In which Snape finds Rose, Rose loses Snape, Rose finds Snape, Voldemort pitches a hissy (hee!), and ... then what? As always, the World of Potter belongs to the charming, witty, and always-exceptional J.K. Rowling.
Everything had changed. Nothing would be the same again.
Rose stood at the window of her bedroom, staring across the sunlit lawn. She could still feel his hands on her shoulders, his body trembling as it pressed against hers -- she could taste his mouth -- she could hear the rasp in his voice as he told her to go.
Did she actually love him? How could she know?
Looking back, she could see how much he'd always fascinated her, how often he'd engaged or amused or infuriated her -- the last not normally a sign of love, to her tidy mind. But the longer she thought about her feelings, the surer she became. His attraction for her was much more than just as a psychological puzzle, a mystery she felt compelled to solve.
It was simple: he was the one for her. Her crush on Oliver Wood, her liking for Terry Fletcher, could not be compared to what she felt now.
It wasn't just the kiss, though that had been stunning enough. No, she wanted to know everything about him, even more than before; she wanted to hear every dark secret. She felt no matter what was in his past -- and she was sure there was a great deal in his past -- she could understand anything, forgive anything. She wanted to heal his hurts (how did she know he was hurt?), she wanted to share his burdens. She wanted to remove the compulsion that made him so harsh. She wanted, and it seemed no small ambition just then, to make him smile.
And what on earth had drawn him to her? Could he possibly feel the same way? Rose marveled at the idea that a man of his age and experience could have any interest in a girl like herself, no matter how pretty or clever people told her she was. Yet she had seen the torment in his eyes. That kiss had been no passing fancy; it was as though he'd been driven to it. She had felt his desperation as he'd ordered her to go, felt how close he was to losing control, and she had known she must leave then or never. She almost regretted her flight. If she'd stayed --
She had to talk to him, had to find out what he thought and felt. What was next for them?
She felt nervous at the idea of even going down for breakfast, and shook herself. She was being silly. They were both adults -- well, barely, she thought with a grin. They should be able to handle this maturely, discuss it rationally and proceed from there.
She made her way down to the Great Hall, looking, afraid to look -- but he was absent. She crumbled a muffin and drank cup after cup of tea, stomach churning, but he did not appear. She could barely greet anyone else at table and was thankful that Arabella seemed to be having a lie-in.
Finally she had to rise. She spent the morning in the office she had been assigned, trying to work on lesson plans for the Muggle Studies fifth-years, but she only got as far as making some selections for a segment on Muggle music.
What now? He knew what he wanted. If they could have met afresh, with nothing of the past between them, no worries about his years or her youth, no Voldemort -- But it couldn't be. He had lived years longer than she, years full of bitterness, and he reported to the Dark Lord in just five days' time. He would not risk tainting the spring of her freshness and innocence, nor would he endanger her any further. To keep her safe, he had to distance himself; to lie to Voldemort, he had to remain detached.
But in the meantime ... he paced the corridor outside her office. And heard -- music? A slow but compelling beat underlay the simple melody, and he paused to listen. Pachelbel's Canon.
He gathered every scrap of resolution he possessed and stepped to the doorway.
Rose was leaning back in an armchair, gazing fixedly out the window. She turned her head, seemingly unsurprised by his sudden appearance, and gave him a tentative smile.
"Miss Potter," he began.
The smile faded. "I think we're on a first-name basis now ... Severus," she said, her voice low.
"Rose..." He loved saying her name; he loved the sound of his name on her lips. God, but he had it bad. "We need to talk."
"I agree," she said, motioning him to the armchair opposite hers.
He could not approach, could not take one step closer, or he would fall at her feet as the unicorn had. He remained motionless in the doorway, the final serene chords of the music washing over him but doing nothing to soothe his spirit. As the silence deepened he made himself speak.
"Last night -- should not have happened," he started to say, but Rose held up a hand, giving him a little half-smile.
