Why, Egypt, if I didn't know better, I might think you were insinuating something about my sweet little Aislinn ;)
Thank you all for your reviews.
"I trust," Severus began, lifting one hand to gesture vaguely towards the back of the dungeons, "that your astounding memory remembers the way to my office?"
Something he couldn't identify flitted across Aislinn's face, then she nodded. "Of course," she replied, making a good show of light-heartedness. There was, however, a hint of apprehension in her voice.
"Then, by all means." Severus took a step forward, one hand sweeping in front of him. She took his cue and walked a few steps in front of him to the door at the back of the classroom where his office was located, and then paused. He reached in front of her and opened the door, ushering her inside, and she stood just in the doorway, waiting on him. "Lumos," he breathed into the still and silent room, and candlelight flooded it, sparkling off the neat rows of jars and bottles that lined the bookshelves. She looked around slowly, and for an uncomfortable moment, Severus felt almost as though he were being stripped to the bones by her discerning gaze. "Please," he motioned towards a chair, "have a seat."
She took a couple of hesitant steps forward, then stopped abruptly and whirled to face him, her halt so sudden that he very nearly ran into her before catching himself. "Before we sit," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "there's something I want to get off my chest."
He barely had time to register her words before she stepped towards him and flung her arms around him, wrapping him in a tight embrace. He stood there, stiff as a board and shocked beyond measure, not really sure what to do next. It was certainly not the first hug he'd ever had, and likely not the fiercest, though he couldn't remember a more intense embrace, but it was the first hug he'd had in a good many years. For a long, awkward moment, he hadn't the slightest idea how to respond to it.
At length, though, he lifted his arms, and touched her back lightly before jerking his hands away from her, then touched her back again, finally snaking his arms around her as well. He was still stiff as a corpse, and patting her hair awkwardly, not sure what had brought any of this on, but she suddenly shifted her arms, and gathered him even closer somehow. And as she did that, he had little choice but to shift his own arms, and finally they were holding each other. He found his grip tightening about her, though he'd no conscious knowledge of doing it. She leaned her head onto his shoulder, and dropped one arm to his waist, the other braced across his shoulders, and finally, after long moments, he felt himself relaxing in her arms. For which he was rewarded with a brief squeeze so tight that it might have been uncomfortable had it lasted any length of time.
His disjointed patting of her hair had turned into a smoother gesture, his fingers twining themselves in the soft dark locks. He fumbled for a moment with the clasp holding her hair up, and released it, inhaling the soft, fresh scent that tumbled down with the gently curling waves, warm and slightly damp still. Closing his eyes, he relinquished the last of his defenses to her, and she began to rub her hand in a small circle on his back. The embrace seemed to last an eternity, and when she finally loosened her arms about him, he very nearly refused to let her go. He forced himself to, though, and took a step back from her, confused but oddly content. And left with something of a dull, happy ache that wished desperately for such contact once more.
She took his hands for a moment, squeezing both of them and smiling at him. "I've wanted to do that for a month," she confessed.
He could only nod and offer her a weak half-smile. "I… um… yes." He took a deep breath, trying to piece together his composure, and then offered the hair clasp he'd taken from her hair, not saying a word as she took it from him and then gathered the increasingly curling strands back and winding them gracefully back into a loose twist, which she secured with the clasp. It looked somehow less austere now, having been let down once, and wisps were already tightening into graceful, tight spirals. She seated herself in the chair he'd offered a moment before, and he cleared his throat softly, clearing his head as well. "What was it you wanted to discuss?" he asked softly, seating himself behind the desk, almost grateful to put a barrier between himself and her since he couldn't seem to convince his defenses to reconstruct themselves.
Aislinn suddenly took a deep interest in the backs of her hands. She took a deep breath, and Severus could almost feel her bracing herself for something unpleasant. The pause lengthened, and silence descended between them, awkward and uncomfortable for Severus at least after the fierce closeness of the embrace they'd shared only moments before.
"I…" she began, then stopped, closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. "I probably shouldn't have done that," she said softly, as though almost to herself. Severus wanted to protest that he certainly did not regret her actions, and she could do it again any time she felt inclined. He didn't speak, though, but kept quiet and let her continue. "It makes it a bit more difficult to say what I need to say," she was continuing, and that made him frown slightly.
