Upon being shooed so unceremoniously from the hospital wing, Severus found himself standing outside the doors, wondering what had possessed him to give those students such advice as he had. Since when are you qualified to advise sixteen-year-old girls on the finer points of teenage love? He calmly ignored the scorn inherent in that voice, and stalked off to his rooms. His mood, however, was not quite as sour as it had been for most of the morning. He was certain that the conversation he'd just had was no coincidence; Hannah had been speaking to him, in the guise of advising those two girls, and the message had been crystal clear to him: if he felt something for her, he should merely state it. After all, as he had guided that pair of girls to realize, there was nothing to lose, and, as the one had so eloquently put it, everything to gain.
What about the fact that she is a good candidate for St. Mungo's mental ward? asked a skeptical voice in his head. Be reasonable, Severus. She thought she was trapped in her name for the love of Merlin's beard! She has all the sense of a moldy rock. She laughs at you constantly, and is about six inches too tall to be entirely comfortable, and if all that isn't enough, she's never given you the slightest scrap of a hint that she cares about you in the least. The last two days, she has been manipulating you, because, as she admitted herself, she is afraid of the hospital ward and didn't want to be alone. You've been playing right into her hands for long enough, but you can stop that now and still come out unscathed.
He let himself into his rooms, his mind still swimming. Logically, he knew that voice had a good many points, even if they were laced with cynicism and dripping in bitterness. Why should he believe she cared, when she'd never done or said one blasted thing to lead him to believe that? And, why should he care anyway, one way or another? She was everything he despised, and always had been. She was a Gryffindor. She could have been a Ravenclaw. She was a mischief maker. She pulled some very clever and amusing pranks. And clever doesn't make them any more appropriate, does it? She has a brilliant mind. And she wastes it on rubbish. She's eccentric. Which is just a polite way of saying she's completely off her rocker. She has a strong presence. Of course she does! The woman is a bloody Amazon. She holds a room captive with her wit. Captive is right, you can't possibly escape such a scatterbrained chatterbox. She certainly nailed you in one try, didn't she? There was no answer to that accusation, and, with an irritated grunt, Severus jerked the handles of his bathtub, hoping scalding water would force thoughts of her from his mind.
While the water was running, he banged open the doors of his wardrobe and stared for a moment at the contents. He had two choices, really. Black, which he wore every day and the green he wore when he was watching Slytherin play Quidditch. And what do you bloody well care what you wear suddenly? Are we going to be calling you Gilderoy Lockhart next? Black was good enough for everyone else in the damn castle, it was certainly good enough for Aislinn. Hannah. Her name is Hannah. No, her name really was Aislinn. It was legal and proper, and even Dumbledore called her that. So you actually approve of that rubbish about changing her name being liberating? The last thing that girl needed was liberation.
Severus slammed the doors of his wardrobe closed, but they bounced back open again. He sneered at them and slammed them again, and, stubbornly, they swung open again. "Bloody fucking hell," he muttered and shut them once again, more gently this time, and they stayed closed. "Even my own goddamn possessions scold me for my temper."
"Temper is right, Severus. You should really show some restraint."
Severus shot a glance at the portrait he had inherited with the quarters. He didn't know who the subject was, and didn't care. He'd never even asked. "Sod off," he told it firmly. "No one asked you." He grabbed up a towel and stalked back into the bathroom, peeling off his robes, and then cut off the water. As he put a foot in the steaming tub, he hissed at the temperature, but forced himself to endure it. At least you can't possibly think of her when your skin is about to boil off.
That, apparently, was the wrong mental image to conjure, for soon his blood was boiling, and it had nothing to do with the temperature of the water and less to do with his temper. He leaned back in the tub and closed his eyes for a moment, suffering the blissful agony of her memory. He didn't allow himself to linger long on the thoughts, though, and sank deeper into the water with the firm command to himself to master himself. You are not some overly hormonal teenager anymore, just put it out of your mind.
He did manage to do that for the duration of his bath, despite the fact that he spent nearly three times as long in the water as he normally did. He washed his hair three times, and considered a fourth scouring but decided against it. If it wasn't clean after three latherings, it never would be. When he finally stood, dripping, he shivered at the icy blast that hit him; even with a fire, his rooms were simply arctic compared to the water he'd been sitting in, and the frigid air was enough to put some haste into his movements as he dried himself. He noticed with a certain grim satisfaction that he had mastered his thoughts well enough that his body had appeared to give up on the idea of a certain raven-haired divination professor, but noticing that was enough to remind him, apparently, and he felt a hopeful arousing. Which he quelled with a stern determination, focusing instead on the merits of pewter cauldrons over silver.
