of the huge stone carved fireplace. It wasn't cold in there, she noticed, but the fire made it comfortable and a huge fur rug in front completed it. If wooden panelling didn't cover the walls, acres of books did, shelves upon shelves and she marvelled at their solid beauty. There were even wizard abstract paintings with beautiful colours and tones moving peacefully within the frames. She walked over the polished floors and the faded silk carpets, unable to contain herself as she wandered around, marvelling. "This is incredibly beautiful."
Uh.
"Thank you," he said simply, as he took off his school robes, and undid the front of his frockcoat to reveal the pure white shirt underneath.
"Would you care for a drink? Something to eat?"
"Something to drink would be nice. What have you got?"
"I am not in the habit of asking if someone wants something I cannot provide," he growled silkily.
She should have known better than ask a potions master that question.
"I would like sherry. Medium if you have it." People used to tease me about it and would often ask me to choose something else in pubs. They didn't want to be embarrassed.
"I have some very fine sherry." He glowered. "I presume that these people were Muggles?"
"Yes," she admitted. And he snorted while he poured her a glass, and not one of those irritatingly coy schooner types, but a good glass. He poured something else for himself – rum by the smell of it.
"Thank you," she said, as they stood in front of the fire, glasses in hand.
"To," – and he thought a second – "to the downfall of Voldemort and his cronies." And they drank to it. For a second, she wondered if he was going to smash his glass into the fire. It might have been suitable gesture, but the glasses had too much quality about them to waste.
This sherry is gorgeous.
"Elrin, I have no wish to keep you if you have commitments elsewhere," he said, his voice with that timbre that shuddered right through her blood, pausing close to her, a hand nonchalant in his pocket.
"I who am all pleasure and serpent green, and drunkenness of the innermost sense, desire you."
"The door will always release if you just stand right in front of the wall over there and say Galadriel. It will open and close, as you wish." As he said it, he looked down into his glass and then just put it down unfinished on the mantelpiece and stood upright before her. "You are not a prisoner here, you understand," he said with an edge of challenge in his voice. There was also a glint of both pain and faith in his black eyes that she had seen when she was lying in the ward – it was unmistakable.
I can't breathe.
He had put his guard down, and he stood there with his armour off and weapons out of sight, as just a man, his hair densest black against his white shirt and his unbuttoned frockcoat. She fixed her eyes on a throbbing pulse in his neck and her body flooded with its natural desire.
"Severus.." she said, and did not get any further as she lifted her arms up to hold his face in both hands and pulled his head down and dug her lips into the curve of his own and could taste the heavy rum on his mouth. As she did so, she could hear his single intake of breath and he yielded to his dammed up longing and wound his arms around her as if he would crush her and she thawed like winter snow, her body urging her to bend to him, to seek him and to be filled with him. She began to pull at his shirt.
"Wait," he said as he pulled back, and she stood there, in wonder at him, in wonder at his very existence, his physicality, his mind, his shadowy heart.
How had he come into her life; how had she come into his?He began to undo her bodice, but gave up as the laces were beyond him, so she took if off, and as she moved to remove his jacket, he stopped her and made her take off her blouse as well, her bra-less breasts swinging free in the firelight and he put his hand out to gauge where the green fire had been and had so recently emerged and bent down to kiss that place between her breasts without touching with his hands. As she halted there in her undress, he indicated with his head for her to go further. He took another mouthful of his drink from off the mantelpiece, and then finished it, while he watched.
That's not fair.
But the dark glimmer in his eyes prompted her to undo her skirt and it fell to her feet. Then stepping out of it, feeling a little foolish, she removed her knickers and boots last of all, until there was nothing left but skin and a necklace. She could feel the blaze of the fire on her and the very slightly cooler side away from it. Then, still dressed, he kissed her forehead, knelt down to kiss her breasts, stomach, soft downy hair and thighs and then her feet as if it were some kind of rite, in just the way he had waved smoke over her when she was ill, with the same concentration and dedication.
"A woman shall awake the lust & worship of the Snake and let he be the adorant."
She shivered slightly, but not because it was cold. Meanwhile, he still had his clothes on and she felt very exposed like that, but he began to remedy the situation, removing his frockcoat and she wondered whether to help him or not, but decided to leave him to it. However, as he unbuttoned his shirt with just as many buttons, his arms held high to take it off, she imagined that by ducking underneath, she could slip her warm hands under it to feel the contours of his chest and she felt rather than heard him groan as she did so. Elrin smiled with satisfaction into his face to see him look at her in dignified wonder. His next job was to remove his trousers and as he unbuttoned them, she explored his stomach much to his dismay, smoothing her hands down as far down onto his dark pelt as his undoing would allow.
