Normally, dinnertime was pleasant and quiet, but this evening, there was a certain buzz to the Great Hall, and everyone from the students to the Headmaster seemed to be talking about Miss Ichalia's sprained ankle. McGonagall blamed him for it, of that much Severus was certain, though he didn't quite follow the logic of how she expected him to be responsible for another person's clumsiness. He was, however, treated to that explanation over a spinach casserole that was as tasteless to him as everything else always was.

"…and precisely how long has she been trying to talk to you, anyway?"

The direct question elicited a sigh from Severus. "Two weeks," he replied, taking a rather large bite of the casserole, in hopes that it would deter Minerva from asking any more questions. A bout of wishful thinking, as it turned out.

"Two weeks! Then you have been avoiding her! Shame on you, Severus. What has come over you? That is not like you at all?"

He finished his chewing thoughtfully and took his time with a swallow of wine. Well, you see, Minerva, I'm afraid that she's going to be bothering me about something ridiculous. Something like gushing that she understands me now that she's looked at a collection of glyphs and numbers. I don't want to endure the false sympathy, and I'm more than a little disturbed by the seeming accuracy of some of her statements, though I know logically that they are vague enough to apply to anyone and she can't possibly know anything about me. If you will remember, Minerva, there are things I do not wish to discuss with anyone, particularly the pretty new divination teacher who was making eyes at Jordan when he carried her to the hospital wing. I may not believe she knows, but I am not stupid enough to believe she doesn't have the capacity to find out those things that I prefer no one to know. So, I thought I would make it easier on the both of us and just avoid her, which is really quite easy to do. Unfortunately, I underestimated her persistence, and I hadn't the foresight to imagine her running through the dungeons while wearing those contraptions that she calls shoes. Does that explanation meet with your approval? He rather imagined it would not, so wisely refrained from any of it. "I have not been avoiding her," he replied aloud. "I simply haven't made any special effort to speak to her."

"Well," Minerva said with a huff, jabbing her fork into her plate. "We certainly all heard you say quite plainly that you would give her the word she has been seeking tonight, and I for one will hold you to that."

Severus sighed and let his fork clatter to his plate, then took another swallow of wine. "Very well, Minerva," he replied quietly. "I will go now, and then perhaps you will all leave me alone to my much more characteristic solitude." He dropped his napkin on the table and stalked out of the Great Hall, his passing causing a ripple of silence at the student tables as he barged past them.

He wasted no time getting to the hospital wing, and burst through the doors, wishing he'd had the presense of mind not to make such a bloody ridiculous promise in front of everyone. Why couldn't he have just slipped out the door and pretended he didn't realise that Hannah wanted to talk to him? Or better yet, why couldn't he have just sucked it up a week ago, so that none of this would have ever bloody happened? He didn't want to play the role of villain here, but he knew that this was precisely the role he'd been cast in, and he couldn't help but think that the role fit, a little too well for his comfort.

He slowed as he reached the bed where she'd been when he left earlier, and stopped dead in his tracks. He'd been expecting her to be alone, possibly asleep. He had not expected to find Mickery sitting on the bed beside her, holding her hands in his and smiling a smile that even Severus could tell was charming. He stood several feet away for a long moment, partially concealed by one of the curtains, watching.

And what does he have that I don't? he asked himself, but the response was immdiate and not one he'd particularly wanted to hear. Shall we start with charm and poise? Mickery, at least, doesn't look like a bat. He doesn't have a hook nose. He looks like he spends his summers out of doors rather than in a dungeon. His arms are muscular; you can see that even under those robes. He has a smile that is… well, if I were a woman I think I'd find it attractive. And he looks like he knows how to treat a woman. Unlike you.

Severus folded his arms, and his eyes drifted to a bouquet of roses lying on the bedside table. He probably brought those. Good idea, Mickery. Why didn't I think of that? His eyes drifted to Hannah, and he felt a lump rising in his throat—she was beautiful, even lying in that bed. Her hair hung past her shoulders in softly shining waves, her face was flushed, her smile broad. The colors she wore brought out the colors in her face, and made her look even more alive, somehow. And that foot, swollen though it was, even it looked pretty somehow, with toenails that were painted a bright shade of pink.

