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.

11. Promise

"You can ease or tempt me
I just need your remedy in mind
My head is sinking, my love is quicksand
I can't leave or take it
Is it real, or every fear in my bones"

B.R.M.C. – Circus Bazooka

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Chapter 11 – Promise

It was quite the gratifying thing to be a hero; to have one's picture appear in the headlines under those most heinous fiends, at last captured and put to justice; to be on the receiving end of such high praise and unilateral approval...

Or, so it could be assumed. As it turned out though, being knowingly involved in the arrest of the son of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement on charges of being a Death Eater was something Severus was very glad to be a completely anonymous party in, with only a tiny one of his fingers poked into that pie by his whispered word to Dumbledore, and his whispered word down the line. No one was getting any kind of cheering praise with the papers on this matter, while the Ministry itself was in an absolute tizzy about everything even weeks later. Meanwhile, he got the fulfillment of sitting back and fading into the shadows, able to sleep soundly at night with no such spotlight on him.

Most nights, anyhow. There were still other things to be looked into, by one with a penchant for peeking into shadowy places that held that which was not meant to be found, and so his first more than productive leave of absence from the castle had not been his last. It seemed that Dumbledore had an endless list of things that needed looking into, half of which could be solved by use of the many instruments in his office, some of which could be gathered from the headmaster's own comings and goings from the castle on his various duties, and the rest...

His yawn echoed in the small enclosed stairway as Severus made the final steps back to his Hogwarts bedchamber after a long night.

He had so far avoided sleeping outside of the castle, but this meant having to stay up to some less-than-ideal hours, sneaking back in on sluggish feet. Still, it was worth losing sleep and having to crunch the time needed for his main job as he greatly appreciated the days he got to spend on his own getting to do work that flexed his mind, which was most welcome during the current season of the schoolyear, as it contained a notable lack of leisurely planning periods for him to spend in the research library. It was a freeing kind of solitude to be out.

And, of course, on these journeys he was never truly alone.

After he had swapped out his traveling cloak and robes for long-sleeved pajamas, and before sliding into bed quick to hide from the slight chill that clung to everything in the dungeons, he spared a second to place the journal he always kept on him nowadays into the top drawer of his dresser.

For a short while he had been forced to keep it locked inside a metal box, but, thankfully, after some filled-in pages of back and forth, and many more in-person talks spent correlating information about what types of spells were being used—and in between bickering—Freya and him had figured out how to tone down the heat of the alert spell on the front of both their linked journals. Apparently she must have only tested it out on her own (fireproof) self. It was a good thing the robes she had also gifted him were equally fireproof, or he would have had much more difficulty transporting the thing.

That bite of the first burn had long faded from his fingers, and he had become much more interested in exactly how the rest of the magic contained inside the book operated. It was almost an added bonus that Freya herself didn't remember, because it meant figuring it out together. Testing which and how many inks and quills worked, if they could put notes from outside paper sources within—they had even tried transferring other things, though Freya had stopped being as curious after she had ended up having to clean chocolate from her book in one failed attempt. All in all, it was—surprisingly—fun.

With his head on the pillow, he lay blinking sleepily up at the ceiling, the trace of a relaxed smile on his features as he visualized the most recent lines of ink that had been set within the journal. He had been out particularly late this time, and Freya had been apparently trying to keep pace with his nonexistent sleep schedule, as she had been writing back until just before he left—with sharply declining legibility and many more angry markings left overtop his own writing, so that it had looked more like she had been harshly grading him on his poor scheduling, circling and underling in particular his use of the word "soon" in how much longer he was planning to be.

He couldn't understand why she was still so agitated the markedly few times he left the castle. She would undoubtedly always be seeing him in the morning regardless. In a guilty way though, he couldn't argue about it, as he enjoyed it just a tiny bit that it bothered her when he wasn't around. It made her write to him more often, and every missive was a small reminder that his words were worth remembering to her; every page a newly recorded memory that seemed to lessen the rift left behind by what was missing.

With a deep breath and the comforting smell of ink and parchment still on his fingertips, he pushed his hair back from his face and rolled over to fall asleep.

Only, he had already stayed up passed the point of tiredness, and was now buzzing on the second wind his body had generated to keep him going after having woken up at the crack of dawn and nearing the next. His mind was humming away, drowsy, but not quite ready to give up consciousness just yet.

Which may have been a good thing, as a sound outside the small high window suddenly had his eyes blinking back open, alert and listening in the dark.

If he hadn't just been spending half his day traipsing about in dangerous areas in an equally vigilant state, he might not have been so keen to such a generally harmless sound, but, as it was, the increasing scraping at the stone around the window had him sitting back up in bed, hand out, ready to reach for his wand on the nightstand.

However, before he could, his hardened stare up towards the warped glass reflecting the moonlight outside was interrupted—not because the window opened, smashed, or otherwise, but because what could only have been the culprit Apparated straight through it to the other side, much closer to his face than he had been expecting, making him jump—and then immediately heave a sigh of annoyance.

