October 7
"Hey, Miss Ichalia! You gonna be cheering for us tomorrow?"
Aislinn spun around, and began walking backwards as her eyes scanned the throng of students leaving the Great Hall. After a moment, she found the one who had spoken, one of the Beaters for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. She grinned at him and gave him a thumbs-up. "Just try and stop me!" she called back, laughing. Tomorrow was the Slytherin/Gryffindor game, and Aislinn wasn't about to miss an opportunity to cheer for her own House. She couldn't quite bring herself to believe she'd be in the stands cheering against Slytherin when they played Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, but it was a given that any game involving Gryffindor would find her decked out in scarlet and gold, yelling as loudly as the students. She wasn't supposed to take sides, being a teacher, but... Well, if he could so obviously cheer for Slytherin, then she was allowed to do the same for Gryffindor.
She turned back around, and barely stifled a yawn; at one this morning, she had still been talking with McGonagall over a cup (well, a bottle) of some of the best whiskey she'd tasted in years. Theirs had been a meandering conversation, full of remember-whens and what-ever-happened-tos. They'd talked about Gryffindor, and how it was different now, and how it never changed; they'd talked about Quidditch and the Albanian team and the weather conditions during training. Minerva had asked if there was a man in Aislinn's life, a question which the effervescent Divination teacher usually avoided like the plague, but being deep into her cups by that time had just grinned and shook her head. After all, no one could ever live up to her high expectations, so she'd long since given up trying to find a man who would. Then, much to Minerva's seeming surprise, Aislinn had turned the question around, and, after a bit of hemming and hawing and a failed attempt to divert attention to Peeves' latest exploits, the Transfiguration Professor had finally admitted that she had her sharp eyes on someone, but, Minerva was not in her cups, it seemed, and was perfectly capable of resisting the temptation to tell all.
Of course, had Aislinn gone to bed as soon as she and Minerva finished off the last of that whiskey, she most likely would hve been fine now, and certainly not yawning like she was trying to catch flies in her mouth. But, no, that visit had merely been an interlude, a break from reading over essays about the characteristics of Saturnian aspects. That had kept her up until close to 4, and, when she'd finally scrawled an 'E' on the last one and headed up to her bed for a precious three hours of sleep, she'd found, to her dismay, that she'd still not finished writing out the quiz she'd planned for the next class. By the time she finished that task, it was only two hours until her first class would arrive, and she'd grudgingly told herself that sleep was for weaklings anyway, and gone off to take a shower and brew some strong coffee. The rest of the day had passed in a numb blur, and, as she walked back to the staff room for a meeting, Aislinn felt that she could hear every individual footstep as it fell on the floor above her. Colors seemed brighter somehow, and the imperfections in the stone floor underfoot made her wince. Overly sensitive to light, sound and touch, she could only hope that the meeting would go quickly. She still had to mark another set of essays before she went to bed, after all.
When she reached the staff room, she was pleased to find that she was the first in there, which meant she had a few moments to find a cup for coffee (tea was all well and good, but if she was going to survive the three hours left until ten tonight, she knew she needed something a bit stronger). While the coffee brewed, she rummaged through a cupboard in search of sugar and something that would pretend to be cream, and her hand paused as it landed on a small glass bottle, unmarked and clear. She held it up to the light, peering through it, trying to work out why it looked familiar to her when she heard the door open. It closed again, but there was no other sound. Well, she thought wryly, that must be the dear Professor Snape. Anyone else would have had the decency to speak. "Good evening, Professor Snape," she said neutrally, continuing to study the bottle.
"Do you have a headache again?" he asked.
Ah. That was what the potion was. She knew she'd seen it somewhere before, and it was so uncommon for her to forget something, but if it was the potion he'd given her when she had headaches (when she had headaches she told him about, that is), it stood to reason that she hadn't had a clear sight of the bottle. "No," she replied, "thank you for asking." She held up the jar, displaying it over her shoulder. "You should really label that, you know, before someone decides to use it to water a plant." She set it heavily on the counter and went back to her rummaging.
The silence behind her thickened. There had been little between the two of them except silence for the last week, since the incident involving their classes. Severus, as it turned out, had not gone to the headmaster with the incident, which was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, Aislinn knew she was right, that he didn't have any business keeping the class so late. On the other hand, her own behaviour had been inexcusably juvenile, and she did not relish the thought of explaining herself to Dumbledore. It would seem that Snape felt similarly about the event, on the one hand wishing he could bring up to Dumbledore how she'd acted without exposing his own faux pas. Theirs was a mutually unspoken agreement to pretend that the entire event had never happened.
