The flickering fingers of firelight caressed the room, making it seem to glow richly, even in the night. Severus lay beside Aislinn, his head propped on his hand, watching her sleep. They'd started out the night in each other's arms, but at some point, she'd sighed softly and rolled a little way away from him, onto her stomach, her hair spread around her like a halo of copper-threaded ebony. Though she'd placed some distance between them, he couldn't help but smile at the way her leg was still draped over his, as though to reassure him that she wasn't trying to get away from him. Carefully, he reached a hand to her face and moved a lock of her hair aside, smiling at her sleeping profile. She looked almost sinfully young like that, with nothing covering her except the firelight and a satin sheet, her face relaxed for Morpheus and her sensuous lips parted slightly. The position of her head made her cheeks appear smoother and almost cherubic, and he longed to touch her again, but was loathe to wake her, so he settled for letting his eyes do the work his fingers longed for.

She murmured something in her sleep, and he frowned slightly, trying to decipher the muffled mutterings, but gave up. Whatever it was, he hoped it was nice. He hoped her dreams were being kind to her tonight. He carefully stroked one of the curls of hair that had spread over the pillow, watching her face for any sign that it might be disturbing her, and let his mind wander for a minute.

What did you do to deserve this? he asked himself. He had no idea. The truth was that Severus thought he deserved many things, but none of them so pleasant as a beautiful and vibrant young woman just inches from his body, sleeping peacefully in his presense. There was something about that that touched his heart in an unexpected way. It was, in essence, a sign of trust that she had rolled away from him and was so blissfully unaware of him; had she been truly afraid of him, she would never have been able to sleep so tranquilly.

Maybe, he thought idly, she is an angel, sent here to remind me that there could still be redemption. Maybe. It had been many years since Severus had believed anything outside the physical. The things he could touch and manipulate and control were easy for his mind to understand, but he had been a child the last time he believed there was some overriding force of good—or evil—that had any hand in matters on earth. He thought such ideas were quaint at best and blindly foolish at worst, but more and more, during the last few days especially, he found himself wondering if perhaps he was the blind fool. Aislinn stirred again, and Severus' hand stopped its reverent stroking of her hair for a moment, but she settled again and murmured unintelligibly once more. He resumed his careful caress.

And why shouldn't you believe in something beyond the physical? he wondered, picking up one of the silken strands and marvelling momentarily at how it curled around his fingertips, almost like devil's snare. Maybe I don't want to believe that there is anyone or anything that will hold me responsible for what I have done. Maybe I am hoping that my suffering here will be the end of it, and there will be no awareness when that suffering is done.

"No…" she whispered, shaking her head suddenly, and then burying her face in the pillow. "I don't want to…" Her protest was muffled, but clear, and Severus frowned slightly, wondering what was plaguing her mind. He let his fingers trace closer to her head, softly touching her neck through the veil of hair.

"Shhh…" he whispered, and it seemed to work, and she nuzzled closer to the pillows.

After a moment, his thoughts returned to their previous train. And what proof have you that anything exists beyond this world, anyway? It was an increasingly deep inner discussion, and perhaps a bit irreverent, lying here, as he was, his eyes smoldering with suppressed passion. He continued it anyway. And what proof do I need? Is it not proof enough that it is a belief that has lasted since the dawn of civilization? That, after all, is what separates early man from his bestial ancestors: the belief in something beyond the self. He had spent many an hour reading philosophy and history, subjects that intrigued him, but which he had always considered fundamentally useless. Passtimes, they were, and hobbies, but nothing more. And how many Muggles refuse to believe in magic? Obviously, the masses are not always right. It was a logical argument, but one he recognized and had a ready answer for. Ah, but they do, don't they? After all, it was no wizard who came up with wishing on stars, and no witch ever claimed a fat old man in a red suit could deliver toys to all the children around the world in one night. He smiled again at the sleeping figure beside him, and shook his head, making a mental note to ask her about Santa Claus again. And, what are all their gods, if not magic? Changing water into wine, or conjuring rains in the dessert, transforming themselves into eagles and dragons, preserving their spirits in embalming potions… Magic, Severus, whether they wish to believe it or not. One does not have to admit something exists to believe in it.

Ah, there was the crux of the issue. One need not admit to something to believe in it.

"No," Aislinn whispered, more firmly this time, "I don't want to…"

Severus let his fingers trail over her shoulder and then drape over her waist. He pulled her firmly against him, and whispered into her ear. "You don't have to." He'd half-expected her to wake, but she did not, and he found her nuzzling against him now, and all thoughts flitted from his head, replaced only by the heady awareness of her proximity. As she relaxed in his arms again, he shifted slightly, pulling her closer and rearranging his arm to a position he thought he could sleep with for the remainder of the night, and then closed his eyes, trying to ignore the soft heat of her body against his. While failing miserably at ignoring it, he did manage to control the urge to actually do anyting about it, and after a long, agonizing hour of painful awareness, he finally drifted back into an uneasy sleep.

