Disclaimer: Most of the characters and settings of this fic entirely belong to JK Rowling.

NB: I've enabled anonymous reviews (I didn't even know they were disabled! It's the story of my life: I don't realise a half of the things that happen to me.)so, now, you don't need to log in to review(which was, of course, the only reason why did not, euh...?)

2. Emotional void

Sophia was heading for Snape's dungeon, determined not to show up her fear. It was quite difficult because she couldn't prevent her hands from shaking a little bit. Right now, she would have given anything for being upstairs, in the Ravenclaw-common room, listening to Joseph's diatribes about Quidditch.

She knocked and came in. Snape was sitting at his desk, writing.

"Miss Lebedev, here you are!" he said in a blank voice, without even turning his head in her direction. "How marvellous you are not late. You know what you have to do, so, the faster you'll get started, the sooner it'll be finished. Look for the ingredients on those shelves and…" he stopped writing, "don't fall asleep while stirring."

She knew it would be wiser not to reply to such a provocation but she was not in one of her wisest days.

"I didn't fall asleep, Professor!" she said stubbornly, blushing. He looked up at her and sneered.

"It is not in your line, Miss Lebedev, not in your line at all! Usually, you keep strictly respectful towards me, in order, I presume, to deprive me from an occasion of pitching into you. But today you are particularly foolhardy." And he was back to his papers.

Sophia could hear her heart beat very fast and thought that it was one of the most displeasing moments in her life. How did he dare threaten her? However, she opened her book, looking for the recipe of the regenerative potion. It was one of the most tricky potions on the NEWT-syllabus but she decided to work as fast and as well as she could to get out of there as soon as possible.

She stepped decisively towards the shelves. Everything was in perfect order: jars, bottles, flasks were lined up and neatly labelled; there was not a speck of dust. Sophia liked keeping her stuff in order too, but here, it was nearly frightening! She started to work, choosing the ingredients, weighting. Then, she lit a fire under the cauldron.

Snape sat in silence, she only could hear his quill creak and heartily hated both the sound and the man. She was looking for the last ingredient, a scarlet phoenix-feather when Snape's voice articulated with Olympian calm:

"The phoenix-feather is to be found in the second drawer from the top, in the box on the right."

Oh, how much she hated him for that impartial tone! How could he in front of a person who became an orphan thanks to his little mates? Or even maybe to himself? How could he? How could he?

And, to make it still worse, it was now time to stir!

"Ah, here we are: it is a Historic moment," said Snape's sarcastic voice in her back "15 times clockwise and 15 times anticlockwise, from the centre to the rims without falling asleep and down into your cauldron: you are a very gifted student, Miss Lebedev, you'll manage it!"…However, I'd suggest you to count out loud, just to be sure…"

She was on the verge of tears. "Bastard, bastard, bastard!" she thought but started to count in a trembling voice: "One, two, three,.." Her hands were shaking and clammy and did not obey her.

"No, Miss Lebedev," he sounded irritated "You do not do it properly. From the centre to the rims: it is not that difficult, is it?" He stepped closer and was now right in her back.

"Oh, stop that massacre; let me show you!" and he seized firmly her right hand that was holding the ladle with his long fingers before she had time to wink. They were not as icy as she thought they would be. His arm was stretched over hers and his deep voice sounded now like velvet skimming her ear.

"See, Miss Lebedev, "he said, guiding confidently her hand. "Go on, count, otherwise the potion will be lost again. Come on: six, seven..;"

She could hardly breath but obeyed, wondering about how hypnotising his voice could be. As she counted, she vaguely felt he was getting closer, bending progressively down; his left hand softly alighted on her side. Somehow, she understood there was something wrong but her mind was terribly empty and her limbs drowsy. When she reached fifteen, she felt his breath in her hair:

"Very good. Now, the other way round, come on." She obeyed again. Contrary to what she thought, he didn't smell dried frogs or other stuff of the sort. It seemed to her she had been standing here for ages.

At "seven", his lips touched her neck, just where beat the artery. It was as if a lightning had stricken her. She dropped the ladle into the cauldron and suddenly freed herself from him. Stepping hastily back, she pulled her wand out of her pocket. Her cheeks were blushing and her eyes opened wide with amazement

"Professor, don't touch me or I swear I'll…"

He cast at her a look that made her shudder; there was a terrible silence. He finally turned his back on her with a deep sigh.

"I am sorry." he said dully.

She could not believe her ears.

"You are just "sorry"! That's all you find to say?"

"What else do you want?" he replied angrily.

"Why do you keep torturing, humiliating me?"

"Huh, looks like I really hate you, doesn't it?", he faced her, smiling ironically.

"Your… emotional void doesn't give you the right to…to…"

His jaws tensed for a second.