"Stop right there. Let me see: I'm too young, you're too old, I've just barely graduated from your Potions class, Slytherins and Gryffindors are natural enemies, we're going to be colleagues, and what would Dumbledore say. Oh, and I gather you and my guardian are not exactly friends. Does that about cover it?"
For once he was speechless. Lord, he hadn't even considered Black, and as for the rest of it --
"I don't care about any of that." She stood and approached him. "The only thing that matters right now is -- how we feel. If we both feel the same." She swallowed. "I care about you ... enough for a beginning."
This was torture, worse than standing in the circle of Death Eaters and waiting for Voldemort to question him. He could lie to the Dark Lord, but lying to Rose made him want to tear his tongue out.
"You're making some big assumptions," he said as coldly as he could. "You were there last night, and -- well, I'm only a man, Rose. Any man might have done what I did."
She didn't seem as daunted as he expected. She tilted her head to one side. "If that's what you want me to think, Severus," she said softly.
Oh, God --
"What do you think I was doing by keeping a unicorn captive?" he said harshly. "Don't trust so easily, Rose, or you'll be very sorry."
"I think whatever you were doing, you had a good reason," she said slowly. She looked a bit wary, but still far too ... hopeful. How could he get through to her --
"I don't always have good reasons," he growled, pulling up his left sleeve and thrusting out his arm. "Look, Rose -- "
She gasped, reaching out with trembling fingers as if to trace the ugly emblem branded on his skin, but he snatched his arm away. "The Dark Mark," he said. "Every Death Eater wears this. I was in his service for years." He rolled his sleeve down and looked into her white face. "You're very innocent, Rose. Don't let a kiss deceive you."
He turned and strode back down the hall. She did not follow.
He was silent and attentive as always while Voldemort made his usual circuit, stopping to make inquiries at various points around the circle. Finally the menacing figure stopped before Snape.
"And so, Severus -- what is your news?"
His heart was pounding uncharacteristically fast. "I am sorry to report that the Potter girl is unsuitable, my lord."
"Really." The reptilian eyes narrowed. "I confess, that surprises me greatly, Severus. Tell us what happened."
"The unicorn rejected her, Master. I had it tethered, and it fled as soon as the witch untied it."
"Really," Voldemort said again. "Most curious. Let us hear from Nagini...." He gave a sibilant command which Snape recognized as Parseltongue.
An enormous green serpent slithered through the gap between Snape and the hooded figure beside him, which jumped. Snape managed to remain still -- barely. The snake circled Voldemort's feet and halted, looking up into his face. A brief hissing conversation was heard. The Dark Lord turned again to Snape.
"Nagini has been in communication with my company of Watchers -- owls, bats, and other creatures who serve as my eyes and ears in far places. An eagle owl named Rathunter patrols the Hogwarts grounds, and just four days ago he brought Nagini a most interesting story. He was bidden to be especially alert for all signs of activity involving unicorns, and so he did see a man lead a unicorn to an outbuilding at Hogwarts and tie him there.
"But here is where Rathunter's story diverges from yours, my faithful servant." The voice was colder than ever, the thin mouth curled in a sneer. "As he watched through the window, he saw something -- rather odd. Do you know what he saw, Severus?"
"No, my lord." His voice was steady.
"He saw the witch enter and free the unicorn -- which then knelt before her. And further, he he says positively that the animal only fled when -- " Voldemort bent forward so his face was a mere few inches from Snape's -- "the man who had secured it approached the girl and ... accosted her. What can account for this discrepancy in your stories, I wonder?"
Snape struggled to remain composed. "Will you trust a creature of the wilds before your own servant, my lord? Perhaps Rathunter was too far away to see properly. Or perhaps he lies for his own reasons."
"I think not, my faithful Severus. I think instead that you have deceived me." The red eyes burned into his own.
"I have not deceived you, Master. I swear -- "
"You swear!" The glowing eyes widened with fury. "You swore to me, Severus, all those years ago, to serve me and me alone. Yet I find you can lie to me, and about something vital to my plans. What is this girl to you?"
