October 8
Nothing could have been farther from the truth. The truth of it was that Severus was having a bloody hard time forgetting about Hannah ever, and he didn't appreciate it really. After all, what gave her the right to invade his thoughts and mind, to linger in his vision even after she had left his sight? He had plenty of time to remember her, the delightful little 'o' that her mouth formed when she was angry, the way her eyes flashed indignantly. The way her hair had been falling around her shoulders like a cloak of ebony waves. The glint of indignation in her eyes, the flush on her cheeks... When he had stopped her, it had been because he saw a light moving through the corridor, and, if he were entirely honest, he hadn't recognized her with her hair down and without her robes. It struck him that she was very young still, which was something of a relief, as he'd been feeling increasingly old with her calling him 'Professor Snape' the same way she had when she was one of his students. He did not need to be reminded that he was old enough now to have seen students progress through his class and come back to teach.
After a stern discussion with that Ravenclaw boy on the dangers of being out at night (most of which were courtesy of one Professor Severus Snape), the night had grown rather dull. He was only supposed to patrol the corridors once every couple of hours, but he didn't trust the little dunderheads to be quite so idiotic as to not recognize such an obvious pattern. So, he had spent the night prowling the castle, to disappointingly little effect, though it had given him the excuse he needed to note that Hannah once again did not go to bed before 4 am. How does she manage to stand if she isn't sleeping more than two hours a night? That was the puzzle that occupied his mind as he wandered, much different from the things he usually mulled over. Gone were the days, it seemed, when he could amuse himself indefinitely with a question of whether or not the properties of wormwood could be nullified by an infusion of bloodroot. Now, when he closed his eyes, it was sapphire eyes that he saw staring back at him, challenging him, daring him to misstep. He wasn't afraid of her, far from it in fact, but he was bewildered and amused among other things. He wished that he had the key to deciphering her mind and her words, but she was as much a mystery to him as those charts she hauled around with her.
One thing was clear, though, and that was that he enjoyed provoking her, if for no other reason than to hear the indignant gasp before she began a tirade against him. It was rather like tormenting a kitten, he thought, fun and harmless.
By the time dawn painted the grey castle with tendrils of rose, he had run the gamut from amused admiration to hopeless despair. However he thought of her, however he might remember, however she haunted his mind and his senses, there was always reality to contend with, and reality had never been kind to Severus. He might close his eyes and picture himself asking her to dance at the Halloween feast, and he might be able to imagine sweeping her across the floor so smoothly and gracefully that she would be putty in his hands... but the reality was that if he did ask her to dance, she would probably say no. Worse than that, she would probably laugh at him. He could tolerate being told no, but he wasn't so sure he could be gracefully accepting if she laughed in his face. Better not to even tempt fate. And, why wouldn't she laugh? Even he had to admit that on some level, the idea was amusing-- the greasy, oily git of a potion master with the laughing beauty who taught divination. Rather like seeing a rat and a peacock together.
As the castle began to stir, Severus returned to his rooms, more morose than usual even. He paused at his mirror and gazed within, trying hard to be objective about what he saw, though objectivity certainly didn't improve the reflection. He still saw himself as fifteen, most of the time, with no friends and a pack of popular boys always around to gang up on him and try to bully him into defeat. He saw himself being tortured and tormented, his tormentors those boys to whom life came so effortlessly. He saw what they had seen all those years ago-- pathetic, greasy, dirty Snivellus who had no chance of ever finding a study partner, let alone a dance partner. When he looked at himself objectively, he saw a man who was aging rapidly, his face lined heavily, his teeth yellowed with time, his eyes sunken into his face and rimmed red. Maybe, he speculated idly, if my hair wasn't quite so limp and if I got a little more sun... He scowled. There was nothing that he could even fool himself into believing that someone might possibly find attractive, even 'if'. Not one bloody thing. With a sigh, he picked up a towel and tossed it over the mirror, then turned back into his bedroom to catch a half-hour of sleep before the day began, putting his appearance aside. Maybe he could find some legitimate excuse to bow out of that dance Dumbledore had planned. Maybe he could find a student or three to assign detention. He drifted off to sleep plotting how to get out of even showing up in the Great Hall on Halloween night.
