grins at Egypt You might, just might, be surprised.
wink-nudges Ash back and yes, I'll move this over soonishly. It's about all I can do to update it right now, though, and Aislinn is incredibly insistent that I move the plot along daily.
Thank you both for reading and reviewing ;)
November 19
Severus awoke early, having slept fitfully but dreamlessly all night. It had been some time since he'd not spent the night dreaming of a woman he knew he couldn't have, but the success of having passed the night free of her charms was little consolation. There was little comfort, after all, in knowing that he'd spent the last three months being a fool.
Finding no reason to linger in his bed, he rose, and padded silently across the cold stone floor, thinking for maybe the fifteenth time that year that he really ought to find a rug. Something to protect his bare feet from the icy cold that was already seeping into the castle and would only grow more bitter before it ended. He'd been telling himself for fourteen years that he needed to do that, but it somehow never seemed that important when he was doing anything except walking across it. It was one of the many fleeting thoughts that he entertained that he was not quite interested enough in to pursue. Most of his thoughts fell into that category, in fact, and had for as long as he could remember. If there had ever been a time when he was passionate about anything, perhaps it had been when he was a student at Hogwarts himself. A first-year student who was still too young to see the bleakness that life held.
With a sigh, he bent to turn on the water to fill his bath, and then headed back to his wardrobe to lay out his clothes for the day. There was nothing of interest in the wardrobe, only black, and once again Severus considered making a point to buy something that was not black, even if he never wore it, just so there would be something to break the monotony of the robes. The thought, however, was fleeting as the one about the rug, and as he pulled out the first black robe and shut the door, his mind was already drifting elsewhere. He slipped back into the bathroom and stopped the water, barely three inches of the liquid covering the bottom of the tub. More than enough, though, to bathe in, he decided. He hadn't the patience to run a tub full of water. Not that you have anything more pressing to attend, his mind was quick to criticize. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he ignored the unwelcome thought and stripped, stepping into the tub.
A man with so little patience for running water had little patience for sitting in it, as well, and his bath passed quickly, as always (and with a half-muttered promise to himself that he'd do a better job of washing his hair tomorrow—an oft-repeated promise he made to himself and seldom fulfilled) and soon he was stepping out of the water again and toweling off. He snatched up his clothes and dressed quickly, sparing himself no more than a cursory glance in the mirror before settling into a chair, where he sat with his eyes closed and his legs stretched out in front of him for what seemed an interminable time. Seconds might have passed, or years, and it would have all been the same to Severus.
As it happens, it was close to half an hour before he opened his eyes to stare unseeing at the ceiling. The soft chiming of a clock announced that it was just now six, and too early still to make his way to the dungeon to prepare for his classes today. He could have almost wished that he had some papers to mark, at the very least, but he had finished all his grading last night. With a sigh, he stood and walked aimlessly to one of his bookshelves, and ran his fingers lightly over the titles, but nothing seemed to spark his interest.
He wandered over to his dresser, one of the pieces of furniture that saw very little use from him, and he frowned at the bottles on it for a moment, then turned one slightly so the label faced the front. He moved another, then, satisfied that they were all arranged properly, he drifted to his desk. He straightened the quill that lay beside his ink bottle, and then straightened the stack of blank parchment. Pages that seldom saw much use. Severus had few people to write to, and fewer still reasons to write to begin with. He was turning back towards another shelf when his door began to open, the crack slowly widening to let in a fan of light from the corridor. Severus' hand closed around the handle of his wand, and he watched the door inch open, then folded his arms as a small figure stepped inside, apparently unaware that the room's occupant was not, indeed, in bed.
The House Elf slipped quietly to the bedside and climbed up onto the mattress, then frowned and turned to look one way and then another, his face etched with confusion. "Master Severus?" he called softly.
Severus stepped into the light, though for once the start from the small, servile being gave him no joy. "What is it?" he asked coldly.
The House Elf hopped down from the bed and knelt in front of Severus. "Borin is to tell Master Severus that Master Dumbledore is wishing to see him. Master Dumbledore said Master Severus is to come immediately."
Severus closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again and nodded. "Very well, Borin. You may go." The elf, draped in what looked to be a polishing cloth, bowed his way from the room and Severus was alone again. Well, he thought dryly, no need even to pretend I don't know why he wants to talk to me. I'll probably be lucky to be given the chance to come back to gather my things before he boots me out of here. Of course, even as the thoughts formed themselves, Severus didn't really think that Dumbledore would sack him. There was too much at stake. No, his fate was likely to be far less pleasant than merely being dismissed from Hogwarts. Much less pleasant indeed.
