By Fire, From Ash

by genegonewilder

Young adult Severus is finding it difficult to adjust to life post-war, in part due to the fact that the rumors about his Death Eater status seem to have spread far and wide, but also because his own self-loathing outweighs anything anyone could throw at him. With his new teaching position at Hogwarts, he hopes to just move on, but a woman stands as a blazing reminder of his past.

15. Burn

"Don't you try to explain all the words that you've made for love

Don't you care just enough
Don't you feel your heart stop
But you can't know what you want
But what matters now is enough"

B.R.M.C. - Long Way Down

---

_—***—_

Chapter 15 – Burn

Below the high archway, far below, only a fraction higher than the smoky marbled floor itself compared to the ceiling which towered into shadow, a brilliant silver object was catching the light as it wobbled forward from around the pristine molding.

It was a marvel how easy it was early on. Nothing to inhibit the free flow of that most precious source bubbling within. It could create, come alive, play with whimsy, and sit still, quiet below the surface.

However, as the years quickly counted up, that ease would vanish. What once was as natural as breathing would close up and shrink the world down to only that which could be learned. Perhaps it was the knowledge gained with age that caused it, and that in turn needed to be counteracted with more knowledge; learning the words, their meaning, their origin; their difference and variation across every language. But the words would never come as smooth, never pour like water from a stream, never cumulate just where they were needed into the world quite like before. It would take an awkward stuttering of cobbled-together force to make even the word work in that way which was known to be so true that it had once not needed one. With time and training, one could master the word to get the effect; even personally craft unique words to a desired meaning. But never again could they regain that wordless mastery. Even silently, the language demanded to be sung out inside one's own head...

And then what did that mean for the word itself? Was it but a tool for the feeling, or was—?

"Draco!"

Narcissa Malfoy darted across his line of sight to catch the silver vase that had been hovering ever closer to the pointed edge of the table her guest was sitting at. Setting it down, she continued in a stream of weary muttering under her breath as she strode further and scooped up into her arms the owner of a pale and pudgy face that had been peeking from the archway into the sitting room, his stubby-fingered arms still raised in mindless magical conduction.

As he no longer needed to be modestly looking in the other direction while the lovely couple had been kissing their goodbyes, Severus turned back to his old friend across the table to raise his brows.

Lucius raised his in turn, looking to be masking a headache behind his tightly lined smile. When they were at last alone again, after a clipped final farewell from his wife, he spoke.

"Apologies. He either cries or breaks something every time she leaves."

"Fun."

"Usually the elf keeps him occupied, but..." Lucius waved a weary hand and Severus tried to nod with understanding, though the comprehension of magical childcare was a stretch for him.

"Narcissa has maintained her social circle, then?" he asked, trying to steer the subject back to matters that he could grasp.

However, his simple question was met with a cold, grey dart of eyes.

"Yes," Lucius replied slowly, "her friends at the office welcomed her back after just a month away to 'recover'..."

There was a dampening hang to the end of his sentence that Severus took with a continued impassive stare, before prompting just as mildly, "And, as you were alluding to earlier... your Ministry companions did not?"

As if the word 'Ministry' was the heat roiling a kettle to a boil, a steady stream of a sigh was released through Lucius's nose. He seemed to be struggling physically to hold something back, but in the end one side won out.

"They are 'reviewing their options' on where my generosity 'might best be fit in,'" he said with enough of the teenage haughtiness that Severus was used to from earlier years to make him have to forcefully refrain from smirking. "They all told me to take time away as well, after the trial..." He took a drink from the wine he had poured for them both earlier, looking displeased with the taste. "...And then had a whole round of secret meetings and votes without a single invitation my way. I've been in to visit since... An acquaintance I personally helped raise up for five years actually ran away and hid behind the nearest Auror. The new head of Law Enforcement won't even shake my hand, despite my having vouched for several cadets that have excelled in the past few years... And—..."

The man seemed to reel himself back in with some effort, alternating deep breaths and more wine. Severus made an empathetic face of disgust, as if letting the incredulity of all this sink in. It was hard, though, not to remember that the very recent past had seen Lucius Malfoy hellbent on making his family's name even more feared than it already had been under his father—and that every one of his appointees had been secretly placed Death Eaters.

"So, the Ministry has truly fallen back into its old form?"

Lucius nodded with dour finality, his eyes transfixed on his drink as if scrying into a bitter memory.

"I see..." Severus took a moment to collect his thoughts, trying out different branches, before he settled on the one that held his weight. "I've recently had my own—adventure—of sorts with the Ministry."

Lucius had not looked nearly as amused by this outset, having put his straight back against his chair as he was told the story of the Death Eater supporter who had evidently gotten caught up in the thrill of the crossfire and taken aim at one of his heroes deemed traitor. In the end, Lucius had only grown colder in his stance, so casually coiled that only one who was familiar with him might have been able to notice that he was exuding more than just poise.

"And... what is it that you expect me to do about it?" he asked at last.

Severus raised his brows, but it was with a smirk that he replied to the flat tone.

"I'm offended that you think I would bring even more trouble to your doorstep. I've already taken care of it." He reached into his robes, keeping a careful peripheral watch on his fellow's reaction to gage just how suspicious he was, and threw a small card out onto the table that slid easily across the unmarked wood. "He might be an idiot who was never in the know enough to recognize my position, but I've looked into him. He remains loyal, never given a chance to be tested, though seemingly eager to be, and his position at the Ministry hasn't been changed nor investigated. Take that in whatever way you wish that his actions are so small that they evidently have not been rooted out... At the very least, he's proven he is capable of considerable and near undetectable damage." He tented his hands coolly before him. "By most, anyway."

And he himself had proven once again that he was without peer. He was there with information; he was there to help. He was there to swoop in at the last moment, just when all had given up hope and deemed him traitor, to turn out his pockets with the spoils of his labor. Only, perhaps not all at once. It was more impactful this way.

Lucius slowly picked up the card as if it might cut him, holding the anticipation of the room hostage as he flipped it this way and that before at last reading what was written on the back. Severus remembered the text that had appeared in a shimmering, scrolling font perfectly; an advertisement for a soon-to-be tree blossoming festival held by the department—boasting the attendance of the one and only new minister—and welcoming donations.

When the card was set back down with a soft snap, Lucius's face did not immediately change. It was only with a gradual thawing that he released his posture.

"Get the buyer to state for themselves what they need... before you come in with a solution to sell," he evaluated. A sudden hook seemed to pull free his features into a grin. "I remember when I taught you that."

"And I remember when your father was so proud that you had listened to him enough to pass it on," Severus replied with the same sly grin. There was a continuation of their gaze as Lucius appeared reluctant to concede having his own family's tactics used against him, but eventually the little card was stowed away and Severus continued, leaning further in. "I heard more about your trial than the papers dared to print. I knew things would be dire, but I had thought that your family—"

"Do you know..."

He went silent at once.

"...That every regulatory board is in agreement that Apparation with a child under two is dangerous?"

Severus did in fact not know this and blinked as his brain tried to find a relevant folder to fit this information.

"We never should have even been on trial," Lucius finished with venom. "If we had been able to leave fast enough, waited until things had blown over, and had my—" The rest of his sentences was elegantly sealed beneath his fingers as they ran over his mouth.

As he waited, a cold air was building in the room despite the sun trying desperately to break through the thick curtains.

"Speaking of which... What of your own trial, Severus?"

He had been ready for this at least and tightened himself to adopt a properly moody expression.

"I am not... proud of it," he said with his jaw set. "But, of course, it was—"

"Dumbledore?" Lucius finished for him with an unamused laugh. "So, you've just been hiding beneath his wing through this whole ordeal, have you?"

"As I have said..." But he didn't bother reiterating his discomfort with the situation. "I'm sure you could deduce that he is simply up to his usual tactics of keeping a controlling hand over every last thing. I've been under scrutiny in my own prison, I assure you. And..." Severus held back for a moment, looking his old friend up and down almost apologetically before he added, "As I understand it, even you have turned down an invitation to be under his nose."

That did indeed stop the enthusiasm of his probing. Severus had figured it out with a little extra help, sending a letter to Slughorn just the past week to check if he had invited his old club member to his most recent gathering. There was only one reason to decline, when social status was what one was after most lately...

A single sharp corner of Lucius's mouth twitched up.

"How was the party?"

"In fact, it was the very one that I was poisoned at. So, one of his best."

"Outstanding. So sorry to have missed that." Severus tipped his head to him, but it didn't seem the other man was finished. "And... how it is that you've come to be out and about, roaming free, currently?"

To that, he simply pointed his hand towards the many-paned window, showing mostly only sky, just the bottom two panes showing the tops of landscape sprawling on in vibrant green. He hadn't meant to make his point so literally, however, and his stomach leapt and face darkened as the window ledge outside was suddenly attacked with claws and feathers.

"The phoenix?" Lucius mused, not looking very taken aback by this. Apparently he was used to large birds hopping up to get a peek at him.

"He has me running errands," Severus said, letting his foreboding which he was signaling out the window with his eyes color his words to displeasure. "I'm taking it to a specialist."

The bird gave a clipped chirp that was muted through the glass, before it hopped back down.
They continued to watch as more bird sounds were heard below, but Lucius didn't seem interested enough in the safety of his own extravagant pets to check further, turning back to his guest.

"It would seem to anyone paying attention... that you are traveling a lot more than you would let on," he said with a measured look.

Measured for anyone else might mean they were containing themselves, but Severus had tensed his stomach at the tone, his hands, on the table for the illusion of transparency, going still.

Lucius's eyes narrowed and he seemed to lean in, closing the distance between them as if to strike over the table, the triumph of pressing in on this soft spot glinting in his eyes as he spoke. "And what is your excuse for having been out this winter? Doing his gift shopping?"

At this, Severus had to bow his head and accept the pressure.

With delicately placed apprehension, he said, "Bellatrix... did manage to get my message to you, then?" He waited until Lucius's frown had furrowed to go on. "I... am sorry. I should have been of more help."

"More help with what?"

The constriction on his gut released. It was lovely when people were kind enough to broadcast their buy in to your act so plainly and trip themselves up into the web all in one.

"With what she had been planning for months," Severus said with his own concern shading his tone now. "I told her to let me know when she convinced you to join us. But I never heard from her again... until I saw her headlining the papers..."

The recoiling was done with such smooth grace, one hand moving to an elegantly aloft hold on his glass, Severus was almost willing to change the subject to quidditch bets instead. It wouldn't really be like him—either side of him—however.

"She never spoke to you?"

"Of course she did," Lucius snapped, briefly lifting his eyes again, "to us—Narcissa as well. But... Of course, we..."

Severus followed the grey eyes as they glanced across the room to the empty archway, appearing to stop near ground level.

It was an odd string to be pulled.

At certain times in recent memory, Severus had been spiked with more fear than anything else, induced by watching the man across from him demonstrate just how little appearances of high society mattered when the horror of what a person could do to another took hold and made the man into the mob—and that mob turning its many eyes onto him had made sure that fear stayed deeply instilled.

But out of the field, out of that place in time... there was no longer the sweat of realization that he did not belong. Instead, there was an immediate understanding of the anxious, hunted look in the eyes now before him.

"Your father is ill."

The snap of attention was sluggish, as if the glow off the man's blond head had tried to deflect the words at first. But the anger was quick once he had caught up.

"How dare you—"

"I've been reading the papers, page six, every day. Not a single mention of him since it happened, although every industry has been in chaos and everyone with half a brain has been readily providing their quotes on how to fix it." Severus gave a generous pause for argument before continuing. "I know he never would have let you see the inside of a courtroom if he had been well."

Lucius seemed to be biding his time to build up some sort of comeback, but after several moments, Severus impatiently cut off his distrustful glaring.

"I do not see the point in hiding it. Family comes first for you, as I am very much aware. Why do you think that I would be so hesitant to admit to abandoning your insane sister-in-law?"

There was a tense moment of silence wherein he let the reality of his companion's seniority of years slowly lower his intensity, subtly giving him the space to take back possession of the room after this risky outburst. Only when Lucius's brow had fully cocked, his back firmly straight, did his mouth finally twitch—and his wine glass was raised.

"To family... including my beloved, mad sister."

Severus couldn't help but smirk even if he hadn't needed to on command. He raised his glass as well, each of them draining them.

"I am sure that Bellatrix is giving the dementors nightmares while plotting her escape," Severus commented to a hefty nod from Lucius.

"As long as she doesn't escape too quickly," he said, and then soured with guilt. "It... was hard convincing Narcissa that there was nothing we could do while under watch ourselves."

"If you want the truth," Severus relented, proud of himself for keeping the irony from his voice, "I had a feeling when I didn't find her hiding out here that she had already been told to handle her own affairs."

They shared a few more laughs, and Lucius finally revealed why his house elf's time was divided from his son, filling in the details of what his father was sick with and waving away offers of help. It was when the current acting master of the house was looking through a glass cabinet for a better wine to uncork when the subject was veered elsewhere.

"I must apologize," Lucius started, taking a second to peer at the bottle in hand, "for being so cold to such an old friend. It hasn't been an... easy period." He sat back down in what constituted a heavy way for him, still easily passing as elegant.

Severus was already lowering his head and shaking this away.

"I'm well aware, there's no need—"

"No, really." He fixed him with a look that silenced any debate. "I'm a man who can admit his wrongs, including being wrong to doubt." His eyes drifted off to the side as a wry grin appeared upon his face. "I remember when I first scouted you. Just a first year, and already showing promise..."

Severus could do nothing at the moment but return the sentimental pleasantries with his own grin. It wasn't as if his eleven-year-old self hadn't been thoroughly ecstatic to have received this praise from an esteemed senior, a sixth-year prefect at the time, anyway.

That boy hadn't the slightest clue who he had been meeting.

The blond head swiveled so mechanically, with such a smooth, liquid motion, it didn't quite pass as natural.

"Except for that girl."