"She is nothing to me, my lord." His stomach was twisting, but his voice, he was distantly glad to note, was still calm. "I must have misinterpreted what I saw. The unicorn definitely fled after the girl untied him."
"Yet Rathunter was most clear on this point: the unicorn ran away only after your encounter with the Potter girl. Moreover, you not only spoke to the witch, you seized and held her, Rathunter says. Can you explain your actions?"
"She -- was shocked to see me and became faint. I merely kept her from falling, Master." Snape kept a grip on the wand in his pocket. He had to be ready --
"Not according to what our far-seeing friend reports. And why did you need to speak with her at all? No, Severus, I fear -- I greatly fear -- that I cannot trust you. I also fear that even the Imperius Curse is useless on such a skilled liar." Voldemort's wand was suddenly in his hand, aimed at Snape. "Expelliarmus!"
Snape's defensive movement came too slowly, too late. His wand went sailing into Voldemort's hand and he was knocked backwards onto the ground. He lay there breathing hard as the Dark Lord uttered a command and ropes bound themselves about his arms and legs. The menacing figure towered over him, staring down into his face for a moment, then the high voice rasped: "Lucius."
The hooded figure next to Snape stood forward. "Yes, my lord."
"Return to your home and procure a draught of Veritaserum. We will soon know what this faithless servant has really done."
The figure nodded under its hood. "At once, Master." The figure Disapparated, and Apparated again many long moments later, holding a small bottle.
"Lucius," the voice commanded again. The Death Eater stooped and forced Snape's mouth open painfully despite his struggles, pouring three drops of the potion onto his tongue.
The serum's effect was like that of the Imperius Curse, only a hundred times magnified. Snape struggled to resist, but felt all his fears and cares washing away under a gentle tide of relaxation. Soon there was no need to struggle at all. Only one thing mattered -- to tell the red-eyed figure standing over him whatever he wanted to know, anything and everything. This was his father, his savior, his mentor, his confessor, and he could keep nothing from him.
"Severus." He started; it was so pleasant to be addressed -- his hero was calling him by name -- "What happened the night you brought the Potter girl to the unicorn? Did the unicorn kneel to her, or reject her?"
He spoke thickly and with difficulty, as if underwater, but he must answer. "It knelt," he said.
"What did you do then?"
"I came out of hiding. I confronted her. I was angry."
"Angry, Severus? Why?"
"She put herself in danger. I put her in danger." He heard his voice, a monotone that sounded as if he was talking in his sleep, but he had no attention to spare for marveling at it. All that mattered was the figure above him, which was speaking again.
"Why does her peril anger you, Severus? Is she not an important tool for your master's use?"
"I want her for myself," he murmured. "I love her."
"Ah," said his master. "Now we reach the truth. So what did you do when you accosted her, Severus?"
"I kissed her. And I told her to go."
"Very chivalrous," the voice above him said. "Such noble sentiment must have its reward. Say, a reunion with the beloved, as soon as it can be arranged ... Lucius, take him to my rooms and leave him there. We will be sure he witnesses the fulfillment of my plans. And then he shall have his own reward -- at last."
Oh Lord, at least he only wants to know about the past day. "No, Headmaster. Why?"
"Because Severus has gone missing." Dumbledore sighed heavily as he toyed with a silver letter opener, seemingly oblivious to Rose's gasp of shock and the anxiety that suddenly filled her eyes. "He has been carrying out a mission for me, but I fear something has gone very wrong. I hoped as a fellow member of my council, you might help me shed some light on this mystery." He looked into her face.
"We last spoke -- several days ago," she said haltingly. "He said nothing to make me think he was going anywhere or doing anything special. Except -- "
"Yes?"
"Well, about a week ago he had a unicorn tethered in the shed by Hagrid's house, and he wouldn't explain why."
"Indeed." Dumbledore searched her face. It was hard to keep her gaze steady, even though she knew she had nothing to feel guilty about. "I know about the unicorn, Rose. It is possible that his disappearance is somehow linked, but I can't be sure. How do you know he was the one who snared it?"