"What on earth are you—" He didn't have the desire to even finish his sentence, as he rather felt like a fool talking to her when she was like this. Instead, he rubbed a hand over his face and flicked the hair out of his eyes before fixing the phoenix fluttering on his bed with a disapproving look. "You know I can't understand you, yes?" But voicing this thought made him remember the way in which she could communicate to him in this form, and he hurriedly cleared his mind. What was more, after trying to swat her away as she flapped towards him in a confusingly aggressive display, he realized that he had failed to estimate which form would be worse for her to be in under the circumstances, and as he squeezed his eyes shut against a second pop of flame, he was left opening them to a much more difficult scene.

Without nearly enough warning as far as he was concerned, he was face to face with a very disgruntled-looking Freya, who no longer had a harmless wing outstretched, but a very solid hand, placed right next to him and propping her up as she leaned in inches from his nose. Caught off guard, in his pajamas with no wand, he felt as if he should have been more prepared for an attack of this nature. What nature that was exactly had yet to be decided, as his eyes fell from hers, realizing she was just as dressed for bed as he was. Although, he didn't think he would have been able to pull off the over-sized button-down shirt as well as she did, especially if he was correct in his—immediately further alarming—observation that it might have been all she was wearing.

"Why—are—you—still—awake," she said in groggy monotone, making his eyes blink back up and his mouth snap shut where it had been hanging open.

Far too close. Far too on his bed. Far too much Freya for his overclocked brain to handle.

Unfortunately for her increasing look of annoyance—which he belatedly realized included much blinking, as if she was barely hanging onto wakefulness herself—he failed to answer for several more long seconds, as he was assessing the details of the situation and wondering if he hadn't fallen into a lucid dream state given that they seemed so far-fetched.

At last he found his voice, and a good reason to speak it, his brow furrowing. "And what are you doing in my room?"

This was apparently not something she was willing to answer, as it only caused her to slump forward as if collapsing, her head hanging all the way down. Her hair brushed his hand at his side and he snatched it back to his lap.

"Severus," she said in a heavy voice, her reappearing face now looking pleading, "are you seriously not tired...? You have to sleep. C'mon—" He was once more harassed, though this time by a hand instead of feathers, as she tried to nudge his shoulders to lay back down, but he only swatted her away once more.

"Excuse me? Why are you—" He pushed her hand away again as she interrupted with more shoving and whining. "Why are you—all of a sudden in charge of when I sleep?"

This time when her head hung down it was accompanied by a low dissatisfied grumble and it seemed she had exhausted all the fight left in her. Indeed, instead of just leaning unsteadily on her one hand propping her up on the already shaky plane of the mattress, she promptly fell all the way over, rolling onto one side so that her head hit the pillow—his pillow, which he was irked to see her hair bouncing off of as the bed took her sudden weight—and she looked ready to peacefully fall right to sleep upon accepting this defeat.

"You have to..." She was interrupted by her own yawn, covering her mouth, her eyes not opening back up afterward. "You have to sleep... so that I can sleep."

He looked down at her in utter confusion, his head tilting to one side. She said it as if it was some non-negotiable clause that he had signed and should have read more clearly, but he was much more willing to believe that something had finally short-circuited in her brain. Or else she truly did not handle missing sleep as well as he did. She had still been rather tired-looking lately, but he had thought that she had been trending towards being on the mend the past couple weeks.

Apart from that, as he was looking down at her, his eyes distractedly trailing towards her lower half, while he was thankful that he at least now knew that she was in fact wearing a pair of frilly-looking shorts, the sight made his head jerk back up to face the headboard with nearly enough force to crack his neck, very grateful for the dark of the room.

"Freya," he said slowly, quite at his wits' end for this, "surely whatever it is you're talking about would make more sense in the morning, yes?" The only response was that she snuggled herself into a tighter ball, making him notice the curve of her hip and then dodge his eyes away from noticing it. "You really—you can't be here, so—"

"Severus," she said with a deep, fed up sigh, "go—to—sleep."

Of all the things that would have helped him sleep, being forcibly pushed down onto his own bed might have been near the right direction, but as it turned out, landed him entirely on the opposite end of anything close.

In fluid motion, she had reached a hand up to his chest and used her weight as she propped herself up to send his back slamming into the soft mattress, and as much as he would have certainly put up a fuss about this in any other position, he found that quite impossible to do in this one; frozen in place, flat on his back as he was, staring up at her with the heat of her palm coming clear through the thin fabric of his shirt and her hair falling into place around him, so that he was encased within a tiny world that consisted only of her.

Dark gold eyes stared down at him, and he had the odd sensation of forgetting how to swallow.

On the other hand, or rather her own, she looked like the effort of this movement had cost her, and after no more than a single slow and hazy blink down at him, teetering dangerously from her precarious position, she nearly nodded her face straight into his, making him flinch out of his immobility to catch hold of her arms even as her head snapped back up on its own.