His face soured with distaste as he continued, "Seeing you consorting around the school with her, a mudblood—it never sat right with me... And then the fact that it was her and that spawn of hers there at the end, when everything collapsed..." The cold grey was boring forward with all the effortlessness and suffocation of smoke through a room.

Suddenly, his light brows raised in silent dismissal, and he lifted such a casual shoulder that the contents of his glass did not stir. "But, of course, I was wrong. Because here you are, though she's long dead."

—

When he stepped out of the manor and its many luxuriantly thick curtains, the bright white of cloud-streaked yet sunny skies hit him full blast, so that he almost missed his footing on the vast stone steps.

The spots in his eyes cloaked out the present, taking him back to a memory of exiting a muggle movie theatre, and his head stayed bent away from the light as he set out down the path back to the gates, finding the gravel a struggle for his numb legs.

It was just before he reached the gleaming, embellished entrance that he turned toward the sound of wings and accepted the impact to his shoulder with an unemotive flinch. The sharp nails poking through both cloak and shirt felt soothing, though he could have done without the extra weight.

He kept his eyes trained forward as he made his way to a better vantage point, where he then forced them to shift across the area for potential dangers. Only showing his wand in brief warning and feeling the clench of talons in response, he Disapparated.

The sudden surrounding little town looked to be in full enjoyment of the weather despite the clouds. He spotted not a single car in any driveway and guessed that venturing down a sidewalk cracked and bumped with old grown-in trees and their roots would keep them decently out of sight.

He changed this assessment, however, as his eardrum was assaulted by a loud crack.

"You can't come out," he hissed as if the nearest muggle dwelling was going to overhear through its shutters.

But Freya, now much harder to avoid the eyes of when she was glaring up at him, did not seem to have time for his secrecy.

"What kind of parrot are you going to claim I am if someone sees me like that, then?"

He hesitated, then said, "Egyptian," to no great impression from her. She in fact seemed to ignore his statement entirely, cutting straight back to what must have been making her brows knit so.

"What happened?"

His body immediately swayed away, looking down the sidewalk to set himself in motion.

"Severus," she called, stepping quickly to walk at his side, "if something happened, I need—"

"It went fine, thank you for your interest."

He could practically feel the burn of her eyes next to him, but they veered off after no more than a moment. Apart from their footsteps, they were thrown back into silence once more, and he let his shoulders relax as much as they could.

It was good that they weren't needed back at the castle just yet. Not good for how much work they would have to make up for from missing their grading period, but worth it for the fresh air to his lungs. This hadn't been exactly what he would have wanted from a day out, especially not the required permission to leave in the first place, nor the reporting he would have to be doing afterward—or the bickering that had taken place while traveling—but nonetheless it offered a diversion from the affairs of the past couple weeks.

Diversions were a good and necessary thing, he found.

He glanced to his side as Freya made a sharp move toward a sound down the street, but both of them turned away as a songbird chased a crow from its nest.

His eyes stayed on her, however. Most notably, her look of determination cast down the path and not at him. Her expression changed a second before she moved her eyes, and he made a twinge of acknowledgement at being caught. Then she went back to her task of ignoring him.

He shortened his gait, reaching into his robes.

"Fifties," he said with pride.

She glanced at his held-out bottle of wine that had been weighing down the inner pocket of his robes, not seeming to follow.

"He poured 'guest wine' when I first arrived," he explained, "and by the time I left, I received this."

She blinked at him. "He communicates... in wine?"

"I would prefer it if he would exclusively communicate in wine," he said, and then quickly recovered the darkness from his tone. "Though I might still skip this one. Given my experience with gift wines."

She didn't return his playful implication, barbing back at him, "So, he wasn't happy to see you after all?"

He held in his quick defense that leapt up. After a moment more of searching, he tried again, finding it easy to smirk this time, as it was powered by mischief.

"He was happy to see you," he said to the desired effect of her fully confused attention. "He asked if I knew where Dumbledore had gotten a phoenix, and if he would be willing to breed his."

Her face curled in utmost disgust.

"That settles it," she said, "I'm turning carnivore. I hope his peacocks fry up nicely."

"I thought that might be your first choice. But might I add that, with all the alcohol in it, his mansion is quite flammable as well?"

The faintest ghost of a curl appeared at her lips, and although she was fighting it smooth, it was all he could hope for.

Grinning in his victory, he continued with more ease: "We should be able to find this magical creatures expert shortly and be back at—"

"What? You're not serious—that was just a cover!"

The small spark of light immediately flickered out.

"Yes, and a cover we need to stick to if—"

"Forget it, I'm not letting anyone touch me!"

He stopped to take in the posture of her hunched shoulders, looking like she was trying to cover herself with wings she didn't currently possess, and sharply looked away as a guilty stab ran through his torso.

"Fine," he said with lowered brows, "then we will have to Confund an innocent person. Are you alr—?"

"Go for it," she scoffed. "Do your worst, but you won't get me to transform again."

"Well, that's good news at least," he said as he tried in vain to keep his anger from bubbling up in turn. "As you really shouldn't be doing it so much in public anyway."

"Who exactly is going to recognize me and put—?"

"How about an acquaintance of any of the many people you outed yourself to? Has it never occurred to you that if you wanted to sneak around, you should have kept your private life private?"

She stared at him aghast for a moment. It was her eyes slowly squinting, searching his, that made him turn.

"Why are you arguing with me?" she asked to his back, her voice creeping towards confidence in the answer. "You've been off ever since you walked out of that house. Your shoulder felt like a stone gargoyle when I—"

"I'm fine."

Her boot came down hard on the pavement.

"Severus, for—!" He fixed her infuriated look with a begrudging one of his own. "Who are you going to tell what happened? Albus?" He tilted his head, but she went right on. "No—of course not. So, if you're not going to tell either of us, who is it you're going to talk to?"

"I wasn't aware that I needed to talk to anyone, actually."

Her anger flared once more—and then wavered for the first time. He averted his eyes from the crack of miserable desperation blooming forth to replace it. She might have hit the target true, but he was realizing at the same time that the source of her own short fuse was just as apparent. Horribly, over the sunny sounds of the spring day, he could hear the strain in her breath.

"Would... would you have talked to me about it before...?"

"Of course not," he blurted out forcefully, making her look up in horror. He hadn't any idea how he was supposed to have answered in a positive way, and she seemed just as unsure if she should be further upset. He sighed and tried to continue more calmly, "Nothing... happened. It was just a reunion with an old friend."

She rolled her eyes only half-heartedly. "I don't see why you're so desperate to keep up the 'friend' routine outside of work."

A nerve in his face finally twitched under the effort.

"Surely if there is anyone so desperate for friendship, it's you."

She had every right to look so shocked, but it was him who wound up biting down on his lip and leaning away in an attempt to peel himself bodily out of the scene. As if sensing every bit of his immediate regret, he watched her outraged expression transmute and solidify into a sharply glinting grin of utmost malice.

"If only I could make you experience such desperation for something, Severus," she said with a frosty whisper that grew stronger on her next words. "How about air?"

She caught him as she always did, in that same quick motion that he either couldn't make his limbs move fast enough to avoid or couldn't convince them it was so bad to be caught. It might have been this accustomed acceptance of his capture, or it might have been that her eyes flashing the incredulous amusement at his poor choice of fights to pick had shaken free her full range of emotions—or it might have been the closeness itself; either way, somehow the spring air seemed to sweeten as it swirled around them both, and her own sense of misstep slowly washed over her expression. As he felt the grip on his robes slacken but not move, he dared himself to keep on gazing into that peek behind her veil of hostility for as long as he could.

It had been a foolish and unbidden reaction. Neither of them could do a thing to change that it had happened however, not even by maintaining a distinct lack of eye contact for the remainder of their journey and subsequent return to the castle.

Somehow, he had never imagined what it would be like to live out his days after having opened up in such a way as to eliminate any possibility of hiding his intentions. Every last detail might not be in play, but it was enough that whenever he witnessed her look at him a certain way or shy from view, he was overcome more with the embarrassing realization that he might look that obvious as well. Because, for all that he seemed to have let drift out of his reach of understanding about her, he was certain that he at least recognized what she was feeling now very well indeed.

The majority of the time, she kept her chin up though, with a markedly different look upon her face directed straight at him.

It was very possible that he had invited this design of his undoing upon himself, having been the one to propose time in the library together, thinking it a neutral ground. He couldn't have forced himself to step foot in her chambers again after that. Instead, however, she would now sit across from him writing in her journal while making pointed, direct looks at him almost every day.

But even with her maintaining a distance at all times—physically and with her frostiness—and with his disorientating mix of crushing guilt and deep frustration, nothing could stop his mind from reeling at the reality that he had been so close. Her shining eyes, her excited laughter, her hands pulling him in, the pure joy of her smile... He was left spending half his time staring at papers without reading their contents, and the other half snapping himself out of it and renewing his convictions, as she was often right beside him with a ready glare, as if monitoring his thoughts.

It felt oddly reminiscent of the beginning of the school year. Somehow they had traded half their roles, with him wanting to do anything to make her talk about something light in topic, and her regarding him as if he might try to poison her at any moment.

Her one consistency didn't falter though. He might check half a dozen times throughout the day to see if it was true, but without a doubt, through meals, grading, lesson preparations, and teacher's meetings, she could always be found at his side.

"…And please, for goodness's sake, do check that you can walk in your formal robes before the ceremony. We don't need anyone tripping down the stage again."

Several of the other teachers in the meeting room had a good chuckle at McGonagall's warning, turning toward the Ancient Runes professor, who looked to be very self-conscious of the fact they happened to be wearing a long, trailing garment at that precise moment.

From his usual place at the wall, Severus was too busy succumbing to the shock that he did not own any formal robes, trip-inducing or otherwise, and trying to figure out if something counted as formal enough if it was a solid color.

His drifting attention was caught off guard by the person standing against the wall beside him, looking far too smugly knowledgeable about what he was thinking. He averted his eyes away from her.

"Now, let's see..." McGonagall continued, pointing a finger around the room. "I believe we're even in number of staff, yes? Our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher has made it the whole year this time, thankfully."

Freya gave a beaming smile across the room, one that didn't reach the dark amusement he could see hollowing her eyes. He wrestled with finding it funny or distressing himself.

"Good, good. We shall be perfectly matched for the ceremony then, no one will be forced to dance alone."

This earned two heads tilting, but the deputy headmistress was already moving right along with other matters for the end of year preparations, leaving the two to turn to each other instead.

'What?' Freya mouthed at him.

He shrugged in earnest.

"You graduated from this school—not even that long ago," she hissed at him, incredulous.

He had to tilt over to inconspicuously say, "The only thing I remember is the number of wounded afterward," which seemed to occupy her brain enough that her open-hanging mouth remained silent. Once he realized everyone had started to move about though, he took the opportunity to continue, turning to add at a more comfortable volume, "And you've been at this school presumably four decades now, so who really should be asking who?"

She didn't have any answer to that other than a sour look, but she turned to wave a hand at a much better source of information.

"You have questions," McGonagall correctly assessed as she stepped toward them.

Having been gaining a healthy sense of foreboding about the graduation ceremony for months now, he wished he could have excused himself from knowing for a bit longer, but Freya was jumping ruthlessly in.

"What exactly are we pairing up for?"

"You're not 'pairing up,'" she corrected, "so much as lining up. Everyone will line up in twos behind the curtain, and come out to proceed with the traditional gesture of celebration—"

"A dance?" Freya interjected, seeming to cut the other woman's patience short.

"It is a traditional dance . It is not long nor complex, and it is not single's night at the Hog's Head, so there is no need to overthink it."

Freya seemed convinced, looking sorry for asking. However, as she turned to look up to her fellow newly schooled partner, her innocently hopeful expression took an affronted drop.

He held his disapproving stare down at her for a second longer but didn't dare pique her anger further with McGonagall's hawkish gaze flicking between the pair of them. He only caught a glimpse of Freya's golden eyes narrowing.

"Albus will be partaking, too, right?" she suddenly directed back at the deputy headmistress.

"Of course. He'll be paired with his deputy—myself—as always."

He had to pretend to be fixing a hair out of his eye to turn his twitching smirk away from view as Freya blinked back at this shock. He missed McGonagall's reaction, but thought he heard her make a restrained sigh before excusing herself to answer the Ancient Runes teacher, who had been hovering nearby looking concerned.

"Gee, I wonder who you'll end up next to then," Freya threw at him with cheer so forced she might not have bothered. "It would be awful to get stuck on stage giving a speech as a Head of House and end up back of the line."

"I don't really care so long as it isn't..." He rolled his eyes away from her once more as she raised her brows, daring him to say it. "I'm not against cutting a line to put me wherever I like."

"It doesn't make a different though, you heard her."

"You're making it a difference."

"No, that's very obviously you."

But something had just caught his eye, and he abruptly smoothed his face and straightened his posture. Her head whipped over to where Dumbledore was walking by, offering a friendly wave to her and changing his pace when she neglected to return it.

Severus ducked away so fast he almost bumped into the person behind him, steering his gaze away from what he knew would be an even more enraged look of farewell upon her face.

He headed straight for his classroom, earlier than any student.

It was childish, of course. And by that he was thinking the sole owner of this title was her—of course.

Friendly custom be damned, he was not falling for it. If he allowed her to have this, then she would surely be asking him to a real dance afterward. And any unnecessary degree of closeness, let alone in public and on display, was too much too soon. He had no idea how or why she was even suggesting it.

It wasn't until much later in the day that he saw her again, and only in passing for a few bitter words. The scarcity was normal at the time, as they both had practical exams to prepare for, but her simmering mood hadn't indicated that she would have come around for very long even if she hadn't just lost some of her hair wrangling water creatures. It did almost cheer him up to pester her that Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers had no business being hydrophobic though.

