October 28

The bell rang, signaling the end of classes for the day, and the doors to the dungeon burst open, students spilling out like a wave of black, giggling and chattering excitedly. The last two weeks had been building towards a crescendo, and now, with Halloween and the celebrations accompanying it lurking only three days away, there was a sense of excitement that pervaded the corridors and left everyone feeling marginally dizzy. Aislinn was, to her irritation, not immune to the excitement and mounting sense of anticipation, though she could honestly say that her reasons were a bit different from the students'. For the last two weeks, she had been trying to find a moment to talk to Severus, but that man was not only greasy, but he was slippery too. As soon as she thought that, she felt ashamed of herself, but it was the truth, on both accounts. Just because she had determined that she was going to be kinder to him didn't mean she was suddenly no longer of the opinion that he could do with a good hair-washing.

For the last two weeks, he'd managed to avoid her, always being just far enough ahead of her that she couldn't catch him, always excusing himself from the staff room just as she arrived, never sitting idly in his office. Short of going to his private chambers to look for him-- an idea that did not appeal to her on any level-- she couldn't see how she was supposed to get him alone for five minutes to talk. And that was all she wanted to do, to talk to him. Well, she might want to do a little more than talk (though precisely what seemed to vary considerably according to how irritated she was with his evasive maneouvres; sometimes she wanted to hug him and sometimes to slap him) but it was a short, private conversation that she wanted badly enough to keep pursuing him, even after he'd made it abundantly clear that he didn't want to talk to her. She felt that she owed him an apology (which was simply absurd, as she kept reminding herself) for the interpretation she'd left with him. She had let her pride carry her away with that one; as soon as she'd seen that moon, she'd known that he wasn't going to appreciate having his soul laid bare. But she had not been willing to pretend that he was right, that she couldn't find anything worth noting. She just wanted to talk to him.

She nearly missed him when he came bursting out of the dungeon; in those black robes and with a stack of books in his arms, he could almost have passed for one of the students to a casual observer (very casual, as it happened; there was little doubt that he was twice the age of the oldest students if one looked at his face, and even his robes didn't look anything like the students' robes). She took off after him. "Severus!" she called, lifting her voice above the din of the students. He didn't even look over his shoulder at her. "Severus!" she called again, increasing her own pace, but he was outdistancing her, despite the fact that she was running. "Professor Snape!" she called again, louder this time, and breaking into a run. This time he did look over his shoulder at her, and she knew that he saw her. He did not stop, though, and did not slow. She sighed, exasperated and set off at an outright run to try and catch up with him. Shoes with three inch heels, however, are not ideal for running on the uneven floors of the dungeons, and a most unlady-like curse escaped her mouth as she fell, loudly enough that students stopped in their tracks to stare at her. Severus also stopped, and turned, looking on the verge of ignoring, but apparently changed his mind.

"Go on," his voice, despite being barely above a whisper, sliced through the students and sent them backing away from her. Except for one Hufflepuff seventh year who was still inquiring as to whether or not she was injured. Severus came to a halt directly behind him. "I said go," he said softly, and the boy's eyes widened, but he nodded and stood. When they were alone in the dungeon corridors, Snape knelt beside her and moved the edge of her robe to expose her ankles. "Which one hurts?" he asked.

It was Aislinn's turn to feel a bit exposed, which was utterly ridiculous as it was only her ankles. "The left," she said softly, and he took her foot in his hands, then moved in front of her, stretching her leg out and gingerly removing her shoe and frowning slightly at it. He said nothing, though, as he placed the shoe aside and gasped her foot in one hand and her leg in the other and applied a slow, gentle pressure, extending the ankle. She drew her breath in with a hiss and dug her fingernails into the floor to keep from whimpering. He moved her foot one way, and then another, and finally let go.

"I don't think it's broken," he said decisively, "likely just sprained." He edged closer to her, taking her hand. "Do you think you can stand if I help you?" he asked quietly, and she nodded, bracing her hand against his. He stopped her from rising, though. "Perhaps you should take off the other shoe as well?" he suggested, and she blushed faintly that she hadn't thought of that.

