Hi All,
I sincerely apologize for the delay. Life has its hardships even in real life, sorry.
In this chapter, I'll try to make up with some attempts at romance, nothing extraordinary just yet, please tell me what you think!
Oh, and it's Rowling's if you recognize it, all the rest are playing for fun.
Chapter 17. To Know a Potion
Apparating a step outside Hogwarts' grounds, Severus immediately fell on his face. He tried to stand up several times, but directions switched places. The earth, the sky and the gate spun around each other, and the gates also around themselves, for they seemed to multiply in front of his eyes. The intense spinning of all that should be steady caused confusion and queasiness and worsened the headache that already made it impossibly hard to think.
One single purpose remained, though, to reach Hogwarts. He crawled toward the gates.
"Oh my, he got you so hard!" – A familiar voice broke through the throbbing in his ears, and two bony hands reached down to steady him.
Severus recognized those hands and struggled to shake them off. A very bad idea, as he soon realized, as his shoulders screamed in pain, and the headache turned blinding in its force. Severus fell again and retched in vain. His empty stomach could not produce relief, and the bony hands came back.
"You must let me help you. You can't possibly crawl up to the castle all the way!" – The voice was melodic, the tone matter-of-factly. He liked both but now only felt betrayed.
"You bowed" – he breathed against the ground, not hoping she heard him.
"Yes, we will discuss this when you'll be able to stand. Now come!"
He faintly wished to protest, but it was impossible to think. If he doesn't move a muscle, she might go away… Unfortunately, it didn't work.
The witch conjured a stretcher, finally making him grumble his dissent. After an embarrassingly one-sided argument where Severus pointedly denied any kind of cooperation and tried to continue his process instead, the witch finally gave in, discarded the stretcher, cast some medical charm on his shoulders that felt warm, and reached to hold him up again.
"Alright, you proud fool, I don't dare stun you. But you will let me help, or I will raise alarms to the whole castle. Albus will come in person to berate you, and Poppy Pomfrey will fuss around. Even dear Dolores will take part. Perhaps you will let her hold you if you're too unhappy with me."
Not being able to fully decide upon this threat's actual weight, Severus accepted an arm encircling his waist that held him relatively straight and on the track as they struggled up the hill. With wobbly steps, stumbling, retching and blinded by the pain, they reached the entrance, and when Beauxbaton leaned him on the door jamb, he had the impression it must have been a starry night.
She disappeared for a while - later, Severus believed she somehow made sure no one was around to see them - but at the moment, he couldn't care less. She returned anyway and balanced him through the Entrance Hall to the top of the stairs that led to the dungeons. There she halted and sighed.
"Chubby" – Severus tried to help her out.
"Beg your pardon?"
"…elf…" – he explained while the house-elf popped up obediently to help them down the stairs and through his wards.
Severus only wished to collapse into his usual armchair, but they took him to his bedroom, and he was helpless against their fuss.
"I leave you and call Pomfrey over, then tell Albus that you finally arrived."
He didn't know what came over him, but both prospects sounded unbearable. Severus moved so quickly, he lost balance and retched violently, finally vomiting bile, but he grabbed the witch's hand and wanted to ask her to stay.
"No. No…. no…no…no…" – was all the reasoning he offered, but somehow it proved enough.
"All right, all right, just let me, and relax!" –Her voice was now impatient, which was much better than that preposterous kindness. "But you need help. I bet you had a concussion, and…"
The next thing he became aware of was a loud pop followed by the house elf's voice.
"Mistress, Chubby told the Headmaster that Master arrived ill. Headmaster Dumbledore was anxious to see him, but Chubby did as Mistress asked and told Headmaster, Master was not to be disturbed." When the creature suddenly stopped, it was easy to imagine him chewing on his left ear with apprehension. "Chubby was a bad… bad elf. Chubby contradicted Headmaster of Hogwarts. Headmaster sends regards to Master and says if there's one to pump life into Master, Mistress would."
"He's got plenty of nerve to joke about this…" – Sage grumbled. "All is well, Chubby, you were a good elf, I forbid you to punish yourself; you did great. Now, will you go to your duties and never talk of what you saw tonight?"