But his shaky security faltered as sightings of her lapsed. It might have been nothing, but once she had no other emotion to overtake it, he thought he saw the same surrender to a disconsolate disposition she had been prone to at the slightest push from him now lingering without any recognizable trigger. He began rethinking how important a dance might be at this time, but even just to cheer her up, he had little room to explore further conversationally.

When next he did have a solid chunk of time interrupting his feverish end-of-year schedule, it took place due to circumstances that might normally be unusual if one hadn't practically grown up in the castle of Hogwarts.

As he was speeding out of the Great Hall from a lunch that had consisted of a stolen meat pie, which was the first thing he had grabbed that could be eaten on the run, there was a commotion ahead. It was simple enough to tell immediately what was going on, though the crowd quickly amassing did give him pause, blocking his way back to the dungeons. This wasn't entirely the fault of the crowd, as most of the room in the center of the Entrance Hall was currently taken up by a horse so massive that the ring of space everyone was giving it had them all squashed to the walls for fear of being differently squashed under its wagon wheel sized hooves. Nearby students had noticed the presence of a teacher and were trying to hide their enjoyment of this unauthorized affair, which was complete with streamers that were bouncing themselves between the walls in constant festive motion, but he was too preoccupied scanning for a pathway free of the mess to dole them out any reprimanding.

All at once, his eyes were halted.

Up above, over the railing where there was a growing balcony of onlookers, he saw one of them lean over so that her long hair hung down her shoulder.

The other teachers from the upper floors, who had also probably been too busy working through the lunch hour to come down, were taking in the scene with her, Flitwick peering around the banisters curiously, and the deputy headmistress herself drawing up to full height before parting through the crowds to try to make it down the steps.

As he watched, the head of long hanging hair caught sight of him and turned, lifting her chin in his direction and then nodding at the horse, which upon further inspection had the giant fluffy mane of a lion, and could roar most impressively. He made a show of rolling his eyes and shook his head.

Even from a distance he could see Freya's laughter.

A knot that he hadn't realized was in his stomach loosened.

She backed off from the railing and disappeared into the crowd. Before he could make out which stairway she may have taken down, he was startled by a tap at his shoulder, and greeted with a mischievous grin.

"Are you trying to get caught?" he murmured before extracting them both and ushering her to a more secluded spot around the corner and down a hall.

"So, Flitwick said that was some sort of prank?" she said once they were alone.

"A Gryffindor one by the looks of their sub-par craftsmanship," he replied, thinking of both the crude lion-esque features and that McGonagall had better make sure her 7th year's were more prepared for their N.E.W.T.s if that's what their dual transfiguration work looked like. "It's a tradition for two Houses in competition for the Quidditch Cup."

"You sure do have a lot of traditions."

He tensed, but she was leaning casually against the pillar to a doorway and only seemed pleasantly amused by all the end of year happenings.

"They're fine... if you don't have other things to be doing." He pulled out a homemade potion timer that was warning him that he was cutting it close to catastrophe. "Would you mind Apparating me to my office? The entire dungeons are about to be filled with a deadly toxin."

She surveyed him blankly, pausing as if stalling for time to test how serious he was.

"That's not something you're having them make for an exam, is—?" But he had quickly grinned, and she hadn't bothered finishing before rolling her eyes and taking a place in front of him. "You just love to push the limits, don't you?"

But it appeared as if her own limits were the ones now being tested.

It hadn't been a problem on their mission. They had Apparated together with her in avian incognito on the way there, and separately when traveling back to the castle. But here her usual method of grabbing fully onto him was the norm—or had been.

As she stared at him as if she were sizing up a large tree she was attempting to uproot, he twitched to try and solve her dilemma for her, offering up his arm instead. This only seemed to have the effect of making her more flustered with not being able to complete her past motion. Spurred into summoning his own strength, he made a second firmer gesture, stepping close and wrapping her arm in his.

"Let's go," he prompted with all the confidence she was currently lacking. But her head stayed pointed down even in her surprise. He watched the tops of her cheeks as they turned color, half of him wanting to throw her off and take his chances of getting flattened in the hall rather than risking her hear his heartbeat at the moment.

The sudden heat of a different kind at last relieved him, and he opened his quickly clenched eyes to his office.

Thankfully the small space was in disarray from earlier work, and, with an apology from him, Freya busied herself tidying up what she could while he was able to catch a break saving his many potions.

It felt surprisingly nostalgic now to glimpse her sitting in his desk chair, and even more so to quip with her again once she had settled down. It was as if the bright and warm weather outside couldn't exist beyond the dungeon office; they were encapsulated in a world without seasons and worries, where they could once again laugh freely and jape with ease.

It hadn't occurred to him until he felt his stomach oddly knotted back up that he should have been doubting her call for friendship in more than one way. After all, just because she willed it into existence didn't mean that something true would follow, especially not on what he thought was a lie. For some time the realization had been moving through him that his acceptance of these terms hadn't saved anything except in title, while he was still sinking into the depths of an unknown future where he might lose everything.

"So, are you ready for graduation? Got your speech full of praise for the 'pure' hearts of this year's Slytherin graduates all crossed and dotted?"

He turned to look at her with pointed accusation. She was wearing the same expression that those very Slytherin students often had for him when they hoped he would play along with their obvious coverup for wrongdoing. He couldn't fathom what new way she had concocted to muscle herself into a position to dance with him, but he wasn't keen to hear it. Before he could say anything, though, he had an annoying jab of realization.

"Ah... I forgot to get dress robes..."

"You don't have anything to wear?" Freya leaned forward over the desk, seeming to lose concern for her own cause with this shocking news.

"I was a little more concerned with other things. Clothing isn't exactly..."

Before he could state his apathy for the record, he noticed her smirk forming behind her hand as she leaned on it. He pursed his lips indignantly.

It had been an odd day after their morning argument weeks ago, in which he had taken the robes she had given him off and put them back on several times, having not been sure if he should rescind his own gift in light of recent events. As it were, he was still here boldly wearing them in front of her.

"Well, there's still time to..." Her smile faltered and fell. "To..."

He was jolted to attention at once, his heart dropping as his eyes took in hers, staring at the far wall and beyond. He had seen that look dozens of times by this point.

"What? What is it?"

It was unnerving in itself to think that there were still memories left to jostle free, but even more so given which gaps he was aware of. He had reason to doubt how much truth her furious threats had held. Mostly this reason was just his sanity, so that he did not have to think about how close her recovered memories had come in proximity to his hapless wintery kissing, and whatever had come after that had made her scarce. The contents of her journal from that time could have defining memories behind them as well for all he knew. If, somehow, she had recalled all the events of December, he might just be offering to erase her memory next.

His panic was not helped by her buttoning up her lips after her eyes regained their focus.

"Just… something odd. It was nothing, just random," she said in full dismissal, even getting up from the desk as if she were about done here. As if he would just let her walk out now.

"If it's something that needs addressing, I'm more than willing—"

He had crossed her path toward the door, but it was his own words that were cut off as she turned an expression up at him that he could not argue with. She seemed annoyed no doubt, but it was with all the playfulness that he had come to expect. He was reminded of a time when he would have tolerated only limited amounts of her presence in this very office before ushering her out with haste, and she would have steadfastly taunted him at every turn with the thinly veiled concern which he had found so very vexing when directed at himself.

Her smirk and raised brows seemed to say she was drawing the same picture, about to remind him that she had not forgotten his most recent refusal to talk about his own experiences, and he conceded some of his tension.

"Severus, it's fine. I promise," she said with amusement. "Nothing's burning down, I'm not succumbing to mental anguish… I've just got some work to do. I'll see you for dinner?"

He hesitated. She took her opening to carefully walk around him toward the door, giving him all the room to stop her. The problem was, he wasn't sure how much he really wanted to pry.

There was, though, something serious he had been wanting to reach out to her about, something he could settle at last now that she seemed perhaps as stable as she would be for now, and he quickly moved to meet her at the door.

"Wait."

She entertained his request easily enough, but it took him a moment of further deliberation to summon up the proper emotion for his words.

"I wanted to tell you—… I've been wanting to tell you for some time. I'm sorry about what happened… that night after we went for drinks." He assumed she did at least now remember this, in one form or another, and he certainly had not forgotten his discomfort with it since. "I did not mean to—I shouldn't have done that while you were in such a state. I wanted to apologize—"

"Stop."

He obeyed her held up hand, blinking in confusion at the irritated cinch to her face.

"Just stop," she continued, then looked to take a moment to process before slowing her words. "I have not done anything that I didn't want to—" Her eyes met his and then darted away again. "At any time. And I only fai—fell down—that time because I was getting weaker as I got closer to my Burning Day."

He hesitated.

"Is that not... more reason that I should not—?"

"Just stop apologizing to me!" She made a move as if to stalk off, but after a quick moment to herself to sigh, turned back to give him a look that might not have been meant to appear as hopeless as he received it. "I'll... I'll see you later."

He leaned his head out of the doorway to watch her scurry down the hall.

It had been about as well-received as he might have hoped, but not in any way that he had imagined. A new understanding for what she had been trying to do earlier in the year—trying to fix things with words and talking, things that could only be dealt with via time and patience—was sneaking its way into his consciousness.

Disconcerted, he shut himself back up into his office and busied himself as much as he could before his afternoon classes began.

He was trying, really. He was actually trying his best. It was difficult, though, when he could tell that she was as well, and that neither of their efforts seemed to be without flaw.

His doubt had sunk its claws in so much deeper than he'd realized that even the smallest spat had him thinking he wouldn't see her for a week. Despite this, and his hiccup of an apology, when he saw her the next day acting what counted as normal, he had to believe that they were moving in the right direction. When he looked up to the teacher's table at mealtimes now, the pulse-quickening relief of her seat being filled didn't linger like a lifeline. Gradually, as the next two days continued to wear on and she neglected to bring up unwanted apologies or dancing, he felt a blanket of calm smother that unsettledness within him and hunkered himself down into it. He was positive that at least her intentions of salvaging their friendship had been true, whatever she may have exaggerated, or suppressed the truth of, or flat-out made-up on that morning.

But how did that add up?

Away again, in the reprieve from chatter and her presence, back into the work he had to do alone in his office, his mind was far away from the menial tasks his hands were performing.

It had been her who had called into question their supposed friendship in the first place. It followed that there was no logic to her wavering back to this plateau when they both seemed to be very aware of the fact that at least she didn't feel this way.

At least, he thought.

On the other shadowy side of that coin of her extended friendship was the disquieting idea that she had not been lying, she had actually intended to be friends. She had deliberately intended, from that point on, that they would only ever be friends.

What he was recognizing in her might be true, but it might also be that she had locked down that avenue, and he would never make it past that guard again...

He realized he had been hovering his hand without completing the motion, but he was too busy frantically flicking through the innumerable memories of proof that he had of her glancing up at him through her lashes, her recent secret staring at him that he only just caught, and, most of all, what they had shared that night...

It made his shoulders hunch and his head bend lower, even with just the potions stacking up around him as witness, to remember everything, especially the words she had so blatantly given voice to.

That single word, that floating light, glimmering slowly forward...

She had expected some sort of love to be returned to her—but what did she mean by that? It was like a gently running tap turning into a mile wide waterfall to him. He couldn't source where that intensity had come from. Or was it simply that it was not as intense to her—he was the odd one picturing it incorrectly? What on earth were her intentions, her thoughts, her history, when she used that word? It might as well have been a nonverbal spell for all he could ascertain. A spell invented in every language, self-created by every imaginative witch or wizard, all with the same incantation, but never with the exact same effect when cast... People used it flippantly, or never at all; they used it incorrectly, or in times that didn't make any sense; they used it devastatingly, rashly, hopelessly...

It made his heart race in a terrified beat to stare down that tunnel of unknowns and see her standing there without an answer—or possibly something worse.

And this was not even accounting for the turn in the opposite direction, down his own tunnel, equally unable to place where his echo of the word landed.

Surely it was too little too soon—and definitely far too late—for him to be making assertions.

And yet...

As he measured and metered out exact quantities and steps, his mind teetered back and forth. Even as he tried and tried to sort it out well into the evening, it always leveled back to that one reverberated note of truth.

He turned in for the night at a later hour than he had meant, dragging his feet to his chamber with no space in his head to recognize his surroundings until he had come to his bed, ready to fall in.

There was something there that stopped his progress though.

As if it had moved into his room and integrated with his other belongings in the short time it must have been there, a flat and green rectangular box was waiting for him atop the tidy blankets.

He moved like following the choreography to a role he was reprising. It wasn't as he remembered—and he remembered his navy-blue gifts from winter very well, down to the tissue paper—but as he dove in with urgency, he received another pang of déjà vu when his fingers touched fabric.

He closed his eyes to let out a single breath of laughter, too occupied suddenly to bother unpacking the rest.

Of course he never should have brought up needing something around Freya. He was filled with a mad desire to retrace her marched steps from days ago and aggressively reciprocate with an even greater amount of kindness that would hopefully give her as much of a fright as he had needlessly felt. Perhaps with flowers—and a fruit bowl—and a wrapping of his arms around her so tight that he could pick her up and carry her away someplace where he could talk to her as free as the air.

And with that, all at once... his quandary seemed untenable.

It would not do to belittle what he felt, pulling it apart thread by thread, down to the minutiae where it couldn't carry the meaning that he was so averse to. No matter how much he wallowed about the impossibility, no matter how small he tried to make it, it only took that single note—a note that flooded in and filled up all space, guiding him back to that place where his heart seemed to strengthen and his vision glazed to a world of warmth. He could hide from the spoken word all he wanted, but as he saw her smile and felt her laughter in his mind's eye, there was nothing left to be measured about the heat within his chest.

It was good that she had rescued him with something of a necessity this time, but he was a bit disheartened that he would only get to enjoy it on formal occasions.

However, the more he thought it over, something didn't quite fit. His hands rustled in the paper once more, digging around to investigate. The smooth and silky feeling of quality formal robes didn't hold any secrets even when the fastidious folds were unraveled, though, and the box itself had nothing else to offer. Looking around his dimly lit room, there was not a thing else out of place.