"Of course," she said with as much dignity as she could muster, given the circumstances. She slipped the strap off her ankle and edged the shoe from her foot, and he took it from her, placing it carefully beside the other shoe. She struggled to stand and gain her balance, trying not to depend too much on him; he barely looked strong enough to hold up a small child, let alone an adult. His hand was surprisingly steadying, though, and as she took a hesitant step, she was grateful for that, as she could not put any pressure at all on her left foot. He frowned a bit, and looked at the stairs, then shook his head.

"It might be prudent, Miss Ichalia, to go to my office, and I will go to the hospital wing and get some additional help." She started to protest that she didn't need to go to the hospital wing and was perfectly capable of getting upstairs by herself, but she thought better of it and nodded.

"Of course," she conceded. The last thing you need is to create more of a hassle for him. Good way to get his attention.

The process of limping across the dungeon to his office was a slow, painstaking one, taking much longer than it normally should have. By the time they reached his office, both were thoroughly exhausted, and he left her standing near the door, holding onto a shelf for support while he moved a chair over for her to sit in. As soon as she was settled, he breathed a sigh, of relief perhaps? He'll be even more relieved when you're out of his office entirely, she thought bitterly. He didn't say anything, though, as he moved another chair in front of her, and waved his wand at the seat. A soft cushion appeared, and he placed her foot on it.

"Are you comfortable?" he asked, and, when she nodded, he continued. "Then I'll be back in a moment." He turned away from her and was halfway out the door before he paused and looked over his shoulder again "Please," he said silkily, "don't try to stand." And he was gone.

"Professor Snape!" Severus looked over his shoulder and affixed a stern look on the Hufflepuff who had been the last to leave the dungeon.

"What is it, Mr. Hill?" he asked, not slowing down. The boy fell beside him, looking uneasy yet determined.

"Is Professor Ichalia all right?" he asked, worry edging his voice.

Severus' mouth tightened, though mostly out of the knowledge that he could fall face first down the stairs and none of his students were likely to notice. And those who did notice were likely to laugh. They certainly wouldn't be asking if he was all right. "She'll be fine," he replied tightly, and increased his pace. The quickening turned out to be unnecessary, though, as the boy slowed and veered away, seemingly content with the answer he'd received.

Taking the steps two at a time, Severus swept to the hospital wing and burst in through the doors. Poppy looked up, startled, then finished what she was doing before coming to stand before him. "Yes, Severus?" she asked as he came to a halt.

"Hannah has fallen again," he said testily, and, at the look of confusion that crossed the nurse's kindly face, he closed his eyes with an air of long-suffering patience. "Aislinn," he amended.

Poppy's eyes widened. "Good Heavens!" she said, bustling to a cupboard. "Is she badly injured?"

Severus shook his head. "A sprained ankle, I believe, but in a fair amount of pain."

"Well, where is she?"

He closed his eyes again, wishing for the fifth time that Hannah had had the sense to sprain her ankle somewhere more convenient and less requisite of an explanation. "The dungeon," he replied, opening his eyes just in time to see the flicker of surprise across Poppy's face.

"Where, precisely?"

Severus scowled. "I shall be more than happy to show you," he said, but Madame Pomfrey was having none of it.

"Nonsense," she said firmly. "You tell me where she is, then go find someone to help carry her back upstairs. Now, where is she?"

After a few more feeble protests, Severus decided it wasn't worth the effort to argue with her. "She's in my office," he replied, and then turned on his heel to head to the staff room.

When he reached the staff room and opened the door, three heads popped up to look at him: Dumbledore, McGonagall and Jordan Mickery, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Snape spared a special glower for Mickery, out of principle. So far, he'd yet to find anything to not like about the man, except for the obvious fact that he had the job Severus wanted for himself. Dumbledore cleared his throat softly. "Are you joining us, Severus, or just holding up the door?"