"Why don't you sleep?" he said with irritation, still keeping his head turned away in case she went fully unconscious next. But he felt her arms moving in his grip, and watched in dismay as she only strengthened her pose, placing both of her hands on either side of him and glaring down in determination—or as much as she could muster, which was looking like very little.

"No," she said slowly, "you."

He scoffed at her complete lack of reasoning, giving her an up and down look to disparage her extreme display, but this only made him fully take in exactly how it looked to have her leaning over him. Whatever his protests had been, he promptly forgot them, and the only noise his throat could make now was an odd coughing sound. Thankfully she was not fully on top of him, but her knee was still at his hip, and, more to the point, looking down provided a picture of only her loose shirt and bare legs. All he had now for protection was the blanket still over his lower half, and as he realized being in any kind of contact with her in this pose was a mistake, he quickly tried to simultaneously let go of her arms and push her off him at the same time, which proved to be quite the difficult task.

Leaving her limbs unattended may not have been the best choice, however. His eyes locked back into place on hers as her face came down closer, her weight shifting to one arm as the other brought her hand up to his face. He was trapped again, mesmerized into merely watching as, with great care, his hair that had fallen haphazardly when she pushed him down was smoothed at the side by a gentle brushing of fingers, much as he had done to her once before. But he had never meant anything on the level he was feeling from this motion, his heart beating faster than his mind could think.

"You have to," she whispered, getting ever nearer to him so that he scarcely dared to breathe.

And then, the breath came out of him all at once as he realized she was tipping forward in a very different way and turned his head at the last second, his hands breaking free from his momentary lapse in judgement to correctly react, catching her before she smashed her forehead into his face for the second time as she collapsed in a tired heap.

"No— Don't—"

He didn't know what he was saying, or really what he was doing, because it seemed as if he was trying to push an immovable object off of him, his hands not quite able to put any strength behind the movement—possibly having something to do with the fact that he was finding the feeling of having a very soft, very warm weight on his chest not at all unpleasant. He mouthed wordlessly, feeling a flush of heat radiate out over his whole body as his panic grew to a boiling point, before finally, with a great huff and steeling of limbs, he gave up.

His expression towards the ceiling was pained and he was vaguely aware that his foot was twitching, but he remained otherwise locked in place, wondering what on earth he had done to deserve this special kind of torment. He could feel her breath—so much calmer and slower than his own, though he was trying his best to control it—blowing just below his neck, where she was facing with her cheek on his shoulder, possibly asleep for all he knew.

He tried—honestly, earnestly—to mentally slap his brain into working with him on this, to muster some semblance of calm and orderly thinking and make his limbs move, or even just his mouth; perhaps to deliver a politely worded request that he agreed, he should go to sleep, and would very much like to do that now, alone, without any of her very kind but most unnecessary help. There wasn't really anything for it though, not when a much less polite, much more greedy part of him was warmly glowing in his chest, wanting to hold her tighter to it and not let go till morning, telling him to just believe the lie that it was a dream and that he was free to relax, to just enjoy it.

He may have gotten this wish granted, as when she took in a deep breath, he not only felt her press into him as her lungs filled, but with her next exhale she whispered such a soothing singular word that the notion of keeping up the fight vanished from his mind.

"Sleep..."

His whole body seemed to relax with just one sigh. His breathing finally slowed to match hers. Even his mind quieted down at once and he could think again, though now with a pleasant hum underneath everything, canceling out the otherwise cold, unfriendly sounds of the stone castle walls. The modest dungeon bedchamber had never felt so cozy.

With relaxation came the obvious understanding, clearly, up to the forefront of his mind, that it was the magic behind her voice orchestrating things. He couldn't really complain at being calmed down through magic though; he had definitely needed it. With his nerves settled, maybe he could chance speaking up without sounding like a crazed fool. There was one item in particular that needed to be dealt with first and foremost.

"Could you... perhaps... get off me?"

He glanced down as she lifted her head, squinting at him in sleepy annoyance. He thought she might protest, but after a second, she shifted away, rolling onto her side—and trapping his arm with her, now replaced as her pillow as she nestled close by, but no longer touching the rest of him. Well, that would have to be good enough.

Onto the next order of business. "And, would you mind explaining, finally, what it is you're doing here?"

"Keeping my word," she said, her eyes remaining shut as far as he could tell from his view of just the tops of her lashes. She didn't appear the least bit ashamed to still be speaking in such bizarre riddles, and he was regaining his ability to be annoyed. With a slight twitch of his arm, he nudged her, as if to shake loose more explanation, and was thankfully rewarded. "I promised," she went on, just a bit muffled, "that I'll always sing to you, so you can have your dream."

He stared at her in stunned silence, blinking. "You... what?" His racing mind cut through the calm it had been enjoying as it collected all the pieces to this forming puzzle, somehow even more thrown by the bald truth than if she had simply said something nonsensical instead. "When? When did you promise that?"