It was some time midmorning when Aislinn finally drifted away from the cloud she'd been sleeping on and descended slowly back to earth. Consciousness came slowly, a process of gradually realizing that she was wrapped firmly in a pair of arms, and there was someone so close to her that she could feel every inch of his body against hers. It was a moment more before her mind came to the conclusion that it was Severus, and that it was a comfortable feeling. She closed her eyes again and snuggled closer to him, delighting in the feeling of his arms about her, and she stayed like that for nearly half an hour before the need to use the loo finally overcame the desire to stay precisely where she was.

Slowly, she attempted to wriggle away from him without waking him, but he had his arms locked around her in an iron-like grip, and one leg draped over her hip, effectively trapping her. Possessive, aren't we? she thought with some slight amusement. She made another abortive attempt to disentangle herself from him, but, if she didn't know better, she'd swear he was making a concentrated effort to keep her from leaving. She tried to pry his fingers apart so she could roll out of his arms, but they were clenched so tightly that she didn't think shackles could have held her more effectively.

After a moment of struggle, she looked over her shoulder to find his eyes open, watching her with a glimmer of amusement. Her face flushed indignantly. "Are you going to let go of me?" she asked, scowling.

He chuckled softly, and she tried to ignore the way the sound rumbled through his chest. "I might if you ask me to," he replied.

Aislinn collapsed against him again and sighed. "Severus, please," she begged. "I have to go to the bathroom!"

His grip only tightened around her, though she did note that he shifted his leg slightly, putting less pressure on her hips and capturing her thigh instead. "All you have to do is ask," he whispered into her ear, his breath sending an involuntary shiver up her spine.

She closed her eyes. "Please let me go," she said with a hint of long-suffering in her voice.

For a moment he was silent, then his grip loosened, and she rolled away from him. She scrambled to the edge of the bed and hissed as her feet hit the cold floor. When she passed the shock of icy stone, she shot him a smile over her shoulder. "Thank you," she said primly.

He bunched up a pillow and folded his arms over it, resting his chin on his wrists. "Any time," he replied, as though he'd just opened a difficult jar for her.

She sat there for a moment, then frowned slightly. "Are you going to watch me?" she challenged, and damn the man if he wasn't grinning at her.

"You think I'm going to see something this morning that I didn't see last night?" he asked, never taking his eyes off her.

Muttering under her breath, Aislinn jerked a blanket off the bed and wrapped it around her as she stood, and padded softly across the room, holding her head with as much dignity as she could muster and feeling his eyes following her. She shut the bathroom door firmly behind her. After she'd relieved herself, she moved over to the sink to wash her hands, and, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, cried out, horrified.

"Are you all right?" His voice sounded much closer than the bed, but, when she turned around, she was relieved to note that the door was still closed.

"Fine!" she replied, reaching for her hair brush and shoving it through her hair in a vain attempt to tame it. As she tried to jerk it past a particularly stubborn tangle, though, the hairbrush protested, and she hissed a curse as it flew out of her hand and hit a jar of bath salts, which hit the floor and promptly shattered. "Shit!"

"Aislinn?" his voice was just on the other side of the door now, and, as she knelt, trying hurriedly to pick up the broken glass, she shot back her reply.

"I'm fine!"

There was a pause, then his voice carried an uncharacteristic hesitance. "Can I come in?"

No, you can't come in, she thought irritably, biting back another curse as she tried to sweep some of the salt into her palm and came up with a handful of glass shards instead. "Why do you want to come in?" she called through the door, hopping to her feet again and cutting on the water. She shoved her hand under the sink and hissed as the salt and water combined and seeped into the cuts all over her hand.

There was another pause, and his voice sounded almost… embarrassed. "Roughly the same reason you wanted in there," he answered, and she paused for a minute, then muttered another curse.

She made a dive for the blanket which she'd dropped on the floor, and wrapped it hurriedly around her, wincing as an embedded shard of glass scratched against her thigh. She gave the broken glass one last pained look, then shoved her hand through her messy hair and took a deep breath before walking to the door, holding her head as high as she could manage. "Yes, of couse," she replied, opening the door, but, as luck would have it, her blanket was caught on the corner of the door, and when it opened, it took the scant covering with it, so that the sight Severus was presented with was a naked, bleeding woman with frizzy hair and a path of destruction behind her.

To his credit, he did not laugh.

He did, however, scrub a hand over his face, and she was certain that was his cover to keep from laughing.

"Mind the glass," she said primly, brushing past him, not facing him.

She made an effort to dress while he was in there, but found that the glass in her hand was more pressing, so, when he re-emerged, she was still nude, sitting on the bench in front of her dressing table now and squinting at the splinters of glass in her hand, picking at them with a pair of tweezers.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are an accident waiting for a place to happen?"

Aislinn didn't even look up. "Not in so many words," she replied tartly, and, to her irritation, he did laugh that time.

She felt his presence behind her, and he took the tweezers from her, bending over her shoulder. "Allow me," he offered softly, and with a sigh, she relinquished her hand to him.