"Chubby has duty Master asked. Chubby guards Master's quarters, and listens in House, and watches the sand-haired boy. Mistress tells Chubby what more to do."
"Who? Never mind… Chubby, I am not your "Mistress," you may call me Professor Moody or Sage. I don't care at all, but if you want to stay around, make yourself useful and lock us in! Close all the doors leading to the corridors, and if you have any elf-magic to achieve it, hide our presence the best you can. Especially from Professor Umbridge."
"Chubby cans! Chubby will do well, Mistress Sage!" – The elf cheerfully agreed and was gone.
The witch must have realized Severus came back to his senses, for he felt a light weight descending on his bed. "Are you feeling any better?"
Those bony hands felt blissfully cold against his temples, and a sigh escaped his lungs, but he dared not to talk or move.
"Listen, I cannot begin to imagine what he has done to you, and I dare not enter your mind. If he messed with it, I could only cause further damage, but you need help. You sprained your shoulder badly, and I bet you have a concussion. I rectified your shoulder, but you should have potions too. Is there anything else I should be aware of?"
Her voice was artless and her tone direct, everything Severus began to appreciate in her, not too long before. However, a lot had happened, and despite some unexplainable reason he still wished her to stay, complete trust was unimaginable. He understood the gravity of her question and wished he could reply. He struggled to find his voice, and eventually, only his lips formed his no.
"Good. I'm not comfortable with you falling asleep in this state. Can you have this potion?"
A faint memory rose about her family and poisons, and his mouth formed a no again. The witch sighed with exasperation and was quiet for a long time.
"So no potions. But you're visibly in pain… I have an idea. Can you open your eyes?"
It was harder than he thought, but Severus eventually succeeded. He saw eyes like light pools of cocoa and milk, a strange shade, and surprisingly comforting sight. Her delicate smile he could not return.
"You need to rest, and I will not force you to move. This concoction would help you though. I hope you'll forgive my raiding your lab." -She said, and the smile turned mocking. "Would you rest better in my head? Yours looks weary."
Severus could only hope she would not take his bewilderment as reluctance.
"Or can't you perform without your wand?" The glint in her eyes affirmed her joke was as cheeky as it seemed, and with a sudden flare of annoyance, Severus sank through those strangely light-coloured eyes.
The welcoming hum was a different tune now, but it was calm and pleasing. The scent of fresh rain on an herb garden filled him with peace. Severus could sense which way the maze was, but a light curtain hid it this time. It would have been only too easy to break through, but he was averse to trespass on her privacy in this game of trust. He only let himself relax, where there was no trouble or pain for what seemed like an endless time.
The humming ended suddenly when after a loud pop Sage broke eye-contact. The house elf balanced anxiously stepping from one leg to the other next to them, his quick moves were eye-hurting, but the witch ordered him to stop.
"Mistress Sage made Chubby worry ill, not moving, not talking, just staring Professor-Master in the eye for hours!"
"You don't need to worry about that," – she replied amused – "better tell us why you came."
"Evil One wants all at breakfast. Headmaster Dumbledore tells Master should come, or she notice."
"Evil One?"
"Umbridge,"- Severus explained to her in a raspy voice. His head still hurt, and it was an effort to talk, but he already felt better after a proper rest. "The house elves hate her."
"Just like everyone else," – she nodded. "A befitting name. I call her Sourire de Carpaund, but most have their favourites. Albus refers to her as "the revenge of fate," and Minerva simply as "the devil." Albus says she lacks imagination."
Severus was thoroughly amused, even if he felt weak to show it. Finally, he saw her behaving to the world the way he got to know her from inside her mind.
"The Pink Peril" – he admitted silently, and the witch chuckled.
"That's a new approach! So- are you feeling better?" She lifted a goblet from the bedside, raising Severus's suspicions. "It is a version of your Strengthening Solution. You need it."
He grudgingly agreed, and the struggle to sit up began. Severus hated every second of being dependent on the house-elf's help, but finally, he recognized the brew and emptied the goblet.