"Indeed," he said blandly, a sense of unease beginning to rise in his throat.
She took another deep breath, and he was afraid for a moment that she was going to wait another five minutes before speaking, but she seemed to be forcing herself onward. "I…I hope I'm not reading you wrong," she said quietly, then frowned. "Or maybe I hope I am," she speculated. "But, regardless, I want you to realize, Severus, that I have good intentions. For whatever that may be worth. And if I am wrong… I'd just rather be wrong but still have said it than right and not have said it, if that makes sense?"
He stared at her blankly. Sense? There was supposed to be something that made sense in that? He shook his head almost imperceptibly. "No," he replied, "I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about."
She sighed again, and took yet another deep breath. "I keep getting the impression that you have an interest in me that surpasses friendship or professional interest between colleagues," she said, the whole sentence coming out in such a rush that it took a moment for Severus' mind to catch up to her tongue. "I never meant to lead you to believe that I was trying to cultivate that interest," she was saying, and her words were beginning to sound hollow, distant, like the echo of bells ringing in the fog. "I only ever meant to encourage you as a friend, not one thing more." Understanding was beginning to shove its ugly head to break free from the confusion and numbness that was threatening to engulf him. "I know how it must look," she was saying, no longer looking at him, "but you have to believe me, I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted…" she faltered for a moment, then finished resolutely "I wanted to be your friend."
Well, Severus, this has to be a new level of rejection. Rejection from a woman you never even pursued. You held your tongue and kept your distance for fear of this very situation, and didn't avoid one unpleasant word of it. Congratulations. It was a dry, sardonic inner voice that held no mercy. He closed his eyes.
He must have held his eyes closed longer than he'd realized, or else the silence had begun to affect Aislinn the way it had him earlier, because he could hear her fidgeting. He could almost hear her mind working, looking for something to say.
"I…" she began, confirming his suspicions, "I hope that perhaps it isn't too much to hope that we might still be friends…" she suggested quietly.
Friends, he thought bitterly. Aloud, he sneered, "Of course. And perhaps when that prick Mickery is unavailable to siphon your attention, we can have tea and crumpets while you tell me how wonderful he is. Because that's what this is about, isn't it?"
Her silence was unreadable this time, and he looked at her. She was sitting perfectly still, breathing very slowly as though trying to restrain some sort of emotional outburst. When she spoke again, her voice was shaking slightly. "I'm afraid," she said quietly, "that you have you assumptions wrong. There is no more between Mickery and myself than there is between you and me. Which is to say nothing."
His sneer became more pronounced. "Ah," he whispered bitterly, "you're turning me down, despite the fact that I never proposed anything, for a man whose heart you can't even catch."
Aislinn's eyes flashed indignantly. "You are making some false assumptions," she told him tightly. "I have no interest in Jordan Mickery, not that it's really any of your business. I have no interest in anyone. The very last thing I need in my life right now is a man who thinks he owns me." Her statement was so blunt and forceful that Severus had no choice but to wonder if it mightn't be true. If it was true, though, he couldn't understand her motivations for even a moment. After all, he ached so desperately at times to find a complement to his soul that he couldn't even comprehend that anyone might legitimately not desire the same.
"Of course," he said with mock graciousness. "It is obvious from the way that you throw yourself at him that you've no desire to be anything but friends."
"The way I throw myself at him?" Her voice was rising suddenly, in timber and volume. "What are you implying?" she demanded. "Are you saying that because I have a cup of cider with him that I'm beckoning him to my bed? Are you suggesting that a walk by the lake is an act of lustful desperation?"
"Are you telling me that when I find him with his arm around your waist that that is an act of platonic friendship?" His voice was every bit as demanding as hers, and he could feel his own ire starting to rise. "Do not insult my intelligence," he spat.
Aislinn stared at him for a long moment, a quiet moment. When she did speak, her voice was hard and cold as ice. "I did read you wrong," she hissed. "Very wrong indeed." And, having made that proclamation, she stood, and stalked out of his office without so much as another word to him, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the shelves.