You idiot, he cursed himself, what does it matter what color her toenails are?

Sighing softly, he stepped forward, and cleared his throat, standing very still so that his black robes settled around him. Hannah looked up, and her smile, though still present, changed somehow. "Severus," she called, extending a hand to him. He stood where he was.

Mickery cleared his throat and looked from Severus to Hannah and back, then returned his attention to the woman. "If there is anything you need, Aislinn, be sure to let me know. Get some rest," he told her, lifting her hand to his lips. The little display was enuogh to make Severus gag. "Good evening, Miss Ichalia." He left her bedside, and nodded to Severus on his way out. "Severus."

Only after he'd heard the click of the doors did Severus step forward. "You had something you wished to say to me?" he prompted without preamble.

Hannah gestured for him to come closer, which he did, and she waved at the bed. "Would you like to sit?" she asked him, making him wince inwardly. Either this was going to be bad enough that she didn't want him standing, or it was going to take long enough that she thought he needed a seat. Either way, the prospects did not look good.

He considered refusing her offer, but, after a quick mental chiding, he conceded. Halfway. Rather than sitting on the edge of the bed as Mickery had, Severus drew his wand from his robes and conjured a chair, into which he sank. "Yes?" he prompted her again, now that he was at eye-level with her.

Her smile faded somewhat, and she dropped her hand onto the bed again. "I…" she began, then trailed off quickly as though thinking how to breach the subject, whatever it was. He had plenty of time to study her face, and note that her eyes seemed glazed again. He wondered if her head was hurting.

He propped one foot on his other knee and leaned back in the chair, supporting his elbows on the arms and waiting for her to decide to speak. However long it takes, I can bloody well be patient this time, he told himself firmly, watching her, waiting for her to decide to start talking. Seconds ticked past, and she said nothing, and the seconds turned into minutes. There was a fly buzzing around the goblet of water on her table, landing and then taking flight again, many times over. He imagined he could see the world through that fly's eyes. And what would you see, Severus? A man and a woman, both too stubborn to start talking?

After several silent moments had passed with no more than a few false starts from Hannah, Severus finally sighed and put both his feet on the floor again. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "What did you want to discuss?" he asked pointedly.

She reached one hand out again, and, after a moment of consideration, he took it in his. He was rewarded with a smile. "I just wanted to apologize," she said softly after another pregnant pause.

Severus winced inwardly. He had known this was coming. "You have no need to apologize," he began, and she interrupted.

"But I do," she insisted. "There were things I said in that interpretation that I should not have, Severus. I should not have even done it. I-"

He stared disbelieving for a moment, then began to chuckle. "You are apologizing because you read my chart?" he asked incredulously. He had not been expecting that from her. "Hannah," he began, and spoke in synchronization with her as she corrected him, "Aislinn, you may read that chart until the parchment crumbles to dust. You'll find nothing in it worth knowing, though."

The look on her face said plainly that she disagreed, but she nodded. She doesn't know anything, he insisted to himself, for the sake of his own sanity. He moved his chair a bit closer to her bed and squeezed her hand gently. "Was that what you've been wanting to talk to me about?" he asked quietly, and she nodded. A pang of guilt pierced his heart. Bloody hell. She'd wanted to apologize, and he had run away from her until… his eyes drifted back to her swollen ankle and he sighed. "Don't give it another thought," he told her. "Get some rest." He stood, about to leave, but she was still gripping his hand, and pulled him back down.

"I also wanted to apologize for… my attitude these past few weeks," she told him, and he looked at her for a moment, then sat again. He obviously wasn't going anywhere just yet.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, and she took a deep breath.

"I've behaved rather immaturely towards you, Severus, and I just wanted to say I was sorry. For comments I've made."

He tried to remember any comments she had made, but could think of none. Unless they were comments not made in his hearing. Bloody hell. He had enough to be insecure about without worrying about what people said out of his hearing. "Look," he said, glancing over his shoulder again to make sure they were alone. "I know you don't like me, and you don't have to. I know that the students don't like me and they don't have to either. I'm not here to be liked, and…" he shrugged a bit, pulling his hand away from her, "there's no need to apologize for it. Is that all?"

She was quiet for a moment, and he took the silence as his cue to leave again, but once again she caught his hand. "Severus?" she asked, and he sat a third time.