October 15
The afternoon was waning, fading quickly into evening, and Aislinn was sitting in the staff room, papers spread around her, marking. Layered four pages deep on the table were the results of her students' first attempts at comprehensive chart interpretations, and Aislinn's own first attempts at grading such things. How much, for example, should she mark off for a long, narrative description of a classmate that was right on target but had very little basis in astrology? She frowned at that one for a long moment, and then, with a sigh, simply scrawled a note in the upper corner: 'see me.' She picked up the next chart and shook her head at what she saw and then nearly laughed at what she read. Someone had chosen Professor Dumbledore as a study, and had noted that his moon was responsible for his need for glasses. Her chuckling subsided slightly as she suddenly frowned, and reached for a book. She flipped it open, turning straight to a page about Aquarian moons, and read, tapping an obscure reference thoughtfully with one fingertip. Speculation that one born under an eclipse might well develop a 'blind eye' for those he or she liked. So, was Dumbledore's moon in eclipse? She picked up the chart again and frowned at it. Possibly, she conceded, if Emily Pinkerton's calculations were correct. Which they likely were not. She closed her eyes, considering. Emily was a Hufflepuff, and, while Aislinn generally didn't let such things influence her decisions, this time she couldn't help it. Had it been one of the Ravenclaws, or certain of the Slytherin or Gryffindors... Merlin's beard, had it been anyone but Emily, she would have been more inclined to give them the benefit of the doubt. Emily, however, had most likely made that comment based on the half-moon shape of Dumbledore's glasses rather than any attention to minute detail. With another sigh, she scrawled 'see me' in the corner of that page and set it aside as well. At this rate, she was going to have to meet with each individual student before assigning any grades at all.
The sound of the door opening caught her attention, and, as there was no greeting, she assumed it was Snape. "Good afternoon, Professor Snape," she said automatically, her voice distant as she was now absorbed in a new chart, this one of Professor McGonagall.
There was no immediate response, though, and after a moment she looked up, simultaneously nervous and curious. She bit her tongue as she found him holding one of the charts and interpretations. Please don't lose that, she thought, but kept her mouth shut. She could at the very least pretend that she trusted him.
"Do you really believe all this?" he asked finally, seating himself.
She spent a moment considering her answer, and let the page she'd been reading fall to the table. "Well," she began finally, choosing her words, "I suppose it depends on precisely what you mean. Do I believe what that particular student has written? I don't know, it depends on what they wrote. Who is it?"
He flipped the page back over to look at the name on it. "Jeremy Theuett," he replied, and turned it over again, reading.
Aislinn shook her head. "Not a word. That boy couldn't find his bum with both hands and a lantern," she said, then covered her mouth hastily. "And I did not just say that." You idiot! she cursed herself. And what, you believe he isn't going to run straight to Dumbledore and... And nothing. If she didn't know better, she'd swear he was actually chuckling.
"I happen to agree," he said quietly. "But no, I did not mean this particular interpretation, but this," he gestured at the table, "in general."
She thought for a moment, considering all the different ways to answer. HAdn't she been asked that question often enough that she should have an answer in store for it by now? Shouldn't it be as easy as one plus one? But it wasn't. Yes, she did believe in astrology, to a certain extent, but she did not believe it was fate written in the stars. But, how to explain that to a skeptic? And, if he was anything, Severus Snape looked a skeptic right then. Finally she shrugged. "I do," she replied simply.
"Why?" He had placed the interpretation back on the table and picked up another.
"Pardon me?" she asked, incredulous. As many times as she'd been asked if she belived in this rubbish as others were so wont to call it, Aislinn didn't think anyone had ever actually asked her why she believed in it. "Why not?"
Snape shook his head. "You were always a bright girl," he told her, and she felt herself stiffen. A 'bright girl'. Just like when she was sitting in his class. "I just want to know what made you suddenly believe that the world's future is written in the stars."
She couldn't decide if that was a compliment or an insult, so she dismissed it all together. "I do not believe that destiny is so easily read," she conceded. "When I look at a chart, it is a study of what is likely to happen, not of what will."
"And what good is that?" he challenged.
She closed her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose. "Professor," she began, but he interrupted her.
"Please call me 'Severus'," he invited. "It makes me feel old for you to call me 'Professor.'"
She blinked at that for a moment. You are old, she thought sourly, but refrained from saying that. "Very well. Severus. Would you have your students mix a potion if you did not know what might happen if they mixed it wrong?" She knew his answer to that; how many times had she seen him tell by looking into a cauldron which crucial ingredient had been left out?
"No," he conceded, "but what does that have to do with Mercury?"