"He practically admitted it. He didn't say it in so many words, but...." Rose stopped in confusion. "Why was the unicorn there, sir?"
"Severus was carrying out a task for me," Dumbledore said absently, frowning as he stared beyond Rose into the fire.
The silence lengthened. Rose finally ventured in a small voice, "You know ... about his Dark Mark, I suppose?"
The headmaster looked at her keenly. "So he told you about that?"
"He showed me. So you do know. I thought you must."
"Yes, I know, Rose. Did he explain it?"
"No, he just said -- he served Voldemort for years."
"Well." Dumbledore rose and began pacing before the hearth. "The story is his to tell. Suffice it to say, he serves me now, and he is -- " he paused and regarded her intently -- "my most useful spy."
Rose's eyes widened. "Do you mean he still poses as a Death Eater?"
The headmaster nodded. "Yes. Of course this must remain between us, Rose. I do not like to let even the other council members know so much, though I will have to if we are to find him. But I feel it is especially important for you to know."
Rose did not stop to ask why this was, but instead was thinking hard. "The night I went through the Maze -- "
"He had not returned to Voldemort then. Early last spring he showed me the Dark Mark growing ever clearer on his arm, and the last night of the Tournament he told me when it burned in summons -- so we knew Voldemort had returned and was calling his old followers. But I bade Severus stay and help me find you, keep you safe, since you were still -- as we thought -- in the midst of the tricky Third Task.
"I knew that Voldemort had a follower in our midst. There were too many unexplained events, too many strange happenings surrounding you in particular, Rose -- not least your entry into the Tournament as a fourth competitor. As soon as I knew the Dark Lord had returned, I suspected he was going to try to abduct you -- even that very night, since the confusion of the maze would give him and his followers cover, and the magical conditions of the maze were such that sorcerous entrance to the grounds might just be made possible. I was all too correct. Unfortunately I did not know you were already gone ... and had already played an essential role in Voldemort's rebirth."
The scar on her arm, which was still fading, burned anew as she remembered the events of that night.
"And now I fear Severus is in his hands," Dumbledore continued, staring soberly into the fire. "He has not been heard from in nearly a day. I expected him to report to me early this morning, and when I finally sent for him I was told he could be found nowhere on the grounds. Moreover, he has not been seen since last night. He would never voluntarily miss a meeting with me, not without sending some word. I only hope we are not too late."
Rose's stomach dropped at the words too late. "What can we do?"
"I am calling an emergency meeting of the council," Dumbledore said. "The owls went out before I called you here. Together I trust we will discover a way to find him. We will convene in -- " he stared at the clock above his desk -- "three hours' time."
She thought back to her last meeting with Voldemort ... the graveyard she and Cedric had entered on the night of the Third Task ... Voldemort, reborn ... musing over his father, and his father's grave, to which she'd been bound ... his father's grave --
Surely the Riddle family home would have been nearby. From the little Rose knew of Voldemort's background, his father had been a well-to-do Muggle who'd abandoned his wife upon discovering she was a witch. The poor woman had died giving birth to a son whom she'd named after his father. Tom Riddle Senior had never remarried as far as she knew; his son had taken revenge on the father who'd abandoned him, and the grandparents as well if she remembered right, but there had been no mention of a second wife or children. So it was very possible the Riddle family home had been left -- uninhabited, perhaps? And it would be just Voldemort's way to make the home of his despised parent his new headquarters, so he could glory in occupying the place he had been denied all his life.
They had to find the Riddle home, and see if -- Snape was there. Even in her thoughts she would not allow herself to call him Severus just now; she needed all her objectivity at this moment, and her feelings for him were too new and too confusing to be anything more than a hindrance in this business.