"Well," Aislinn muttered to herself as she stalked her way out of the dungeons. "That is obviously what you get for trying to do the right thing." She didn't know why she was so angry, really, and she didn't know why she wasn't far angrier than she was. She had an inexplicable urge to cry, and she wanted to run to her rooms and pack her bags and leave on the next train that departed from Hogwarts. Or apparate herself to Brazil. Or the moon. The farther away, the better, she was convinced of it, and yet, at the same time, she wanted nothing more than to find a place to curl up and die in peace now that she'd finally managed to make a total ass of herself.
She stumbled her way blindly back to her rooms and pushed open the door, a great shuddering gasp wrenching itself from her throat as she collapsed against the wall, sliding to the floor and leaning her head into her knees. Why? she questioned herself ferociously, why is it that you are forever running? Will you ever stop? She didn't have to answer herself; she knew the answer and had known it for years—she had not lied to Severus about not wanting to be in a relationship with anyone, because relationships were simply to excruciating. Love was a torture, a prison. Falling in love was a painful process of allowing herself to be so enraptured by someone else that she lost who she was, and became who he wanted her to be, and when he left, she was always left with nothing.
Her head was beginning to pound and spin, the room tilting dizzyingly about her, and she whimpered softly. She heard a distant knocking sound, and whispered a weak protest as her door opened, but she was only vaguely aware that someone was coming into her room, and then speaking to her. "It's just a headache," she managed to protest weakly, hoping that was an appropriate answer to the question she'd not been able to discern. "Just a headache."
A sensation of weightlessness ensued, and then a soft engulfing, and with an appreciative murmur, she recognized her bed, and rolled into the soft warmth of the blankets and sheets. She was aware of being moved, one way and then another, of cold air caressing her body suddenly, and then satin sheets slipping over her skin. And then a soft kiss on her forehead, and a murmur that sounded reassuring even if she could assign meaning to the sounds she knew for words.
She was alone then, and her eyes closed, her head pounding for a moment and then feeling as though it were being compressed in a clamp, and then that replaced with a disjointed, detached feeling followed by a sharp pain which faded into a pounding and the cycle began again. Eternity and seconds were meaningless to her as she lay there, and then she heard the door open again, and heard voices. She was lifted gently, and then there was a hand behind her head and a cup pressed against her lips.
"Drink." That she recognized as Severus' voice, his command, and she shook her head slightly and grimaced at the sloshing sensation in her brain.
"Just a headache," she protested softly.
"I know," came his voice again, seeming to drift far away from her. "But this will help ease the pain." There was a sensation of weightlessness again, and the once more the liquid touched her lips, and she sipped at the contents of the cup. He persisted, and sip by sip, drop by drop, the liquid—which she began to realize was wine—slithered into her mouth and down her throat. As she took the last sips, she was vaguely aware that there were at least four people in her room. Jordan was the one supporting her, and Poppy Pomfrey was the one holding the cup to her lips. Minerva sat on the side of her bed, holding one of her hands, and Severus stood at the foot of the bed, a vial in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.
"All of you, out," Madame Pomfrey was ordering them all from the room, for which Aislinn was eternally grateful. She felt the pillow meet her head, and sighed softly as she sank into the satin softness, and murmured incoherently as blankets were drawn up around her. Minerva squeezed her hand again, and Jordan patted her face, and they were both gone. Severus was speaking to Madame Pomfrey, and she could hear only snatches of what he was saying.
"…doesn't like hospitals…has these headaches often…offered to make more potion…"
Poppy was nodding, studying her, and Aislinn closed her eyes, her childlike instincts taking over momentarily. If I can't see you, you can't see me.
"Perhaps it would be wise…" she was saying, and Aislinn opened her eyes again.
She felt a pressure on her foot, and looked to the foot of the bed, where Severus was squeezing the toes of her left foot through the blankets. "Get some rest," he suggested quietly, then turned to leave.
I'm sorry, she directed the thought at him, futile though it was. As she closed her eyes and surrendered to the seductive arms of sleep—enhanced, no doubt, by something other than a painkiller in the wine—she found herself drifting away with the thought that despite his best efforts, Severus Snape was a good man.