But he already knew, even as her head lifted up to him. She didn't bother answering, their shared quiet gaze conveying enough. When she spoke, it was with a quiet sigh, her eyes closing once more. "My diary said it was important, especially since I'd been skipping days before..."

As he thought this over more, his brows slowly began to furrow. He remembered her being so fussy about him taking potions for dreamless sleep during the first week of school. "So, you've just been... invading my privacy like this ever since?"

"No," she said with offense, looking up. "That month after—... afterward... well, I only saw you that one night at the inn. And then when you came here to teach... I wouldn't bother you outside of the castle, but here..." Her hand moved to point behind her back, about two feet off from the correct angle that would have led his gaze straight to the lone window, though he made the connection anyway. "The house elves know when you're asleep. And I don't come in."

"But..." The words momentarily escaped him, feeling as if he was still missing something from the vast passage of months his sleepy mind was trying to go over. Even viewing it from her perspective, where she may think it a serious binding commitment from a man so on the brink of death that he only remembered making such a request in his dreams—well, he was well enough alive nowadays, thanks to her. "You don't have to do that."

"You sleep better when I do, though."

His eyes glanced to the side at her still face and he watched as her mouth eventually fell back open, the formation of the words seeming to take her a sluggish second to get around to.

"Less grumpy."

His eyes averted back to the ceiling, away from the soft smile on her lips, his own flattening to a thin line as he felt a defiant bout of grumpiness coming on.

As he sifted through his recollections of all the times that they had been apart, either with her outside of the castle or him gone from it, it was difficult to argue that he slept more soundly when he was dreaming of phoenix song and his last bittersweet—though false—memory. It was more than a bit unnerving, however, that she apparently knew about this dream. His immediate bad faith analysis that she was lying and secretly peering into his mind whenever she wished had to be set aside though, in part because it seemed as if she followed a decently strict ruleset on this matter, and also to avoid descending his mind into another spiral of panicking about just what she would have learned if she had. Better to wait till morning for those happy thoughts.

One thing was for certain, though.

"Well," he said, "you can consider this me formally relieving you of your duty." Her head poked back up, her expression this time showing a muddled frown, to which he tried to address as politely as he could. "I don't know why you would ever think it was so important in the first place, but I do not need you to—wh—wait—"

"Shut," she said, very near to his ear as she cozied right back up to his side, "up. Too many words. Essays all day. Vampires..."

"How—how is that my fault?" he said with resistance, feeling once again like he was being subjected to undue cruel and unusual punishment as her arm wrapped over his chest, hugging him in place. She might very well have been the one out for his blood. Her face had nestled into the crook of his neck and shoulder, creating a nice little padded alcove for her voice to reverberate almost tangibly into his ear, making his shoulder hunch up uncomfortably as if he could fight off the sensation.

"Shh... sleep..."

A small shudder passed through his spine, but it was only from her breath on his neck—at first, and then the familiar melancholic note budded gradually into his mind, and he was shaking his head as if to clear it away.

"Not that." If he was being forced to succumb to a musical sleep—and, at this point, he would take whatever exit from this scenario he could get, including what he hoped would be instant unconsciousness—he at least wanted his say to be taken into account.

The chord abruptly ended. He listened to her gentle breathing, feeling it against his skin, as he blinked up at the ceiling. He was actually feeling quite exhausted now, and quite running out of things to distract his mind from acknowledging why it was that she felt so soft pressed up against him, contemplating how distinct the difference was from that of a mere hug. He tried to focus on counting the stone bricks up above, tracing the lines with his eyes until they ran dry of moonlight and he could see no further. As the time extended, he found he was growing used to his new sleeping situation—which was even more worrying. He was snug and warm, held and comforted. And that was just unacceptably all too pleasant. It didn't help that he had no idea if he was allowed to move even an inch, his arm stuck out awkwardly to the side to avoid touching her.

When he thought that surely she had fallen asleep, a sigh built up in her otherwise rhythmic breathing, and then he heard, and felt within him, a less familiar note of music; that pure and calming one that had set his mind at ease moments ago. He blinked once, his eyelids suddenly thick and heavy, and then, with a final thought to marvel at the strength of phoenix song, without a doubt worthy of all the glorifying passages written into books on it, he was asleep in an instant.

That night, he did not dream of any painful memories, but only of a blurry, wondrous place that he held no recollection of in the morning.

Waking from this peace, however, was arguably a different kind of painful.

His room seemed too bright against his eyelids. He was used to the faintest grey light decrying that it was morning, his tiny window not providing much to begin with, but now there was an odd annoyance keeping his eyes shut tight. Peeking them open the smallest crack didn't provide much information beyond a blinding red, making him feel as if he had stared into the sun and turn his face deeper into his silky pillowcase to escape it.

As he did so, his arms folded in automatically to pull the covers closer—except, for some reason his blankets were in a solid mass, already against him. They were still plenty soft, however, so he thought nothing more of it.

He tried again to open his eyes, realizing there was some sort of delicious scent in the morning air, almost reminding him of a homey breakfast with honey and fragrant tea, enticing him that waking from his peaceful slumber would be worth it.

