Then came the day of the Slug Party. Samara had been looking forward to this with almost childish anticipation. She was sure that Snape would be there, and it was a great opportunity to see him in a context that was not about work. Her main concern was to look as beautiful as possible, in the hope that he would notice, and see her as a woman, not just a colleague. She had deliberated for ages on what to wear, and in the end chosen a simple, but flattering dress, made from silver-grey silk with crystal-encrusted snowflakes embroidered around the waist. Wearing her long hair down, and high-heeled silver sandals, she was very pleased with her reflection in the mirror. She didn't want to ruin her dress by using the Floo, so instead decided to Apparate just outside Hogwarts' main gate. It was the ugly form of Filch, the caretaker, who greeted her, and, after suspiciously inspecting her invitation card, escorted her up through the grounds, and to Professor Slughorn's quarters. The decorations at the party were breath-taking, with real snowflakes suspended in mid air, a massive Christmas tree rivalling the one in the Great Hall, and candles everywhere. Samara took a look around the crowd of merry-faced young people, but could not see Snape anywhere. A little disappointed, she walked over to where Poppy Pomfrey and Minerva McGonagall were standing, immersed in conversation. Poppy was, of course, delighted to see her.
"Samara dear, Horace told me you would be here. You really should come visit more often. Minerva, do you remember Samara Ravenhood? She is my dear godchild. Her mother was a very good friend of mine, an amazing woman, such a terrible loss; she is sorely missed."
"Oh, Miss Ravenhood, I remember you well; you were a talented student. How do you do?"
Samara stood chatting with the two ladies, until it was time to sit down for dinner. It was then, that she discovered Snape, sitting across from her at the table, talking to Dumbledore. She had not noticed him arrive. Samara had been seated between Poppy and Professor Flitwick. Over dinner, she enjoyed a pleasant conversation with her old Head of House, which was just as well, because, apart from a brief nodded greeting when their eyes met across the table, Snape was ignoring her throughout the meal. He spent the whole time talking to McGonagall and Dumbledore either side of him, or just glowering to himself.
After dinner, Poppy had to rush off to take a student, who had overindulged on the wine, to the hospital wing, and Samara joined the other teachers, who were standing in a group around Professor Slughorn. Slughorn raised his glass, and started tapping it with his wand until the room fell silent, waiting for the host to address his guests.
"My dear friends, it is a great joy to see you all assembled here tonight. I do hope you are enjoying yourselves, and do not want to keep you from doing so for long. It is, however, my pleasure to ask you all to join into a great Hogwarts tradition, the Hogwarts Waltz! Filius, if you would be so kind."
Professor Flitwick smiled graciously and obliged. At a flick of his wand, the tables vanished; and, under the applause of everyone in the room, he proceeded to show off one of his most impressive spells, directing an orchestra of instruments that had appeared in a corner of the room. As the Hogwarts Waltz resounded, students and teachers joined in.
Slughorn took Professor Sprout by the hand, and led her off to the dance floor.
Dumbledore turned to McGonagall. "Minerva, would you do me the honour?" and winking to Samara, excused himself.
Now Samara was left alone with Snape, who scowled, and didn't make a move. But Samara was determined not to let this opportunity slip; this was the moment she had been waiting for all evening.
"Oh, Professor, I would love to dance, wouldn't you?"
"No, I would not," he replied with a baleful look.
"Oh please, just this one dance. It would be the nicest Christmas present for me."
"What makes you think you are getting one?" he snorted sarcastically.
"Oh, let me think. How about letting you use my lab and potions ingredients?" Samara suggested with an impish smile.
He let out a resigned breath. "Very well. I can't argue with that. Follow me then."
He turned and walked towards the door. Samara followed behind.
"Where are we going?" she protested.
"Out to the corridor."
"Why?"
"I will not allow my students to witness this."
Samara's insides tingled with excitement, as she walked behind him. She watched him weave through the crowd, admiring the elasticity and strength with which he moved, the strands of black hair bouncing onto the black fabric of his coat.
Out in the hallway, he made a movement with his wand, and the music from inside the room was magically amplified and carried outside. He held out his arms in formal dancing posture.
"What are you waiting for?"