"I must say, Severus, that I am very disappointed in you." For once, Albus Dumbledore's eyes were not twinkling above his half-moon glasses, and he seemed quite serious indeed.
Severus, also uncharacteristically, was sitting in a chair, slumped slightly, wishing he were anywhere but where he was. He knew he'd been rash yesterday afternoon, and he'd had little hope that Minerva would keep her mouth shut about the whole affair—and would you have, if you were in her shoes? asked a voice that he didn't want to listen to—but he had harbored a bit of hope that his long-time fellow staff-member would have painted him in a more positive light than she'd painted Mickery. As it happened, though, Severus had little reason to doubt that Dumbledore had any delusions about the scuffle, and probably not about the reasons behind it. He kept quiet, though, having found some of the restraint he'd been lacking a few hours previously. Dumbledore stood and walked to one of his shelves, looking at it, his hands clasped behind his back.
"I might have expected many things from you, but never that you would resort to scuffling with another teacher. Have you any explanation, Severus?"
From anyone else, the question might have been laced with the implication that there was no explanation, but Dumbledore seemed to make it sound as though he expected a very good one. "No," Severus said quietly, not elaborating. Not unless you count the fact that for the first time in nearly twenty years I thought I could trust someone and enjoy her company, but found instead that she was as manipulative as anyone else I've ever met. Or perhaps you'd consider the fact that the man she decided had so much more to offer than I do is the man who you gave the job I have been wanting for years. Or, maybe it would have something to do with being played the fool in front of the entire student body while she led me around by the nose only to suddenly flit into his arms. Would any of those reasons suffice? There was no temptation to offer those explanations, though, only a scornful voice whispering in his head. Jealousy, bitterness and pride. Such excellent reasons for putting a man who has risked so much for you in the precarious position of having to either dismiss you entirely or keep you on despite behavior that would have had students expelled.
Dumbledore sighed. "You know, if you and Jordan were students, I'd have every right to expel the both of you," he commented idly, and Severus instinctively blocked his thoughts. He didn't know if the Headmaster was probing into them—or what it really mattered if he was—but it never hurt to be safe with such regards. Of course, Severus couldn't really bring himself to believe that Albus Dumbledore needed to resort to legilimancy to tell what people were thinking; he had a century and a half of studying people to his credit.
"If I found students behaving so rashly, I'd be the one petitioning for their removal," Severus agreed quietly. "But we are not students."
Dumbledore smiled slightly, and a hint of the twinkle returned to those sapphire orbs. "No," he acquiesced, "you are not. So, the question is what to do with two teachers who apparently have not outgrown their schoolboy tendencies towards fisticuffs to resolve their differences."
Severus kept his face carefully blank and his tongue silent, though he wanted to protest. Am I not allowed my fits of temper too? he thought laconically. Or is that a right reserved strictly for the women on staff?
Dumbledore moved sedately to seat himself in a chair near Severus, and the potions master recoiled as the older wizard touched his shoulder. "There is little I feel I need say to you, Severus," he began, and Severus braced himself. He knew, realistically, that Dumbledore was probably the only person in the world who could make him regret something with nothing more than words. "You know that you have my trust, and you know that you have my concern. I do, however, wish that you find a more constructive way to release your frustration the next time. However much I would help you, you know that I cannot make many exceptions for you, lest I draw suspicion."
Severus had been stiffening steadily since the small speech was begun, and he jerked away from Dumbledore's touch. "What do you require of me, Headmaster?" he asked formally.
A small, rueful smile touched Dumbledore's lips. "An apology, Severus. I believe you owe one to Jordan Mickery, and to Aislinn Ichalia if no one else, though one to Minerva might not go amiss either."
Severus' mouth curled into a sneer. "And I suppose that you expect me to apologize in front of the entire student body, as well," he spat.
Dumbledore shook his head. "No, Severus, I would not require of you that which I do not know you are capable of giving. Letters will suffice, I think." The Headmaster reached idly to his desk and picked up a bowl of butterscotch candies, offering one to Severus, who took it though did not unwrap it. Dumbledore popped one into his own mouth. "Though," he continued, "from one man to another, you might consider more than a formal letter to Miss Ichalia. I believe that she was quite shocked, and somewhat disillusioned."