She sighed softly. "If Mercury is in retrograde, for example, I know that miscommunication is likely. Therefore, I take extra precautions. I spend extra time explaining assignents, I avoid sending owls with important information. If the retrograde occurs in Capricorn, I don't bother trying to balance my accounts until the retrograde has passed. Would something certainly go wrong if I were not so careful? Very possibly. Possibly not. I might pass the two weeks without even noticing it, but again, I might regret carelessness. So, knowing that there is the potential for certain obstacles, why should I not take extra precautions? Just as when you are instructing your classes on poisons, you keep an antidote within reach."
There was silence for a moment, as though he was considering what she'd said. "Then, I suppose you can prove it?"
She sighed softly and shook her head. "My experience, Professor, er, Severus, is that if someone does not believe in divination, he never will, and there is no proof that will sway him."
His lips quirked up into something that crossed a sneer and a smile. "Try me," he invited. She opened her mouth to protest, but as she sat there, looking at him, she suddenly felt a rush, a surge of excitement. It had been months since she'd last had a chart to analyze, and Aislinn found the lure of analyzing him most inviting.
"Very well," she conceded with a small smile playing at her lips. "I need your date of birth including year, the time you were born and where you were born."
For a moment, he looked slightly taken aback, and she considered the possibility that he hadn't really intended her to accept his challenge. Whatever hesitation there was, though, was fleeting, and his response was in the same trademark silken tones that he always used to speak. "January 1," he replied, and she scribbled on a spare bit of parchment. "1961. 2:45 am, London."
"Right," she said, looking at the parchment, and then looking at the pile of parchment already on the table. "It will likely be a day or two before I can get to it," she told him, wishing that weren't the case. Already, she was just looking for an excuse to stop marking interpretations and begin to work on an interpretation of her own. It was like being given permission to rummage around in his soul, and she found the idea intriguing.
"Ah, of course. You need to make discreet inquiries first, so you can be sure that what the stars say matches what everyone else says, isn't that it?"
Indignation flared in her eyes, and she shot him a feral smile. "Not at all, Severus. And, if you insist, I will begin my interpretation now." That subtle goading had been all the shove she needed, and she stacked the parchment spread across the table together, then pulled a fresh sheet from the stack. She bent and picked up her handbag from the floor, then rummaged in it for a box of instruments, which she laid in front of her. Selecting a compass and ruler from the box, she began plotting the chart.
Nothing could have been farther from the truth. The truth of it was that Severus was having a bloody hard time forgetting about Hannah ever, and he didn't appreciate it really. After all, what gave her the right to invade his thoughts and mind, to linger in his vision even after she had left his sight? He had plenty of time to remember her, the delightful little 'o' that her mouth formed when she was angry, the way her eyes flashed indignantly. The way her hair had been falling around her shoulders like a cloak of ebony waves. The glint of indignation in her eyes, the flush on her cheeks... When he had stopped her, it had been because he saw a light moving through the corridor, and, if he were entirely honest, he hadn't recognized her with her hair down and without her robes. It struck him that she was very young still, which was something of a relief, as he'd been feeling increasingly old with her calling him 'Professor Snape' the same way she had when she was one of his students. He did not need to be reminded that he was old enough now to have seen students progress through his class and come back to teach.
After a stern discussion with that Ravenclaw boy on the dangers of being out at night (most of which were courtesy of one Professor Severus Snape), the night had grown rather dull. He was only supposed to patrol the corridors once every couple of hours, but he didn't trust the little dunderheads to be quite so idiotic as to not recognize such an obvious pattern. So, he had spent the night prowling the castle, to disappointingly little effect, though it had given him the excuse he needed to note that Hannah once again did not go to bed before 4 am. How does she manage to stand if she isn't sleeping more than two hours a night? That was the puzzle that occupied his mind as he wandered, much different from the things he usually mulled over. Gone were the days, it seemed, when he could amuse himself indefinitely with a question of whether or not the properties of wormwood could be nullified by an infusion of bloodroot. Now, when he closed his eyes, it was sapphire eyes that he saw staring back at him, challenging him, daring him to misstep. He wasn't afraid of her, far from it in fact, but he was bewildered and amused among other things. He wished that he had the key to deciphering her mind and her words, but she was as much a mystery to him as those charts she hauled around with her.
One thing was clear, though, and that was that he enjoyed provoking her, if for no other reason than to hear the indignant gasp before she began a tirade against him. It was rather like tormenting a kitten, he thought, fun and harmless.