He sat on the edge of his bed, gift dismantled, feeling off-kilter in an unplaceable way.

—

It was mad what he was doing, truly. Yet he hadn't been able to let go of the energetic buzz once it had decided what he must do, even after a full night's sleep. Thus, he found himself outside of a door which was quite hard to look at again, one hand in his robes hiding a large mass, and very close to losing his nerve.

He didn't fancy standing around suspiciously any longer, though, and he knocked as if seeking shelter from more than just students milling about post-dinner.

The door began to open quickly enough, washing him in relief that the time spent on the cursed land of her office entrance was blessedly short. In the split seconds as the heavy door handle was lifted and the hinges then creaked aside, the rush redoubled as he shot out what he had been hiding, holding his arms at length so that it would be the first thing she saw.

But his eyes missed lining up with where he expected her face to be.

In fact, they dropped so unexpectedly low—as low and quickly as his heart—that he was caught in statue form, staring down at the youthfully gormless face that was gaping right back up at him—and then to the held bouquet in his outstretched hands.

They blinked at each other for a weighty second, Severus pointlessly remembering that this was the last Hufflepuff in 2rd year who still owed him an essay, before the squeaky voice cracked the silence.

"P—Professor...?"

But he wasn't speaking to his Potion's teacher; the boy had craned his head around to the interior of the office, where Freya was standing stock still, her gloved hands covered in what an optimist might assume was mud, and her eyes glued to the scene that had sprung up at her doorstep.

If he hadn't already felt as if he were transcending his mortal body, he might have had a more notable reaction to the outburst that happened next. As it was, he could only continue to stare in petrified horror as Freya's sharp inhalation crested in anguish over her own face—and then she broke out into a dramatic sob.

"Oh...! Severus—you—you shouldn't have!"

Oddly enough, he was thinking that exact same thing.

"But it's so sweet of you— Oh, Mr. Davies—" Freya made a display of trying to gulp down her misery while at the same time trying not to touch her face with her dirtied gloves. "I'm very sorry for the interruption. It's just that my aunt has recently passed away, and... Oh, Severus, they're perfect. She would have—she would have—"

"No trouble at all," he muttered, leaping into this role. His spine seemed to be bending into a solemn bow that he had not initially intended.

"Oh..." The boy looked between them, landing back on Freya's watery eyes which she was trying to delicately hide the dabbing of behind a half-turned shoulder. "I'm sorry... Er... I'll just..."

Severus swept diagonally aside, placing himself in and at the ready to shut the boy out, which he looked eager to oblige. With a farewell wish of condolences to his teacher, he left, allowing Severus to fully empty his lungs at last.

The slow pivot of his heel turned him toward a view of wet lashes blinking innocently at him beneath highly raised brows.

The corner of her mouth twitched, and he felt his eye do the same.

"Don't look at me—I didn't order a special delivery," she said between laughter. "I hope you aren't expecting a tip."

"Which aunt was it that died exactly?" he jabbed, only serving to fuel her further as she struggled to suppress her laughter while shedding off her gloves. When she was finally able to wipe her tears away, they looked to have been born of nothing more than a good joke.

But the joke ended as he watched her eyes linger on what was still in his hand. He moved his arm as if no longer willing to hand over this offering, but caught a glimpse of a smile that he hadn't seen in some time before she turned away, and his chest was struck with a pang.

"You know," she said in singsong with her back turned, fetching and sorting out a vase from below her desk, "brighter minds might think of more secretive solutions—like simply leaving the gift where no one else can see it."

He made a snide face at her that was mostly smoothed away as she flipped back around, showing him her upturned palm. He made to hand off the bouquet with reluctance but didn't let go before he spoke.

"And you should know that, when doing so, it's also normal to leave a note."

Her eyes widened as she took the weight of the flowers. This time she wasn't smiling as she got to work neatly arranging the new adornment to her desk. Although this all but confirmed his calculations, and her mumbled comment of '...dunno, that doesn't seem necessary...' sounded as if she had exhausted all her talents for the sake of her so-called 'aunt', he resolved to leave it until a later date.

After all, that wasn't really why he was here.

"I didn't want to leave them…" he said with quiet determination, taking in a deep breath. "I only thought that it would be proper to bring flowers when asking someone to a dance."

By the shock that lit her face, it seemed he had buried his intentions more than he had thought. Though for all his anticipatory ideas on how this delivery would be received, he wound up surprised as well by the outburst from her this caused.

"I wasn't bribing you!"

He almost thought she was joking, but the panic in her eyes read true.

"I… don't think you could successfully bribe me."

He held her gaze as she seemed to go through an internal struggle to accept this, until, at last, the humor which he was trying to hold on to in this situation seemed to slowly seep into her own features. She raised a brow as if his comment was now a challenge.

"Well… I don't think I'd have much luck with wine again, but maybe I could try to win you over with a new tattoo."

Despite the nature of her remark, his smile fully loosened. The muscles in his jaw would be grateful if things could just return to normalcy for a time.

"But…" she started, and he was once again dejected to see her retreating back into her shell, her emotions ebbing all over the place, "you really don't have to dance with me, I just wanted you to at least have something to wear. And I… I only ever wanted to because I thought it could be something normal. I know I would have wanted to go with you before— I mean, not that you have to—"

"We're dancing."

The surprise of his sudden advancement, planting himself before her as if he had meant 'right now', looked to have been enough to convince her.

"Well... Well, that's settled then," she said into her hand as she fixed her hair behind her ear. Staring down at the tops of her cheeks, he was moments away from loosing a far too loaded comment about his own desires for things to return to normal. But before he could muster up a more-or-less normal thing to say, she was jolting past the moment. "Oh, but—! Hm... I do have another surprise—just one more thing—hang on!"

It felt a bit like he had just been dodged somehow, but the grin and sudden excitement in her voice were hard to argue with. She darted out of the room through the interior door to her chambers before he could so much as ask what she meant. The question hung around the silent office in her wake as his gaze wandered around to the other attractions in the room.

This might be the way for now. Though it gave an odd sensation to witness Freya playing the part of being hesitantly nudged onward, he was confident that at least he could be persuasive. Also, she didn't look to hate it too much.

It might be an improvement, but at the moment, finding himself staring at yet another door, he couldn't get rid of the unease creeping up on him. He still couldn't decide if she blamed him—or was for some reason taking things out on herself. Yet she kept on with the gifts and friendliness...

He took a step forward before he had fully decided, hesitating.

He didn't want another gift, nor a surprise; and he was sure that he should not be waiting outside of any more doors if he was going to be stepping up to work things out. He let himself recall a time when they were merely sitting a table-length apart doing work, the comfort of simplicity assuring him.

A scene of what Freya would do in a similar situation to this played out in his mind.

Holding onto that thought, and holding back his smirk, he forced himself forward with an unhealthy optimism firmly adhered in place.

There was no stopping once he had opened the door and made his way down the short corridor, but the momentum died off when he caught sight of the room.

On more than one occasion he had stopped within the archway to take in a changed room, and this time counted once more. Instead of new decorations, however, he was taking in a return to the old. The large bookcases that had been dividing the room had been removed, as had, he assumed, the drapery that had hung high overhead.

He would have to keep assuming that to be the truth, as his eyes had never made it any further up.

"S—… Sorry—"

For some reason it hadn't clicked in his head what he had been looking at until after Freya had straightened from where she had been leaning headfirst into her wardrobe. Now, with the full image burned into his retinas even though he had swiftly turned heel, he was noticing the robes she had been wearing thrown over the edge of her bed.

There was no time to go over anything else though.

"Sev—er—us ."

His beeline back down the hall was so abruptly halted he nearly bounced backward into the owner of the hand that was gripping the back of his robes.

"Forgetting something? "

"Very... sorry?"

"Knocking! "

Though the truth was actually that he couldn't recall ever needing to knock more than to alert his presence, he didn't argue with the sharp shove, and leaned into propelling himself from the room until the snap of the door alleviated him.

He stood stock-still for a second—before his hand came up to smack into his face, aiming more pointedly over his eyes to smudge the image behind them out.

It was a strong minute before the sound of hard footsteps alerted him that the door was about to reopen, and he stepped aside just in time. He might have tried to smooth things over by at least making eye contact, but this was comprehensively ruined as his mind made the connection that she had lagged behind only to get dressed—meaning she hadn't been when she had been pushing him out. He settled for letting his eyes lose focus, both on any surroundings, and any thoughts.

" What ," she finally burst out into the silence, " were you thinking? "

"It's... never been a problem before—"

"Because you never just barge in!" She looked to quickly rethink this at the diffident look received from him, but it was easy enough for her to plow on. "And I'm never changing— very obviously changing —when I ask you around! I would have thought you'd have realized I was going to show you my dress robes!"

"That wasn't them, was it?"

He watched through a wince as she grew with silent indignation.

" It's a slip! It goes under to... to take care of things!"

It was a beat too late before a more sensible part of his brain caught up to his face, revealing too transparently the wheels turning in his head as he tried to piece together how something so short and of such thin material could be meant to do much of anything. He snapped out of it as Freya's expression of imminent destruction caught his eye.

Entirely separate from being mystified by the concept of women's clothing, his investigation of the mental photographic evidence was rousing much more interesting details; a silver patch was making much more sense now. He might have done better to keep this to himself rather than continue to kick a bee's nest, but the appropriate caution didn't quite line up with Freya's quick eyes, narrowing to slits as he bit down on his lip.

"I only ask because... your robes don't, by chance, match that? Do they?"

She looked to have diminished slightly, but the fiery threat in her voice remained as she said her, " No ."

"Really...? They aren't also... a particular shade of green then?"

All of a sudden, a hand was in his face. But despite his flinch, it wasn't there to hit him, only to perhaps be making a rude gesture, as it was her middle finger that she used when snapping.

"I am ripping that image out of your skull."

The unfortunate side effect for her was that he had a brilliant view of the redness covering her face, taking all the edge from her threat and making it so that he was somehow the one holding dominion.

He held up one finger and nudged her threatening hand off its aim at his head.

"Please don't."

He might have forgotten himself in light of this interesting tidbit, but the drop of her jaw certainly had him scrambling back his words with fresh acuity.

"B-because there's no need," he quickly went on. "I'm not interested—I'm not going to purposefully think about something that I have no permission to."

The distrust in her eyes from their recent encounter was still fresh in his mind, and he never wished to see that again. He wanted her to understand, though, that things being normal meant he might cave in to teasing her once in a while—especially when such a thing was begging for it.

"'Permission', huh...?"

There was no distrust this time, but she still looked plenty displeased.

"I'm sorry. It was an accident," he said honestly, because he did wish it hadn't happened while he was trying to smooth things out between them. He was also willing to admit to himself that it seemed obviously a stupid move in hindsight, and he now had to deal with struggling to hold her eye unless she was the one breaking the line for them, as she was now.

On the other hand…

There might just be something wrong with him, because while seeing her moody pout did make him want to apologize profusely, it was only in the most inadvisable way that he seemed capable of doing so.

"If you insist on taking it away…" he said, starting almost genuine, "…then I at least would like to reserve the right to remember what a big fan you are of my House."

"You most certainly do not have that right!" she shot out in alarm.

"Then how about the right to remember how good you look in green?"

Somewhere in the far back of his head, there was a tiny bell ringing the alarm that he was getting much too close to something.

But up close was all that he wanted to see. Here, he could view the myriad of changing reactions to his words, see her eyelashes as she blinked at him in stunned silence, and catch the faintest hint of a smirk at the corner of her mouth just before she ducked her head.

For all the pull that seeing her have reactions to things he said or did had over him, puffing up his head so that it felt full of tingly cotton, it still wasn't enough to soften the blow of the smile she came back at him with, as dangerous as he remembered from the first time he had witnessed it.

"You can just wait until you see me in my actual dress robes," she said with a dark sweetness, "and then come to that conclusion again."

As much as any further thought had just vanished from his brain, left staring blankly back at her, the clean slate was eventually besmirched by an irking realization.

"You are wearing green to the ceremony?"

Her confidence turned sheepish at once.

"Well, yes... But only because... because it's hard for me to match much else."

"My robes don't match yours, do they?"

The building concern in his voice was answered with a dawning sharpness in her expression.

"You would know... because you've seen what I got you, right? ... Right? "

It was a difficult thing to lie about given that his only excuse was he had been too preoccupied picking the right flowers and thinking of what to say. He held his silence, enduring her heavy sigh.

"I knew it was a waste arguing with the tailor for so long... They wanted to give you summer sleeves, you know! But I made sure you had them long enough to cover up your..." She gestured hopelessly to his arm, and he blinked down at it as well, surprised that this had warranted so much thought. He wasn't entirely sure what to say, apart from a general 'thank you', but it seemed so cheap... and her annoyance at his dragging silence pulled him in another direction until he was barely containing his smirk.

He shrugged with fully feigned innocence, and she let her head roll back until she nearly hit the wall behind her.

"You could have at least tried them on once ," she grumbled. "Suppose I'd gotten trick robes that turn bright pink when you put them on?"

"I would have found out ten minutes ago when I first walked in," he said easily, fully letting loose his grin. "Because you can't keep a secret."

All of a sudden, the spark that had been in her eyes went out, and he was confused to see that he had caught her in something without meaning to.

"Ah... You don't seem like the type to wear a pop of color," she said to the floor, "so, to answer your question... no, we aren't matching. I just stole your green."

For all her hesitancy in delivering this, he felt most assured that he would be completely fine with her stealing anything from him. After all, he would be standing there in her gift, with her—what else could he be so greedy for?

That same feeling, sitting on his bed and holding his empty gift, warm yet lacking, was ringing that alarm ever more clearly in his head.

"Except when I'm next to you," he said, stepping further forward. "Then we'll match."

With her look of surprise and the position he had accidentally cornered her into against the wall, he had the realization that he was enacting that very scene from 7th year which he had seen play out, but never partaken in himself.