Severus forced his eyes away from Mickery and put the man firmly from his mind. "Hannah has fallen again," he announced, schooling his voice to a dispassionately informative tone. "She is in the dungeon, and I hoped to find someone to help with the process of getting her upstairs again."

"Who?" Mickery queried, just as Minerva asked, "Is she hurt?" her sharp eyes softening a bit, and yet holding him in a way that made him think she was somehow blaming him.

"She hurt her ankle," he said, ignoring Mickery, who had looked to Dumbledore for an explanation, which was provided in a soft voice. "I don't think it's broken. Headmaster, will you..."

Mickery stood, and waved Dumbledore down. "Don't worry about it, I'll help."

Severus turned a displeased scowl to the man, but at a warning look from Dumbledore, he turned sharply and stalked back towards the dungeons.

He reached the dungeons several steps ahead of Mickery, but he had only a few seconds with Madame Pomfrey and Hannah before Mickery appeared behind him. Just long enough to ask "How is she?"

"She's going to live, I'm sure, but likely not in those shoes again any time soon."

"Well," Severus said, "that isn't necessarily a bad thing..."

"AHEM." Three sets of eyes swivled to Hannah, who was looking rather adorably indignant. "I am, contrary to popular belief apparently, still conscious and quite capable of answering questions about myself. Am I finished, Madame Pomfrey?" she asked pointedly, and Severus' mouth quirked into a tight-lipped smile as Poppy crossed her arms, staring the younger woman down.

"I think we will take her back to the hospital wing," Poppy said, speaking over Hannah's head again, much to Severus' amusement. "She doesn't seem to have developed a scrap of sense since she was fifteen."

The abashed look that crossed Hannah's face, met by a stern look from Poppy, said that there was something significant about that statement, but Severus didn't know what it was. He also wasn't interested in revealing his ignorance to the matter, so kept his mouth shut.

"I suppose we should have brought a stretcher," he commented, looking about, but that... swaggering... imbecile... stepped forward, waving Severus away.

"Nonsense, Severus, I'll be more than happy to carry her up myself," he said with a smile that was too friendly for Severus' liking. "If Miss Ichalia does not object, that is."

Absurdly, Severus found himself hoping Miss Ichalia would object, but she was smiling back at the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. "Thank you, Jordan," she said, and Severus wondered if he was imagining the velvet caress her voice gave his name.

As Mickery bent and slipped an arm under her knees, his other behind her back, and lifted her easily, Severus found another reason for unjustified hatred.

The only thing that soothed his irritation (and only slightly) was when he heard a soft question from the other man: "What happened when you were fifteen?"

"Severus, wait!" Aislinn sighed, frustrated, wishing all these people would go away and leave her alone so she could accomplish what she'd been trying to do when she tumbled over her own damn feet. He paused, and looked at her, one eyebrow raised, saying nothing, and that silence spoke volumes, she was afraid. She took a deep breath and gestured for him to come over, and, somewhat to her surprise, he did just that. "I'd like a word," she said pointedly, and Poppy suddenly stopped whatever it was she was doing-- fussing with a bandage it seemed-- to look at her. Jordan's eyes were also on her, as were Dumbledore's (when had he and Minerva arrived?) McGonagall was looking sternly at Snape.

"Yes?" he asked, and she rolled her eyes.

"Alone," she asserted, and, to her fury, his mouth quirked into a slight sneer.

"If you haven't noticed, we are not precisely alone here. If you want to say something..."

"Severus!" She was sitting up now, and that caused an uproar, a scampering of activity as Jordan suddenly remembered he had some pressing appointment and made his goodbyes (though not without giving her hand another squeeze, which was almost enough to make up for the fact that he was there to begin with; she'd be blind if she didn't think he was handsome.) Poppy was insisting in no uncertain terms that no one was driving her from Professor Ichalia's bedside until that ankle was properly wrapped and the patient was settled. Dumbledore had a hand on her shoulder, and was whispering something that was lost on Aislinn as she focused her attention on Snape, who appeared to be receiving the sharp edge of Minerva's tongue for some reason unbeknownst to Aislinn.