What was in front of his eyes when he opened them didn't make any sense though, and he craned his neck back to get a fuller image, blinking with drowsy interest.

And then all of a sudden, he sprang up.

Or, as much as he could. From his new perspective, propped up on his elbow, he stared down, dumbfounded to find that there was someone sleeping atop his arm. There was Freya sleeping atop his arm—in his bed—under his blankets. Not at all where he hazily recalled leaving her.

Alarm shot through his still half-asleep self, so that he was looking all around, agog, but his brain was unable to pull up what plan of action was required in this sort of emergency. Several thoughts were vying for attention all at once, in particular that it was far too light out and he should be worriedly checking the time, but his clock was behind him and he didn't have the freedom of both arms to wrench around—and, abruptly much more worrying, he in fact couldn't see where his other arm was.

He jerked it towards him, noticing as it moved under the blanket, and realizing with relief that it was just at her hip, patting at what must have been the waistband of her shorts to doublecheck. Only—that was actually just as terrifying—and he quickly yanked his hand fully out into view.

If he had been more awake to make decisions, he might have tried to make a little less commotion, but, as it was, he looked down in further startled dismay as Freya rolled over with a small bothered noise. It wasn't until she was already blinking her eyes open that he had the brilliant realization that he probably could have chosen to not be staring down directly over her when this happened. Though, aside from the paralyzing horror, he rather thought he would have chosen to stay right where he was given every possible opportunity.

It was a dreadfully beautiful sight to see her brush the untidy hair from her face to gaze up at him with eyes that caught the golden light of the morning and seemed pure enough to put the most spectacular sunrise to shame. Even the bleary vague look on her face held an obnoxious charm over him. And the display of her widening eyes as they took in his frozen form overtop her wasn't that bad either.

"Severus...?"

He got out a very enlightened "uhm" before she seemed to realize she was not dreaming and scrambled backward away from him, throwing off the sheets. The look of sheer alarm in her sparked his mouth to be more legible. "I— I didn't do anything—"

Well, given that he hadn't even gotten out of bed yet, he wasn't quite up to wordsmith quality, but he might have better chosen something that wouldn't have made her blush quite so red, nor drop her jaw with such indignation.

Before he could deliver any more thunderingly confidence-inducing lines, her hand had twitched up to her side, and in a snap and a burst of flame, she was gone entirely.

He stared in suspended turmoil at the spot on the bed she had just occupied.

And then his head was hitting the pillow so hard the mattress bounced beneath his weight. He flopped over so that he was facedown, seeking to bury himself in the thick bedding and, if luck held, hopefully suffocate back into unconsciousness.

Not more than three seconds later though, he was heaving himself back up, having found the unmistakable scent of her perfume permeated all throughout the pillow. Agitated beyond what should be legal for morning hours, he threw himself off the bed, snatched up his wand without even looking, and pointed it over his shoulder to compile all of the bedding onto the floor as he walked on unsteady legs towards the bathroom. His newly gifted clothes he could understand, having sat in her wardrobe waiting for Christmas and soaking up the smell of her, and they had since already faded to a familiar muted nothing, but where he laid his head at to sleep at night was far too close to be surrounded by the intoxicating thought of her.

His shirt went next, as it too undoubtedly would carry the same scent having been part of the meager barrier between them last night. He had no idea when she had gotten under the blankets, or when he had wrapped himself around her tight enough so that he now could almost feel his chest ache, missing something warm against it, but both of these thoughts, combined with what he had just said to her playing on repeat in his mind, had him squeezing his eyes shut tight in a groggy grimace. It was too cold in the tiled bathroom to risk undressing fully just yet, so after he had irritably cranked the tap to draw a bath, he stood there shifting about in a small circle with his thoughts, relieved that at least all the baths in the castle had been enchanted to fill with haste.

It was madness, truly. He was losing it. There must be some mind-numbing aftereffect of her song that had been slowly poisoning his brains into a useless soup for months.

The simpler answer, that she was just rather unavoidably beautiful, and he was a useless babbling troll-brain, was a lot harder a truth to swallow.

But why should that matter, honestly? There were pretty people all over the world, to borrow her own flippant tone. It wasn't as if he had never experienced attraction before. It had gone over about exactly the same, sure, but he should be building up a tolerance against it by now. It was perfectly normal. It was fine, in fact. He could conduct himself in proper order while still fancying someone. There was no need to go to pieces about it. He could boldly and conclusively state that, yes, Freya was very pretty—and have it mean nothing more than that. He could think about the first night of December last year and acknowledge that he was just a man who, on occasion, enjoyed the company of an attractive woman—and it was just that cut and dry. He could even entertain the thought that, yes, it would indeed have been very nice to play out the scene just now in a different way—waking up to gaze down at her lovely appearance, reacting to her saying his name by instead putting his hand back to her waist, pulling her close, and kissing her without a care in the world—he could have been the one to whisper in her ear and cause her to blush for all the right reasons—he could have simply just been happy to hold her, all to himself, both sprawled out on his bed in the warm light of morning...