By the time dawn painted the grey castle with tendrils of rose, he had run the gamut from amused admiration to hopeless despair. However he thought of her, however he might remember, however she haunted his mind and his senses, there was always reality to contend with, and reality had never been kind to Severus. He might close his eyes and picture himself asking her to dance at the Halloween feast, and he might be able to imagine sweeping her across the floor so smoothly and gracefully that she would be putty in his hands... but the reality was that if he did ask her to dance, she would probably say no. Worse than that, she would probably laugh at him. He could tolerate being told no, but he wasn't so sure he could be gracefully accepting if she laughed in his face. Better not to even tempt fate. And, why wouldn't she laugh? Even he had to admit that on some level, the idea was amusing-- the greasy, oily git of a potion master with the laughing beauty who taught divination. Rather like seeing a rat and a peacock together.
As the castle began to stir, Severus returned to his rooms, more morose than usual even. He paused at his mirror and gazed within, trying hard to be objective about what he saw, though objectivity certainly didn't improve the reflection. He still saw himself as fifteen, most of the time, with no friends and a pack of popular boys always around to gang up on him and try to bully him into defeat. He saw himself being tortured and tormented, his tormentors those boys to whom life came so effortlessly. He saw what they had seen all those years ago-- pathetic, greasy, dirty Snivellus who had no chance of ever finding a study partner, let alone a dance partner. When he looked at himself objectively, he saw a man who was aging rapidly, his face lined heavily, his teeth yellowed with time, his eyes sunken into his face and rimmed red. Maybe, he speculated idly, if my hair wasn't quite so limp and if I got a little more sun... He scowled. There was nothing that he could even fool himself into believing that someone might possibly find attractive, even 'if'. Not one bloody thing. With a sigh, he picked up a towel and tossed it over the mirror, then turned back into his bedroom to catch a half-hour of sleep before the day began, putting his appearance aside. Maybe he could find some legitimate excuse to bow out of that dance Dumbledore had planned. Maybe he could find a student or three to assign detention. He drifted off to sleep plotting how to get out of even showing up in the Great Hall on Halloween night.
October 15
The afternoon was waning, fading quickly into evening, and Aislinn was sitting in the staff room, papers spread around her, marking. Layered four pages deep on the table were the results of her students' first attempts at comprehensive chart interpretations, and Aislinn's own first attempts at grading such things. How much, for example, should she mark off for a long, narrative description of a classmate that was right on target but had very little basis in astrology? She frowned at that one for a long moment, and then, with a sigh, simply scrawled a note in the upper corner: 'see me.' She picked up the next chart and shook her head at what she saw and then nearly laughed at what she read. Someone had chosen Professor Dumbledore as a study, and had noted that his moon was responsible for his need for glasses. Her chuckling subsided slightly as she suddenly frowned, and reached for a book. She flipped it open, turning straight to a page about Aquarian moons, and read, tapping an obscure reference thoughtfully with one fingertip. Speculation that one born under an eclipse might well develop a 'blind eye' for those he or she liked. So, was Dumbledore's moon in eclipse? She picked up the chart again and frowned at it. Possibly, she conceded, if Emily Pinkerton's calculations were correct. Which they likely were not. She closed her eyes, considering. Emily was a Hufflepuff, and, while Aislinn generally didn't let such things influence her decisions, this time she couldn't help it. Had it been one of the Ravenclaws, or certain of the Slytherin or Gryffindors... Merlin's beard, had it been anyone but Emily, she would have been more inclined to give them the benefit of the doubt. Emily, however, had most likely made that comment based on the half-moon shape of Dumbledore's glasses rather than any attention to minute detail. With another sigh, she scrawled 'see me' in the corner of that page and set it aside as well. At this rate, she was going to have to meet with each individual student before assigning any grades at all.
The sound of the door opening caught her attention, and, as there was no greeting, she assumed it was Snape. "Good afternoon, Professor Snape," she said automatically, her voice distant as she was now absorbed in a new chart, this one of Professor McGonagall.
There was no immediate response, though, and after a moment she looked up, simultaneously nervous and curious. She bit her tongue as she found him holding one of the charts and interpretations. Please don't lose that, she thought, but kept her mouth shut. She could at the very least pretend that she trusted him.
"Do you really believe all this?" he asked finally, seating himself.
She spent a moment considering her answer, and let the page she'd been reading fall to the table. "Well," she began finally, choosing her words, "I suppose it depends on precisely what you mean. Do I believe what that particular student has written? I don't know, it depends on what they wrote. Who is it?"
He flipped the page back over to look at the name on it. "Jeremy Theuett," he replied, and turned it over again, reading.