By the time he had dressed himself in a black robe (one of his better ones, though still little different to the naked eye from the ones he commonly taught in) and had combed out his hair, he had mastered his thoughts yet again and thought it safe to edge away from the ingredients of the Veritasserum. As he looked at his reflection in the mirror, he scowled. His hair, at least, was no longer oil and limp. Now it managed an unexpected trick of being simultaneously limp and… frizzy. He scowled and ran his comb under water, combing his hair down again and sighing with relief as it plastered itself to his head. Much better. By the time he finished brushing his teeth, though, a glance told him that the lifeless black hair had once again taken on a life of its own. "Bloody…" he trailed off, and opened a cupboard, rummaging inside it. He had little to move around in there, not being one to take pains with his appearance he didn't have so much as a can of hairspray. He did, however, find a small tube of something in a plastic wrapper, which he took out and frowned at. It was a sample of something he'd found in his post last spring (even wizards have junk mail!), and what had possessed him to keep it instead of throwing it out was still a mystery. He peered at the words on it.
"Sidney Smelton's Smoothing Serum". He flipped it over and read the blurb on the back of it. "Use to tame fly-away locks and give your hair a polished finesse. Directions: rub a small amount between the palms of your hands and massage through hair."
Severus looked around his room, as though searching for help, then looked at the small tube of smoothing serum. "Well," he muttered under his breath with another look in the mirror, "anything is better than…" he trailed off, not wanting to give voice to the comparison that had been on his lips. His hair looked insultingly reminiscent of that brat Potter. Both the elder and the younger. He read the instructions a second time and his scowl deepened. "A small amount," he muttered. "Nothing like specific instructions." If he'd given his students instructions that vague, he wouldn't hold them responsible if they blew up the entire castle. "So how much is a 'small amount'?" He looked at his reflection, which shrugged at him.
"As little as possible, I'd say. You can always add more, but getting the stuff out might be a problem."
Severus nodded. That made sense. He opened the tube and sniffed at it, making a face, then squeezed a small bead the size of a pea onto his palm and touched it gingerly with his fingertip. It was… oily. He rubbed his fingers together and stared at the resulting sheen. "Brilliant," he muttered. "Spend the better part of an hour washing the grease out and then use a little tube to put it back in." Another glance in the mirror, though, told him that anything would be preferable to his present condition, though, so he took a deep breath and rubbed his palms together, then ran his hands through his hair. He turned his head one way, then another, and frowned contemplatively, looking at the tube of serum again. That really wasn't so bad, was it? He touched his hair, and then shrugged, dropping the tube onto the counter. He might have to consider actually buying some of that…
Since when do you care what you look like? He ignored that question and ducked back into his dressing room to don his robes.
Severus was not the first to arrive in the Great Hall, but nor was he the last. Dumbledore and McGonagall were already there, as were Flitwick and Madame Hooch. Close on his heels came Madame Pomfrey, and one by one the other teachers arrived. Jordan Mickery, Severus noted with some satisfaction, arrived looking slightly out of breath, as though he'd just run from his quarters. The last to arrive was Aislinn—no, Hannah—and her appearance was enough to stop conversations. Everyone was, of course, dressed in their best robes, but she was one of two female teachers at Hogwarts who were young enough to be considered attractive by anyone who wasn't old enough to be Severus' grandfather. The other of the two, Sybill Trelawney, looked as ridiculous as she always did; there was little difference between the sparkling, bangle-covered robes she wore on a daily basis and the sparkling, bangle-strewn one she wore now. Aislinn, however, was a vision to behold in a velvet robe the color of copper edged with falls of cream-colored lace. Her hair was swept into an elegant style, studded with tiny pearls that he could see even from the distance across the Hall. Softly curling tendrils of her raven-black hair escaped (or had been artfully released) from the graceful sweep of hair that crowned her head, caressing her shoulders and outlining her tantalizing neck. The jewelry she wore would have been gaudy on a smaller woman, but she carried it off beautifully, copper-colored earrings that brushed her jaw and sparkled with a brilliant yellow stone, and a matching necklace that followed the curve of her robe's neckline and ended in a teardrop, as though pointing the way to her breasts. The sight took Severus' breath away, and he shifted slightly.
