CHAPTER 6
Opposites Attract
Professor Lovejoy awoke on the last Sunday in September to bright sunlight streaming in at her window. She loved sunny days in autumn this far north when they were crisp and cold, the heat of summer having long since spent itself. She much preferred cold weather to hot; it was more conducive to brisk walks, evenings spent before a crackling fire, and weekend mornings such as this one when you could lie in bed for those last few precious moments savoring the comfort of warm blankets and anticipating the delights still to come of breakfast and a day of freedom to do as you pleased. Professor Lovejoy often thought she might have been a cat in a previous life, so greatly did she enjoy her creature comforts.
This morning she lay abed musing on her situation at Hogwarts and the two males who, unbeknownst to either of them, bade fair to make this one of the most memorable years she had ever experienced.
Severus Snape, she thought to herself. Now there was an interesting man, if you liked. Forbidding, grim, and frosty--really, he was a challenge just begging to be conquered. She smiled. He had seemed quite horrified that she would actually dare to touch him. It was such fun to tease him, pretending to be oblivious to his scorn as she artlessly chattered to him, and his distaste when she put her hand on his. How delicious!
Professor Lovejoy was realizing that she had a heretofore undiscovered playful side. She had decided upon meeting Snape that he took himself far too seriously, and she was enjoying every minute of what she thought of as his loosening-up process. If she had any other purpose for her determined campaign, she avoided thinking about it for the moment. Time enough to cross that bridge after it's built, she felt.
No, for now it was enough to simply Be Everywhere. Everywhere Snape was, that is. Beside him at meals (the other teachers understood that for some reason she actually wanted to sit with him, and were more than happy for her to do so); beside him in the stands at Quidditch games (which happened, entirely coincidentally, to be an excellent opportunity to sit very close to him under the guise of crowded seats, an innocent expression on her face all the while as she slid even closer); or "accidentally" bumping into him in Hogsmeade the week before term began.
He was still at the jumpy stage. Whenever she touched him or smiled at him, he did a double-take and jumped away. Soon, she mused, he should reach the resigned stage, where he stopped jumping away and resigned himself to the fact that she was there and wasn't going anywhere any time soon. Then--well, as has already been said, she would cross that bridge when the time came. Things were moving along nicely just as they were.
She smiled to herself. This lovely day just begged to be spent walking by the lake. She flung the covers back bravely, gasped as her feet hit the icy floor, and dressed quickly, eager to begin her day.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Snape awoke that morning in his dungeon rooms, a vague sense of foreboding niggling at him. What was it? Was something going to happen? He yawned widely, trying to clear his head so he could remember.
Then he remembered: Trillium Lovejoy, that's what the matter was. He groaned. Merlin's beard, why did she always seem to appear everywhere he went? If he didn't know better, he'd think she was infatuated with him. But as anyone should be able to see, that was utter nonsense. No, she must be harassing him for some other reason. His mind, long accustomed to looking for the worst in everyone, ran in circles like a hamster on its wheel, wrestling with the problem.
What could she possibly want from him? He had become convinced early in life that everyone wanted something. No one would pretend to befriend someone like him unless they were after something. Why should Trillium Lovejoy be any different?
Trillium. He snorted. Ridiculous name. Actually rather apt, though, he supposed. White, lily-like skin shading to pink on her smooth cheeks, and that darker pink when she was flustered that spread down her neck and throat and--
No. He would not think of that. She was just another teacher. More of a pest, really. Yes, that was a good way to think of her. As a pest--no more than an insect to be squashed. Although whoever had heard of an insect with hair of that rich, dark brown touched with fire--
No. Snape shifted uncomfortably beneath his blankets. This was insane. Was he going to lie in bed all day dreaming of the pestilential Professor Lovejoy? He was not. Most certainly not. There were potions to brew, lessons to plan, unpleasant detentions to think up for the next time Potter happened to put a toe out of line--surely it would be soon--and dozens of other useful things he could do with his time.
Snape groaned again and dragged himself out of bed. He wondered what the weather was like and wished, not for the first time, that Slytherin's quarters weren't in the dratted dungeons. Having his classroom down here was fine--for the best, really, no windows to provide distractions for the students. But it would be nice to know how many layers of clothing to wear under his robes before going up to the main floor of the castle and finding he had misjudged the weather yet again. It was always cold and damp in the dungeons, even in the hottest part of summer, so it was difficult to judge.