Aislinn shook her head. "Not a word. That boy couldn't find his bum with both hands and a lantern," she said, then covered her mouth hastily. "And I did not just say that." You idiot! she cursed herself. And what, you believe he isn't going to run straight to Dumbledore and... And nothing. If she didn't know better, she'd swear he was actually chuckling.
"I happen to agree," he said quietly. "But no, I did not mean this particular interpretation, but this," he gestured at the table, "in general."
She thought for a moment, considering all the different ways to answer. HAdn't she been asked that question often enough that she should have an answer in store for it by now? Shouldn't it be as easy as one plus one? But it wasn't. Yes, she did believe in astrology, to a certain extent, but she did not believe it was fate written in the stars. But, how to explain that to a skeptic? And, if he was anything, Severus Snape looked a skeptic right then. Finally she shrugged. "I do," she replied simply.
"Why?" He had placed the interpretation back on the table and picked up another.
"Pardon me?" she asked, incredulous. As many times as she'd been asked if she belived in this rubbish as others were so wont to call it, Aislinn didn't think anyone had ever actually asked her why she believed in it. "Why not?"
Snape shook his head. "You were always a bright girl," he told her, and she felt herself stiffen. A 'bright girl'. Just like when she was sitting in his class. "I just want to know what made you suddenly believe that the world's future is written in the stars."
She couldn't decide if that was a compliment or an insult, so she dismissed it all together. "I do not believe that destiny is so easily read," she conceded. "When I look at a chart, it is a study of what is likely to happen, not of what will."
"And what good is that?" he challenged.
She closed her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose. "Professor," she began, but he interrupted her.
"Please call me 'Severus'," he invited. "It makes me feel old for you to call me 'Professor.'"
She blinked at that for a moment. You are old, she thought sourly, but refrained from saying that. "Very well. Severus. Would you have your students mix a potion if you did not know what might happen if they mixed it wrong?" She knew his answer to that; how many times had she seen him tell by looking into a cauldron which crucial ingredient had been left out?
"No," he conceded, "but what does that have to do with Mercury?"
She sighed softly. "If Mercury is in retrograde, for example, I know that miscommunication is likely. Therefore, I take extra precautions. I spend extra time explaining assignents, I avoid sending owls with important information. If the retrograde occurs in Capricorn, I don't bother trying to balance my accounts until the retrograde has passed. Would something certainly go wrong if I were not so careful? Very possibly. Possibly not. I might pass the two weeks without even noticing it, but again, I might regret carelessness. So, knowing that there is the potential for certain obstacles, why should I not take extra precautions? Just as when you are instructing your classes on poisons, you keep an antidote within reach."
There was silence for a moment, as though he was considering what she'd said. "Then, I suppose you can prove it?"
She sighed softly and shook her head. "My experience, Professor, er, Severus, is that if someone does not believe in divination, he never will, and there is no proof that will sway him."
His lips quirked up into something that crossed a sneer and a smile. "Try me," he invited. She opened her mouth to protest, but as she sat there, looking at him, she suddenly felt a rush, a surge of excitement. It had been months since she'd last had a chart to analyze, and Aislinn found the lure of analyzing him most inviting.
"Very well," she conceded with a small smile playing at her lips. "I need your date of birth including year, the time you were born and where you were born."
For a moment, he looked slightly taken aback, and she considered the possibility that he hadn't really intended her to accept his challenge. Whatever hesitation there was, though, was fleeting, and his response was in the same trademark silken tones that he always used to speak. "January 1," he replied, and she scribbled on a spare bit of parchment. "1961. 2:45 am, London."
"Right," she said, looking at the parchment, and then looking at the pile of parchment already on the table. "It will likely be a day or two before I can get to it," she told him, wishing that weren't the case. Already, she was just looking for an excuse to stop marking interpretations and begin to work on an interpretation of her own. It was like being given permission to rummage around in his soul, and she found the idea intriguing.
"Ah, of course. You need to make discreet inquiries first, so you can be sure that what the stars say matches what everyone else says, isn't that it?"
Indignation flared in her eyes, and she shot him a feral smile. "Not at all, Severus. And, if you insist, I will begin my interpretation now." That subtle goading had been all the shove she needed, and she stacked the parchment spread across the table together, then pulled a fresh sheet from the stack. She bent and picked up her handbag from the floor, then rummaged in it for a box of instruments, which she laid in front of her. Selecting a compass and ruler from the box, she began plotting the chart.