Samara moved closer, and placed her hand in his, while he put his right on her shoulder blade and drew her into him. She almost gasped; never had she been this close to him. Her heart accelerated, as she breathed in his scent, and felt the heat emanating from his body. Yet what followed far exceeded her wildest expectations. He led her securely in the frame of his arms, moving to the beat with ground-covering steps. Holding himself in perfect balance, he was striding and spinning across the corridor with confident and elegant manoeuvres. She savoured the sensation of his hand firm against her back, her abdomen against his, his leg moving between hers, occasionally brushing against her thigh, his face inches from hers, his black eyes holding her captive.
"You dance remarkably well for someone who does not enjoy it," she complimented him.
"Slughorn made us learn for the Yule ball, when I was in my fifth year at Hogwarts."
"You must have practiced a lot."
"In fact, I did. There was a girl I wanted to impress. Unfortunately, she went to the ball with someone else."
He smirked. His tone was casual and light-hearted, but a pained expression in his eyes betrayed him, and made Samara think that this had been more than just teenage infatuation. However, she was wiser than to dig deeper with questions.
"Then I'm grateful to her, because I am enjoying this a great deal."
"You are welcome."
Samara didn't want the music to stop. She wished she could float along in his arms, weightless, until the early hours. But, inevitably, the last notes eventually faded, and they came to stop just under the architrave of a doorway. When she glanced up, she couldn't believe her luck: Mistletoe! She looked at Snape expectantly, but his eyes were suddenly fathomless and cold.
"Please excuse me."
He quickly let go of her, turned away and headed back inside.
Samara stood alone outside for a moment. She brought her hand up to her face, the hand that had until a moment ago rested in his, and indulged in the recollection of what had just happened. She could feel something fluttering in her stomach. Yes, she was in love with Severus Snape. And now that she knew that he, too, had been in love at least once before, she was determined to conquer his heart.
Back at the party, Snape seemed to avoid her for the rest of the evening, and she was too embarrassed to seek him out. So she decided to head home early, and took her leave from Slughorn and Flitwick.
Back at Ravencroft, lying in her bed, she closed her eyes, and once more danced with Snape, this time until sleep finally wrapped her in its silent embrace.
***
Over the Christmas holidays, Samara decided they had invested enough effort into finding an alternative cure, and that it was time to start on the potion to which the unicorn blood would eventually be added. They had found a number of slightly different recipes from various sources, and, in the end, decided it would be wise to prepare more than one potion, just in case. New Year's Eve was also full moon, and for the start of a new endeavour, the timing could not be better. So while most people enjoyed the festivities, Samara and Snape were once more locked up in the lab, chopping, grinding, and stirring.
When they were done with the first stage and cleaning up the equipment, Samara suddenly realized that, until the second stage of preparation at the next moon cycle, there would be no need for them to see each other. It was not a happy thought, and she wished she could think of a reason to prolong his stay or arrange another meeting. Meanwhile, Snape had taken a look at a cauldron standing on another work bench in the lab, surrounded by jars and bottles of ingredients.
"What are you working on there?" he asked casually.
"Oh, that's just a little experiment, nothing major," Samara replied evasively, still remembering the scorn she had earned for her last unsuccessful attempt.
But Snape's curiosity had been roused. "Experiment on what?"
"I'm trying to brew something that will treat Cruciatus syndrome. We had a bad case a while ago."
"The Cruciatus - how interesting…" His eyes widened. "Quite a challenging project, I daresay. So what is in this?" He bent over the cauldron and sniffed.
"I thought I'd try a variation of a painkilling potion, adding some ingredients that are used for the Obliviatus Azuris."
"Painkilling potion against the Cruciatus curse? That's the silliest thing I have heard in a while, and believe me, I have to endure a lot from my students," he sneered.
Samara's face went bright red. "Why? What's so silly about that?" she snapped.
"Miss Ravenhood, do you know anything about the Cruciatus curse at all? Do you know how it is produced, how it works?"
"No, why should I?" she replied defiantly.
"Because you cannot fight the Dark Arts without understanding them first!"
He had walked back towards her, his expression fierce, and his gaze piercing her uncomfortably.
"Not everyone shares your unhealthy infatuation with the Dark Arts!" Samara replied mutinous.
Snape's eyes flashed warningly, daring her to continue, but he said nothing. Samara was angry. He had no right to criticise her like that; she was not one of his students. Yet she knew he was right, she was a long way off.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," she apologized.
"Never mind." His tone was conciliatory now. "Why don't you let me help you with this? I may be able to fill the gaps in your knowledge."
"Really, you would do that?" Her face lit up.
"Why not? As you say, I am fascinated with the subject. You may come to my office next Saturday evening. Security at Hogwarts is heightened these days, but I give you permission to floo into my office."