"Let me get my trousers off woman," he growled.
Then he too was as complete as she, only with his desire evident, the hair below matching the hair above. He must have done a lot of riding or some other exercise because he was toned without being muscled; and quite sleek and ashen and was agreeably formed. She was, with her slim curves, hair falling down her back, slipping as it did round her breasts, her skin echoing the pure smoothness of her face; as summer and warmth and moisture just as he was winter and paleness and dry. While his eyes had wandered all over her, which had made her shiver inside, she had skipped her eyes over him, noting his long lean legs and his strong buttocks.
"Now lie down in front of me," he directed.
It felt strange, especially after their mad encounter in the library to be coldly doing what he commanded, but she found that it increased her desire, not lessened it and so she obeyed, wondering how exactly to lie and wondering what he wanted her to do. The fur felt wonderful on her back and her bottom and she squirmed into it, delighted at its touch and she noticed that his face did not alter, but she could see clearly in the firelight, the black pupils widening in his dark eyes.
Then he joined her, kneeling above her and then she was overwhelmed by him doing so, and wanted to touch and hold him.
He reached out his arms to the side of her with his chest close but not touching and she could feel the heat off them and they smelt good.
Then he leaned over and whispered in her ear. "Leave your hands where they are Madam."
"You're torturing me again," she said softy.
"I know," he said with a low smile on his face. One of the few she had ever seen.
Then with both hands he began to stroke her gently but firmly over her body, in circles over her stomach which made her cry softly and bend her back, and then slid his hands over her back between the rug and her eager bottom and he watched her as she responded under his hands. As he worked his way down her legs, as he teased her round her inner thighs and groin until she began to sweat a little with the agony and then she made a sharp sound of pleasure as his fingers explored and deepened making her so wet she must be soaking the rug.
Then suddenly he moved up to her breasts and circled and stoked until they were full to bursting with his caresses and she clutched him in despair and he did not hold her off this time. For all his tough hide, his skin was soft and smelt of mysterious male smell as well as earth and the nutmeg that she had smelt so long ago in his arms and she ranged over it as far as she could reach. She was in a mess, her body screaming for satisfaction and wanting him, wanting all of him, and her groin searched for a way to get to his hardness that waved above her, her belly reaching up skywards. Clutching his back as if she were drowning, she pleaded for him as she had done in the library, loudly and frantically. Then he moaned in response to her passion, his hardness becoming too much for him to bear, and before she could get to hold him, he had manoeuvred his way into her wetness, and then sighed and began to gain control again, breathing heavily, his hair a damp black. He slowed down forcefully as he thrust his way in and then placed his arms on either side of her head, and plundered her mouth with his tongue as he drove in and out, and made her moan and crave to open herself so that he could go as far in as it was possible to go and be full of him with her hands flat on his chest feeling his heart beating as he did so. Soon his eyes burned and flashed and she sank into her abyss as he began to take them into plunging, kicking abandon, crying out to each other.
Lying in a tangle of limbs, they gradually came to, holding onto each others' hot and slippery bodies and lay there listening to the fire and the wind outside, buffeting against the window panes, and then wrapped themselves in the rug as they gradually cooled. It was good not to have to move. No embarrassing scramble off a table, no skulking through the dark to cold beds. As she snuggled up against his chest, something erupted within her and she found herself wanting to cry, and immediately suppressed it, aghast at the thought, but found that she could not stop the tears since they seemed to stream at full flow out of her eyes and moved slightly to avoid him finding out.
He's just the sort of man to hate that kind of weakness. Damn you for your feebleness.
However, he sensed something and discovering it, grabbed his wand from the chair by them and cried 'Accio test tube' which shot across the room into his hand and he held it against her mortified face to catch the tears, which eventually began to dry up, but not before he had collected a reasonable amount.
What are you doing? She asked, shocked.
"Don't you know, he said, putting the tube away and wiping her face with his thumb, "the tears of the lover are," and he kissed her mouth "very," kissed, "very" kissed, "precious."
Damned potions master.
References
CURA NIHIL ALIUD NISI UT VALEAS. (Pay attention to nothing other except that you be well.) --Cicero, Epistulae ad Familiares, 16:5)
Quote: Estne volumen in toga, an solum tibi libet me videre? (Is that a scroll in your toga, or are you just happy to see me?)