"You're in no condition to join breakfast, but I will go. Sleep" - she ordered him as soon as he finished.
"…worse than Poppy," Severus mumbled through clenched teeth.
"Of course I am; what did you expect?"
Her question shocked him out of the numbness of pain and exhaustion. Did he hurt her? And would it matter if he did, after what she'd done just a day before? Or the night before? That was a different story. It was all confusing, and thinking still felt too hard.
"You bowed," – Severus finally repeated, this time looking her in the face. She seemed only sad. Sad beyond words.
"I asked Albus to prevent you from seeing it, I even tried to prepare you when-"
"Because it's all fun if I don't see it, isn't it?! Did you both think I won't get to know? He sent me to Azkaban to cover for you! You played me! You both played me, I-"
Severus couldn't finish. After the sudden flare of rage, his headache came back with full force, and the room began to swim in front of his eyes. Beauxbaton had the decency to leave him alone, or he had now really hurt the witch. Whichever! Severus could not care about anything else now but to keep the medicine in his system. The potion she brewed. Damnable confusing witch!
As soon as the room stopped swimming, Severus fell asleep. The next time he woke for another's presence in his room, it was the Headmaster and an apologetic house elf for letting him in. Severus doubted Chubby had had much choice, and the potion must have done its job, for he felt it easier to talk.
"What can I do for you, Headmaster?"
Dumbledore seemed to contemplate his answer, or was he just measuring his state?
"I am glad to see you in one piece, my boy," – he finally began jovially. "As much as dear Sage berated me for my heartless dealings with you, it is nice to make sure I indeed did not send you to hell." Severus managed to keep the prison island's inferno out of his mind, and a part of him rejoiced in his returning skills to think clearly and to occlude.
"I'm sure it was inevitable," – Severus offered without conviction.
"Oh, yes, it was, but hardly for whatever have you believed… Before your self-appointed potioneer stops roaming your lab and doubtless subverting your precious system in your storage, I was hoping you felt fit to tell me about the matters we discussed before you departed."
Severus shortly considered the question.
"I am afraid the Dark Lord was right this time when he deemed my services worthless for you. Podmore could only offer a short insight into the Hall of Prophecies. No one will find what the Dark Lord is looking for without the exact spot where the Prophecy was placed. The merman had nothing to offer to satisfy your curiosity, and Schoshack was dead by the time I arrived. Although I imagine you knew this, and my adventure served an entirely different purpose."
"No reason to get the needles, my boy, whatever my sins may be, you don't have Azkaban to thank your current predicament as I reckon. How did you attract Tom's displeasure?"
Severus accounted for his old conflict with Avery and the mistake he made in the Gaunt house. Dumbledore's excitement was palpable when he heard the old name.
"Snakes, you say? Is it possible the same ornaments adorn other items? Say,-"
"I doubt you would find any dark artifacts, or as a matter of fact, any artifacts at all at that place." Severus cut in, losing his fragile patience. "The whole house is barely more than ruins. If there has been anything of value, which considering the state of the furnishing or the lodge's location I find less than doubtful, it must have vanished long ago. There's no more to find than in the merman's memory. What is this interest in dark artifacts, Sir? I might search for you better if only I knew what to look for."
"Artifacts?" A silent contralto suddenly joined them from the doorway. Beauxbaton balanced two goblets on a tray, still wearing an apron she must have put on to brew. "Albus, you keep telling me I shouldn't talk to anyone about the locket! Why would you forbid us to discuss something that important?"
The Headmaster didn't look pleased the least, which was mildly amusing even with the returning headache.
"A locket?" – Severus pushed and fixed his attention on Dumbledore's face.
"I doubt this is the right place and time to discuss this. Sage, I would like to talk to you in private. Would you seek me out in my office when you finish here?"
She agreed, of course, and the Headmaster took his leave. Severus waited for some kind of explanation, but the witch only put the tray by the bedside and lifted a goblet. The brew was identical to the one she offered before, but the other goblet was not even familiar, and Severus eyed the witch with suspicions.
"What is that?" – He realized his voice sounded even more mistrustful than he felt.