"I-is that alright, then?" she said to his chest, the tops of her cheeks showing pink again. "You'll dance with me?"

"Of course."

"Bribe or no bribe...?"

But even as she feebly voiced her joke, her head was sinking so that he could only get a vague view of her brows upturned.

"Freya," he said, reaching out tentatively to take her hand, yet stopping at just a touch. "We're both celebrating our first year of teaching done with, correct? We should do it together." Like normal.

Never before had he seen her have this much trouble looking at him. If anything, she seemed to have run out of room for her chin to sink lower, her hair falling around her face. That momentum was still urging him on, however, and he had to break her out of it. At the very least, he wanted to be able to see her face to check what level of upset she was on.

Her hair was silky against the back of his hand as it was raised, flinching in his movement as she reacted to the sight coming towards her. With utmost care, he brushed the loose locks away from her face and tucked his fingertips behind her ear. She had lifted her head in uncertain acceptance that her distress was now visible, but it was to no great inspiration for him on how to tend to this. All he could see was a confusion of emotion that stirred up a similar beat within his chest.

"It's... It's okay," he said without much confidence now that they both seemed to have silently fallen into a hold onto each other's gaze.

"Is it...?"

"Yes," he affirmed, hardening his brow as he leaned closer. "Because... I can't wait to see you in green again."

He did try to bite back his triumph in making her break out an eye-roll-accompanied grin, but it was hard when he could feel her hand squeeze over his. His other hand somehow wandered off to find her matching one. He was staring down at this, noticing nothing was happening to release him, and imagining he was training himself to be this close to her for a dance.

"What if..."

He froze at the familiar sound of that too quiet voice again, his eyes on her fingers as they moved in his.

"If I... I want to give you permission? Would it still be alright then...?"

His brows knit for only a second as he puzzled this—and then he broke one of the hardest habits to train out of, swallowing so hard he nearly choked as the mental dam he had galvanized against things he didn't have permission for broke, the image from earlier flashing up against a much closer Freya—who looked to be regretting having the power of speech.

"W-what if I'm a liar—what if I don't know what I'm doing at all—" she went on in a raising voice.

"It's fine," he said in a quick breath, still trying to reign in his mind's eye to focus on the face in front of him. "It's..."

But just a glance only led to more truths being let loose. How brilliantly beautiful it was to be this close to her; how much her shy, downturned face made him want to lean in and tease the laughter out of her; how oddly familiar this felt to being above her on the couch, given that permission as well; the insane reality that she had enjoyed it—and this—and was calling him toward her for more.

Even with her honeyed eyes stuck on his, he could feel her hands fidgeting, unsure.

He relieved one of them as he lifted his hand to her chin.

"It's fine," he murmured, unable to stop the feeling of falling forward even as he felt her intake of breath. She wavered on his eyes a moment longer, reflecting back the heated anticipation, but he lost sight as his hand slipped further over her neck. He was guiding her up to him, where he could only open his eyes enough to see her lips.

"It's fine..."

All it took was her tightened grip on his hand and one hot breath against his open mouth, and his other arm suddenly freed itself to wrap around her because the softness of her lips was not enough. He needed to press her to him, spread his hand out over her back, and feel her lungs expand against him.

It was a devastating shock to realize that she seemed to recognize him—that she still tasted the same—her tongue felt as smooth—she still left her lips parted if he went too far away. What had felt like such a novelty suddenly had a new meaning of closeness; to know her in a way that he hadn't before.

It was almost too much. That she knew him too, her hands having gone behind his neck, sinking through his hair and into his skin, sending a wave of shivers over his shoulders and down every inch of his back, was too much. He couldn't kiss her as he had sitting down, at least for a time, gentle and slow. He had been fighting back thinking about anything for weeks, the guilt hanging over him at night, trying not to run his tongue over his lips. Once again, he was breaking free of any restraint to sink into her warmth with overeager strength.

For a moment he was shut back in that broom closet at the Ministry again with his heart racing; he was wide awake as the hour drew nearer to the first of the New Year, giddy from the sound of laughter; he was surrounded by a landscape of snow, the only warm thing left in the world held within his arms...

But it was getting away from him. Whether just lightheaded from being kissed back so passionately, or just the vertigo of leaning so far over an open sky he could have fallen into catching up to him—or simply that he needed to catch his breath—he held his mouth in a tighter line, until he was at last able to reel back.

His shoulders collapsed as his arms loosened from their tightly wrapped grip.

The sight of her gazing back at him from so close nearly lost him again, so quietly captivating was it to see what he felt in his chest returned.

But as he slowly bit his lip, his expression fading out as the heat left them, he found he was watching the light be stolen away from her eyes in time with his deepening frown.

It was with a cautious backward step, his arms falling away from her, that he got out the words, "I'm sorry," and in the same instant—froze in his mistake.

He watched her shoulders raise and caught just a split second more of her eyes before there was a rush that could have been from her sharply pained breath—except that somehow it was strong enough that all of a sudden, with a snap through the air, he was being forced backward—sideways—and swiveled fully around to burst through the office door so quickly he threw up his arms in fear of colliding with it.

Accompanied by a shout to stay out! , he just barely caught his balance as his feet skidded to a stop, the force vanishing from his back, and a loud bang that signaled the door behind him slamming shut once more. The metal clink of the lock being turned sounded the final noise in the silent hall.

It was not without occupants, however, and Severus tentatively turned his eyes on a pair of students stopped in front of a statue, staring open-mouthed. One of them was the second-year boy who had missed out on the rest of his meeting with his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

The boy closed his mouth and made a brave face to his friend before, to Severus's incredulity, stepping forward. With a knowing look of condolence, he said in his tiny voice, "It's a rough thing, grief; isn't it, sir?"

—

Afternoon sunshine was beaming down gloriously through the high windows of the entrance hall, although no one was as of yet streaming out of the front doors to enjoy it.

It was the dull thud of a dozen students all hitting the heavy door of the nearby exam room at once that sounded the alarm for a burst of life to once again begin flowing through the castle, and finally giving a cause to the post which he was standing.

Severus was already flicking his wand as a student had most annoyingly walked right up and ripped the notice from the main board instead of leaving it for others. It was pinned back in place, and the student, looking around for the source of this intrusion, was given a warning look, before the next one tried to do the same.

While his own exams had proceeded on schedule, before even getting a breath between his last two timeslots, McGonagall had rushed in to inform him that the fifth years sitting their Transfiguration O.W.L.s had been delayed by fifteen minutes after a student, in her nervousness, had tripped flat, wand in hand, transfiguring the testing official's shoes into a pair of tortoises.

Severus craned his head over the people filing through, catching a glimpse of a barefooted man looking very weary as he brushed off the apologetic-looking deputy headmistress and plodded noisily over the marble in a beeline for the exit.

He was biting back a smirk until he saw McGonagall's head swivel to him through the crowd. He snapped his attention the board, where the notice was once again being handed around a small group of students, off its pin.

He was flicking his wand again as the deputy headmistress arrived at his side.

"Well, that's day one," she said with a sigh. "Thank you, Severus. I find it's always a good idea to have someone on the other side of the doors—in case the herd of cats gets a bit too excited upon being released."

He made a conspicuous sideways glance in her direction, but otherwise made no indication that he was a part of this conversation.

"Professor!"

He looked up, but the fifth-year student with the maroon lapel was jogging up to her own Head of House.

"I think I aced it, professor, really!" the girl was saying. "I told you I could get the Quidditch cup and pass exams. I'm signing us up for even more practices next year!"

The girl waved her goodbye as she bounced away, but her smile was cut short as she glanced in the direction of the glaring presence next to her teacher.

He kept his head trained straight toward the emptying hall, but he could still feel the smugness emanating from beside him, wondering if she was planning to stand there all afternoon.

"It's looking like Gryffindor will be taking that House Cup back from Slytherin," McGonagall finally said with an attempt toward casual. "Horace did leave an awfully hard legacy to follow, after all."

He was just about to finally break his year-long civility, meticulously maintained in the name of lasting as an employee, when he was turned to with more formality and had his impatience distracted.

"It's an easy win for now," McGonagall said with an uncharacteristic chip to the corner of her mouth that somehow didn't look to be meant unkindly, "but I've had an early look at your students' grades. Once they are able to catch up to your advanced curriculum, I expect a more interesting battle of the Houses from you. Don't disappoint."

And she set off down the hall, taking out her wand and shooting the paper out of a student's hands and back to the board in one flick.

He didn't know what to make of this, but he somehow felt slighted in a way he hadn't been prepared for.

In any case, he was distracted from his frowning as he glanced to the side and noticed someone staring much more menacing daggers at him, though definitely not over Quidditch or House Points.

He had stared into the eyes of many people throughout his life who had wished him ill or been prepared to dole out illness at the slightest move, but it was a difficult task to keep his gaze up just then. There was only one way through to the Great Hall, which was being transformed back to its dinner setting, and it seemed he was in this path. He was just waiting to see if hugging the wall would be this person's choice, or if she might dare to get within twenty feet of him.

Freya finally twitched her expression of loathing, gave him one last languid blink, and turned around back the way she must have come down from the stairs.

He moved the moment after she was gone from sight, but it wasn't to follow; the reason he had been so ardent about his opportune post had simply come to an end.

—

The exam week may have relieved the staff from the mad scramble that preparing their students had been, but it wasn't entirely without work. Grading the regular end-of-year exams somehow felt much more difficult after hours of sitting in a depressively tense atmosphere, interspersed with peak moments wherein they would be inundated in anxious queries and explosions of disaster from their pupils.

It might have been the silence that was doing him in the most. He didn't remember ever hearing a single clock tick in all his years at Hogwarts, but suddenly it was all he could hear. He would have rather sat all seven of his own exams again than been forced to proctor with the headache that seemed to form every morning after breakfast.

Exam week seemed to have called a truce, meaning mealtime was the closest that Freya would come to him. Even then, she would practically jump into McGonagall's lap if so much as his elbow came near. He didn't exactly blame her. He, too, was almost as concerned that he might suddenly find himself kissing her over the fruit bowl if he wasn't careful. The amount of time he was spending thinking about staying away from her for their own good was definitely achieving an opposing effect. Freya looking like she was getting annoyed with having to dodge around him in the main halls wasn't exactly helping either. Her little dance was wavering each time they ran into each other, her eyes looking more and more to be close to giving in and speaking to him for the first time in a week. His own ideas were helping to keep things the way they were though.

He was fine to bide his time until the graduation ceremony, with the necessity to say the right thing this time weighing heavily. It might be the last time he would get to speak to her in a while, after all.

Once exams came to an end that seemed to show up quicker than expected, it was time for him to finally see hard proof of what he was reaping from his first professional year.

Shut in his office after a meal beneath Gryffindor banners and much enthusiasm, shoulders stiff, he poured over the compiled results of all his students' exams, both in Potions and the Slytherins as a whole.

Without recognition, he quickly switched papers to a smaller list of accolades and achievements.

Setting this down again, he went back to the first two, rereading more carefully.

Suddenly his desk felt far too large. He should have been sitting in a classroom, crammed in, blocking out everything going on around him so that he could focus on his own test results.

It wasn't his fault if a bunch of teenagers were too busy upsetting inkwells and talking in class to pay attention, he knew, but the grades flying down the never-ending list were spiking through him one by one. If he would let his eyes zoom out, it wasn't a bad sheet at all. But individually... And looking at the rest of the Slytherin's grades, he could see the clear delineation of which class some were struggling in more than others... And he had been going easy on them—even easier than he had been on everyone, trying to be docile for his new administrators.

He couldn't help himself and jumped over a few columns to check their Defense Against the Dark Arts grades, and let out an unbidden puff of laughter when he saw one student in particular, whom he knew to be on a certain someone's list, had nearly failed their end of year exam. He wished he could ask what had happened there. A time when he had been more worried about keeping knowledge from his more darkly intrigued students came to mind, and, looking over these scores, knowing what he did about their teacher, he had a sense of relief that he wasn't the only one shuffling their interest toward a more productive place.

It was still a matter of how good he was at this job, however.

The real comparison, he knew, would be this year's grades to the last, but he didn't have access to all of the more tabular records without asking. The most important thing he could focus on right now was his seventh-year students, most of whom looked to be about as good as he could expect, given what he knew of them.

It was only a moment more that he sat staring in still silence. Then, with all the energy as if he'd just escaped from a chase, he stood up to move about in a frenzy, jumping into next year's planning.

It wasn't until he heard a knock at the door that he checked the time, and in doing so, prepared to give whatever student was bothering him at the hour a detention they could serve the following year.

However, he felt the pang of the obvious answer before she had finished opening the door.

Freya seemed to be fully taking in his frozen posture; either that, or the scattering of papers and books—including a whole box of filing—stacked up on his desk. She buttoned her lips, blinking back in silence at him. He was too wary of the sudden situation wherein he could neither run, nor get them talking too much, to say anything.

In the end though, it turned out that not much needed to be said.

She explained from partly behind the doorframe that McGonagall's voluntary assignment to help with the setup for tomorrow on the grounds was nearly complete, but there was still time to sneak into the gathering just for the promised refreshments.

And, after his required amount of arguing against what sounded suspiciously like a jovial social gathering, he eventually put down his quill, as he had always known he would from the second it had been her at the door.

There turned out to not be much else that needed doing. Apart from getting a refresher on the rundown of events for tomorrow, they wound up listening to a short book's worth of collected stories about past graduations from the assembled group of teachers around the dimly lit outdoor arrangements, piled up and ready. When this had died down and some had either left for bed or gone to see if their seventh-years were causing mayhem on their last night, Severus and Freya split from the group, wandering off down the path by the lake.

He might have panicked about any number of repeats of their previous walks—or even their conversations. Instead, what he was reminded of was his frequent surprise by the quiet that he could never quite come to expect from her.

