As he held her, Severus came to the slow realization that she was not shaking, and not making any noise at all. He stroked her hair, almost absently, wondering if she was all right and not really wanting to disrupt her, and utterly bewildered as to what had set her off to begin with. He'd been attempting humor, but it had obviously not worked. Except that she had laughed. Which would suggest it had worked, but now she was crying and… and that led him right back where he started. And regardless, he was increasingly unsure that she was crying anyway now; when the girls in Slytherin cried it was always a noisy affair, full of incoherent sobs that made him step quietly out of the room and send a note to the girl by way of one of the House Elves that if she needed to discuss something with him, his door was open. Unsurprisingly, he'd never had one of them take him up on the offer. Unsurprising and not the slightest disappointing; Severus was no paternal figure and he didn't try to be and didn't desire to be. It was only duty that compelled him to even offer an ear.
Aislinn, of course, was not one of the Slytherin girls. She was very different from any of the girls he'd ever seen in his own House, when he was a student or when he was the Head. She was certainly nothing like Narcissa Malfoy or Bellatrix Lestrange or the other women in their league. Aislinn had a genuineness that was, by turns, refreshing and terrifying. Never once, he realized, had he wondered if she was being honest with him. He may have wondered if she had ulterior motives, and he might have often wondered where she was going with something, but he'd never had to question her truthfulness. If she told him tomorrow that the sky had turned orange, he thought he might be rather more inclined to believe it than not. Not, of course, that he would ever tell her that.
In fact, the more he thought of it, Severus thought that she reminded him somewhat of Lily Potter. Only she'd been Lily Evans when he'd known her, and she'd had that big, genuine smile and a mouth that could flay a fish, and a stubborn streak a mile wide and a fiercely protective instinct that, as he got older, Severus thought he admired. He'd hated Lily Evans in as much as one could manage to hate such a pretty, vibrant and energetic girl. He'd held her in disdain as only a Slytherin could hold a Muggle-born in disdain. Odd, how that had seemed so important to him twenty years ago; now he didn't think he would know which of the students were Purebloods or not unless someone made a point of telling him. Which someone always did.
She shifted slightly in his arms, and he loosened his embrace a bit, regretting it when she pulled away from his. Her eyes were dry, and she didn't look particularly like she'd been crying for the last five minutes, but she was smiling now, and her eyes were a little brighter than normal. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly, and she nodded, looking slightly embarrassed.
"I'm sorry," she apologized softly, "I just…"
Severus shook his head and took her advice from earlier, leaning close and capturing her lips with his. An uncharacteristically impulsive action on his part, and, as her eyes widened, he belatedly remembered that they were supposed to be 'just friends' again. Well, you might as well enjoy the fruits of your blunder, he thought, and wound a hand into her hair. After a moment, she slid her hands onto his shoulders and was pulling him closer again. Memo to self: try this again some time; she doesn't seem to be objecting overly much.
When he finally pulled away from her—and he made a point to be the one to pull back from the kiss—he spoke before she had the chance to. "Never apologize to me for being honest with your heart," he whispered, lifting a hand, his fingers curling lightly against his palm, and brushing her cheek with the back of his fingertips. "And," he continued softly, "I'm sorry… I already forgot that we were…"
Her fingertips against his lips stopped his words, and she was smiling. "Don't apologize for that," she replied. "I don't want to spend forever apologizing for…" she trailed off, a meaningful pause descending. It might have been an uncomfortable silence, and there was a tension between them that he thought he could touch. And he was acutely aware, suddenly, that they were alone in the dungeons, and the possibility of anyone coming down there at this time of day on a Saturday was exceedingly slim. Tempting.
Severus stepped back from her suddenly, before temptation had a chance to take control of his actions. He walked to the cauldron where his Calming Potion was still simmering, and peered inside, then stirred it gently with the glass rod. He held the rod up, and let some of it drip from the end, and, nodding to himself, pointed his wand at the bottom of the cauldron, dousing the flames. "I need to bottle this," he told her, nodding at the cauldron, and she nodded in return.
"Can I help?" she offered, and he paused for a moment, looking a bit doubtful. If wine was delicate, then Calming Potion was fragile, and he couldn't imagine how the both of them would fill bottles from the same cauldron, anyway.