Finally giving up on her search for cream, she set the sugar back into the cabinet as well; if she put sugar in her coffee, she certainly wanted cream as well, and vice versa, but was quite content to drink it black. It had finished brewing, and she poured herself a cup, but momentarily forgot that she wasn't speaking to the Potions Master. "Coffee?" she offered, and from the look that flickered across his face, the offer surprised him as much as it had her.
"No, thank you," he replied, his tone falling just short of uncivilized. Or perhaps it was just her overall impression of him that fell just short of civilized.
Shrugging, she seated herself at the table, studiously looking everywhere except at him, sipping her coffee, wishing she had thought to bring some of those essays that she needed to grade with her. The wait wasn't long, though, and thankfully neither was the meeting. A few announcements; there was a school dance planned for Halloween and all the teachers should plan to attend, the Quidditch games were beginning tomorrow (as though someone might have managed to miss that fact when the entire student body was abuzz talking about it) and teachers were to please make note of the Quidditch players and work detentions and extra assignments around practicing and playing schedules. Curfew was to be strictly observed by all students, and, as there had been problems of late, Dumbledore wanted the teachers to take turns patrolling the corridors (no surprise that Snape volunteered to take the first shift, that very night. Aislinn managed to get the fourth shift, on Thursdays.) Then, with as little ado as the meeting had begun, it ended, and Aislinn was the first one to leave the staff room and head for her own chambers.
Stuffing her fist in her mouth to stifle a yawn, she made her way to her rooms, nodding and making unintelligible replies as McGonagall chatted mindlessly. The only intelligible thing she heard was when Minerva parted company and patted her on the shoulder. "Get some sleep, Aislinn. You look like you could use it."
Sleep, however, was not in the cards for Aislinn Ichalia. Not right away, at least. She paused in her room only long enough to change out of her robes and into a pair of slacks and a sweater before picking up the essays and a quill and heading back out again, cutting a path to her office, where she seated herself, lit a lamp, and spread out the essays.
It was two o'clock when she suddenly jolted awake, and looked around, disoriented. A carpet of essays littered her desk, and she had fallen asleep with her head resting on her arms, an indention of her quill marring her cheek. She stretched, frowning, and looked at the stacks of essays; she'd only marked two and was less than halfway through the third, it appeared. All her lamp oil had burned out, and ink had dried on the end of her quill. She sighed, and swirled the quill in alcohol for a moment, then stood, leaving it to soak. She tried to slip out of her office quietly, but in the dark, she could see nothing, and the first thing she did was stub her toe. "Lumos," she muttered under her breath, pulling out her wand, and the end of it glowed softly, casting a light about as she regained her dignity, glad that, at least, Snape hadn't been anywhere around to see her stumbling in her own office. Over her own things that were scattered on the floor instead of on shelves where they belonged. She had a momentary flashback of being thirteen and sitting in his office, so orderly and neat, with every jar labeled and facing the front, not a speck of dust on the shelves and books aligned precisely, as though he had used a plumb line. And what do you care what he does or doesn't do with his office? she chided herself. Having thus decided she did not give a rat's ass what he might have had to say (and seeing how it was a moot point anyway since he was nowhere near her office) she set off down the corridors, her wand in front of her lighting her path. It was closer to the supply closet than it was to her bedroom, and, if she didn't have oil in her office she could certainly justify getting more.
"What do you think you are doing?" A soft voice, barely above a whisper, that made her freeze in her tracks, it could only be one person, and, as so often happened when she wasn't expecting him, she was suddenly a student again, instead of a teacher. She spun around, her eyes open wide, and began stammering her response.
"I- I was just... I was just going to get some more oil." Her reaction irritated her, and she rolled her eyes at herself, taking a deep breath and steeling herself to face him head on. "What business is it of yours, anyway?"
As he stepped into the meager pool of light cast from her wand, his lips curved into a sneer. "I am patrolling the corridors. If you will remember, we each have a duty to do this once a week. Of course, if you would spend a little more sleeping at night instead of prowling around..."
"So now it is my sleep schedule that you've taken an interest in?" she shot back in a feverish whisper. "Don't you have enough lives to manage without picking apart mine?"