Meandering around in the still night silence, with a cool breeze from the lake to fan off the summer heat leftover, on the cusp of the looming day of excitement, something was being sewn up his middle and repaired. At some point, the clench of his jaw had relaxed, and though his eventual goodnight was few words, the lingering of her eyes before she made to leave him at the entrance hall stairs left him with all he needed to return her smile.

The next morning, he squandered most of the precious time to see off the first- through sixth-year students heading off for the train, spending it packing up his own things. He did manage to catch those closest to him, giving the Slytherins rushing through the dungeons a courteous nod. It was Wells that held him up.

The boy had apparently gotten the idea that his summer tutoring could be best completed by a teacher already familiar with his studies. But Severus had other ideas, suggesting he ask someone else instead.

All of a sudden, the castle had been emptied out of anything but sunshine, the sounds of even the train gone.

The seventh-year students must have been doing late morning packing, or else spending a substantial amount of time preparing in their dorms. Even the Slytherin common room was empty when he checked, curious if there was some impending mayhem about to unfold that would topple his own class's record.

He poked around the dungeons for a while longer, but, eventually, it was his time to properly get dressed.

Stood in front of his mirror, adjusting his collar, he remembered that he had made a copy of Wells's areas of study that needed attention over the summer, but forgotten to give it to him. He wondered if the home tutor would be competent enough to figure things out on their own. It wasn't really any matter that thinking over could change... Though, it might be prudent to send a letter... If he unpacked just a bit of parchment and quill, it wouldn't hold him up too much longer to just pen a quick note attached to his list and send it off to the owlery, repack before tomorrow, and then...

He hadn't been looking at himself for some time, yet he hadn't moved. Only the sight of the lower elegantly draped robes he wore was visible to him through the mirror. For some reason, the memory of pulling out his crumpled final exam schedule from the pocket of his robes during his own graduation came to mind.

With a flick of flowing fabric, he swept all these thoughts away and set out toward the entrance hall.

A handful of students were coming down the steps in a mass of excited giggling, all going to stand in the packed, untidy line at the doors. There was hugging and crying going on as they were inspecting each other's smart ceremony outfits, making him roll his eyes as he stepped nearer.

Except—suddenly—his boots had taken an awkward step and redirected his trajectory down a hall with a snap.

He was staring unseeing into the dimly lit room he had ducked into when a shadow crossed his from the doorway and he jerked to slip out his wand unnoticed.

"Everything alright?"

Though he could have pictured the dangerously sweet smile that the voice conjured up even with his eyes closed, he turned around, forcing a casualness that didn't reach his shoulders.

"I thought I saw the signs that a student had left a departing gift," he said, gesturing his wand to the rest of the room.

Freya's eyes flicked for the briefest second to inspect, but came right back, unimpressed.

He, however, was reigning in his impression of her.

It was odd; he had noticed her always wearing muted colors for her robes ever since he had first seen her, even for special occasions—even on Valentine's Day. He had assumed, after getting to know her, it was to attract less attention, of course. It was only that he hadn't realized how much attention it would be to see her in a striking color, swathed in more regal stitching, her hemline to the floor. She had looked confident at first, her shoulders outlined in the sunlight from the hall, but she slowly diminished as his silence waned on for longer than he had meant.

"You look—good," he got out, and then zeroed in on the floor, face pinching at having to listen to himself.

"As do you."

He couldn't bring himself to look up at whatever face she was making toward him, but the fabric around him felt a bloom of warmth through it, though he was positive it hadn't been enchanted like his winter robes.

Lest he get any more caught in the feeling, he focused on the first thing he saw—or rather, didn't. He frowned at her long hem, and then raised his head with an accusatory frown and a raised brow. She blinked at him, looking to be still pink in the cheeks, and then looked down as well. "Oh—"

She raised her long robes and stuck out one short leather shoe, revealing socks that were emblazoned with green and throwing out little silver confetti. She immediately kicked her shoe in an embarrassed panic, and he lowered his brows as the sock flashed between the rest of the Houses as well, giving them each as much time to shout their celebratory pride in cotton.

He couldn't help but grin, fueled on by her laughter, and they both set off back toward the entrance hall to join the buzzing procession out of the doors and down to the lake.

The passage of the boats, once able to hold several students in one, now needing to be split up much more sparsely, beneath the golden afternoon rather than the twinkling night, was meant to be a symbolic end to their learning; their teachers bringing up the rear of the fleet and ushering them out into the world. All Severus could think of, however, was the time his housemates had capsized a girl's boat, and she had cried all the way across the lake after being fished out. It might have been the heat of his eyes on the backs of his own students' heads, but there were only quiet emotional cries to be heard as they drifted across in the serene calm provided by the lake.

It was once they had all set back on land and filed off down the road towards the prepared clearing that noise erupted to greet them. To the embarrassment of many, their families gathered for the closing assembly were clapping and hollering madly, along with the much more subdued headmaster, poised alone on the foreboding stage that had been set up. He melted away behind a curtain as the other staff continued past the throng of parents to join him in a walled-in alcove where they could have privacy to straighten their order. As they had come around, another group of people, who did not seem all that invested in anyone graduating that day, could be seen waiting to the side, pecking at the tables of food and drink, while others dressed in smart uniforms milled through them providing personal service of such.

Dumbledore briefly addressed the staff in quiet tones before nodding and heading back out to give an opening speech. Before he had even parted the curtains, Severus had grabbed Freya's arm and steered her into a corner where they could talk.

"I don't know the dance!"

He blinked, open-mouthed, what he had been going to say dashed from his breath as he took in the panic accompanying not just her voice. He couldn't adjust tracks fast enough for her, and she continued, looking around as if they were partaking in a back-alley deal. "You weren't there for rehearsal, so I left! You have to teach me, hurry up!"

"Last night—"

"I thought there was going to be another rehearsal!" she cut over him.

He stared at her, only just managing to bite back his grin. The disgruntled look overtaking her anxiety was showing him exactly how long this had been mounting, and exactly why she had failed at every turn to remedy it—because it would have meant seeking him out or else admitting she had been waiting around for him. Or worse—rehearsing could have been a bit more than she was ready for, which is why he had skipped out on going to begin with, not paying it a single thought.

"I wasn't sure that you still wanted..."

But she was full-on sour now, and he let it go before he forced anymore acknowledgement of the obvious onto her. His eyes caught on something over her shoulder, and he tipped his chin for her to look.

Professors Flitwick and Sprout were indulging in the animated air, keeping their footwork light as to not interrupt their headmaster, but nonetheless partaking in a secret round of dancing that looked to have been practiced between them for quite a few years now, and had the other teachers smiling broadly, some mimicking the fundamental starting poses as well.

He watched Freya's eyes frantically taking in everything as if studying for a test she hadn't known about beforehand.

For him, it was a chance to look at her without interruption for the first time.

Where he had thought her hair had been let down freely with just light curling at the ends, he now saw she had done up parts of it on either side of her crown in some sort of braid that tucked back behind her ears and disappeared. Her neck was bare, and he wondered if she didn't own a necklace—or if she hadn't wanted to wear silver. Gold would have clashed rather misfortunately, as nothing would have been capable of matching her eyes.

He took her hand, calling back her attention.

"It's fine," he said softly, and then joined her in looking away as he remembered the last time that he had said this to her. But he restrengthened and said further, "Just let me lead. Because... I read a pamphlet on the dance."

"Oh, you read how to dance?"

"How hard could it be?"

"This is just great; we're going to look like a pair of idiots..."

He hesitated for a second as he heard clapping outside, knowing he was swiftly running out of time to get back to what he had pulled her over for originally.

"It will probably be fine—"

" Probably? "

His gaze lingered on the stage curtain, but he drew her in by the hand still held within his and leaned down.

"Just... by the way," he said, so quietly that he was hoping perhaps she wouldn't hear him, "Lucius may be outside right now in the visitor's section."

He heard her intake of breath—but he wasn't finished.

"And... I may have... told him that I was pursuing you."

Even avoiding her gaze, he could see her go apoplectic over a burst of thunderous applause—but he was already setting them both into motion, maneuvering her by the hand to get in front of him and go line up with the rest on either side of the stage exits, taking their place with the Heads of House. He had guided her specifically so that she wouldn't be facing him, but the shock seemed to wear off and, after snatching her hand back, she turned to give him a look over her shoulder that said this wasn't the last of this talk, but it might be last of his life. He kept his eyes just a touch above her gaze, pinning down his guilty smirk of awkwardness.

They all filed out at the introductory signal from their headmaster, stopping in a curved line around him. The Heads of House each took their turn at the center as Dumbledore retreated backward, with McGonagall going first in delivering a clipped greeting before getting right along with handing out accolades, both prominent and completely trivial, earning cheers and laughs from parents and students alike; then Professor Flitwick had his turn; then Sprout. As it came time for Slytherin's Head of House to step up, he breezed into position without a single focused look to anyone and rattled off his piece without much embellishment. Unpleasantly, he had two students who had been awarded joke titles (Most Likely to Succeed (At All Costs), and Most Likely to End Up in Azkaban), but at least there were serious grants of achievement to be given proper attention as well, including Slytherin's Head Girl, who took the stage along with the Head Boy once Severus signaled for them. They traded time breathlessly going on about their enjoyment through the years and sorrow to leave, each holding delicate little trophies for various things, until they, too, left the stage, returning to their seats. It was the headmaster himself stepping back into position that held everyone's silence one final time.

Dumbledore beamed out to the crowd, seeming to take a moment to bask in the gilded hour that was drawing the surrounding grounds in sunny, summer cheer. Though his closing words were short, they held that magnification that needed no incantation to embed into the hearts of every last listener.

"May the fire to learn and to grow... continue to always burn as bright."

The headmaster ducked away to roaring applause, and as everyone began moving, Severus took his queue to finally look away from the crowd, not able to stand seeing another beaming, crying face. He turned to Freya to take her hand, feeling a spike through him that now was the time for his leadership skills to really be tested, but stopped before he did so.

She glanced at him for only a second, then let out her held breath in a sob, her tears spilling over, as a friendly Hufflepuff girl waved at her now former professor from the edge of the stage.

"You only had her for one year, " Severus muttered.

"And she was the nicest student I've ever had—and ever will have."

He shook his head, but couldn't keep the corner of his mouth at bay, even as he realized how very much on display they were—and were about to be even more so.

Refusing to let himself look at McGonagall—or the headmaster—or anyone else—he took Freya's hand, and led her bleary self to the side of the stage, where the other Heads of House and their partners were gathering at the top of twin sets of steps.

He waited along with them, not sure what to expect, but knowing from his peripheral scan that he was at least holding her hand high enough and standing properly.

With a glance, he caught her eye. Her lashes were still wet, and though she looked ready to continue this same way well into the night, it was the smile she gave him that struck him. He felt his chest swell with a deep breath of fresh, warm air, in time with her own, the soft touch of her hand giving him a squeeze. When the string of music first shot up into the air, it felt dull in comparison. Nothing else could possibly have hit him as hard.

He stumbled on the very first step in his rush to catch up to the pair beside them who had started to move, but after that, it was as he had expected. It was a simple enough gesture, and the circle they stepped in gave him ample opportunity to watch the others to double check. Or rather, it would have... if he had ever torn his eyes from his partner.

This moment was not meant to last though. As the other staff came down from the stage in pairs, joining in, the audience gave a short smattering of applause more before rising upon command to have their chairs be vanished. The wide space opened up, the barriers lowered to free the public, mostly caterers and Hogsmeade villagers who seemed to have only come for the food and the weather, and everyone joined in for such a mishmash of dancing, picture taking, celebratory magic, and other bursts of excitement, there was no need to even keep up with any appearances.

It turned out that appearances were better kept apart, anyway; where faces could be fanned and made unflushed, and distractions in the form of other, much less familiar, people could be taken up.

Before he could even step away though, Severus underwent an intense off-kilter feeling that only a teacher or parent might upon seeing, shifting through the crowd, the sullen face of none other than Wells—who he was positive had only just left sixth-year on the train hours prior—only to almost be crashed into by his Department of Magical Education-employed mother, who announced she had been adamant about meeting the professor she had been exchanging letters with, so much so that she had kept Wells behind for the ceremony. Severus spent the largely one-sided conversation trying to get feeling back into his fingers after her handshake. They were interrupted only by Slughorn, who Severus had been sure would be making an appearance, but he had not been privy that he also knew the boy's mother, nor was he previously in the know of the existence of a conversation between three people where only two did the talking. Severus wound up taking the chance to dart after Wells when the boy faded into a group of Slytherins who had just graduated, upon where he had a moment of triumph when he suggested the boy might think thrice about what he wanted to do as a career if he didn't like to schmooze, giving Wells' young face a look of true horror for the first time.

Giving advice, however, didn't exactly leave his shoulders any less stiff.

There had always been, on the back of the long list of occurrences that could happen on this day, the possibility that Lucius Malfoy would appear. It had been his own design, after all.

Some muscle must have gone decrepit from lack of use. There was a weariness in him from head to toe as he worked through the celebration; worked—with champagne in hand and smugness abound—with a full band playing merrily—as the fireflies came out and real fairies were released to light the evening—and a tendril of ill intent snaked its way through it all.

It was enough of a weight that he had used Freya and her cover as Dumbledore's niece, thus granting her a supposed pure-blood status and the title of a prize to be won over, to throw off Lucius's suspicions—that would have been plenty to occupy his guilt-ridden pre-sleep ritual for months. But it was the look on Wells's face, of pure eagerness and thrill to meet a Dark wizard who was less willing to hide his status, as Severus introduced him to the family and stated Lucius's potential interest in the school board—that had been the hardest to smile through.

He was, as always, so helpful. He was oh-so-good at his job.

"You're an arsehole, you know that?"

Severus didn't look up from the abyss of babbling brook he was staring into from off the bridge, but he could hear Freya clink her champagne into his empty glass on the stone.