He sighed, feeling vaguely put-upon. First no windows, and now this Lovejoy problem. He saw the words that way in his mind: The Lovejoy Problem. Perhaps he just needed to clear his head a bit. Suddenly he thought of the lake. He used to enjoy walking there on fine days. He hadn't gone in months--had it been years, even? he wondered. That sounded like just what he needed.
He paused in the middle of dressing. One shirt? Two? A sweater...or perhaps not? Finally, disgusted with his indecision, he put them all on and climbed the stairway to the main hall. He grimaced at the bright sunshine--obviously he had guessed wrong again--but began to enjoy himself a little once he walked out into the cool, crisp air. Lovely day. And best of all--no Trillium Lovejoy in sight. He strode off toward the lake, feeling almost cheerful.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Professor Lovejoy hummed to herself as she strolled slowly along the edge of the lake, stopping now and then to look at an interesting rock or just to enjoy the view. A bit earlier the giant squid had surfaced to swim companionably alongside her as she walked, but the frosty air had eventually driven it back to the more hospitable temperatures created by hot springs in the depths of the lake.
Pausing on the far side of a house-sized boulder of granite, Professor Lovejoy bent to take a stone out of the sole of one smart leather half-boot. A large slab of the boulder had broken off and now provided a convenient place to sit while she replaced her boot. She decided to rest for a while before returning to the school. There was cloudless blue sky in every direction. The distant mountains already had snowy caps, and the ground was damp with melted frost.
She reveled in the stillness for quite some time. It was so quiet. She could almost hear the air itself as it wafted past her, redolent with the early-morning scents of lake, soil, and a rich hint of pine from the edge of the forest. She hugged her knees and tipped her head back, closing her eyes and luxuriating in the warmth of the autumn sun on her face.
This was the sight that greeted Snape's eyes as he rounded the boulder on his own perambulations around the end of the lake. With a stifled exclamation he stopped short, his feet scuffling in the loose pebbles lining the shore.
Professor Lovejoy blinked, startled out of her reverie. She hadn't heard his approach. When she saw Snape, she smiled and held out a hand to him.
"Severus!" she exclaimed. "Come and join me. Isn't it a glorious morning?"
Snape, disappointed beyond words to find his solitude invaded, and by her of all people--really, was there nowhere he could go without stumbling over her?--rudely made as if to turn and leave, but Professor Lovejoy was too quick for him. She hopped off the rock and grabbed his hand impulsively.
"Oh, please, Severus," she said prettily, "won't you stay? I should very much enjoy sharing this lovely view with you. Come and sit down--there's room for both of us." She tugged him toward the rock as she spoke. Snape followed slowly, his steps lagging. He glanced up at her and his eyes narrowed in suspicion at her smug little smile. She, noticing that he had noticed, as quickly assumed a pleasantly innocent expression. Too innocent by half, if he knew anything. What was she up to?
Professor Lovejoy resumed her previous seat--taking the flattest, most comfortable place, he noticed sourly--and pulled him down beside her. He perched, stiff and uncomfortable, on the edge of the rock, feeling ridiculous. He didn't want to be here, and he emphatically didn't want to be here with her. A slow resentment began to build inside him.
How dared she come here, to his own favorite place, and invite him to stay as if she owned it? And what--what--was the reason for that smirk he'd caught her in just now? Unpleasant suspicions flitted vaguely through Snape's mind. He did not tolerate being made to look foolish, and he was increasingly sure that somehow she was making fun of him, teasing him. He had no intention of being the butt of anyone's joke.
"Severus?" Professor Lovejoy's voice broke through the turmoil of his thoughts. "My, you do look fierce. Whatever can the matter be?" She smiled impishly, squeezing his hand. He belatedly realized she was still holding it and jerked it away abruptly. At that, she laughed outright. He glared at her, stiff with outrage.
"Why, Severus, are you afraid of me?" she asked, tilting her head on one side and regarding him assessingly. Snape gave her his most quelling look, but she continued gazing at him in that maddeningly inquisitive way.
"Don't be ridiculous," he said, at his most forbidding. She just laughed.
"Well, you certainly jump every time I touch you," she said. "Or get close to you." She scooted in his direction a tiny bit and Snape moved further away, fuming. What was the dratted woman playing at?
With great dignity he stated, "You are mistaken. I merely do not care to be touched."