Sage made a face. "Let me guess… It's colourless, odourless," – she dipped a finger into the liquid and licked the drop – "tasteless. I say it is either Veritaserum or clear water. Please test the sample!"
Severus accepted the water and emptied the goblet. It was heavenly. He had no idea how thirsty he was before the first sip.
"You have a sick sense of humour, Beauxbaton, do you know that?"
She looked unfazed and prepared to leave him.
"A locket?" – He called after her.
"Apparently, I'm not supposed to discuss this." – She leaned on the doorframe. "Did he really send you to Azkaban?"
"Wasn't it as you asked?" Severus propped himself up on an elbow to see her face more clearly. "What's going on, Beauxbaton? You waltz in on me, kill my cauldron, pretend friendship, then I nearly die just to cover up for your treachery. Your plan was leaky enough."
This time the witch seemed truly hurt. "Pretend? That's what you really think? That I-" She shook her head, probably dismissing a wide range of thoughts.
"I will not shout at you, Severus. You will get better on your own and exercise some logic in your thinking. I haven't betrayed you and going with Albus' knowledge and approval, I doubt what I did would fit the definition of treachery. But you know what? Be it as you say, I would have done it anyway.
"Can't you see? With Iris and my people and status, I hardly had a choice! I told you I would never let my estates or my muggles go for doom whatever is the cost, and I would not watch idly as your friend kills my cousin! Would you be happier if I died for what I believe in? Would it solve a thing? Would that save Iris? Or hold my heritage together?"
Contrary to her initial promise not to shout, she was now passionate enough to be perceived as if she did, and Severus found his damaged senses had trouble coping with her fury.
"Would you prefer me to get lost and leave it all to Polla? Or my father? Well, that would be a joke!"
Oh, he knew it very well if he didn't agree to Iris' plan, the witch would have never sought out her cousin and Mad-Eye. And if he never met Lennier out in the middle of nowhere, he would probably have never had to face the question the lecherous witch presented. These past twenty hours weren't far enough behind him to chase the guilt away.
"How did you do it, Beauxbaton?"
His calm and placating voice seemed to confuse her.
"You've been there. You saw it all."
"No. I saw what you wanted to show; that's not what you did." Severus struggled to keep himself upright, the potion hadn't kicked in yet, and he still felt annoyingly weak. "Don't take me for a fool. I know exactly why all you did was impossible. You should have died at least twice in the process. Even Lefevre thought you were already gone. How did you do it? Your form… I saw it waver. I saw – something. What did you do?"
Sage froze, and her eyes seemed to widen with fear. "Do you think others saw it too?" – She asked now meekly.
Severus tried to remember, and eventually, he had to shake his head. There was no one else in the room who gave the witch as much of their attention as he did, although she was probably better off without knowing that. And she obviously had focused on the Dark Lord and his lapses of the presence of mind.
Sage carefully put down the tray and stepped closer.
"It is a part of my legacy. A rare family heirloom, if you want. You're right. I wasn't there to suffer. I could never do what you do." – She admitted, and it was evident how circumspect she was in choosing her words. – "There is a rare piece of magic I inherited and used to my advantage. Even Albus doesn't know all about it, and it's none of his business. He only is aware that I have some means to take care of myself, which's enough for him. Is it enough for you?"
It was tempting to say no just to learn how far the witch was ready to go to protect her secrets. It was also tempting to try and rob her of those secrets, for this one seemed especially handy. However, that would have been rude, and Severus didn't feel fit enough yet to tempt the witch's ire again. There was a lot to learn, even without forcing her on.
"Why Azkaban?" – He decided to ask. "What is this locket?"
"Albus clearly didn't want me to tell you." – Her infuriating answer came with the mildest and saddest of tones. Did she regret she couldn't tell him? Did she disagree with Dumbledore?
"Tell me anyway."
"Sure, if you accuse me of betrayal, you cannot suspect I won't do it again, do you?" – She smiled humorless. "Here's your clue, and it's not my fault if you find it out. Do you have here the Secrets of the Darkest Art?"
Now Severus thought the witch just wanted to play him again. "That's not even in the Restricted Section, a true rarity, and not fit to Hogwarts. It's hard to find material that will even cross-reference it."