"And a damn good one, at that," she went on, as if about to hand off a last-minute joke award. "You know, when I said I wanted to be involved in your schemes..."

"I didn't exactly plan it ahead of time," he commented for the first time since his monologue catching her up to speed. "It just sort of... happened."

"Right... and why were things so dire again?"

He pointedly met her gaze from just the corners of his eyes.

"Right, right..."

All the necessary facts had been relayed, at least.

"I wish at least the boy hadn't been there," he said, leaning more heavily onto the stone edge. "All that work all year to keep him on a better path than his father…"

"Wells?" He could hear her dress shoes toeing the cobble below before she went on. "It might have been inevitable with that one… But even if he does dabble, I can't imagine him being so bad… He's still so young." When he didn't answer except to wearily look her way, she offered a weak smile. "Maybe you can't force them to go it your way... So what? At least you can work on yourself and be that example."

He didn't know what to say to that, and so returned to the water reflecting broken clusters of the night sky overhead, bouncing around the rocks. Sixteen was young. And Wells was certainly not getting up to all that could be done despite that age...

Something must have been slipping from his control, because he knew she only resorted to physically nudging him back to reality when he truly looked far away.

"Severus…" she started to say, her elbow against his, "if you're having too much trouble with all of this…"

His movement was so quick she jumped, his hands that took hers looking like they were the only thing holding her in place. Before she could do more than open her mouth though, her eyes reacted to his as they darted to the side—where he had pointed his wand the moment that they had walked onto the bridge just out of earshot of anyone still celebrating nearby, casting a spell to alert him of anything. He impressed his meaning into her eyes until he saw her panic abide, smoothing to concentration.

Only listening. Didn't see—but it's him. He knew Lucius's flavor of spells all too well.

She nodded imperceptibly.

"It's not too much trouble," he said in an entirely different tone to answer her as if nothing had happened. His gaze dropped to their hands, and he continued softly, "It very much is not. Only... this still only makes one year of employment..."

"You're worried Uncle Albus can find a replacement Potion's Master around just any corner of Knockturn Alley."

His returning grin came easy enough given how well she always managed to be able to meet him in a charade.

"Well..." she said, innocently sliding closer to him, "he can't be angry over something he doesn't know about..."

There was a moment where, although the dark of the night all but obscured the small twinge of doubt at the corner of her mouth after putting herself so close to him, the glittering lights from the distance were still reflecting in her eyes, and he lost the thread of exactly what his face should be doing. It was shockingly difficult to prop up a smile this time.

The whole way across the grounds, until he was certain he had hidden them enough to allow her to Apparate them to further seclusion somewhere on a balcony of the castle only she must by privy to, the skin of his face felt taut in a way he couldn't stretch out.

"Alright?" Freya finally asked when he had only settled back into much the same posture, gazing over a different railing now. Whether she meant their performance or otherwise, he neglected the lingering question in her eyes to answer one from his own thoughts instead.

"I can't very well set an example for students from the shadows," he said, his voice quietly bitter and his eyes carefully avoiding her, "but I can make sure that Lucius stays clear of the Wells family. He's more attuned to listening in on people than to helping them, anyway."

"What, he wouldn't tutor a kid? But I thought he was father-of-the-year?"

"Was he? I suppose I do recall there being a child living in some wing or another of his manor..." She quirked a brow, but he dodged back on track. "I'll convince Slughorn to take up the task. He can keep an eye on things if I warn him that he might have misjudged sending out invitations to his former student."

"Right... Slughorn misjudged him... His head must have got clouded from all that time in retirement, and he just forgot what his friend—sorry, his student— "

"Alright."

He could feel her catlike grin on him even with his eyes closed, blocking him into a momentary refuge.

"Sorry," she said with an apology absent from her tone, "I just know how defensive you are of your old friends—"

"He isn't my friend."

Even staring so intently at the twinkling lights far away across the lake, trying to decide how many families had left and how many were just Hogsmeade residents continuing for their own enjoyment, Freya's elbow slowing sliding into his peripheral view as she, too, leaned out onto the cool smooth stone was impossible to ignore. He shot a glance, his jaw set, acclimating himself with a smaller dose before he turned to fully take in her smugly dripping expression.

Drawing himself out of his slump and into full height, he patiently waited until her eyes softened and she sighed out a laugh as if to let his hopelessness off the hook. He was hesitant to believe it, but he thought the eyeing she had done of his stature in his formal robes might have had something to do with the brevity of her gloating as well, making his head duck just a bit.

"I may have a bad record," he said, his sourness dissolving, "but I do at least have some redeeming friends." She looked taken aback by his pressing sincerity, not wavering the slightest in his gaze. "And I know that even if I can't be it, there is someone I can rely on to be that positive example for those students."

"...Slughorn?" she suggested with a sheepish laugh, seemingly trying to draw this attention off her. But he wasn't letting it go—not tonight.

"Thank you," he said definitively, "for... sometimes annoyingly... helping me through the year." She shot his smirk a look of her own, but she didn't argue. "And... for believing so early that I would last through it."

Her brows raised at this. "Were you actually expecting Albus to give you the boot? I mean—he might have been, but I don't remember... Er, I'm sure I did believe in you though."

"I know you did..." He let his widening grin linger until she was searching his face to the point of frowning. "...Or else you wouldn't have bought me these robes as early as December."

He had seen her back stiff right before they had gone on stage, the neck of her robes having been hard to look away from with her hair over her shoulder, but it was nothing compared to watching her seize up with a view of her face. He took the time (while her chin snapped downward) to look over her robes once more, picking up on the small, accented parts of black and comparing those on his own for any difference in shade or material. Finding none, he felt this fact combine with his overall conclusion to rest comfortably over his shoulders.

"How did you know?"

He studied her disgruntled face, his mouth twisting humorously at the fact that she hadn't even tried her poor hand at lying.

"Only you would look so horrified at nearly forgetting a gift," he said easily, making her throw her head back in frustration.

"It's maddening I got that memory in front of you! It was supposed to be a surprise—and I didn't want—..." But she buttoned up her lips.

"You didn't want me to know you had gotten them so far in advance? From the same tailor as yours—at the same time?"

"...Just a bit embarrassing..." she mumbled into her hand.

"Was the letter as embarrassing?"

For him it wasn't the clothes, or the gift, or even the gesture. It was his space having had something of hers in it—his bed or his dresser having been graced with something that was uniquely hers, her invading his space and leaving a mark—and, especially, it was what he wanted most of all but couldn't figure out a smoother way to ask for: her words from back then, penned and inked to permanence, forever capturing whatever it was that she had meant to impart.

Her eyes darted to his with no room for interpretation otherwise, and the wild inventions of what she could be hiding that he had spent weeks daydreaming about flew through his mind.

"How do you know there was a letter?" she asked in direct defiance of his extensive knowledge of how bad a liar she was.

"Because you always leave one—you practically did an individual note for almost every Christmas present. Which this was absolutely wrapped during."

"But—but I changed all the wrappings so they wouldn't match!"

"Yes, I noticed," he said, enjoying this and her heightening reactions of disbelief. She gave up with words, silently staring him down with varying expressions of impatience, until he supposed it wouldn't be too much to reveal. His eyes studied her as he told her quietly, "You... have a distinct perfume. It was on the robes from Christmas as well."

He had avoided mentioning that he could have told the season just by the differing candle scents alone, and probably smartly, as she already looked to be taking in this information with difficulty.

"I—…" But she stopped before getting another word out and bundled her wrists up to her face, chin down, inhaling deeply. "Is it that strong?"

"My theory... is that you put your perfume on every day in front of the wardrobe where you had all those presents stored..." He waited to see if this was too far in explaining just how much he had thought about this, especially given what he was now driven toward every time he thought of her wardrobe, but she seemed preoccupied.

If he had imagined his formal robes were safe from being yanked, that was now a lost bet. He was more startled, though, by her sudden closeness, her face all but pressing into his chest.

"Hang on... are you wearing something—?"

He regained a step backward as her head came up, clearing his throat. "I... didn't want to smell like a candle shop knowing whom I might be meeting..."

"Meaning you hate it," she said, dour. "Some friend you are, letting me run around like this..."

"No," he correctly quickly, "it's perfectly... fine." He was trying his best to teeter an invisible edge, not complimenting her too much or too little... but her pouting face, veering on the edge of glaring at him to drop a little flattery, made the corner of his mouth pull up. He looked away as he said, barely under his breath, "...It doesn't taste very good though."

He watched from the corner of his eyes as she stood figuring this out—then she darted her eyes back to his with alarm, slapping a hand over her neck.

He took her swatting of his arm with a broad, devious grin that was only capable of being half bitten back.

"You don't deserve those robes," she grumbled.

"No, I don't. But thank you nonetheless."

"Can't believe I wanted to dance with you…"

His expression quickly sobered. "You enjoyed it though, right?"

Despite her initial cutting gaze, as he held it with persistence, she seemed unable to hold it for long. He watched the tops of her lashes as she gave a small shrug to the ground.

"It was... nice."

'Nice' would have been his descriptor as well if she had asked him, so he didn't fault her for it.

"Then..." He caught her sudden movement at his voice, glancing up in anticipation, but he fumbled with his confidence. "...We can go again next year?"

Her brows flattened and he turned away to hide a laugh. But when he turned back, armed with the knowledge that she was thinking the same as him, it was to offer her his hand.

The soft breeze up from the lake made it a cold wait while he realized he might have misjudged, her face the only thing moving at first, and in a frown. It was only with a disheartening hesitance that she reached to place her hand in his.

"Is this not what you were making such a fuss about before?" she said warily, despite stepping into place before him.

"Well, there's no one here."

"Oh."

"Er... and also no music."

"It's fine like this," she said, not looking up. If anything, she lowered her head an additional fraction as he placed his hand around her waist in a more standard pose, even though he was too cautious to fully flatten his palm.

"You could always provide," he said, successfully taunting her into looking up at him. He was regretting his role in making sure she was still comfortable around him, however, as her hand slid up his lapel to his neck and her eyes, with a threateningly devious look in them, stayed locked on his.

His robes seemed to be restricting his chest as she leaned in, pulling him down while letting him get a glimpse of her open mouth angling in towards his ear. He was sure his lungs stopped as she paused them there. But the only note of song that came was a single, sarcastic, "La."

He supposed it was somehow possible that she still had no idea that he had such a weakness to her, but he didn't see how—or how it was fair that she could go from that, to laughing and cozying into his shoulder to lay her head on, all the while unaware that his heart was desperately trying to beat out of the opposite side so as not to be heard.

Trying to reconcile with his fate, he loosened his grip on her hand that he hadn't realized had tightened and tried to steady himself into her gently swaying motion to whatever actual song was in her head.

As they continued their noiseless dance on the castle balcony beneath the summer sky, held together by something other than music, Severus found himself listening to everything else that lit up the quiet; the muted click of her shoes, the swishing of fabric, the sound her hands made against his collar and just barely tickling at the ends of his hair… It was as if the warmth of her against him, her cheek against his chest, was a sound in and of itself. When, after so long in silence that she must not have been able to help herself, a low hum of some unsung song did make it from her lips straight into his chest, he thought he might have become an embodied instrument, crafted just for her. He let his neck give out as his spine seemed to melt, leaning down to let the sound fill him even more. He could smell her perfume just below her ear, spiced like a mulled summer drink that would quench any thirst, though he knew if he were to inch any closer for a taste the reality would be bitter.

The humming stopped and, as she leaned away, he regretted the soft laugh that he hadn't been able to hold in, the cool air filling in between them despite their hands lingering in place around each other. Though he was worried it was her feeling distressed, it was only with a contented smile that she looked up at him.

"I know you were just being nice earlier," she said in earnest, "but I really was rooting for you. And I'm very glad that you're doing so well." He was almost touched for a moment as she tightened her arms around his neck in a hug—until she whispered mischievously in his ear, "Especially... since I stole the job you wanted." His cheek was pecked with a kiss before he could even get a good glower in at her, and she backed away again, all smiles.

It was a marvel how easily the comforting nostalgia of her look could whisk away all the tension—of this day, and the previous. He took in her innocent expression, expertly hiding her slyness up into only the glitter of her eyes and the too-pointed curl at the corner of her mouth.

His own smirk twitched upwards, and something seemed to push back against that invisible line within him.

"You know..."

His hand was at her chin before she could steel herself, and that familiar involuntary tilt of her head happened at once as he leaned in, holding her in place with his other hand at her back.

"…I can always keep applying. And I'm certain," he dropped his voice to mimic her, directing it at her ear as she had done to him, "that I am more persistent than even you."

It would have been so perfect—if he had done it at another time, earlier in the year—any other time but this wonderful night. Perhaps if it were before he had ever first glanced at her mouth and the way that she bit her lip he could have been smoother, more casually playful. He had no clue, really, how she did it herself. How was it that she could reign herself in enough to get her head anywhere near his after only a few weeks tempering against it?

Perhaps he had been misinterpreting things the whole time. Because for him it just wasn't the same. For him, his body acted of its own accord. His thumb that escaped from where it held her face gently in place knew exactly what it wanted—to trace her lips, to remember that softness.

He stood frozen in place, leaning down and pointed at her cheek to return her taunting little peck—but he had forgotten the next step. He was solidified in that moment—with her wide eyes reflecting the same surprise as him, her lips so close, her reaction able to be felt in the shiver up her back through the thin fabric of her dress robes.

If he had just been content to hold her—if he had just stayed still and listened—

Even as his face flushed with warmth, even as he changed his angle as if hypnotized against his will, even as his hands were pulling her ever closer... he was watching something happen in slow motion; a trainwreck he hadn't dived off the track fast enough to stop.

But he did stop. As her sweet face that had been smiling at him only a moment before was washed away in a deep misery, he felt time winding up what it had lost as he withdrew in stumbling haste.

His mouth opened to apologize at once—but he caught himself this time. He stood hanging on a line, unable to move, staring as her pain only seemed to be mounting.