She realised suddenly that if her guess was right, she was quite possibly the only one who could find the Dark Lord's hiding place quickly. Whatever records Hogwarts kept on past students might contain information on the orphanage Tom Riddle had grown up in, but it was very likely that they would say nothing about the home of the father who'd disowned him -- and that home was possibly, even probably, at a considerable distance from the orphanage. But the members of prominent families were generally buried in the place of their prominence. Having been to the Riddle grave once, she could Apparate there again with some concentrated effort, and then begin the search.
She packed a small bag with some few things, scribbled a hurried note which she left for the Headmaster in case she didn't return -- in time for the council -- and hurried away from the castle to a place where she could Apparate, focusing with all her strength on a marble headstone in a gloomy cemetery.
"Crucio!" came the voice again, and then he heard another, higher but more malevolent voice intervene, sounding amused. "Now Wormtail, we must be sure our lover is ready to meet his sweetheart. Let's not overdo things." Mercifully the pain subsided and he finally lost consciousness.
Now he was awake, barely, though still bound, as he gingerly tested his freedom of movement and found he had very little. Apparently he was alone as well. At least, all was silent around him ... except --
A faint rustling noise appeared to be coming from the doorway, though nothing was visible. The noise was coming closer and closer. Snape squirmed away from this unseen threat --
"Hold still," a voice hissed at him, and Rose pulled off her Invisibility Cloak. She knelt beside him and began untying the ropes. For a moment he could only stare at her.
"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" he whispered furiously.
"Hello, Rose," she muttered, working feverishly at his bonds. "Nice to see you again. Thank you for risking your life to find me, Rose, and by the way, have I told you how grateful I am you got here before I was killed?" She tugged the last knot apart rather harder than was necessary. "There." He sat up, rubbing his tingling arms and legs.
"We can save all that for later," he said, still seething. "Do you know what danger you're in?"
"No more than you, I expect -- c'mon, let's go," she said, rising and extending a hand. He made to stand up, and with great reluctance found he had to accept her assistance. "I don't bite, you know," she said coldly. "Here -- " She pulled the Invisibility Cloak over him and covered herself as well. Her scent and warmth surrounded him, though he couldn't see her nor even himself.
"We can't Apparate into or out of the house, I found that out the hard way," she whispered, leading him into the empty hall. They stood at the top of the staircase listening, but all seemed quiet. They started down the stairs, alert to every creak the old boards gave. They paused and held their breath as one step groaned especially loudly, but still -- nothing.
Then a slithering was heard and Nagini appeared at the bottom step. She raised her hooded head, seeming to sniff the air like a dog --
A torrent of Parseltongue sounded from the room beyond. Nagini curved around and glided back the way she'd come.
Snape whispered, "What did he say?" He could hear a smile in her voice as they continued their descent. "What did I say, you mean?" she murmured. "I've found ventriloquism has its uses for more than just entertaining the first-years. I told her to go back, she was needed. And if she tries to find out why, it's all up with us, so let's get out of here!" They reached the bottom of the stairs, then the doorway --
Rose was in the lead. Cautiously she pushed the door open. Snape saw it was now night and the stars shone bright above. They crossed the threshold and stepped out onto the overgrown lawn.
"We've made it," Rose whispered. There was no sign of any guard, but --
"Find them!" The chilling cry in that all too familiar voice sounded loudly from the doorway. Rose groped for Snape's hand and took it. They ran as quickly as they could into the night, the cloak flapping around their ankles. They could hear footsteps pursuing -- Rose turned for a quick look and saw Wormtail and one or two other figures behind -- the long grass was making it difficult to run, and impossible to hide the sound or sight of their footsteps -- there was a shout and a crack as of lightning, and a burst of sparks overtook them --
Rose cried out, then turned and pointed her wand. "Impedimenta!" A jet of light streaked behind them and they heard cries from their pursuers; her spell seemed to have worked for the time being at least. They hurried down the hill and into a grove, where Rose pulled off the cloak and they stood, panting. They leaned against one of the trees, a fir whose bark seemed almost warm to the touch. Snape ran his hand over it, noting its texture, drinking in its balsam scent in a rare moment of thankfulness. He couldn't believe he was actually free --
"We have to get back. You can Apparate, right?" Rose asked hurriedly, hand to her side as if she had a stitch from running. He nodded dumbly, strangely content to leave the planning to her for the moment. "Hogsmeade is as near as we can get. Will the pavement outside the Three Broomsticks do?" He nodded again.