"Really? Oh-" The witch paused awkwardly and seemed to make a novel discovery, but without any elaboration, she moved on with a pull of her shoulder. "Never mind, I know you all read Newt Scamander's Magical Creatures. So who hatched the first basilisk?"
It was way too easy and way too farfetched to take her seriously.
"Herpo. What the-"
"Right. So you may think about what else the guy did." – She smiled encouragingly and turned to leave. "I must report to Albus. It's hard to understand all the scheming and wire-pulling here in your country. More times than not, I don't even recognize my mistakes, but I'll do my best to calm him."
She was out of the door with surprising speed and left the tray on the floor. Severus collapsed back on his pillow and gave himself a few minutes of quiet and an empty mind.
Dumbledore clearly didn't want him to know about any kind of artifacts, even if he asked the witch to search for – something. Did he trust her more? He couldn't think so. It must be important. Important enough for the Dark Lord not to know, and his mind was frequently tested with his Legilimency. Just like from now on with Beauxbaton's - he reminded himself. Did Dumbledore think of this?
She said she wasn't there to suffer, now what does that mean? What kind of magic did she use? The Dark Lord deemed her mind exceptionally dark, although he didn't sense that… Oh, no, that was not true! Severus suddenly remembered the gut-churning hatred he sensed in the witch when he first entered her mind. It was – it was about Leroy.
She also told him she wanted the worm dead, and now had had her wish granted. She also had a controversial relationship with her father, and she obviously knew way more about dark magic than it was considered healthy. Whatever Dumbledore was searching for and wished to hide from the Dark Lord, was it safe in her mind more than in his?
And what was there to hide? Herpo. Herpo, the Foul. Herpo, the dark wizard, Greek, hatched the first basilisk and made the first Horcrux, a method to cut… FUCK! Severus sat up in his bed so quickly, his vision blurred again.
Did that dark-hearted mock of a man make a Horcrux? An actual Horcrux? Dividing his very soul? Did he come back to life using it?
But why search for artifacts? Severus halted, uncertain if he dared to proceed with the thought. Dumbledore had spoken about an unknown artifact, Beauxbaton mentioned a locket, and the Dark Lord once already returned. That means his soul must have been divided into – impossible – three pieces!? Four if one counts the soul he must still own. How? Why? When?
He still felt uneasy and wished the potion would kick in already, but Beauxbaton probably made the brew work slow and long enough for him to adjust and get ready for his duties the next day. Beauxbaton… Sage. Even the devil wouldn't know his way around her!
Pomfrey would have kept him at the Infirmary and she would have drugged him out, keeping him unconscious with different sleeping draughts as long as she thought she needed to. But not this witch, no, she risked, she brewed, she offered her mind, and he would never think of her long fingers with disapproval after feeling their touch on his temples. For fuck's sake, what made someone adept in mind-magic offer her mind as freely as if it had no value?!
He closed his eyes with a heavy sigh just to remember her scented, humming mind, her cool touch on his temples, her weight bending his bed… No, not that!
Here came the point where the son of a muggle labourer from the Midlands learned to draw the line. Be it as it may, a witch conversing freely with a wizard like him in his bedroom was inappropriate, especially not sitting on his bed. She was better than that. She had to be better than that! Or if she wasn't, he wished she would have never done all that for him.
All mixing up in his thoughts made Severus dizzy again. If the Dark Lord split his soul to four pieces or a thousand, he couldn't help it. This felt way over his head. If Dumbledore trusted him enough to fill him in or not, if the whole world collapsed, he couldn't help that either, but there was one small thing he could do the right thing about.
Whoever this witch proved to be, she had helped him, and had offered friendship more than one time. She seemed as selfless as he could get someone, and blast it all, he did like her being around! Even if she pronounced dark and dangerous, even if she bowed. Hell, how many times had he done the same thing?! She was a pureblood witch from a good house, with manners, and she should be able to converse in an appropriate way! Because she would come back again; that Severus knew now with all certainty, even if the reason was obscure.