"My emotional void?" muttered he. "Well, thanks for the diagnosis, Doctor!

"You…you are a sadistic, heartless person!"

"Oh, what a compliment!" He returned placidly to his desk and sat down, as if nothing had happened.

"You despise everybody and are only engrossed in yourself!"

"Well, everybody is, actually." was the immediate reply.

"You… I know you are a former Death Eater. Tell me, how many innocent Muggles did you kill? People like you murdered my parents. Who knows, maybe you did?"

Suddenly, he got up, nearly turning upside down his chair, pale with anger.

"How dare you talk about what you ignore? Your sufferings don't give you the right to judge the others!" His eyes sparkled in a terrifying way. "Your parents? If only you knew how your…" he broke off in the middle of what he was saying and took a deep breath. Sophia's heart bounced.

"What? What am I supposed to know?"

"Nothing," he snapped violently. "After all, why would I have to justify myself, clear my name of your accusations? Why such a honour? Miss Lebedev, you can think of me as ill as you please. I give you an A for your regenerative potion. Now, would you be so kind as to leave me? I have some urgent work to do and, please, don't bother, I'll get everything in order myself." He cast her a cold look, sat down again and folded his arms, apparently waiting for her to go.

This was unbelievable! She kept staring at him for a moment but his head was already bent over his papers. She picked her book and headed towards the door.

"Oh, pay attention, Professor," she said, "the potion is boiling!"

She didn't really remember how she got to the entrance of the Ravenclaw-common room. The last thing she now wished was to bump into somebody who would like to start a conversation. She just wanted to be alone, to turn over again in her mind what had just happened to her. It was,unbelievable and much more. For a short instant, she considered the idea of finding Helen and telling her the whole thing. But what would she say? "You know, Professor Snape has just…!" What? What had he just done? She didn't even know how to put it! In any case, it would sound ridiculous, a bad-taste joke.

The common room was crammed with people, especially the 5th and the 7th years. It was already the beginning of May and OWLs and NEWTSs were getting closer. Sophia spotted Helen, Joseph and other 7th years, sitting by an open window. The weather was particularly fine and the heady perfume of the spring-evening flooded the room. She took a deep breath that made her feel much better and headed towards her friends who had by now seen her. As she passed by the fireplace by which Clarissa Crawford and some other girls were gossiping, she heard Clarissa's voice.

"Well, Sophia? How was that tête-à-tête? Passed an agreeable hour? Did you have a slow dance or champagne? Or both? Don't tell us you just made that potion and went away!" The girls giggled.

"Oh, tell us, did he help you to stir?" asked in a clearly ambiguous tone Rosalinda Addams, Clarissa's best friend. Sophia tried not to blush at this remark.

"Oh, Cracky!" she said, mocking surprise. "I must have taken a wrong corridor and ended up in the Slytherin common-room: it is the only place where such amiable and witty remarks are to be heard."

"Oh, you're just too touchy!" said Clarissa sulkily. "C'mon, tell us at least what he gave you!"

The whole group stared intently at her.

"He gave me an A ." answered Sophia placidly, turning her back on the girls who looked really disappointed. They expected Snape to take advantage of the situation and give her at least a P. Usually, even if she didn't do as well as in other classes, she always managed to scrap an A.

She got to the table where Helen and Joseph were seated.

"Hi, I am back alive", she said, waiving at them. They both looked very worried about her.

"So?" asked Helen.

"Well, I have already been received in a warm, comforting way over there." she answered, pointing tiredly at the fireplace.

"No, I mean, Snape. I hope he wasn't too nasty!"

Sophia's heart sank. She couldn't just plainly tell the truth, especially in front of Joseph. She sighed:

" Just the usual lot. Made fun of my "stirring" but gave me an A."

How fortunate, they didn't know the truth! What if they knew? The very thought of it made her redden.

"Well," she said in a yawn. "I was supposed to work on my NEWT-report but I am afraid I am just good for nothing, right now. I am going to bed."

Every 7th year had to build up a report on a subject they chose, combining two of the NEWT-syllabus classes. Sophia chose Defence against the dark arts and History of Magic and worked on vampiroids in Modern History. (Professor Binns didn't find her choice of subject particularly relevant because it had nothing to do with goblin-riots between 900 and 1200 so he wasn't really enthusiastic about helping her.)

She went up to the dormitory and laid down on her bed, still asking herself if what happened to her wasn't some sort of dream, completely meaningless, as dreams usually are. Why on Earth did Snape do THAT?

What was the point of it?

To make fun of her?

To frighten her?

But it all sounded ridiculous!