"Yes?"

She swallowed and was quiet again for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer than he would have given her credit for being capable of. "I was hoping to extend an offer of friendship," she said hesitantly.

He stared at her. "Of what?" he asked, incredulous.

"Friendship." She let go of his hand and draped her arm across her face, and he wondered again if she had a headache and if he dared suggest she take something for it.

"Why?" he asked, suspicious of her offer and putting her potential headache out of his mind.

She turned her head to look at him from under her arm, and a smile touched her lips, though not her eyes. "Life is too short for hatred," she replied, something distant in her voice. "Particularly for unjustified hatred. I think that the older I get, the more I appreciate what it means to have friends around me."

He at quietly for a long moment, staring, his mind churning around what she'd just said, trying to lock onto all the facets of it. Hatred? He'd known she didn't particularly like him, but he'd never thought it was hatred. Was it someone else's hatred, then? His own, perhaps? She'd always been observant, he remembered that from when she was a student, perhaps she'd picked up his dislike of Mickery? And life was too short? That sounded decidedly fatalistic coming from someone so young as she, and someone who had simply turned her ankle, not someone who was facing death. The older she got? If she was old that made him… Bloody hell.

"Han—Aislinn," he sighed, and made a vow to be more conscientious about getting her name right, "I appreciate what you're saying but…"

She shook her head. "No, I don't think you do."

He sighed again and stood, but didn't make to leave. "Why?" he asked at last, turning to look at her again. "And none of the nonsense this time, about life being too short. Something made you decide that now was the time to bring this up, and I want to know what it was."

Something flickered across her face, but he kept his mouth shut. "I don't think you'd like the answer…" she said softly.

I don't doubt that, he thought bitterly. "Try me," he said.

"Your chart-" No, I don't like that answer, "suggested… well, you read what I wrote… didn't you?" He nodded. "And combined with what I've seen, what I remember…" she shrugged and trailed off for a moment. "I just had the impressiont hat perhaps it was true—you don't let anyone know you, do you, Severus?"

He remained silent for a moment, then took a deep breath. "No," he said softly, "I do not. And with good reason."

She reached for his hand again, and he wasn't going to let her touch him, but, as she reached farther he thought better of stubbornness. He could just see her rolling out of the bed, and could only imagine trying to explain that one. He let her curl her fingers around his. "I won't ask you why not," she said quietly, surprising him, "not unless you want to tell me. And if you do, I'll listen without judgement," again he found himself wondering if she could possibly know more than he thought she did; how else could she know that there were things in his past that he did not want to be judged by? "Please, though," she was continuing, and he closed his eyes, trying desperately to erect an emotional barrier between himself and her. "Please?"

And how does one go about suddenly being a friend? He asked himself. There was no answering voice this time, and he was at a loss. He'd never really had friends. There had been people he talked to, people he chose to spend time with, but never friends really. And with very good reason. He still wasn't entirely convinced he wanted to give up that voluntary solitude now, either, and, if he was honest with himself, there was a voice that was protesting, the voice of his fifteen-year-old self whispering Don't trust her, it's a trick, a prank, a ploy to get you to let your defenses down so she can make a fool of you. It was considerably easier to never open the floodgates than to try and clean up all the water that spilled out.

She squeezed his hand again, and he squeezed back, then placed her hand on her stomach. "Do you need anything?" he asked, looking into her eyes. Something for your headache, perhaps? Of course, it was folly of him to even be asking, he'd already heard two people asking her that same question, and she'd yet to tell anyone she needed anything. It seemed the proper thing to do, though.

"Er…" she bit her lip.

"Yes?" he prompted. "Some tea, with something for your headache?"

She gave him a confused look and shook her head. "No, my head'll do. But if you have the chance, there is a stack of papers I need to mark…"

He nodded. "Where are they?"

"On my desk. In my office."

Why didn't you mention this to Dumbledore or you precious Mickery? "Is there a password?"

He would have sworn that she flushed before putting her arm over her face again. "Mugglewamp," she muttered softly.

"Mugglewamp?" he repeated, fighting away the urge to laugh. "All right, Hannah…"

"Aislinn."

"Aislinn. I shall return shortly."