Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.xxx
~Ch. 7, Morning's light.~
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Katja laid back down on the couch. It wasn't very comfortable, but she didn't care. The silver comforter on top of her was warm and it chased away the damp chilliness of the dungeon. She'd never been in one of her teacher's personal chambers before.
It wasn't much different that a common room, really. Smaller, made to be homey yet comfortable. The fire that roared in the grate made long shadows dance around the room. Professor Snape sat immobile in the chair across from her, reading a potions book.
The silence was pleasant, all things considered. Katja snuggled deeper under the blanket and yawned, pulling it up to her nose. A deep, rich and earthy smell hit her. It held just the smallest hint of smoke, herbs, and a warm male muskiness. It was comforting, in a strange way. A lazy thought surfaced.
"Is this the blanket from your bed?" Katja asked him drowsily. Professor Snape looked up, his gaze flickering to the blanket for fraction of a second with disinterest before he looked back down at his book.
"Yes, it is." A few more moments passed as he turned pages and scanned them.
"It smells nice," she yawned again, turning over and wrapping herself in the blanket, inhaling. "like what it smells like when it rains and fresh parchment... I like it."
Her eyelids closed and her breathing evened out, the end of her sentance stretching as she dropped off to sleep.
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Severus stared at her dumbfounded for a moment before scowling.
It smells nice, like what it smells like when it rains and fresh parchment... I like it.He wasn't sure if that was a complement or if it was something he should be offended over. He couldn't recall anyone ever commenting on his own personal scent before, and that was what she was smelling. He owned no other blankets, so of course that one would have his scent all over it.
He probably should have scorgified it before he covered with it. Fifteen year old girls sniffing his blankets and telling him he smelled good was just... uncomfortable.
So why did it please him to know that his odor was pleasant to her? Was he that desperate for a complement and to be humanized that the half-concious words of a girl could make him feel this way?
He sincerely hope not; Katja Solomon had already proven herself to be nothing more than a mess that he was sure he wanted no part of. As soon as it was a decent time to arrive to breakfast, he'd wash his hands of her.
But for now, he studied her as she slept... trying to piece her together.
The Dark Lord would most likely be summoning him within the next few days and he found himself wondering as he gazed at her small form underneath his blanket if there may not be a way he could save her from Lucius after all. His master used legilimency on him quite often... if he just so happened to plant the memories of tonight inside his occulemency shields, perhaps Lord Voldemort would persuade Lucius to refrain from his vile abuse of her. Knowing that her parents were his loyal American followers may make him inclined to "protect" her...
It could also put her in the danger of being in his presance.
Severus wasn't entirely sure if it'd be worth the risk.
Katja was an excellent witch as far as he could tell, so who knew what he would do. Make her a death eater, perhaps? If he could alter his memories to make her seem clumsy, weak or incompetent... maybe that could keep his curiosity off of the girl.
Yes. That may work.
He'd have no use for a timid and foolish girl as a Death Eater, no matter her blood status or parents loyalty. He knew that at the very least, Lord Voldemort was capable of a form of dispassionate pity of lesser beings. Those who did not possess the proper strengths to be one of his followers... A tender heart would be of no use to him.
A quiet whimper snapped him back into focus. Katja's brows were knit together and her lip caught between her teeth while she slept. Quietly, gently, he rose from his chair and stroked her hair. Just once, using subtle legilimency to supplant one single idea; rest.
Her pinched face went slack and an almost imperceptible snoring began. He drew his hand away, measuring her with his eyes to make sure that she did not stir as he retreated back to the arm chair.
Damn his heart.
He wished the blackened thing would just rot already. Merlin knew that his life would be that much easier for it. It wasn't as though he were using it for much more that living at any rate, and given his status as a Death Eater and double agent, that could stop at any moment.
He cracked open his book again, roaming the page until he came back to where he had left off.
Practical applications of betony and rose-oil tinctures for trauma...