She looked his way, and a smile bloomed across her face, warming his heart and ensnaring his senses, and he smiled back, in spite of himself, glad that he'd taken the extra time with his appearance before coming today. He felt he should step forward and take her hand, but he was rooted to the spot, so he watched her as she glided in slowly, gracefully, almost as though she were dancing. After a moment, she paused, and cocked her head to the side, her hand extended with a slight movement of her shoulders that was very nearly a shrug. Go escort her, you graceless git! he scolded himself, and, in so doing startled himself from the thoughts he was so deploy engrossed in. His smile broadening even more, he took half a step forward, and then froze. A movement caught from the corner of Hs eye, then, to his horror, he saw Jordan Mickery stepping free of the gathering of staff, striding confidently towards her.
Severus felt as though an army of flies were buzzing around his head, and, as he stared in disbelief, Mickery closed the gap between them and bowed formally to her, offering his arm. You would have never thought of that, came an accusatory voice deep in his mind. He didn't even have the wherewithal to respond mentally to that voice, just stood there, his heart wrenching itself in half as he saw her take Mickery's hand. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and, judging by the way she beamed up at him—and she did have to beam up at him, despite the fact that she was wearing those confounded heels again—this was the desired event for her. Severus closed his eyes, finally, not wanting to watch any longer.
"Don't they make a stunning couple?" came a whisper somewhere behind him, and Severus half-turned to see Madame Hooch commenting apparently to thin air.
"She certainly couldn't have chosen a more handsome man, could she?" That time it was McGonagall's voice, softly speculative.
No. Severus wanted to run from the Hall, back to his chambers, to close the door and not emerge until Dumbledore fired him for abandoning his classes. He wanted to sink into the floor and pretend he had never existed. He wanted to scream, to punch that miserable Mickery right in the middle of his perfect nose. He wanted to fall to his knees and beg Aislinn to reconsider.
You didn't really think she wanted anything to do with you, did you? Severus closed his eyes again. She said she wanted—the thought didn't go very far, and there was a sneering in his mind. She said she wanted to be your friend. Your friend. Not your lover, not you paramour, nothing elicit, nothing inappropriate. Just a friend. Admit it, old boy, you've been had.
There was a hand on his shoulder, suddenly, and Severus opened his eyes again and looked at Dumbledore.
"She is quite stunning, isn't she?" A gentle squeeze of his shoulder softened Dumbledore's words somewhat.
"Undeniably," Severus whispered. I should walk away, he thought desperately. The last thing I need right now is the Headmaster playing that I'm the son he never had. The very last thing. Or perhaps the one thing he did need; fatherly advice and silent commiseration. He had his doubts that Dumbledore had missed his infatuation.
"She deserves happiness, Severus. I think you know that as well as I do."
Of course she does, he thought bitterly. But why can't it be happiness with me? He'd no more than formed the unspoken question when he had his unspoken reply. Because who would want you when there is another choice? Any other choice? And be honest, Severus, any woman would choose Mickery over you any day of the week, and twice on Sundays. "I know," he replied softly. "I just sometimes wish I did as well."
Before the headmaster could speak again, Severus was walking quickly away to take his place at the staff table.
The feast passed at a blurred snail's pace, with the words of those around him passing over Severus' head and his eyes unable to focus on any one person. He couldn't even manage his normal vigilance of the Gryffindor table, though some part of his mind was certain that those little fools were well aware of his inattention and taking full advantage of the lapse. It didn't really seem to matter, though, and he found himself unaccountably absorbed in the slice of cake on his plate, which he did little more with than scrape off the frosting. His appetite—not that it had ever been remarkable—seemed to have vanished all together, and every time he glanced down the table and saw the sparkling and effervescent Hannah—Aislinn—beaming at that prick, he felt an odd urge to vomit. The nausea always passed, though, leaving only a bitter taste in his mouth that pumpkin juice had little effect on.
"Are you quite all right, Severus? I don't think you've heard a word I've been saying."