Being ever the pragmatist, Severus Snape focused on the only thing he could possibly change at the moment and battled his way out of his bed. When his legs had to support his weight and hold it upwards, he wavered but didn't fall. He focused on the doorway and got there. Then through it.
Grooming his appearance into a more presentable form was a challenge he nearly failed. He had to lean on the doorframe for a minute, for only a few deep breaths, and he was ready to approach his armchair. No need to ask the house elf for help – he actually was a little proud of this – and Severus sat with as much dignity in his living room as one may get with a swirling head and mild nausea.
He knew he should think about this latest discovery, Dumbledore's sudden obsession with artifacts and the Dark Lord's possible Horcruxes. Still, truthfully it was such an unimaginable idea, he even doubted he understood Beauxbaton well enough. She couldn't possibly imply…
As much knowledge and experience as Severus had accumulated over his years, tearing someone's soul out, apart, not even anyone's but someone's own soul, was more than he could seize with a sane mind! On the other hand, he knew the Dark Lord and his ruthlessness. He only knew him too well, if only he knew nothing of him! And it was not impossible. That filthy, inhuman son of a bitch! Sadistic creep! Of course, he had no soul!
He reminded himself to occlude and not to let his basest disgust surface. He served no-one and no purpose with that, but this time it was harder to suppress it than ever. All his knowledge about the dark arts made him only understand more profoundly how extremely diabolical an act of tearing a soul truly was. The sheer brutality of it was astonishing in itself, but not surprising at all, and this was the painful truth about the Dark Lord, his cruelty, and implacable viciousness made it impossible to even become surprised!
Of course, his soul was damaged, even his followers' souls were corrupted, Severus knew even his own soul was injured, and more often than not, he was afraid, beyond repair. And the monster tore his soul by will.
He felt horrible enough not to be sure if nausea came from the thought or his physical injuries, but at the moment, it didn't even matter. Memories rose unrequested presenting proof of the wicked ways of the being, less than human, without a soul, and the images and ideas washed together giving a kaleidoscope of horror he witnessed. Only Lily's fate and his most recent memory, Beauxbaton's body, convulsing under torture on the floor being the two pictures standing out of the throng. Goodness, if he had to watch through her death too…
Severus buried his face in his palms, but tears didn't come this time. To his greatest surprise, he found himself enraged. His fingertips vibrated with the possibility of letting free his unbound magic. He felt stronger and more experienced than ever in his life. Surely, he would never challenge the Dark Lord, but… the throbbing in his head reminded him to calm down, and with some struggle and occlumency meditation, he eventually did. Still, the strange mood that called and called for thoughts and memories never went away.
The day proceeded silently as only on a Hogsmeade weekend in Hogwarts castle could. Noon came and went with all the outward appearance of peaceful healing. The potion finally did its job and the early afternoon gave the impression that the world turned in slow motion. Maybe this was the additional numbness as the strengthening solution worked its way through his veins. He could almost feel it slowly conquering the pain and the queasiness, forcing his blood vessels to expand and give way to artificial strength until his own stamina could naturally return.
There was no fault to find in Beauxbaton's work as a Potion Mistress. On the contrary, the brew was excellent, which made him contemplate for the first time the hardships of not teaching one's heart's subject. He knew enough about that, but was she happy about her situation? Severus now thought clearly enough to understand her decisions, and his desire to accept her friendship returned. It made him think through and through again how the witch treated him since he arrived at the gates, and all the small details he could recall seemed to clutch at his chest.
Guessing he might regret it later, Severus began to entertain himself with a strange little game. What else was about this witch that he never thought of before?
Her humming mind must have meant she had some melody always stuck in her ears. It must be vexing, even if a guest like him might like the show. And the scent of her mind, he thought of that frequently, but could she still sense it? Where could it come from? As annoying as she was when she tried to be kind, her directness and honesty were very much welcomed, and so was that small half-smile.
For the first time, Severus seriously contemplated the witch's smile. She sometimes smiled only with her eyes, just pulling her lips aside; sometimes, on the contrary, she seemed to smile, but her eyes were late to join.