He moved out of the light and reappared behind her, his breathing the only sound she could hear. "The safety of our students is my concern, Miss Carlisle," he replied silkily, "and anything that jeopardizes that safety is of great interest to me."
Aislinn folded her arms. "And what are you accomplishing hovering over my shoulder, then?" she challenged. "Do you think that I am a danger to the students?"
He reappeared in front of her again, and she found herself wishing he'd stop that. It was bloody disconcerting. "I find irresponsibility a most greivous danger, yes."
Her eyes widened indignantly, and she opened her mouth to retort, but giggling stopped her. She didn't need the warning look he shot her to whisper "Nox," and the glow subsided. His hand on her arm surprised her, as he pulled her back against the wall, and, had they not been hiding, she would have probably ordered him to let go of her. As it was, though, she simply bore the intrusion with as much grace as she could manage. As they stood there silently, she became oddly aware of how close he was to her; she could feel him shifting his weight back and forth between his feet, like a cat preparing to pounce. She could smell him, and, some part of her mind noted that, considering how greasy his appearance was, his smell was almost... pleasant. A soft, herbal smell clung to his robes and what else would you expect from a potions master? and his breath smelled faintly of tea. Overall, she thought, she could have found worse people to pin her against a wall, had she been trying.
A pair of students slipped past them, and Aislinn felt him tense. The moment the students had passed, he sprang from the shadows. "What," his voice was like the slamming of a door, "are you two doing alone in the corridors at this time of night?"
"I... we..." there was no explanation for it, and both seemed to know it. Snape lifted his wand.
"Lumos," he said softly, and a weak light enveloped them, revealing the identities of the students. A Seventh year Ravenclaw boy and a Sixth year Slytherin girl, the girl looking decidedly pale, even in the washed out light. "Tut, tut," Snape said quietly, circling the two like a vulture. "I would have expected better from you, Miss Ledbetter. Get back to the Slytherin Common room, I will speak with you tomorrow. As for you, Mr. Bradshaw, I think perhaps you and I shall have a small talk. Come." As Snape ushered the boy, who now looked frightened enough to be ill, away to his office, Aislinn found herself staring silently after them. Neither of the students had even noticed her, it seemed. And Snape, she rather thought, had put her from his mind all together again.
"Good," she murmured to herself as she set off for the supply closet again.
"Hey, Miss Ichalia! You gonna be cheering for us tomorrow?"
Aislinn spun around, and began walking backwards as her eyes scanned the throng of students leaving the Great Hall. After a moment, she found the one who had spoken, one of the Beaters for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. She grinned at him and gave him a thumbs-up. "Just try and stop me!" she called back, laughing. Tomorrow was the Slytherin/Gryffindor game, and Aislinn wasn't about to miss an opportunity to cheer for her own House. She couldn't quite bring herself to believe she'd be in the stands cheering against Slytherin when they played Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, but it was a given that any game involving Gryffindor would find her decked out in scarlet and gold, yelling as loudly as the students. She wasn't supposed to take sides, being a teacher, but... Well, if he could so obviously cheer for Slytherin, then she was allowed to do the same for Gryffindor.
She turned back around, and barely stifled a yawn; at one this morning, she had still been talking with McGonagall over a cup (well, a bottle) of some of the best whiskey she'd tasted in years. Theirs had been a meandering conversation, full of remember-whens and what-ever-happened-tos. They'd talked about Gryffindor, and how it was different now, and how it never changed; they'd talked about Quidditch and the Albanian team and the weather conditions during training. Minerva had asked if there was a man in Aislinn's life, a question which the effervescent Divination teacher usually avoided like the plague, but being deep into her cups by that time had just grinned and shook her head. After all, no one could ever live up to her high expectations, so she'd long since given up trying to find a man who would. Then, much to Minerva's seeming surprise, Aislinn had turned the question around, and, after a bit of hemming and hawing and a failed attempt to divert attention to Peeves' latest exploits, the Transfiguration Professor had finally admitted that she had her sharp eyes on someone, but, Minerva was not in her cups, it seemed, and was perfectly capable of resisting the temptation to tell all.