Severus looked at McGonagall, and came close to responding with a biting retort, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't dislike her—nor she him—nearly as much as they pretended. Theirs was a rivalry, long-standing and not about to die, that was based on Quidditch games and House Cups rather than any particular animosity between them. In all honesty, Severus was rather fond of the old bag, and he felt slightly abashed to hear that she'd been speaking with her and he'd failed to notice. "My apologies, Minerva," he said softly. "What were you saying?" He forced his attention to her, but it waned quickly and he noted with some degree of shock that the feast was ending, the younger students going back to their common rooms for the evening.
"It wasn't important," she said, shaking her head a bit, "but it is unlike you to not pay attention. What is bothering you so?"
He sighed heavily and placed his fork on his plate. "Nothing," he replied shortly, then, glimpsing a wounded expression on her face, he amended his harsh denial. "Nothing I wish to discuss, at least."
She nodded, seeming to accept that. "Come along, Severus, the dance is starting soon."
He winced inwardly. "Doesn't someone need to patrol the corridors?" he asked, almost daring to hope. "I'd be more than happy to…"
"Nonsense," McGonagall said firmly. "Firenze has already volunteered, and Albus thought he was the perfect choice. Between him and Filch, I doubt there will be any problems. All we need do is see to our bedchecks every other hour," she told him, "and that should suffice."
Severus nodded, and added his wand to the efforts to move the House tables to the outer edges of the room. Albus clapped his hands together once, and the banners ascended into the ceiling, crepes of orange and black replacing them. The tables, shoved along the walls, were indiscernible from one another now, and all laden with cookies and punch bowls, and a soft music began to drift sourcelessly through the Great Hall. Severus watched, tortured, as Mickery bowed to Aislinn, who curtsied and took his hand. They were the first on the dance floor, and, as they swept past where he and Minerva were standing, Severus had a perfect opportunity to glimpse the delighted expression on Aislinn's face. There was no doubt that she was precisely where she wanted to be, waltzing in Mickery's arms.
Dumbledore and Madame Hooch were stepping out, and then, to Severus' surprise, Minerva smiled at him. "You might ask me to dance, Professor Snape," she suggested formally, and his lips thinned into a semblance of a smile.
"Might I have the pleasure of a dance, Minerva?" he asked, extending his hand. She took it and smiled at him.
"I would be delighted, Severus," she replied, and he led her onto the floor.
Theirs was a silent dance, and his eyes kept slipping to Aislinn, who seemed entirely absorbed in Mickery and unaware that there was anyone else in the Hall. Severus frowned slightly at the students gathered around the edges of the floor, most looking rather suspiciously at their dancing teachers.
"If I were a bit younger," Minerva interrupted his thoughts and he looked at her again, "I might be offended that my dance partner could not spare me so much as a glance."
Severus sighed softly, spinning Minerva about. There was no reason to make her suffer as much as he was over this. "I am sorry," he said quietly. "I'm afraid my mind is far from the Great Hall tonight." His gaze slipped back to Mickery and Aislinn, and Minerva's sharp eyes followed his.
"I think," she commented dryly, "that your thoughts are very firmly in the Great Hall." He had the grace to blush faintly. They danced in silence for a moment longer, his gaze still lingering on Aislinn and Mickery, and Minerva finally said something that did catch his attention. "You know," she observed distantly, "When they first came in, I thought they made a perfect couple, but I'm not so sure now."
"Jordan Mickery is a contemptuous peacock," Severus muttered under his breath. "I wouldn't insult any woman by saying he was a good match for her."
Minerva smiled slightly. "He really isn't as bad as all that," she told him, "but I don't expect you to believe it, and perhaps with good reason."
Severus replied with a snort, which he thought was considerably more than the commented had warranted.
"And this is not merely about the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, is it, this time?"
He didn't grace that with a response either.
"Perhaps, my boy," she said as the song ended and they came to a halt, "you should ask Miss Ichalia to dance."
Severus glanced in the direction of Mickery and Aislinn again, and saw that they had separated as well. "And to what end? We've all seen who she chooses for her partner."
Minerva shook her head and reached up, catching his chin firmly between sharp fingers. "Don't be silly, Severus. The students are the ones who make such a fuss about who comes with who and who doesn't dance every dance with his or her date. Adults dance with whomever they please, and I have neither heard nor seen anything that would suggest, even casually, that Miss Ichalia and Mr. Mickery have shared anything more than a dance." She let go of him and stepped back. "However, if she is not aware of your affections, she might have little reason to think twice should her chance with him arise." And, having dispensed that bit of wisdom, Minerva was off, walking towards Dumbledore.