The bathtub he was staring unseeingly towards didn't come back into focus until he realized it was overflowing. Snapping back to the waking world to shut it off, he shook his head and coughed uncomfortably, glancing around although he was very much alone.

When at last he dunked himself unceremoniously into the tub, it was with hopes to somehow scrub out his mind as well; but, moments later, as he was dragging the last of the water from his hair with a lazy flick of his wand over the sink, he still had less than a clue of what to do.

If only she were a murderous Dark wizard that would take pleasure in torturing him should he let his guard down for even half a second—then she would be easier to talk to. The pressure of certain horrible death was a faster way to sort one's mind out than this, and he would have readily welcomed the ease with which he could have categorized all his thoughts about her into neat little sensical portions.

His face stayed pressed into his palms for a moment longer than was needed to wipe the last of the drops of water from it, until he was leaning with his elbows on the sink to hold himself in place. His skin was hot and dewy, and it felt good to steam-clean his head a moment longer.

It was enough. It was more than enough just being around her and having his private thoughts. There was no need for him to go opening up his lately unreliable mouth and saying anything that he would surely regret. He just needed to keep it that way, balanced and composed.

As he straightened up, the notion of checking in on his deeper more unhappy thoughts to see that they too were still being balanced after what he had learned last night had him frowning toward the floor. It may have to wait for now though, as he stepped out of the bathroom and wandered back, glancing at the grandfather clock—

And froze with his eyes stuck in place on where the little hour hand was pointing to.

Brilliant, just... bloody brilliant, really.

He was hurrying up the dungeon steps into the entrance hall so fast that he nearly bowled over a student on his way, sparing only a second to cast a vicious look over his shoulder.

Not only had he missed his Sunday morning meeting with Dumbledore to go over what he had learned on his trip, but he was near to missing the staff meeting that was scheduled to come after. That wasn't even counting that he had tacked onto the list a visit to Freya to apologize, and that he had a meeting with a student later as well—and a test to plan. And other work, besides.

He was in such a foul, pressed mood by the time the staff room door came within eyesight, he didn't even hide his displeasure at finding both the headmaster and headmistress standing outside of it, talking together in soft voices that stopped abruptly as he was noticed.

"Severus, there you are," McGonagall greeted him with a stern look. "What could you have been up to so early in the day to be late?"

He opened his mouth with every intention of finally letting loose his barbed tongue he had been thus far holding all schoolyear, but was interrupted by the placating raised hand of Dumbledore.

"It's fine," he said in his calm compelling way, almost looking offhandedly pleased to have been stood around waiting on a late arrival, "I am sure he must have been quite tired after the excursion that I sent him on."

If McGonagall had previously been privy to any information regarding his whereabouts, she certainly didn't look it. Then again, he was staring at Dumbledore's serene face with just as much surprise.

With a nastily smug sense of importance growing, he turned back to McGonagall with as much of a curt grin as he could manage without revealing too much of his triumph.

She gave him a shrewd look, her eyes coming back up unimpressed. "Well—see to it that you manage your duties here in a more timely manner."

They filed into the staffroom without wasting any more time, though Severus sorely wished for at least a second longer to savor having one less person think he had defrauded his way into the school, especially one of importance. He rather appreciated McGonagall—when she wasn't trying so hard to make his life more difficult. Perhaps this was the start of slowly slipping back into favor with the staff. If Dumbledore would hurry up and sprinkle in more offhand comments, it certainly wouldn't hurt.

His moment of satisfaction abruptly ended however, as he made his way into his usual corner to lurk while the headmaster gabbed to them about the latest matters of importance, and found it otherwise unoccupied. Looking around, his usual partner in shadowy wall-leaning was chatting with the Astronomy professor over by the fire. It was to be expected, as she had been making an effort as of late to rekindle the casual familiarity with her fellow coworkers, and both of them had returned to once again taking meals in the Great Hall, so their seating neighbors were her most friendly targets. Still, it put him on edge to not know what to expect given the order that things were playing out. He would have preferred to catch up to her before this.

Yet as Dumbledore strode into the center position of the room to speak, Severus watched with still attentiveness as a single head of red hair separated from the group and wound its way through towards his corner. With just a quick meeting of eyes, he diverted his gaze back to the headmaster as she wordlessly took her place beside him.

There were some uninteresting updates that he didn't quite retain the details of, followed by a much more capturing notice, as it involved the person standing beside him being informed that, if she wished to claim it, there was an especially enraged Boggart in the Ravenclaw dormitory that had been getting used in some sort of game they had invented, which had many of the staff—Freya included—tilting their heads in bewilderment and concern.

"Moving on to matters of more excitement," Dumbledore went on, "with the recent apprehension of what is thought to be some of the more dangerous individuals at large, I think it is now time to lift the temporary ban on Hogsmeade visits for the students. They can make their return this very weekend."