Severus snorted indifferently. "And what does she have to be shocked about?" And why should I care anyway?
"That, my boy, is a question for her. Not one for me." Dumbledore stood and gave Severus' shoulder one last preoccupied pat, then nodded at the door. "Now, if you will excuse me, Severus," he said, glancing at his watch, "I believe I have a bit more business to attend before the day begins in earnest.
Severus stood, accepting the dismissal with a grace that might have been distant enough to be offensive to anyone else and took his leave, his mind wavering between seething anger over having to apologize to that prick Jordan Mickery (the apology to Aislinn he couldn't have cared less about, and the one to Minerva would have likely come anyway the next time he saw her), and confusion over the last words Dumbledore had spoken. Yet again, he was left to wonder if the Headmaster somehow knew more than he did about the Divination teacher. Of course he does, Severus chided himself, just like he knows more about you than the rest of the staff does. As he turned towards the dungeons, Severus noted with a slight sigh that it was a quarter to seven. Still better than three hours until his first class. As he entered his office, he was already mentally composing the unpleasant letter to Jordan Mickery.
"Your assignment for Tuesday," Severus told his Fourth-year Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students as the end of class drew nearer, "is a three-foot scroll on the properties of Unicorn horn and its uses in calming potions." The bell tolled, dismissing the class, and Severus paused for a few lengthy seconds to satisfy himself that they didn't dare move without his permission. When it was obvious that all were waiting, he nodded. "Class dismissed," he said, and the dungeon emptied quickly.
It was the last class of the day, so there were no students wandering in, which gave him an excellent opportunity to pen the apology he'd been stewing over for the past few hours. Seating himself, he took a fresh page of parchment from his desk, and uncapped his bottle of ink, picked up his quill and wrote the note in his careful, cramped handwriting.
Professor Mickery,
Please accept my apology for my actions yesterday afternoon. My reaction, however justified, was uncalled for. I do hope you will agree to put the incident in the past, for the sake of peace among the staff.
Respectfully,
Severus Snape.
Short, to the point and still managing a fair degree of arrogance. Severus knew that such an apology would not meet Dumbledore's standards, but he was also willing to wager that the Headmaster would not be demanding to see the letter; he wouldn't even do that to students, and would certainly show more faith in his faculty members. Severus was swirling his quill in alcohol when the doors to the dungeons opened.
"You do have a good reason to be down here, I hope?" he asked, his tone bored, without even looking up. There was no response to his question, but a rhythmic clicking that sounded faintly familiar. Severus, however, was not one to show his curiosity most of the time, and, in an exercise in self-restraint, he refrained from looking up to see who had entered. "Well?" he asked, finally capping the ink and moving the letter nonchalantly to the bottom of the stack of parchment. He glanced up and his mouth went dry suddenly.
"I was hoping you would be in a better mood today," Aislinn commented as she came to a halt in front of his desk. "I had a few things I wished to discuss with you, but I've little interest in seeing you lose your temper again." She reached to his desk and picked up a bottle of cloudy gray liquid, which she held up to the light as though divining the contents by staring at it. "Is it a bad time?" she asked, sparing him a glance.
He stood, towering over her for once as his desk was on a platform, and leaned forward to pluck the bottle from her fingertips. "Really, Miss Ichalia," he chided silkily, "I would have credited you a better memory than that. There are things in this classroom which are not toys, and most potions fall into that category."
She smiled disarmingly. "Most potions are," she said, her voice carrying an air of concession, "but as I remember it, one of the side effects of the Impervial Potion was that it made bits of flower bounce if you soaked the petals in it. We had a great deal of fun bouncing peonies all over the Gryffindor Common Room when Miriam Gandabar snuck a vial of it out of class with her."
Severus frowned. How did she know that was Impervial Potion? No one could tell by looking; it appeared identical to a number of other potions and even a Potions Master could not tell the difference between that particular mixture and a number of other, far less pleasant ones. Including a substantial number of poisons. "How did you—" he began, and she smiled, irritatingly.
"I'm the Divination Teacher," she whispered, dropping her voice to an airy and misty imitation of Sybil Trelawney that made Severus guffaw in spite of his determination not to humor Aislinn with a laugh. "Besides," she continued in a more normal voice, "my years away from Hogwarts did not diminish my ability to read." She nodded at him, and Severus glanced over his shoulder at the chalkboard, where the words "Impervial Potion" were written clearly with instructions for how to make it.