Those eyes usually had a different tale to tell, and they were quite chatty, even when the witch occluded. He kept listening to them and never gave attention to her mouth. What a waste! She had full lips, like her cousin, Iris, although hers looked healthier and unaffected, but were still very similar in shape. That curious tightness about his chest seemed to begin its slow descent to his torso. Whatever…
He never considered the cousins' similarities because no sane man would ever mix them up after looking into their eyes. Sage's eyes relayed warmth that was alien to Iris. However, their form – he had to admit it was somewhat alike - especially the proportions about their hips and waists, and of course, their breasts. He watched Iris enough in his youth to be well-acquainted with those exact proportions. Beauxbaton might dress and behave coyly compared to her wanton cousin, but the shape of her lean waist was unmistakable under her robe to practised eyes.
The sensation of that offbeat tightness sank under his abdomen as he recalled the touch of that waist. He had never actually perceived the witch as a great beauty, but despite her boniness, her glance was warm, her delicate touch was as light as heaven, and her form was enough to cut a breath short… Severus caught himself swallowing against his dry throat and closed his eyes. He now felt like an idiot to let himself slip into this odd mood.
There were reasons aplenty to avoid giving himself into the witch's possible charms. It was evident, she was hiding secrets, her mind was at places dark enough to impress even the Dark Lord, and she had just made sure her earlier beau was murdered a day before. More than enough for Eileen Snape to turn in her grave if he ever even contemplated anything too personal – which he clearly would not. Also, not even ponder just a short and– no, no, definitely not. She openly offered friendship, something of a rarity, immensely more valuable than what one could buy at Knockturn, this was ridiculous!
Besides, this is the exact reason why modest witches from an acceptable background should not sit on a wizard's bed! What the hell was she thinking? – Strangely, this question even in his head sounded like Eileen Snape's long-forgotten voice. Reminding him how much she hated anyone he ever told her about or even hinted. Not the least of them all, Lily. "That parvenu living of your father's sweat and blood" was as much her name as her father's. Maybe Eileen's opinion was not the best to direct one's judgment, but it was effective to chase away any oddness of his mood.
However, the afternoon dragged on in total solitude and dullness. After amusing himself with some old memories about Eileen showing rare passion against the Evans or Lily making fun of his mother, his thoughts whirled back to more recent memories.
Beauxbaton was not more at the fault of her unlucky relations than Lily of her dad being a well-respected man of the trade union. Thus, everything Severus' father could never be. Whatever her faults might have been, they didn't change the vision of her curving hips, and somehow it stuck in his mind.
And also, why not? It was only admitting the truth. He needed to be aware of facts, after all. Her robe gently hiding the shadow of her rounded posterior was a fact only a blind man would deny, especially in a castle with thousands of stairs to show the well-toned evidence of its amazing shape. No harm was done, just admitting the truth. As a friend. Also, he might one day have a chance to feel the exact contour in his palms – purely by accident. Or not, it didn't matter. Well, maybe it did but only for curiosity's sake.
Talking about shapes and forms, the line of her neck was also enticing, carved gently of what seemed the softest part of her skin. It begged to be touched if he was honest about it, and its scent – oh, not only her mind was scented, for sure, and he remembered the smell of her skin with clarity. Just as much as he could recall all the random moments he happened to be close enough to her to observe. Colliding on thresholds, an embarrassing encounter on the stairs… what would she taste like?
Aw, this was wrong; he never meant that! Severus tried to argue against the sudden image, but unexpectedly he found himself sure her scent would be overwhelming if he once happened to dig his nose at the back of her neck. Just under the hairline.
Or he could even assist her hair down - once he had done something similar to someone and could not help but be convinced it was one of the most erotic impressions he had ever had about a woman without serious consequences. The perfect place to taste her unnoticed, or for a first time, if she once-
He shouldn't give in to such images. It was all against his resolve that he would accept her friendship even though it was probably dangerous and unwise. He needed good sense instead of letting his mind adventure on such slippery fields. Especially not if that meant to imagine himself standing close enough behind her to lean on those curvy butts while he gave himself to her scent and taste.