The headmaster didn't look his way, but Severus still felt that the pause after these words was for more than just comments from the staff, and the corner of his mouth twitched up. To his side, he caught Freya peering at him with an expression that might have rivaled McGonagall, quirking her brow at him. Her look ended in a much friendlier returned smirk of approval, however.

"That being said, please do keep in mind that it is also Valentine's Day this week," Dumbledore warned in a playfully serious tone, "so be on the lookout for any students showing ill effects from poorly concocted Love Potions, or from eating far too many Chuckling Chocolates. That will do for now."

The rest of the room began to move as one, either to chat to the person beside them or make for the door, but Severus stayed where he was to let everything die down first. He still had his missed meeting to make up for, and the person to his side to talk in private with, not sure which of these to do first—and his mind was busy contemplating other matters, besides.

On the topic of students getting themselves into too much trouble than they were worth, the term had started out for him with the delightful news that a one Mr. Wells had been thoroughly talked into submission by his mother over holiday, a fact which Severus had found out from a very curt letter waiting on his desk when he arrived back from his own holiday, stating that Mrs. Wells found her son's grades to be absolutely unacceptable and she would very much appreciate it if he was given extra attention by his Head of House to help him along, including punishments when necessary. It would normally have been completely out of bounds of what he was willing to put up with and have earned a cozy spot in his fireplace turning to ash—if not for the fact that it had been the perfect way to control his most rebellious student, holding it over his head when needed for the past month.

And, to further keep things in check, he had supplemented his extra harshness out with a little bit of a deal with Wells. Punishment for his poor behavior before holiday had of course been in swift order, and so he had barred him from quidditch practice until he improved academically. Of course, this would have been outrageously detrimental to his own Slytherin team. Good thing, then, that Wells was quite the slippery little student, and, quite unfathomably, kept sneaking out right under his nose, almost as if walking right passed him with a sly nod and a wink, to go practice at night. It was a nice deal that kept him looking like he was still being harsh and without bias, and kept Wells feeling like he was getting away with something, specifically too busy to go do anything else that might be unsavory, all while still winning back his student's favor, which only made him easier to conduct back onto the right track. He wished he had thought of it sooner than just this term, as he prided himself that it was rather genius.

And yet... he still did not quite trust the boy to be too far out of his eyesight, or any of the rest of his students. It was slightly worrying that he would be set free to Hogsmeade with his pack of friends again. He knew all too well what that additional freedom could lead to on those weekends. Not to mention, he still felt his standing with the student body was tenuous at best, and was not looking forward to the peace breaking just yet should he need to actually dole out punishments for misbehavior.

On the uplifting side, his newfound appreciation for the written word had lent him the spirit to write a letter both back to Wells' mother, and to contact his own previous Head of House for advice, though he hadn't received one back yet—possibly because he hadn't worded this request in barefaced words so much as a reluctant desperation willed onto the paper itself, and it was unlikely that Slughorn could read his mind through that alone.

He was just trying to sort out a way to perhaps rescind Wells's Hogsmeade permissions with some convoluted plan, possibly involving more letters, when a tug at his sleeve pulled him from his thoughts.

"Severus? A word?"

His eyes stayed on Freya's for a second before glancing towards Dumbledore, seeing that he was apparently busy in conversation across the room.

He nodded and followed where she led, out into a secluded hallway.

As she stopped just to the side of a tall window, spinning round on her heel to face him with her back against the castle wall, he thought he noticed a distinct lack of her usual aloof air. She tucked her hair behind her ear and then just as quickly untucked it, and she seemed much more interested in the polish on the floor than in him.

"Sorry," he said abruptly, not wanting to drag this out any longer than need be. Seeing her nervous was having a shared effect on him. "I shouldn't have—" But he wasn't entirely sure what he should not have done, just that he should be apologizing after his horrible earlier fumbled phrasing, and Freya was interrupting him with both her hands raised before he could sort it out.

"Oh—no—you don't need to apologize," she said, her eyes finally lifting, though only for a second. "I'm the one that should be sorry. I know you wouldn't— I mean, I know you're not the type to... be worried around."

This comment somehow pulled his mind in two polar opposite directions, to the effect that he was left tilting his head, both worried that he was indeed that type, and offended not to be. She let out a nervous little laugh, fiddling with her hands as she went on.

"It's just..." She paused, pursing her lips, before jumping back in at a hurried pace, "You know when you're dead tired and you don't quite act yourself; you go all loopy?"

"No. I'm always in full command of my faculties."

His set impassive stare down at her seemed to loosen up her anxious demeanor as she blinked back, holding tight an unamused smirk.

"Yes, well... would that we were all as perfectly stoic as you."

Her playful tone didn't seem to have been entirely in jest, however, as she still was having more trouble than he had ever seen with keeping her eyes up. It was enough to make him either want to step closer so that she'd have to look, or join her in admiring the tiled floor pattern; so far, he was only managing the latter, mostly because if he looked at her face, all he could remember were things that made it too awkward to be doing so.