Of course, had Aislinn gone to bed as soon as she and Minerva finished off the last of that whiskey, she most likely would hve been fine now, and certainly not yawning like she was trying to catch flies in her mouth. But, no, that visit had merely been an interlude, a break from reading over essays about the characteristics of Saturnian aspects. That had kept her up until close to 4, and, when she'd finally scrawled an 'E' on the last one and headed up to her bed for a precious three hours of sleep, she'd found, to her dismay, that she'd still not finished writing out the quiz she'd planned for the next class. By the time she finished that task, it was only two hours until her first class would arrive, and she'd grudgingly told herself that sleep was for weaklings anyway, and gone off to take a shower and brew some strong coffee. The rest of the day had passed in a numb blur, and, as she walked back to the staff room for a meeting, Aislinn felt that she could hear every individual footstep as it fell on the floor above her. Colors seemed brighter somehow, and the imperfections in the stone floor underfoot made her wince. Overly sensitive to light, sound and touch, she could only hope that the meeting would go quickly. She still had to mark another set of essays before she went to bed, after all.
When she reached the staff room, she was pleased to find that she was the first in there, which meant she had a few moments to find a cup for coffee (tea was all well and good, but if she was going to survive the three hours left until ten tonight, she knew she needed something a bit stronger). While the coffee brewed, she rummaged through a cupboard in search of sugar and something that would pretend to be cream, and her hand paused as it landed on a small glass bottle, unmarked and clear. She held it up to the light, peering through it, trying to work out why it looked familiar to her when she heard the door open. It closed again, but there was no other sound. Well, she thought wryly, that must be the dear Professor Snape. Anyone else would have had the decency to speak. "Good evening, Professor Snape," she said neutrally, continuing to study the bottle.
"Do you have a headache again?" he asked.
Ah. That was what the potion was. She knew she'd seen it somewhere before, and it was so uncommon for her to forget something, but if it was the potion he'd given her when she had headaches (when she had headaches she told him about, that is), it stood to reason that she hadn't had a clear sight of the bottle. "No," she replied, "thank you for asking." She held up the jar, displaying it over her shoulder. "You should really label that, you know, before someone decides to use it to water a plant." She set it heavily on the counter and went back to her rummaging.
The silence behind her thickened. There had been little between the two of them except silence for the last week, since the incident involving their classes. Severus, as it turned out, had not gone to the headmaster with the incident, which was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, Aislinn knew she was right, that he didn't have any business keeping the class so late. On the other hand, her own behaviour had been inexcusably juvenile, and she did not relish the thought of explaining herself to Dumbledore. It would seem that Snape felt similarly about the event, on the one hand wishing he could bring up to Dumbledore how she'd acted without exposing his own faux pas. Theirs was a mutually unspoken agreement to pretend that the entire event had never happened.
Finally giving up on her search for cream, she set the sugar back into the cabinet as well; if she put sugar in her coffee, she certainly wanted cream as well, and vice versa, but was quite content to drink it black. It had finished brewing, and she poured herself a cup, but momentarily forgot that she wasn't speaking to the Potions Master. "Coffee?" she offered, and from the look that flickered across his face, the offer surprised him as much as it had her.
"No, thank you," he replied, his tone falling just short of uncivilized. Or perhaps it was just her overall impression of him that fell just short of civilized.
Shrugging, she seated herself at the table, studiously looking everywhere except at him, sipping her coffee, wishing she had thought to bring some of those essays that she needed to grade with her. The wait wasn't long, though, and thankfully neither was the meeting. A few announcements; there was a school dance planned for Halloween and all the teachers should plan to attend, the Quidditch games were beginning tomorrow (as though someone might have managed to miss that fact when the entire student body was abuzz talking about it) and teachers were to please make note of the Quidditch players and work detentions and extra assignments around practicing and playing schedules. Curfew was to be strictly observed by all students, and, as there had been problems of late, Dumbledore wanted the teachers to take turns patrolling the corridors (no surprise that Snape volunteered to take the first shift, that very night. Aislinn managed to get the fourth shift, on Thursdays.) Then, with as little ado as the meeting had begun, it ended, and Aislinn was the first one to leave the staff room and head for her own chambers.
Stuffing her fist in her mouth to stifle a yawn, she made her way to her rooms, nodding and making unintelligible replies as McGonagall chatted mindlessly. The only intelligible thing she heard was when Minerva parted company and patted her on the shoulder. "Get some sleep, Aislinn. You look like you could use it."
Sleep, however, was not in the cards for Aislinn Ichalia. Not right away, at least. She paused in her room only long enough to change out of her robes and into a pair of slacks and a sweater before picking up the essays and a quill and heading back out again, cutting a path to her office, where she seated herself, lit a lamp, and spread out the essays.