"You can carry one of the trays of bottles," he replied, and she nodded, reaching up to her hair and letting it down, then winding it back into its knot again. They made their silent procession into the supply room and he opened one of the cupboards, pointing at the top shelf. "Those bottles," he told her, moving off to another cupboard to retrieve other supplies. He watched her for a moment, vaguely impressed as she reached easily to the top shelf and pulled the bottles down two at a time. It was so odd to see a woman able to reach things he could only barely reach himself.
"How many?" she asked.
He retrieved a ladle and a funnel from one cupboard and was pulling down a pair of trays now. "Two dozen," he replied, glancing over his shoulder. She already had a dozen or so on the countertop, and paused to count, her fingers lightly touching each of the flasks in turn. He turned back to his own tasks, and picked up a small box of stoppers, then gathered the equipment and joined her, moving the flasks to the trays. They worked in silence for a moment, and then he picked up one of the trays. "Are you all right with that tray?" he asked, hooking his fingers around the ladle and funnel.
She nodded and picked it up, then, to his horror, balanced it on one hand as she picked up the bottle of stoppers. His mouth opened to protest, but she was already walking back into the classroom, and he snapped his lips shut, staring for a moment. The bottles weren't even clinking, she held the tray so steady. With a slight shrug and a mental note to keep her from doing that once they were full, he followed her back to the table where the cauldron was cooling. He dropped a funnel into one of the bottles, then dipped the ladle into the potion and filled the flask, handing it to her. "Put a stopper in it," he instructed unnecessarily, and they settled into a companionable silence .
Most of the tension had dissolved by the time they were half through, and suddenly Aislinn frowned at the flask he'd just given her. "This one isn't as full as the others," she told him, holding it up. "Does that matter?"
He looked at it, and frowned. She hadn't even put the flask on the table with the others; how could she know it wasn't as full? He took it from her and set it beside another of the flasks, having every intention of retorting that it was filled to the same level as the others were. But she was right, he noted, and, without a word he reinserted the funnel and added a bit more potion. "Is that better?" he asked sardonically, putting it back in her hands, and to his amusement, she held it up to eye level again and scrutinized the level of the liquid.
"Yes," she proclaimed after a moments' study, and put a stopper in it deftly, then set it aside with the other bottles. Severus frowned slightly and bent to check the level himself, not trusting her eyeballing it. It was level with the others.
"How do you do that?" he asked as he straightened, reaching for another bottle.
"Do what?"
"Eye the liquid level without comparing it to the other flasks?" He handed her another flask, and she put a stopper in it.
"Same way I eyeball pictures when I'm hanging them," she replied, suddenly smiling. "I'm just that good."
He snorted softly, but couldn't help but agree with her. They finished the bottling of the potions in silence, and, deciding to take a proactive stance, Severus pointed at the empty cauldron and the dirty ladle and funnel. "Can you take those?" he asked, picking up one of the trays, and she nodded, dumping the ladle and funnel into the cauldron. He led the way back to the supply room, and hurriedly put down the tray of flasks then pointed at the sink. "Do you want to start running the water?" he asked, and couldn't help but notice that she was grinning.
"If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were trying to prevent me from carrying any of those bottles," she teased him, but she was already turning on the water. "Chivalry, or fear I'll drop your precious potion?" She added detergent to the water and walked towards him, an eyebrow raised inquisitively.
He opened his mouth to protest (despite her words being uncannily true) but she stopped him from speaking by placing a kiss squarely on his mouth. His eyes opened wide in surprise this time, but before he'd even had the time to move past the shock, she was pulling away again, her eyes sparkling mischievously.
"Go get those flasks!" she ordered, so harshly that he would have taken offense were it not for the laughter that threatened to invade her. He turned to go, however, but a sudden slap against his bum made him jump and he just stood there for a moment, not turning around, and the silence between them was suddenly not so companionable anymore.
To her credit, when Severus turned around, Aislinn looked as though she realized she'd just overstepped an unspoken boundary, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth for a moment before smoothing her expression. He waited another moment before he spoke, a moment to ensure he would not be snapping her head off when he did. "Please," he said softly, his voice cold and with no note of pleading in it, "Do not do that again."
She opened her mouth as though to say something, but appeared to change her mind, and nodded mutely. Severus removed himself to the table where the last tray of flasks was sitting, and he took a moment to steady himself before he picked it up and headed back toward the supply room. Don't overreact, he chastised himself. Don't frighten her away from you. That is not the way to go about finding more than 'friendship' with her.
