Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any member of the Harry Potter universe. They belong to the estimable JK Rowling and I am infinitely grateful for her letting us borrow them to play with a bit.

Chapter Eight: Problems Falling from the Sky

Snape was certain of it now. For some unfathomable reason, that woman was after him. What else was he to think when she actually showed up at the entrance to his quarters with a goddamned pie in her hands?

"The house elves said you had a fondness for chocolate." She had said, proffering the pastry. What else was he to do but take it? The whole incident had come as a bit of a surprise as it was. She had hesitated, but at that point he had found his recently absent personality and closed the door on her.

A pie. A bloody pie. He stared at it with a suspicion usually reserved for his fellow Death Eaters. "Retegere." The pie remained unchanged. It didn't mean the thing was safe, simply that she hadn't done anything to it by magical means. No hexes to make his stomach turn upside down, no curses to make his tongue fall out. That still, of course, left poisons of the more mundane variety.

Three hours later with a much put upon confectionary, Snape sat back with a very confused look on his sallow features. Other than an excess of sucrose which could easily be attributed to a sweet tooth- on his table sat a perfectly normal chocolate cream pie. A gift, from a beautiful young woman. Almost against his will, he reached out one long-fingered hand and dipped into the filling. His fingers were to his lips before he could rethink what was sure to be a disastrous mistake- and then he didn't care. His loud groan of pleasure echoed around the laboratory.

"Bloody hell that's good."

The remainder of the pie disappeared within minutes.

As Snape rather contentedly licked the tips of his fingers to remove any trace of the vestiges of chocolate, he thought back to when he had answered his door.

Desdemona- holding a pie… yes, that was odd, but something else was tickling the back of his memory. Her hair had been pulled back… sensible. No jewellery…. What was it that had seemed so out of place? Wearing plain black ro-

Snape sat bolt upright. Although he hadn't noticed, those robes were the only thing she had had on. What had at the time seemed bizarre suddenly seemed almost sinister.

The next day it was with no small amount of trepidation that Severus Snape made his way down to dinner. As usual, Professor Forasen sat next to his chair, but for the first time he took note of what she looked like. Her usual scarlet robes had been traded in for a more austere wine colour, and her hair was piled on top of her head in what seemed a careless manner.

His ego, absent for many years, chose this rather inopportune time to reassert itself.

She wants you mate, no doubt of that.

I beg your pardon? Severus shot back in mental disbelief as he made his way around the table.

Look at her, all tarted up. She's after you.

Somehow I sincerely doubt that.

Really? Then why is she showing up at your quarters in the middle of the night with nothing on but a smile and a pastry?

Snape glanced at the woman in question beneath lowered brows as he slid into his chair next to her. I don't know, but I intend to find out.

Desdemona hesitated to speak to the man next to her after his rather… abrupt… dismissal of her the night before.

"Did you enjoy the pie?" she asked finally at the end of dinner.

"It was adequate," came his curt reply.

"Adequate." she mumbled under her breath as she looked down at her burnt fingers. It had seemed like cheating to ask the house elves to make the pie, and so she had suffered not only their interference, but her own ineptitude as well. It hadn't helped that she had too much pride to ask Madame Pomfrey to heal burn wounds earned in the line of duty.

"Adequate," she mumbled again, not noticing the half of a smirk that had found its way onto Snape's lips.

She was shocked back to reality when the man in question commented, "Yes, Mr. Filch assures me it met with his tastes-"

She cut him off, "Mr. Filch? You gave it to Mr. Filch?"

Snape raised an eyebrow at her. "Yes I did," he lied without giving the slightest hint at doing so.

"Why you…" she bit out, her knuckles tightening around the cutlery in her hand.

"My dear, I have doubts that taking your completely unjustified anger out on me at the High Table is entirely appropriate." This statement was accompanied by him laying his hand over hers, trapping her wrist to the table.

"I don't," she hissed.

His fingers tightened around her entrapped hand, "And why are you so upset? I'm sure the house elves could care less if I…"

"I made that damn pastry," she snapped, jerking against him.

He didn't budge, "You did?"