***
A week later, Samara stepped out of the fireplace in Snape's office. Snape was sitting at his desk in front of a pile of parchments, no doubt essays that he was marking. He looked up briefly, and, with a movement of his hand, indicated her to sit down in a chair opposite his desk. Then, without a word, he turned back to the parchment he was reading.
While she was waiting, Samara took a look around. The room was quite dark, with only a single small window. The walls were lined with books. She suspected that the chair she was sitting on was usually reserved for students spending their detention with Snape.
After a few minutes, Snape put down the parchment, sighed, considered it for a few moments, and scribbled something at the bottom, before adding it to a different pile on his desk. Then he looked up again and moved the parchments aside.
"Can I get you anything? Tea? Firewhisky?"
Samara shook her head. "No, thank you."
"Now, the Cruciatus curse. What do you know about it?" he asked, sitting back and crossing his arms over his chest.
"It's one of three Unforgiveable curses, and it is used to cause unbearable pain, to torture people."
Now Samara did feel like a student in detention.
"Pain, yes, but it is not like the pain you feel in response to bodily injury. It is a pain that exists purely in the mind. Do you understand now why a painkilling potion will do nothing?"
Samara nodded. "Because analgesics stop pain being relayed from the body to the brain, whereas the Cruciatus pain exists only in the mind?"
"That's correct. I take it you have never been subjected to it?"
She shook her head. "Have you?"
"More times than I care to remember."
Samara's eyes widened. Was that what those mysterious commitments were? Some secret and dangerous mission, fighting Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and where he got tortured? Her respect for Snape had just doubled.
"What does it feel like?" she asked hesitantly.
"Searing pain, like burning alive. However, as with the Imperius curse, for someone strong enough, it is possible to resist."
"Really? How?" she asked, her eyes full of awe.
"Occlumency, the art of defence against manipulation of the mind. The Cruciatus curse after all is a form of manipulation."
"How do you do it?"
"The fundamental technique of Occlumency is to create a safe area in your mind. It is like creating a barrier, a wall, shielding that to which you do not want to allow access. It takes practice of course, concentration, will power, and self-discipline. In the case of the Cruciatus curse, you put a barrier between your self, your feelings, and the pain."
"And what about Cruciatus syndrome? If it is just pain, why does it affect people so much?"
"Nobody really knows. All I can offer you is a theory."
"Please."
"Miss Ravenhood, do you remember your mother?"
"Of course I do."
"Do you remember how she nursed you, cuddled you, cradled you when you were a small baby?"
"Of course not; I was too young too remember."
"Strange, isn't it, that we don't remember? And yet, those memories, buried deep in our subconscious, are at the very foundation of who we are, they are what allows us to trust, hope, and love."
"And what does this have to do with the Cruciatus curse?"
"Do you know how the Cruciatus curse is produced?"
She shook her head.
"But of course, you wouldn't," he scoffed. "The caster of the Cruciatus needs to project a feeling of pure hatred, malice, and spite. It is thus that the effect is so damaging to the soul, because the curse antagonises what is best in us. Why do you think the Death Eaters relish the Cruciatus curse so much?"
"Because they are evil of course…"
"Evil, yes, but subconsciously, I think it is envy."
"Envy?" Samara's expression was doubtful.
"Yes, envy. Because they seek to destroy what they do not have," he explained.
Samara looked at him incredulously.
"Mother love, Miss Ravenhood. It is the most fundamental and primal of all feelings, the strongest and most unconditional love of all. Lord Voldemort never knew his mother, never received this love. It explains, but doesn't excuse of course, how a human being could turn into such a monster. If you can brew a potion that embodies it, I believe you will indeed vanquish this most abominable curse."
"To create mother love in a potion…How on earth would you do that?"
"As to that, I have not the faintest idea. But maybe it takes a woman's brain to work that out. It is a challenging task indeed, worthy, but challenging. Unfortunately, I think this is all the help I can give you at the moment."
"Thank you. This has been most enlightening."
Samara hoped that he would let her stay a little longer, wishing that he might extend his offer of tea, which she now was quite willing to accept. But Snape, with an air of impatience, had turned back to his pile of parchments.
"Now, I have work to do. I will see you at the full moon to complete the second stage of those potions."
So Samara took her leave and turned back to the fireplace.
A/N: There is a fanart for this chapter at http: //herbologist. deviantart. com/art/The-Yule-Ball-143629233 (take out spaces)