When he entered the supply room again, she was up to her elbows in soapy water again, a cloth in one hand and the ladle in the other. Placing the tray of flasks on the counter beside the first, Severus crossed the cramped room to stand behind her, and, almost impulsively, circled his arms around her waist. "I'm sorry I snapped at you," he whispered against her ear, and she made a gesture he couldn't have explained that felt almost like a hug despite the fact that her hands—and therefore her arms—were occupied in the water.
"I'm sorry, too," she replied, craning her head to look at him, their noses practically touching. "I wasn't thinking." She reached a damp, sudsy hand up to pat his cheek, and then bent back to her scrubbing again.
For a moment, he considered staying where he was, but he was still keenly aware that they were supposed to be 'just friends', and that 'just friends' did not normally nuzzle each others' necks while washing up after making calming potions. "Here, let me do that," he said, taking a step back from her, and rolling up his own sleeves. "I think you've done more than your share of washing up today," he told her, and she shrugged slightly.
He pulled the cauldron over and began scrubbing it clean, and Aislinn moved to pick up the towel, drying the ladle, but her eyes were on him. The silence became awkward, and her stare became nearly tangible, making him self-conscious as he scrubbed the cauldron one last time before rinsing it clean. While he was rinsing, she moved to pick up the cloth they'd been washing with and wrung it until it was only damp, then wiped down the counters and let out the water. As Severus dried the cauldron, he felt her eyes on him once more, and when he turned to look at her again, she was standing a few feet away, watching him with what he would swear was wariness. Her arms were folded in front of her, and every time he moved, her eyes followed him. As he tipped the cauldron onto a wedge of wood so it could dry in the air, he began to feel she was weighing him visually, and if she was, he couldn't imagine that he weighed up very well. He dried his hands on the towel and turned to her, leaning against another counter, half the room and a wall of silence between them.
"Is something wrong?" he asked, though the answer was fairly obvious. There was something wrong, and he had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with their little exchange from moments before.
She was quiet for a moment, but he could nearly see the wheels turning in her head. She was thinking about something, and thinking hard, and choosing her words, he thought. Not a good sign. An hour earlier, they'd been speaking freely and honestly, but not two dozen words since he had let go of her. Finally, she seemed to reach a conclusion, and an instant later, she nodded. Thankfully, she didn't make him ask, but her question momentarily caught him off-guard with its simplicity.
"Why?" she asked softly.
His mind raced, looking for exactly what she was wanting from him, not wanting to give more than she was asking but wanting to satisfy her enough to make her believe that he was being open and honest. He couldn't believe that she meant anything other than his reaction to her playful smack from earlier, but that wasn't something he particularly wanted to discuss. "I…" he began, then faltered. "I suppose it reminded me of my childhood," he replied, and turned away from her. "My father… it's just hard to think of certain things as amusing, I guess, when…" He trailed off again for a moment, and took a deep breath. "I suppose I've taken one too many blows that were not in good fun to be appreciative of them…"
Had he been facing her, he might have seen the utter confusion on her face, and possibly spared himself an explanation she didn't need. His explanation was interrupted by her hand on his back, and when he turned to look at her, there was sympathy in her eyes. "No," she whispered, "not that. I realized almost as soon as I'd done it that I should not have, and why. You told me about your father, remember?"
He nodded, confused. Then what was she…? As though in answer to his unspoken question, she took his left hand, and lifted his arm, then traced her fingertips over the mark on his forearm.
"This," she whispered, and as her fingers touched the black image, he thought he felt her recoil a bit, but she kept her eyes on his. He cringed inwardly.
Pulling his hand away from her, he set about the task of rolling down his sleeves again, his mind racing and heart pounding. "Aislinn," he sighed at last, folding his arms again. "You have to realize that there are things I cannot tell you."
She leaned against the counter beside him, and he couldn't help but think that his covering the Dark Mark had set her at ease somehow. She was nodding. "Of course," she replied, her voice light but her eyes still watching him warily. "There are things I cannot—or rather will not—tell you. I'm not asking you to tell me those things you cannot share, only the ones you can."
He sighed again, though part of his mind was piqued by her subtle suggestion that she might have secrets of her own. He put the thought from his head, though, needing all his attention focused on answering her question without compromising his position. At length, he came to a conclusion. "Would you care to go for a walk, Aislinn?" he asked, and, when she gave him a confused look he held up his hands. "On my honor, if you believe I have any, I only intend to talk to you. Somewhere away from the castle, where we are less likely to be overheard or interrupted." The look she gave him was like a dagger to his heart, full of doubt and mistrust, but she nodded slowly.
"Very well," she whispered.