It only took him a minute to remove all the glass, and then he helped her to her feet. "Will you let me clean up that glass, please?" he asked quietly, his fingers caressing her face. "You don't seem to have much luck with it."

Her face was burning, and she shrugged as she turned away from him. "Whatever suits your fancy," she replied, heading to her bureau and opening a drawer. She was expecting him to say something, but she heard nothing, and after a moment of the silence, turned to face him again, but he wasn't there. He was in the bathroom, his wand pointed at the floor, muttering spells that gathered the glass and salt and lifted it into the wastebasket.

Aislinn turned her attention back to finding clothes, feeling that if she could just get dressed she'd have some of her composure back. A moment later, though, she felt an arm snaking around her waist, and, as she turned to look at him, there was not so much as a smile on his face.

"I didn't mean to criticize," he said softly.

Sure you did. She kept the thought to herself, though, and sighed softly. "It doesn't matter," she replied, making an effort at keeping her voice light. "I must say I'm not at my best in the morning. Things bother me a bit more before I've had my first cup of tea."

He brushed her hair from her face. "I have no complaints," he whispered, and she felt a moment of panic as he leaned forward to kiss her. She pulled away from him suddenly, acutely aware that she hadn't brushed her teeth yet.

"I…" she began, looking franticly for an excuse, but coming up short.

He smiled, a tight smile that didn't look nearly as genuine as the ones from the last two days had. "You needn't explain," he said quietly. "I'll be out of here in a moment."

She sank back to the bench and watched as he gathered his clothes, shrugging into his trousers and shirt and draping the rest of them over his arm. He picked up his boots, not bothering to put them on, and looked at the door, as though trying to decide if he really wanted to open it.

Don't let him walk out of here like this! Her mind was screaming at her, insisting that if he left now, under these circumstances, that they were even further back than where they'd started yesterday. She caught her lip between her teeth, frozen to the spot as he seemed to make up his mind and reached for the door.

"Severus, wait!" she suddenly bolted up and towards him. He paused, his hand on the doorknob. "I…" she cast wildly about for something to say, something besides the panicked plea to not leave.

"Yes?" he asked, his voice very nearly as cold as it always was with the students, and she cringed inwardly.

"I just… I just wanted to thank you," she finally managed, then rushed to explain as he raised an eyebrow. "For last night. And yesterday. And the night before. I…" she trailed off again, and bit her lip. "I've really enjoyed it."

He let go of the door, and leaned against it, still holding his clothes. "You're welcome," he replied after a moment. "If we do this again, though, I'll make sure I'm gone well before morning."

"What?" she asked, genuinely confused.

He snorted derisively. "It's obvious you don't want to face me in the morning light," he replied softly. "And I can't say I blame you. It must be much easier when the darkness conceals me."

She stared at him blankly for a moment, then shook her head. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said truthfully, "but I think you have it wrong, whatever it is."

"What's wrong with you?" he asked quietly, and she might have taken offense had it been in a slightly more accusatory tone.

"I told you," she replied, "I'm not a morning person."

"Neither am I, particularly," he said softly, "but I could have enjoyed this morning with you."

She blushed softly. "I…" she began, and then started again. "I think I could enjoy a morning with you too," she admitted quietly, "if I could have half an hour to prepare to face it first." He frowned at her, and she sighed, shrugging a bit. "I told you, Severus, I'm not at my best in the morning. I can barely walk in a straight line, my hair's a mess, I didn't take off my make up last night so what isn't on a pillowcase somewhere is smeared all over my face, I need a shower and a cup of coffee and to brush my teeth…" she trailed off again. "And to get dressed. Even if my clothes don't stay on for ten minutes, I need to put them on," she whispered, folding her arms protectively across her breasts. "I just…"

He smiled at her again, and reached for her. She took the few steps to stand beside him. "You're beautiful just like you are," he whispered, taking her face in his hand and holding it so she could not turn away. "You look like a woman who slept well after a tousle in bed, and, seeing as I'm the man you tousled with, I can't imagine you looking any better than you do right now." He let go of her face and brushed the hair from her eyes again. "And I know that the next time I see you, you'll be composed again, and your hair will be neat and you'll be wearing makeup that I can't see and won't know is there until I try to kiss you and taste something, and you'll be wearing those shoes that give you a height advantage over me again." He was smiling as he said that, and Aislinn felt a smile creep across her face, in spite of her determination not to. "But if I want to remember you as truly beautiful, making my heart stop, I will remember you like this." He caressed her face, and she turned her face into his hand.

He tilted her face up, and leaned down, just slightly, and this time she fought the urge to duck away from him as his lips closed over hers. It was a soft, gentle, brief kiss, and then he stepped back. "I'll see you later?" he asked, and she nodded, the smile still plastered idiotically across her face.

She stepped aside as he opened the door and slipped into the corridor. As the door clicked shut behind him, she whispered at it, "I love you."