"Enough!" Aislinn blinked; she didn't think she'd ever heard Severus raise his voice, and it seemed to have surprised everyone else as well. "I will come back this evening, Miss Ichalia, and you may have as many words as you like. In the mean time, I think there are more than enough people here, and I am going to reduce that number by one. Good afternoon." There was an air of finality to what he had said, and, with no further ado, he turned sharply on his heel and stalked out of the door, leaving Aislinn lying there, blinking at his back.

Silence and stillness permeated the room for a moment, uncomfortable and palpable, and then Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Well, I can't help but say that I am forced to agree with Severus. If there is no reason for my presence...?" When no one rushed to invite him to stay, he nodded. "Then I bid you all a good afternoon." He patted Aislinn's hand, and smiled. "I will come check on you this evening," he assured her. "If there is anything you need, be sure to let me know, and I will see to it." And, with considerably less drama but no less finality than Snape, he left the room as well, leaving the three women alone.

"Well, I must say that you know how to draw attention, Aislinn," Minerva commented dryly, to which Aislinn gave her no response save a level look. "What was all that about?"

Aislinn collapsed back against her pillows again, and draped an arm over her eyes, the beginnings of a headache whistling behind her left ear. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said obtusely. Had her eyes been open, she likely would have seen Minerva and Poppy exchanging skeptical looks.

Minerva patted her arm. "I'll go find your nightclothes," she said, abandoning the topic of the little outburst from a moment ago, much to Aislinn's relief.

Twenty minutes later, Aislinn was wearing amethyst silk pajamas, and a rose-colored dressing gown, her swollen ankle propped on a pile of pillows at the foot of the bed. The sounds of dinnertime drifted into the hospital wing, but she ignored them, much as she ignored the throbbing in her ankle and the hammering in her head. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine herself somewhere else, somewhere more comfortable and less… sterile—Merlin's Beard how she hated medical units! She'd almost succeeded in imagining herself in a garden when she heard the doors open, and soft footfall on the stone floor.

Probably Severus, she thought dismissively and tried to gather the courage to open her eyes and let the spear-like light wedge into her brain.

"Are you asleep?" came a soft query, in a voice that was too tender to belong to Snape. She opened her eyes, and her mouth formed a small 'o' as recognition seeped over her.

"Jordan!" she gasped, struggling to sit up, but he crossed over to her bed quickly and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't try to sit," he said softly, glancing over his shoulder. "If Madame Pomfrey thinks I'm disturbing you, she'll run me out. And that's provided she doesn't wring my neck first."

Aislinn smiled a bit, and cast her eyes to the foot of her bed, wishing she was dressed more appropriately. "I… er," she faltered as her eyes drifted back to Jordan and his emerald gaze muddled her senses.

"Oh," he said, his grin widening, a dimple appearing in his cheek, "I nearly forgot." He held out his hand, and a dozen white roses suddenly appeared, which he offered her. "To brighten your bedside."

She laughed delightedly, as though she'd never seen anyone conjure flowers before. In truth, she'd never seen anyone conjure flowers for her, and she did love white roses. "Thank you!" she said, taking them and burying her face in the fragrant blossoms, inhaling their perfume deeply. "They're beautiful!" She laid them gingerly on the bedside table, her smile still broad, and patted the mattress near her knees. "Have a seat?" she asked, and, to her delight, he did.

"How's your ankle?" he asked, and she shrugged dismissively.

"It hurts," she replied a bit sheepishly, "but I'll live."

He smiled. "It's a shame you injured yourself so near the dance," he said in a tone that would have almost passed for casual, but made her heart lurch anyway. "I was rather hoping I would be able to steal a dance or two Sunday night."

Aislinn smiled much more broadly than she really felt. "Poppy says that if I stay off my foot, I should be walking again by the feast. And, I don't see much difference between walking and dancing, do you?"

He laughed, and her heart melted. "In that case, Miss Ichalia, you had best work hard at staying off your feet; I will be most disappointed if I don't have the pleasure of your company."