"Yes I did, now let go of my or I swear by all that is holy I'll…"

"And what compelled you to produce any type of baked good for me?"

"Momentary insanity," she snapped back.

Snape's smirk became even more apparent as he mulled over this new information. For some reason, this woman wanted to get close to him. And he was old enough, lecherous enough and quite nearly desperate enough to take her up on it. The thought was a sobering one, but only for a moment. Other than her apparent lack of mental capabilities, he could think of no reason not to take her up on her offer. Well, that and his own inherent dislike of people. And of course, there was that other concern. By Draco's telling of it, Lucius believed that either she or Professor Callistas were a Death Eater. If he could either confirm or eliminate Desdemona….

The Great Hall was nearly empty, and so Snape risked being seen friendly with another professor. He leaned in closer to her, close enough to growl in her ear, "It was delicious."

"What was?"

He sat back, releasing her wrist from his grip. "The pie."

Desdemona was left sitting dumbstruck in her chair as Snape made his way from the hall. Then a smile slowly formed its way across her lips.

His groin or his stomach. She silently chuckled as she rose to leave as well.

Something was very, very wrong.

Draco sat in the Slytherin commons, one arm propped negligently on the leg drawn up into the overstuffed chair. His owl had been commandeered by his father to send out invitations for some gathering or other at Malfoy Manor- but that was nothing new. Crabbe and Goyle could be heard playing 'Wand-Potion-Parchment' in the corner- a game made more interesting by the addition of physical violence and both boys unwillingness to choose 'Parchment'. Again, this was nothing new.

What was new was the problem had fallen into his arms this afternoon while he had meandered his way from class. As he had traversed the grand stairwell a painting had grabbed his attention. He looked up in time to see a student- a rather preoccupied student- walk off the end of a set of stairs that was in motion.

The instincts that had earned him the title of prefect took over. "Impedimenta!" he had cried, diving across the floor to catch the falling body.

The weight of a small feminine figure settled into his arms, her brown eyes wide with shock.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

"What happened?"

"You fell off a bloody staircase that's what happened," he'd snapped, setting her upright, "What's going in your life- in your mind- that you don't notice the end of the bloody stairway?"

"I apologise," she muttered, "I was… never mind. Thank you for catching me." She stared into his eyes for a long moment before shaking her head and hurrying away.

The flames in the fireplace continued to dance as Draco waited for his father to floo over for his newest instructions. While he waited, he ran over his afternoon again and again in his mind. He didn't know what more alarming- that he had actually saved someone's life or that that someone was a Gryffindor.

His father would never forgive him if he found out- and speaking of, here was the Malfoy patriarch now.

Hermione sat in the Gryffindor commons listening to her two best friends arguing behind her. Next to her, Ginny Weasley sat in pensive silence. They had both been silent on the couch for so long, that when Hermione moved to stretch, both were quite startled to discover the other.

"Jesus Hermione," Ginny breathed, "you scared the crap out of me."

Hermione held a hand to her heart, "Same here."

They shared a smile.

"What were you thinking about?"

"Oh … nothing important. You?"

"Nothing important."

Both knew the other was lying, but both knew better than to push the issue.

Harry and Ron interrupted their reverie by leaping over the back of the couch to sit next to them. "What's going on?" Ron queried, stretching an arm out behind his sister who simply rolled her eyes.

"Nothing," she replied, "and what's up with you guys? Who won?"

"I did," both boys replied at once.

"You did not," Harry pointed out.

"I did too," Ron replied.

Hermione couldn't help but laugh, "Do either of you realise you're both wrong?"

"What?" Harry asked with a fair degree of incredulousness.

"You're both wrong."

After sharing a long look between them, both and Harry and Ron replied, "Naw…"

Hermione nodded, "I have a map if you want to check."

"Really?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded.

"It's not in India?"

"No."

"But it is in South America," Ron provided.

Hermione shook her head, "Africa."

"Africa?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

At the same time, Ron said, "So all those times Mum was telling me she'd curse me to Timbuktu, she was talking about sending me off to Africa?"

"Yep."

"Cool."

Hermione, Ginny and Harry all laughed at that.

A/N: "Retegere" Latin- to uncover, reveal.