He cleared his throat to cover his shame over the blunder. "Well," he noted dryly, "I do hope you use more advanced methods for discerning the contents of bottles before you partake of their contents. After all, it was a risk to assume this bottle contained the potion noted on the board."
Aislinn frowned slightly. "And what was I risking, Professor Snape?" she asked softly, though her voice held little by way of challenge. "I had no intention of drinking it, nor throwing it against the wall, nor even dropping peonies into it to see if they still bounced as well as I remember them. What was I risking?"
A curtain of silence descended between them for a moment, and Severus studied the young woman carefully. What risk indeed. She finally cleared her throat. "Actually," she began, "I was hoping to talk to you about yesterday…"
Any trace of an improvement in his mood left Severus' face at this announcement and he sighed, suddenly remembering that he really didn't want to be discussing anything with her. He'd managed to forget that during their little exchange. "Ah, yes," he replied softly, "I owe you an apology, don't I? Let's see…" He paused for a moment, making a great show of considering his words, blithely ignoring the narrowing of Aislinn's eyes. "I am supposed to apologize for… for what, precisely? For disarming your precious Jordan?"
Aislinn's nose twitched slightly, and her eyes darkened to a glittering indigo, nearly black, that would have challenged one of Severus' own dark glares. "You might well apologize for any number of things," she said icily, "but if you are not sincere, then please do not waste my time or your breath. I would like to believe we are old enough to not need the gratification of forced apologies." She folded her arms.
Severus moved from behind his desk, stepping down from the platform and coming to a halt at eye-level with her. Some part of his mind made the connection that since she was not taller than him, she was not wearing those deadly-looking spikes on her feet, which meant she could probably make a better and more graceful job of a hasty retreat than her last trip to the dungeon had awarded her. "And what, precisely, do I owe you an apology for?" he hissed, crossing his arms across his chest.
Something akin to anger flashed in her eyes. "My, Professor," she said mockingly, "how soon you forget. I, however, am in full possession of my memories, and I have a rather vivid memory of being called a bitch." She bit off the last word and then spun on her heels, apparently not waiting another second for him to apologize.
Severus was taken aback for a moment, and he tried to remember calling her anything of the sort. It took him a moment to realize what she was talking about, and a pang of guilt stabbed at him. "Aislinn, wait," he called at her quickly retreating back. "I do apologize for that. Really." He took a few steps towards her, but she did not stop. "Aislinn!" She still didn't stop. "Was that what you wanted to talk to me about? Aislinn!" In frustration, he reached out and grabbed her arm.
Nothing would have prepared him for her reaction, which was to spin around again, jerking away from him while delivering a solid slap to his face. The sound of it rang through the dungeons like a crack of a whip, and, shocked, Severus let go of her, touching his cheek. It didn't hurt so much as Jordan's punch had, but somehow, it was more painful by far. Made more painful by the woman who had delivered it.
Aislinn, however, seemed almost as surprised as he was. "I'm sorry," she whispered, suddenly hurrying back to him. "Let me see…" she reached up to his face, but he jerked away from her.
"Are we even, now?" he asked quietly, dropping his hand from his face and backing away from her. "Is that what you wanted? To lash out at me?"
She was shaking her head, taking a step towards him again. "No," she whispered. "I'm sorry, Severus. It's just that you grabbed me, and…"
He waved her protestations away. "I deserved it," he said, his voice taking on a tone that most people would have found dangerous. "We'll leave it at that."
"No," she said quietly and insistently, "you did not deserve it, and we won't leave it at that."
"Oh, excellent," Severus hissed. "You intend to dismember me. I have always looked forward to…"
"Will you shut the hell up?" she asked suddenly, and he was taken aback. "I came to have a serious discussion with you, a talk I feel we need to have. Is there some vague possibility that you can keep your mouth shut for ten seconds at a time?"
"I don't know," he shot back, "is there some possibility you can keep you hands—and claws—to yourself for ten seconds?"
She folded her arms pointedly and glared. He glared back.
Finally, she dropped her arms to her sides and sighed. "Is there somewhere we can sit and have a calm, rational discussion?" she asked.
He snorted softly. "I can provide a setting," he told her, "but I'm afraid that calm and rational are up to you.:"