It was two o'clock when she suddenly jolted awake, and looked around, disoriented. A carpet of essays littered her desk, and she had fallen asleep with her head resting on her arms, an indention of her quill marring her cheek. She stretched, frowning, and looked at the stacks of essays; she'd only marked two and was less than halfway through the third, it appeared. All her lamp oil had burned out, and ink had dried on the end of her quill. She sighed, and swirled the quill in alcohol for a moment, then stood, leaving it to soak. She tried to slip out of her office quietly, but in the dark, she could see nothing, and the first thing she did was stub her toe. "Lumos," she muttered under her breath, pulling out her wand, and the end of it glowed softly, casting a light about as she regained her dignity, glad that, at least, Snape hadn't been anywhere around to see her stumbling in her own office. Over her own things that were scattered on the floor instead of on shelves where they belonged. She had a momentary flashback of being thirteen and sitting in his office, so orderly and neat, with every jar labeled and facing the front, not a speck of dust on the shelves and books aligned precisely, as though he had used a plumb line. And what do you care what he does or doesn't do with his office? she chided herself. Having thus decided she did not give a rat's ass what he might have had to say (and seeing how it was a moot point anyway since he was nowhere near her office) she set off down the corridors, her wand in front of her lighting her path. It was closer to the supply closet than it was to her bedroom, and, if she didn't have oil in her office she could certainly justify getting more.
"What do you think you are doing?" A soft voice, barely above a whisper, that made her freeze in her tracks, it could only be one person, and, as so often happened when she wasn't expecting him, she was suddenly a student again, instead of a teacher. She spun around, her eyes open wide, and began stammering her response.
"I- I was just... I was just going to get some more oil." Her reaction irritated her, and she rolled her eyes at herself, taking a deep breath and steeling herself to face him head on. "What business is it of yours, anyway?"
As he stepped into the meager pool of light cast from her wand, his lips curved into a sneer. "I am patrolling the corridors. If you will remember, we each have a duty to do this once a week. Of course, if you would spend a little more sleeping at night instead of prowling around..."
"So now it is my sleep schedule that you've taken an interest in?" she shot back in a feverish whisper. "Don't you have enough lives to manage without picking apart mine?"
He moved out of the light and reappared behind her, his breathing the only sound she could hear. "The safety of our students is my concern, Miss Carlisle," he replied silkily, "and anything that jeopardizes that safety is of great interest to me."
Aislinn folded her arms. "And what are you accomplishing hovering over my shoulder, then?" she challenged. "Do you think that I am a danger to the students?"
He reappeared in front of her again, and she found herself wishing he'd stop that. It was bloody disconcerting. "I find irresponsibility a most greivous danger, yes."
Her eyes widened indignantly, and she opened her mouth to retort, but giggling stopped her. She didn't need the warning look he shot her to whisper "Nox," and the glow subsided. His hand on her arm surprised her, as he pulled her back against the wall, and, had they not been hiding, she would have probably ordered him to let go of her. As it was, though, she simply bore the intrusion with as much grace as she could manage. As they stood there silently, she became oddly aware of how close he was to her; she could feel him shifting his weight back and forth between his feet, like a cat preparing to pounce. She could smell him, and, some part of her mind noted that, considering how greasy his appearance was, his smell was almost... pleasant. A soft, herbal smell clung to his robes and what else would you expect from a potions master? and his breath smelled faintly of tea. Overall, she thought, she could have found worse people to pin her against a wall, had she been trying.
A pair of students slipped past them, and Aislinn felt him tense. The moment the students had passed, he sprang from the shadows. "What," his voice was like the slamming of a door, "are you two doing alone in the corridors at this time of night?"
"I... we..." there was no explanation for it, and both seemed to know it. Snape lifted his wand.
"Lumos," he said softly, and a weak light enveloped them, revealing the identities of the students. A Seventh year Ravenclaw boy and a Sixth year Slytherin girl, the girl looking decidedly pale, even in the washed out light. "Tut, tut," Snape said quietly, circling the two like a vulture. "I would have expected better from you, Miss Ledbetter. Get back to the Slytherin Common room, I will speak with you tomorrow. As for you, Mr. Bradshaw, I think perhaps you and I shall have a small talk. Come." As Snape ushered the boy, who now looked frightened enough to be ill, away to his office, Aislinn found herself staring silently after them. Neither of the students had even noticed her, it seemed. And Snape, she rather thought, had put her from his mind all together again.
"Good," she murmured to herself as she set off for the supply closet again.