Professor Lovejoy's sparkling laugh echoed out over the lake. "Really, Severus?" She turned to face him. "Now, I'm quite the opposite. I quite like having my hand held." She took his closest hand in both of hers. Startled, he pulled away, but she was stronger than she looked, and quite determined into the bargain.
"I enjoy the feel of a warm hand on my skin," she said, lifting one of her hands to suit actions to words. Snape sat as if mesmerized, watching her hand move closer and closer to his face. She moved slowly, as if he were a wild animal that might run at any moment. This was almost too easy, she reflected as she touched his face.
Snape sat frozen with disbelief. This could not be happening. People--women--simply did not invite themselves practically into his lap and then start stroking his face. How very odd. Rather belatedly he managed a moue of distaste.
"Really, Professor," he croaked. He cleared his throat--damn the woman!--and began again. "This is most unseemly." Against his will he found himself enjoying the feel of her hand. It was soft, and smelled of flowers.
She was an impertinent nuisance.
Desperately fighting against the unfamiliar lassitude that was stealing over him, Snape stammered, "What--what if a student were to see us?" Immediately he said it, he wished he could unsay it. Us? There was no us. He had to be more careful; next thing you know, she'd--she'd kiss him, or worse! (Although, it has to be said, he'd be hard pressed to think of anything much worse.)
Professor Lovejoy's warm eyes remained fixed on his. She found herself greatly affected by his nearness. Perhaps this wasn't just a game any more. She wondered how far she could push him before he snapped. And even then--what would he do? What could he do? It would certainly be interesting to find out.
Slowly but inexorably she drew his face down until they were only a breath apart. Snape seemed unable to back away, watching her with a half-horrified, half-fascinated expression on his face.
And then--
She kissed him.
Gently at first, then with growing warmth. No, this was definitely no game, she decided. This was actually quite nice. It would be even better if he would participate just a little bit. She brought her other hand up to hold his face and stole a look at him from under her lashes. His eyes were starting to glaze over--a good sign, she supposed. She drew a breath and kissed him again, this time putting everything she had into it. She felt his arms go around her and then, amazingly, he was kissing her back. Kissing her like he meant it.
Well, well, well, said the one small corner of her mind that was still able to think properly. Who would have guessed he had such a talent? Or was capable of such feeling? She gave herself up to the kiss, which ended all too soon.
Dazed, she opened her eyes. She started to smile, but Snape thrust her away as if he'd been burned. He leaped to his feet, aghast. Professor Lovejoy started to get up as well, but he held up one hand imperiously.
"No," he said hoarsely. Without another word he turned and walked swiftly away, back toward the castle.
Professor Lovejoy wondered what was going through his mind right now. That had gone somewhat further than she had intended. She hadn't expected the rush of feelings she had experienced when Snape had finally started responding to her kiss. Well! she thought. I suppose that is what happens when he's pushed too far. How very interesting, to be sure.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Damn her eyes! was what was going through Snape's mind just then. Why had he allowed such a thing to happen? Why had she insisted on pushing him so far? His own response had shaken him badly. For a brief instant he had almost wanted to give in to a need that had lain dormant and unacknowledged for much of his life--the simple need for someone to like him.
He strode along, quashing the thought further with every furious step. Having needs meant showing weakness. He couldn't afford to indulge in either one. The Dark Lord was out there somewhere, and Snape had no illusions concerning his own future. Future? He laughed humorlessly. He had no future. Sooner or later he would be called to account for deserting Voldemort in his time of greatest need, not to mention betraying him by going to Dumbledore. As it was, whatever strength he could find within himself probably would not be enough to survive that encounter. He tried not to think about it, but the burning of the Dark Mark on his arm, more frequent of late as the Dark Lord summoned his Death Eaters to do his bidding, was impossible to ignore.
Snape knew of Sybil Trelawney's prediction regarding Harry and Voldemort--the prophesy that Voldemort had been so eager to hear for himself. Really, he thought, Potter had the most amazing luck. Just like his father. Snape couldn't bring himself to believe Harry's past defeats of Voldemort were due to anything like talent--more like dumb luck, he was sure. Professor Trelawney was nothing but an old fraud. But then again...
He wondered what would happen the next time Voldemort confronted Harry. Dumb luck or not, after five failed attempts to kill Harry since his arrival at Hogwarts, Voldemort had to be wondering about the fulfillment of the prophecy.
Snape was not one to indulge in foolish optimism. But he did rather wonder what odds a gambler would give on the outcome.