She took his hand in hers once more. They closed their eyes and concentrated on the sign outside the tavern, three crossed broomsticks gleaming gold against a white background. Snape felt the familiar push at his back. They opened their eyes and looked around at the familiar pubs and shops. It was late on a weeknight and the street was empty.
"Oh, thank God." Rose sank down on the edge of the pavement and clutched her side once again.
Snape made no move to join her. "We aren't safe yet, Rose. Voldemort said he has spies everywhere. Watchers, he calls them: owls and bats, and other creatures. We have to get back to Hogwarts immediately. Hogsmeade is probably the first place they'll look." Clumsily, wearily, Rose took his hand and stood, pulling the cloak over them both once again. They headed for the path leading to the castle.
Every noise was magnified a thousand times. The Forbidden Forest was eerily dark and quiet as they edged along it. Snape was on the alert, his senses straining. If there was a place they could stop and rest -- he knew the walk wasn't all that long, but it seemed like many miles this night --
Hooves sounded in the distance, coming nearer and nearer. Snape pulled Rose off the path and they crouched behind a tree, listening. He could feel her breath coming in gasps. The travel and the danger seemed to be taking its toll. Suddenly she slumped against him.
"Rose!" he hissed, pulling off the cloak. She was pale and still.
"Severus," said a voice behind him. Snape whirled --
"Firenze," he said in relief. The centaur's sturdy body loomed in the starlight. "Well met, friend. My companion is hurt and we are in danger. May we take shelter with you until the morning?"
The half-man, half-beast nodded gravely. "You may. My brothers will be anxious to speak with you. We have seen grave signs this night and would welcome your opinion."
Firenze courteously suggested that Snape place Rose's unconscious form on his back. They set off for the halls of the centaurs, deep in the caverns at the heart of the Forest. There could be no safer place for Rose tonight.
When they reached the caves, Snape took Rose into his arms and carried her into the empty chamber Firenze showed him. "I need to examine her hurts, and then I will speak with you, if you will," he told his host. Firenze nodded and withdrew.
Snape carefully undid Rose's cloak and looked her over quickly. Nothing ... but there -- a burnt-looking place on the side of her dress, a hole where the cloth had been eaten away. He remembered she'd been clutching her side --
Well, it had to be done. He removed the stained and torn garment, doing his best to be quick about it, and looked at her wound. There was a nasty gash which was seeping blood, and a large bruise was growing darker around the edges as if she'd been struck with something blunt but forceful: a Bludger Charm, he guessed, remembering the crack of thunder and the sparks that followed.
He saw her shiver. It was cold and damp in these caves, and she needed more than his limited healing skills, she needed warmth. He conjured a smokeless fire in the disused hearth and went to the door. Firenze stood without. "She has an injury. Do you have any healers among you?" he asked. Firenze nodded and summoned a graying centaur named Beazel. "She will assist you," he said.
Beazel looked gravely at the wound, cleaning it, packing it with healing herbs and wrapping Rose's middle with linen. She felt Rose's forehead and looked into her face. "She is exhausted and the wound was bad, but she will certainly live," the centaur said. "She will be able to return home tomorrow if she but rests well tonight. Give her this potion when she wakes. Firenze says our brothers will speak with you in the morning before you go." Snape thanked her ceremoniously and she closed the door behind them.
Snape crossed to the bed. Beazel had pulled a blanket up to Rose's chin; he smoothed the soft weave beneath his hand as he looked into Rose's drawn face. What had possessed her to come after him as she had? And how had she found him? These questions would have to wait, he thought, yawning. He too had been through an ordeal and he was weary to the bone. There was no place else but the floor, which certainly wouldn't do -- He stretched out on the bed beside Rose, atop the blankets, and quickly fell asleep.