Severus looked for Aislinn again, and his eyes finally found Jordan leading her to a pair of chairs, and he watched as they sat and began talking. She laughed at something he said, and then he beamed at her, and then her eyes went to a point across the Hall, and Severus glanced where she was looking, but he saw nothing. When he turned to look at Aislinn again, Mickery was standing, and a moment later he was walking away from her, heading towards a punchbowl. Severus took that as his chance, and slipped through the crowd to where Aislinn was sitting.
You aren't really going to ask her to dance, are you? He didn't know which facet of his mind that incredulous question had come from, but that hardly mattered; he wasn't going to dwell on it, for fear he would lose his nerve. He reached her, and cleared his throat softly, and she looked up at him, that smile blooming across her face again.
"Severus!" she exclaimed and stood, taking a step towards him. "Are you enjoying the evening so far?" she asked, seeming genuinely interested in his answer.
And what was that answer to be? The truth? It was hardly appropriate. I was looking forward to the evening immensely, but imagine my horror when you seemed so glad to see Mickery. I suppose, though, that I should be grateful and count my blessings that the desirable Miss Ichalia has finally deemed me worthy of her notice. At the moment, then, I must say that my evening is looking brighter, but whether or not that glow lasts will depend entirely on you response to my proposal. No, he couldn't say that. "It's a lovely evening," he replied noncommittally. "And you?"
"Oh," she laughed, "it's been smashing so far! I don't think I've had so much fun since I was a student here. It does bring back memories, though. Did you notice? Elizabeth and Amity are here with Bradley and Richard. I guess they took your advice then," she commented, and automatically, Severus' eyes popped back across the room, and he noted what she'd been looking at before. The two girls from earlier in the day, both beaming and talking to each other while two boys stood behind them, talking to each other.
"They're here together?" he asked, squinting for a hint of what Aislinn was seeing that he couldn't see.
"Mmm-hmm," she said, and he looked at her, to find her beaming.
"But they aren't even talking to each other…" he glanced at the students again, and noted for perhaps the first time in his life that there were very few actual couples. Plenty of clusters of students, bigger than normal, and a few unlikely pairings, but not many boys with a girl on their arms, giving her full and reciprocated attention.
"Oh, at that age that hardly matters, Severus," Aislinn said matter-of-factly.
"Well, hello, Severus." Blinking, Severus cursed silently as it dawned on him that he'd just squandered his opportunity alone with Aislinn by talking about students' love lives, and now Mickery had returned. He offered a cup of punch to Aislinn, then grinned at Severus. "I didn't see you were here," he said casually, "or I'd have brought you a cup as well."
Severus' lips twitched, a sneer threatening. "That's quite all right," he said formally. "I was just…" he paused and looked at Aislinn, who was smiling at another cluster of students. "I was just leaving," he finished. "Good evening, Miss Ichalia. Mr. Mickery."
Aislinn smiled at him, glancing his way again. "Don't forget to save me a dance, Severus!" she called as he departed, and he very nearly faltered in his steps. Another song was starting, though, and Aislinn was making her excuses from Mickery. He watched with some confusion as she approached a group of students; seventh-year Slytherin boys who did not have dates. That was always a problem in Slytherin; there were many more boys than girls, and the lot of them were generally unpopular with anyone except themselves.
Something tugged at Severus' heart as he saw Aislinn speak to one of the boys, who suddenly pointed to himself, his eyes wide. Aislinn nodded, and held out a hand, and the boy looked at his companions, then shrugged and took her hand. She led him to the dance floor, and Severus couldn't decide whether to laugh or shake his head as she positioned the boy's hand on her waist and looked down, the boy looking down as well. Given the slow and awkward way they were moving, Severus had the impression that she was teaching the youth to dance, and his suspicions were confirmed when they waltzed past. As they passed, Severus could see that the boy in question was one Gerald LeBraun, a particularly awkward young man who was counting under his breath, so intent on not stepping on Miss Ichalia's toes that he failed to notice the teacher winking at the two teachers.
Laughter beside him brought Severus' attention away from the Divination teacher. "Sporting of her, don't you think?" Mickery asked, swallowing his punch in one gulp. "Perhaps I'll take a page out of her book. Couldn't hurt, could it?" Mickery set his cup aside, and Severus watched, stunned, as he made his way to a group of Hufflepuff girls and soon emerged with one of them looking wide-eyed up at him.