"I can't... do this anymore."

He had to force his jaw to open to get out the words, but they were weak compared to the effort.

"Do what?"

He almost flinched from the look she shot at him, though he knew he deserved it. It wasn't like him to play dumb, but in this area...

"I can't stand you still doing this when the only way you ever look at me is like you're guilty!" she fired back, the watery look in her eyes all but evaporating. "I... I can't keep doing this. I'm sorry."

He had spent the last few weeks nervous just to be standing this close to her again, all that time worried about a dance, and now, at that same distance... she felt exponentially far away. And receding ever farther.

"W-Wait!"

He caught her arm before she got more than a step after turning, clinging to the last small thread that kept the feeling of his chest from caving him in entirely.

"Just wait—can we talk?"

"I… I don't want to force you to talk," she said with a gentleness to her voice that made him think he should reign in how frantic he was feeling. "I just want some air—"

"It's fine. We can talk."

She had her eyes on his, but they were so guarded he almost missed the return of the glossy sheen to them before she turned her head.

"What should we talk about…?"

"What do you want from me?"

He had meant it as a plea. He may have angrily said something similar before, but right now he would have jumped into the lake, rearranged the planets, done anything she asked if she would only stop looking so far away. Her face did change, but it was to a breaking frustration.

"I want a normal relationship!" she fumed. "Not a pretend one for some bloody psycho, not one where you're so scared of what everyone around you thinks that you won't even be seen with me, and not whatever this is—where you can't even look at me without apologizing!"

It seemed to him that she had expended all the world's courage, leaving none for him. It truly wasn't fair. He was meant to be so smooth and collected. But right then he couldn't even lift his eyes, because all that his mind could focus on was how sorry he was that he couldn't give her what she wanted, and how much he didn't want her to see it.

He heard her choked scoff and felt her drawing away before he saw it. When the pain of the stone floor colliding with his knees momentarily clipped through the numb tunnel overtaking him, he wasn't sure if he had fallen voluntarily, or his legs had simply given out.

"What on earth are you—?"

"Please... Just give me time..."

"Time for what? For what, Severus?" Her voice was harsh, but he heard the plea within it; for him to state aloud a reason, any viable reason, to make such a request. But his throat was dry and useless, and hers was already making a noise of dismissal. "You can't even say it."

"You—told me to go make up my mind," he got out, "before—but you didn't give me time—"

"Because I realized you had already given yourself time," she said in a rush. Her voice had somehow cut over his even though it had dropped so low and broken at the end. "When you left my room that night—it was to give yourself time to decide. And you did. I didn't want to wait around a second time for the same answer." He took this in with a numbness settling over him, threatening to shut off his supply of thought, which he desperately needed to get through this.

It was with a hitch to her breath that she spoke next, quiet as the breeze, "And maybe because I had time to..." He looked up foolishly as if to better hear the next awful thing, though he couldn't meet her eyes. But her voice was clear on her next words.

"I have my own pride, you know."

His vision was a swiftly closing tunnel of blurry green, his mind racing on minuscule strength against the crashing truth. They should have talked about it sooner—he shouldn't have been trying to cover things up with comfort, breaking his own rules and doing nothing but flirt and lead her on—what he should have been was proactive about was confronting her—what she had done for him in breaking past his barriers, he should have done for her—he should have seized the opportunity with that crack she had made to pry past what protected him from diving too deep and used all that time to confront his own feelings...

"I need... more time," he finally said, voice like a prayer. "Time alone." He looked up at her at last, his eyes feeling hollow and desperate. "You can understand that... right?"

The look on her face was painful to bear. Speaking of pride—all the times that he had curled his lip at her pitying expressions earlier in the school year seemed like nothing now in comparison to her torn frustration. The only thing keeping him holding on was that he knew—he hoped he knew her well enough—that she did understand this one aspect. More than anyone else, he could see in her eyes how far into the horizon she had gazed, the altitude at which the winds had swept through her hair... He had seen how weatherworn her earlier journals were when they had been splayed out across her coffee table, painting a trail of unknown time spent discovering herself. There was seclusion there, behind the bright mask she wore so easily, that kept one foot behind her, ready to push off and disappear if the need ever arose again.

But this was a different question. They had been a pair at the edge of every social event, and he regretted his choice as much as he needed it.

He had been correct though. Gradually, as if mentally climbing herself down from a different mountain, one of anger and hurt, the look in her eyes began to change. For a while he had thought he had lost that with her for good, after he had been so mistaken about her ability to read him, and him her. Perhaps it wasn't possible on everything, all of the time, to do so—but that didn't mean he was missing every great important piece. Slowly, clumsily, he was remembering pieces that he had been holding and forgetting. And picking up new ones, too.

With a suddenness that startled the breath from him, his hands were gripped with a renewed strength, and he was being pulled and forced to stand. His legs wobbled from kneeling so long, and he saw he needed to brush off his robes, but he didn't have the time as he lifted his head to find Freya still clasping both his hands, holding him steady and grounded. She let go as he settled up mostly straight.

She seemed to be preparing herself as she took in a breath, still glaring at him, though it was upwards now. He waited, hanging on her word.

"I am not waiting around for a man who begs me on his knees," she said evenly. "So—ask me properly. And..." the hardness of her posture loosened, "and at least tell me what it is I'm meant to be waiting for, Severus..."

A disquiet was overtaking him, his stomach shriveling at the task laid out, though this was somehow not the forefront. It was far from productive, but all he could focus on were her eyes, still captivating even when imploring him to give up the last thread that would surely be his unraveling. If he were to truly get his tongue to work, though, all that would come out would be another burden for her. Yet the desire was there to answer her call; filling his chest, flooding life into his lungs, parting his lips with the need for speech that would convey even a small part of what he wished...

But all he felt capable of was leaving himself raw before her. There was no thought left of concealing what was written across his face. He wanted to say it. His chest was aching to tell her.

Eventually, as the time passing pressed in on him ever greater and his desperation to say something—anything—only led to nothing, her eyebrows began abandoning their upturned patience. His breath caught as he watched them slowly fall, and he startled them both by finally letting the stiff hinge of his jaw fall open. Though she waited, staring with her intense expectations, nothing came. Somehow—by a blessing—he was spared the sharp panic that threatened to come back as she closed her eyes—because her thin smile as she held back an exasperated laugh at his struggle to do the simplest of things was lit by a glittering of stars when she once again looked back up at him.

She wordlessly issued him a last-ditch challenge with a tilt of her head, and he answered with a jocular decommissioning of his lips into a tight purse of finality. Though before she could do more than openly sigh, mourning her losses at betting on such a lame horse, before she could even get out her condemnation, "How were you ever able to—" his body had edged him forward.

He couldn't explain it to her how he could lie so easily but come up empty when the truth needed to be set free. He couldn't explain either exactly what he was doing now. But the surge of relief that her smile, even in exhaustion, had melted the chains holding him and the near bursting feeling in his heart were all he needed in that moment to move; to tell her in a quiet motion of patience, as she looked at him in surprise but not contempt; to tell her with an unshakable gaze as he cautiously moved forward; to tell her with a hand beside her face that, as he watched, still made her intake and hold her breath, even with her chin already up, her eyes locked staring back at him.

With all the delicacy and smooth-like-water patience he had in him, his breathing like the cool and gently rhythmic low tide, his lips met her cheek. It was impossible to let go at first, having found the fire of her skin and melding to it, but he forced himself back, keeping the same steady pace.

He wouldn't look away. He wouldn't pull apart, nor aim to move further. This time he deliberately held in place, just inches from her eyes, as they gazed wide and shining back at him.

This couldn't last—however, this time at least, it was to no fault of his own—nor did he blame her as her blush spread and her confidence faltered. It was kicking in for him as well, the intensity he had started with following her downward angling, until they both lost their nerve and ducked their heads with a released breath of laughter.

"That... That is not nearly a good enough promise, Severus—"

He felt her shoulders jump as his other hand took the opposite side of her face, her intake of breath cut off as his lips covered hers. But as his mouth moved with the slowness he had once been searching for, as he felt the heat from her cheeks beneath his thumbs all the way down through her neck under his palms, he recognized her shoulders dropping back down and coveted the sigh she released as she leaned into him. When her hands reached his shoulders, it seemed a tension-melting cape was unfurling down his back. For he too was experiencing the wondrous peace of—as best he could right now—letting her know his meaning.

—

You had better not be thinking you're going to sneak out before saying goodbye.
Because

He was a bit too busy staring at his first missive of the day to pay his second much mind. While his eyes were technically moving across the page, they were making better use of the blank white, letting his mind drift back to just a night's sleep of time ago. His dreamy smile was half hidden as he leaned on his hand, and he did actually let his eyes close for a moment, before, with a sigh that ended a lot less happily than it started, he rose from his empty desk to pack his last and certainly most dear belonging.

Because I already did that. Sorry. See you sometime in summer—you aren't allowed to miss my birthday!

-Freya xxo

It was a long trek up to the highest office, made longer by his having no reason to hurry. With no one much left in the castle, it seemed a lot like the state he had found it in when he had arrived in the fall, wandering around the empty halls like no more than a student dropping in on an old professor. It was an unexplainable surprise that almost a whole year had passed since then.

He hadn't even bothered to read the notecard he had been handed by Professor Powers earlier.

He had hustled to fling open his office door at the knock, and probably would have unnerved the man with his stuck in place grin that was ruined by his sharply lowering brows at this reveal, if it hadn't been for his already ruined atmosphere. The Astronomy professor, it seemed, was leaving his post after just three years. He was vague in the handing off of his message, except for his very grave warning—or reading of the stars, as he phrased it—that Severus would do well to never be caught slouching in his responsibilities.

Severus, having powers of intuition of his own, had been quite sure the man had been asked to step down, and had wished him a happy future selling telescopes.

His knock on the door to the headmaster's office was neither sharp nor soft. He honestly hadn't a worry in the world about the fate of his own career. Even if he was pushed in the same direction out the door, he found that at the moment he rather would have enjoyed the opportunity to flex his greater strength at speaking his way back into favor.

Before his knuckles had even rapped twice upon the door, the reply to open it was given. Despite his bravado, it was this minute change that finally chipped at him just the smallest amount—and then followed in a landslide as he entered the room.

He hadn't been expecting someone else. It became clear who she was immediately though, as the woman turned back to Dumbledore, thanking him with a parting handshake and showing off her trailing robes decorated in a charted pattern of constellations, and strode to the exit with a beaming confidence that sucked the rest of which out of him.

It was a bold move to have had a replacement lined up and in the castle before your ex-employee had even left.

The door shut, and he felt the distinctly familiar presence of the room pressing in around him with its quiet. If he strained his ear, he thought he might hear the sounds of a backup potion's master waiting in a wing behind a curtain.

"I suppose," said Dumbledore at last, as cool and unaffected as the surface of the lake outside now that they were alone, "that you have been eagerly awaiting your end of year review?"

"Not particularly..." Not charmed by Dumbledore's smile of appeasement, he went on. "I wasn't aware our positions as professors were so... tenuous."

"Ah." For the first time, the man looked to be showing signs of a guilty conscious. He adjusted his draping robes before continuing. "While I do model myself as someone welcoming of change, Mr. Powers, unfortunately—and I'd like to say quite uniquely, as I usually have a more prudent eye when choosing my staff," his scan over his glasses made Severus stand a bit straighter, "made a change for the worse. He seemed to outgrow his fascinating ability to memorize the cosmos as if a map were etched in his mind and shifted his focus... ah—to the interests of our other staff. And as much as I tolerate the art, I do think we will do just fine with only one Divination teacher."

He didn't know what to say to this, or to the grinning face that, while evidently uncomfortable with it, was willing and capable of taking care of such business. Severus just wanted to know what exactly his business was that possibly needed taking care of. The headmaster stalling was doing nothing to help the tension building; he had never shown a difficulty with filling the air previously.

"Severus," he started, clearing his throat and making his captive practically lean forward to speed up the pace, "as my portraits here do not miss to tell me, I have never excelled much in this area." He waited for some recognition to these words, but finding none, continued. "I believe Minerva has already delivered a better review of your work this year than I could."

He only blinked once while processing this. There wasn't anything he wanted to be going over while standing in the center of this office feeling like he was in one of the Ministry's courtrooms, though it was hard not to be caught off guard imagining the man before him approving of any semblance of praise for him.

There was another more pressing quandary arising, however.

"My review... isn't what you wanted to discuss?"

There was only a breath of time to prepare for the impact.

"I have a job I would like to discuss with you—"

" No ." Even as he watched Dumbledore's mouth hang open and slowly close, the warning flush of heat through his body couldn't win out against his indignation. "Not for the summer, I'm on break."

"I wasn't aware that you thought of your duties as only seasonal."

"I—…" He was casting around for anything, but there was no sense to grapple with beyond the truth. "I deserve my time off."

Dumbledore raised his chin, stiffly taking this in.

If he had been shocked before, Severus was now completely thrown off by his next words.

"Ah... I do believe that's true."

The headmaster smiled again, and this time there was something that almost, if he wasn't mistaken, looked like sadness to his eyes, though it was not to last. Though the tranquil sounds of warm weather were bleeding in through the many windows, the light that came in cast a shadow as the old man ducked his head for a quiet moment. A nervousness that had never previously been seen overtook his shoulders and his tenting and un-tenting hands. Before anything else could be thought through, he spoke again, this time seeming to arrive at his intended point.

"If... I could burden you in another way, then... If you would be willing to listen, Severus... I have something that I think, perhaps, you could use that time... to contemplate."

---

_—***—_

"Help yourself, don't say a thing
Your love won't show in anything at all
If all you do is talk

Sadly, we remain to see
What brings an end is also what we need
All you do is talk

Help yourself, don't think
Help yourself, don't speak
Help yourself, don't say a thing at all
You're lucky words don't bleed"

B.R.M.C. – All You Do Is Talk