Good lord, it was him. He was pressed to her in his sleep, his arm draped over her. But how -- She suddenly remembered everything that had happened. Somehow they must have made it back to Hogwarts. But what was he doing in her room?
She tried to sit up and groaned as the wound in her side protested the sudden movement. Snape stirred. "Rose," he murmured, still half asleep. "You know I didn't mean it."
"Mean what?" she whispered. But he rolled over and slept on. Rose realized this wasn't Hogwarts, at least no part of it she'd ever seen. There was an unfamiliar damp in the air and if she wasn't mistaken -- were those stalactites hanging from the ceiling? He must have found them a cave to hide in. But a cave with a bed? And -- where were her clothes? She realized suddenly that her robe was gone and her wound had been dressed -- she'd felt the sudden blow as the spell had caught her, but had had to ignore the pain as best she could.
Well, her comrade-in-arms didn't seem too worried. Rose lay down with a sigh and curled herself against his back. It was comforting as well as warming, lying next to him....
"So how did I get here?" she asked. He explained what had happened the previous night after they'd left the path. "Rose, I'm sorry," he said as he sat beside her. "I didn't realize you'd been hurt. I shouldn't have driven you on the way I did."
"We had to get away, you didn't have much choice," she said reasonably, struggling to sit up. "How did -- oh -- " She'd forgotten her dress was off and she blushed as the blanket fell a few inches, but luckily she retrieved it just in time and tucked it securely under her arms. "What's the matter?"
He was staring from one of her shoulders to the other, and his long fingers reached out to trace the purple marks fading to green. "Did I do that?" he asked softly.
"What -- " Oh, the bruises. She'd nearly forgotten them now they weren't sore any longer. "Yes, I guess you did," she said, suddenly feeling shy as she remembered that night in the shed, his hands holding her so tightly --
His mouth twisted. He gripped her shoulders once again, but as gently as though he were holding a moth, and he took her lips, but not fiercely like before --
It was as sweet as the first time, but so much more delectable ... she tasted his regret along with the salt of his mouth, she gave him absolution with her own kiss in return, and when they came up for air her hands were framing his face, her eyes glistening with a tender light.
"Rose," he said huskily.
"Shh," she said, pulling his head down to hers again.
Her small sounds of pleasure were making him feel -- God, this had to stop now or it never would. He sat up again, breathing harshly, and looked down into her beautiful face. "Rose, we have to get back," he said. "Dumbledore will be out of his mind about us. Centaurs don't keep owls and I haven't been able to send a message."
"You're right," she said breathlessly, stroking one finger along the line of his jaw. She let him go and sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest. "Er -- "
He stood. "We've found you a robe to wear home." He pointed to a fall of grey woollen stuff hanging from a hook in the corner. He suddenly looked almost embarrassed, endearingly so, she thought. "Do you need -- help?"
She smiled. "No, I think I can manage. If you'll just wait outside?"
"Oh -- of course. Don't forget to take the healing potion they gave you." He brought her the flask Beazel had left and quickly shut the door behind him, leaving her to dress.
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Thanks for your very encouraging reviews, Elyse, Evanescence, Fencer Girl, Nicolette, Tatter, and Unicorn Lady! You help keep me going. Sorry for the long wait this time!
Thanks also to 17th-century German organist and composer Johann Pachelbel for his Canon in D major, a lovely, meditative piece. There's a very listenable MIDI version at www.goodier.net/pachelbel/pcanon2.mid ... Final thanks go to the queen of romantic suspense, Mary Stewart, who among other things taught me that love scenes can be exciting while still rated below R. The bruises were her idea. I know that sounds odd, but I loved it in her first novel, one of my favorites: Madam, Will You Talk? -- more info at tinyurl.com/m1pn ... See you in chapter 8, when Snape bares all. Figuratively speaking, of course! [wink wink nudge nudge say no more]