About this was the point where Severus stopped to adjust his seat and to point out for himself, giving no place to any argument that this whole thing would never happen.
All the better! – His less reasonable side argued. At least he was safe. He knew this was rubbish and would never give in to some foolishness. But where would the world sink if a man couldn't dream on a boring day, especially after such challenging times he had recently had?
No, his more sober self was quick to spot the lie. He needed to bounce back quickly before he forgot he promised her friendship.
Not that she knew of it at all, or she would ever know.
But it was not fair, so he should limit himself. Maybe only a few short moments more before he shoved all this away as rubbish.
While he debated with himself, somehow the image of standing behind her changed in one small detail. Her robe evaporated at some point, fueled admittedly by some recollection he still had about Iris, but her skin must be softer, probably as smooth and silky everywhere as on her neck… He would lean on her back and would caress her from up her neck all the way down to her nicely shaped backside, and then he would know if her skin was as soft everywhere as he hoped. One thing for sure, it would be heaven on earth to rub against her. He sighed deeply.
This is exactly what he should not do. What was good in risking his peace of mind over what he would never know?
Never? He almost felt now her back against his chest, maybe even her hair, was it long enough? He should make sure, just to serve his theory. His palms would then roam freely from her soft lean neck, through her rounded shoulders to her breasts. Those didn't seem too full. Both would fit in his palms nicely. Would she sigh with pleasure? Would she lean back in his arms? Or move against him? Fuck, he wished she would!
The picture was so vivid with a rush of blood, he lost the rest of his meagre comfort. It was evident he now went too far, so how to stop here? Because he should before it became too serious! A little late to moralize, old buck – a familiar voice of his less presentable self was quick to allude.
The voice was probably right. He should definitely not imagine her abdomen as soft as silk or that his palms could feast on her waist undisturbed as her butt misbehaved against him rubbing him in circles, those shapely cheeks would catch him between, and he would taste her shoulder, hear her sighs. His hands could travel lower. He would caress and lift her thighs before he would reach-
Shit, this is insane. He should be so bloody much ashamed of all this, he already knew he would! But the argument between his carnal desires and wavering moral was a lost cause. The temptation to reach through the folds of his robe and grab the solution was overwhelming. He knew very well, she wasn't there for that. This was not the way to repay friendship, not even if she would never know!
Yes, but would she touch him if she knew? Would she turn in his arms and give back all the passion? She always seemed to know what he needed, she gave him that damned tea unrequested, made him feel again with something as banal as a bunch of flowers, she leaned on his shoulder, breathed on his ear when that blessed step entrapped her, and she touched his arm freely whenever they met in the oak door.
She never seemed to mind touching him. Not even when he lay helpless! Those ridiculous fingers felt on his skin like a piece of heaven in the midst of hell. Where else would she touch him? Sure she would – she never seemed repulsed at all… she even offered her mind!
Oh, yes you donkey, that she did, and that's the end of it! – The stern voice in his head had now a firm grab on the moral high ground. However taken away, Severus stumbled upon the sole fact, heavy enough to wrench him back on earth.
He pushed himself from his armchair and walked aimlessly about the room. It took time before the next full-phrased thought could emerge from his heated mind. He should never have let himself get carried away like that!
She let him rest in her very mind! This was not the way to treat a woman like that, whether she knew it or not. Tobias Snape should rot in the deepest pocket of hell, but there might have been one thing he taught him right. There were two kinds of women, he used to say, those who were better than that, and the rest.
Even if his father would have found it shameful, Severus had nothing against the "rest". Honestly, he was way more thankful to them than to the so-called "betters." Still, he recognized the difference and it was beaten into his stubborn, worthless head that what he almost had done was not right.
The guilt about his baser needs and lack of restraint, again, helped some, if not much, to calm. It never helped as much as it should with the shame of facing his filthy nature but it was part of how he learned he should feel. After a few deep breaths, he wisely decided against finding out why and how on earth he got into this calamity within his own mind, but realized a shower as cold as he could bear it might be in order.
Just then before he could leave his living room, to his intense horror, someone knocked on the door. If fate was to punish his moments of questionable morals, it couldn't find a better way to do so.