Sophia never asked herself what sort of woman Snape could be attracted by and she certainly never imagined, she could be that sort of woman. The most disconcerting was the fact that a moment later, he was again his usual self: cold and abrupt, as if nothing had happened. Just an insignificant "Sorry", as if he had simply stepped on her foot!

The vivid recollection of his cool fingers clutching her hand made her shudder and she had to acknowledge it was not really a shudder of disgust. And that was the most disturbing: when she thought it all over again, at that moment, when he seized her hand while she was stirring, she hated him, yes, she still did, maybe even more than before but, inspite all her efforts to sense it inside herself, she could find no repulsion.

Besides, she expected him, if not to hate, to despise her but the plain facts seemed to indicate just the contrary. He had certainly failed to keep impartial but, it was now clear: whatever was his attitude towards her, it seemed to dissatisfy Sophia in any case.

Then, she remembered his strange behaviour when he talked: suddenly stopping in the middle of a sentence, as if he was on the verge of revealing her something she was not supposed to know; something about her parents but, at the same time, something that would have cleared him.

"If only you knew how…" What? What could they be reproached with?

In the file she read about their murder, her parents were referred to as exemplary and highly deserving witch and wizard whose death would be a great loss for the Ministry.

And Sophia believed (her naivety here was quite understandable and excusable, really) they were not just the usual official platitudes. She knew her parents, she remembered them and, of course, they were the best people in the world. As a child, she had fixed up their luminous image in her brain just like she did for the dark ruthless Death Eaters who killed them. This outline had helped her to live up, to go on; parting with it, she felt, would be nearly like losing her parents again. It couldn't, by any mean, be blown away all of a sudden!

How did Snape dare to make an attempt to it?

He, among all!

However, a vague anxiety, that had penetrated her heart, was now gnawing it. After all, the world was not that Manichean and she wasn't seven anymore (Snape's tonight behaviour was a vivid proof of it!) The only version of the events she had ever heard was her grandmother's.

The meeting was supposed to be secret and nobody, except those who were to attend it, knew neither the place, nor the time. So, the most probable was that one of them had betrayed the others. But then, the Death Eaters killed everybody and why would that person have told everything, if it was not in exchange for a guarantee of safety.

Well, after all, according to what she imagined of them, THEY were perfectly capable of not keeping their promises; Thus, any of those who were killed still could have betrayed the others. It was as if her brain was working independently of her, whereas her heart refused to follow the impartial track of her reasoning. "These are only suppositions!" a desperate voice was repeating in her head.

"If only you knew how your..."

But what made her think he was talking of her parents at all? Maybe, it just had to do with herself? It could be something that had to do with his feelings towards her, which finally turned out more complicated than she thought. Maybe it was: "If only you knew how your…eyes( or something worse?) make me feel!"

Although she felt no slightest inclination towards her potion-master, she ardently wished, the last supposition to be the right one. Somehow, she thought that it would be much easier to cope with Snape, being violently attracted by her, provided she probably would never see him again in a two-months time, than with something threatening to crush the idealistic image of her parents. But, God! How "un-snapish" all this was!

She kept turning over and over, not feeling sleepy at all. Through the shut hangings of her four-poster, she heard Helen and the other girls coming up, undressing and going to bed, one after another. Finally, all the lights were off, her room-mates were peacefully snoring and she was completely awaken.

felt she had to do something about what Snape had hinted to. Of course, it was out of question to ask him for an explanation: Sophia even wondered how she would be able to look at him now without blushing.

The only solution was to write to her grandmother and to ask, to demand the whole truth. Whatever it was her grandmother hid her, she felt that she had the right to know it. Still, this resolution didn't help her to fall asleep: she suddenly remembered that she had laid down on her bed without undressing and that she had urgent work to do.

To cap it all, she now was hungry. She had a half-full box of cream-filled chocolates from Honeyduke's in her bedside-table that could now reveal itself useful by cheering her up a little bit. She silently got out of her bed, picked the chocolates and her school-bag and went down to the common room on tip-toes. Of course, there was nobody downstairs. She sat down, opened her book with a sigh, helped herself with a chocolate and buried herself in a thick and gripping-looking book .

But she hardly managed to concentrate on what she was doing, shattered as she was by the events of the evening. A half- an-hour struggling and four chocolates later, she gave up, picked a piece of blank parchment and wrote a letter to her grandmother, asking her if there wasn't something about her parents she didn't tell her. Of course, she didn't explain what event led her to doubt about the version of the story she knew: her grandma certainly didn't need to know about the circumstances of Sophia's dealings with Snape!

She went to bed by two, completely exhausted and filled with chocolate and cream but feeling a little better than before.

"Why did I tell him that stuff about emotional void?" she asked herself while falling asleep. "Well, he deserved what he got. "