"I'm sorry," she said again, having apparently needed to say it with more meaning, and this time their eyes did meet, "for invading your privacy like that."

He couldn't have exactly said why, but this overly laid on apology was starting to irk him. It wasn't the most tactful of reactions to curl his lip and frown—it certainly did nothing to instill confidence, making her duck her head—but the way that the possibility of him having enjoyed her company seemed absent from the equation in her mind was prickling him, as if she could have only been unwanted and invasive. Another irritating problem was that she was actually right, she should be held accountable for this, and he was annoyed with himself for forgetting that fact and at her for making him feel the need to apologize in the first place. And this shy blushing act she had going on wasn't helping.

"You should be," he said with enough force that when she looked up her brows were raised.

"...Right. Well, I am."

"Then... you understand the nightly visiting is over, correct?"

"I... Right, of course." His glare stayed held in place though, as she didn't look finished, and as expected launched back into it after a beat. "It's just—are you sure? I mean, of course I wouldn't come back inside again, but the other part; I thought it was sort of, well, your way of... I just thought that it was important—"

"It's not," he snapped, and then rethought himself, further clarifying, "I don't need you for that; so, you can cut it out."

She blinked back at him, looking to be fresh out of comments. "Alright..."

The uncomfortable silence that hung between them afterward wasn't exactly what he had intended. He now wasn't sure what he had been saying at all, in fact. The argument he had been so sure of making known looked to have made its impact though, with Freya no longer jittery. Instead, she looked vaguely stunned.

"I... have a meeting to get to," he spoke up to break the unnerving air—and hopefully get her to make a different face.

She did seem to throw off her withdrawn stare to nod her head in realization. "Oh, right, Albus was asking where you were..." She suddenly circled right back around to fully embarrassed again, tilting her head down to brush her hair out of her eyes, and giving him an unpleasant jolt as he wondered how that conversation might have gone—and how he would now have to be trying not to think about it throughout his whole meeting with the man himself. "Er... Actually, where were you? I tried finding you as well."

"Couldn't you just use your usual means to stalk me?"

"Stalk you?" she repeated with resentment. "I do not, you're just easy to find most of the time."

"Evidently not," he said, diverting his eyes and lowering his voice, "as I was right where you left me."

"Really...? Oh—you weren't showering, were you?"

His eyes snapped back to attention at her near accuracy, but he soon realized, as she stepped forward and raised a hand to his head, making him freeze, how she had drawn such a conclusion. He felt a light tug at a strand of hair beside his neck and watched as she inspected the drop of water on her fingers when she retracted them. What made his shoulders raise in defense most of all, however, was when she leaned in ever closer, then blinked up at him.

"You smell nice."

His eye twitched as he stared down in appalled silence, feeling the faintest trace of heat start high in his cheeks, and his nerves finally snapped.

"How—would you know? You're probably just smelling your own overpowering perfume since you leave it all over everything."

Her mouth popped open in wordless astonishment.

"So glad that you like it," he shot in final punctuation, and turned sharply the other way, marching off on his merry way to keep his schedule.

Over his shoulder he heard her call out, loud enough that it filled the hallway before his swift exit, a singular bewildered, "What?"

His meeting with Dumbledore went by in such an agitated rush that he was barely sure that he had said all he had meant to. Furthering his frustration, when he left from the tower, his path was blocked just before making it to the staircase, as standing in front of the painting of a battle fought on dragonback was an especially peeved-looking Freya, appearing to be his own sort of fiery obstacle and pulling up a memory of a similar meeting. Apparently he really was just that predictable in his paths around the castle. She didn't follow through with what was his immediate expectation of an argument however, but instead turned to fall into stride beside him with only a slightly disdainful height to her chin. She didn't seem to have anything to say about his earlier outburst, slipping into the familiar habit they used to have of ignoring whenever he snipped at her, only jumping directly into a completely different topic, throwing him quite off guard as they descended the stairs.

"So—what exactly is Valentine's Day and why has McGonagall just advised me to 'keep an eye on bushes and broom closets'?"

He would have immediately pulled out all the stops on snarky retorts had he not been so incredulous, having to first check that she wasn't pulling one over on him. Her snappish defense was that she had been a tad busy lately, what with the dying and all that, and couldn't remember every single minute detail of life all at once. He still thought she should have been more up to date on holidays given how enthusiastic she was about them, but the thought occurred to him that perhaps the very reason why, was due to these celebrations being new to her. Still, he was in no mood to be the one to explain the traditions of said date, at least not until after he had gotten a solid hour alone to himself to think and recuperate from the already hectic day. So, all she got from him were snide comments about how out of touch she was, until they parted again so that he could get the rest of his schedule finished.

Over the next couple days, he came to very much regret the decision not to cleanly inform her himself, however.

She had not entirely lost the occasional chip of frost to her tone around him at times, and he had gotten even less invites to her room than usual as of late—amounting to a total of zero, in fact. Meaning that they were both taking all of their meals now in the Great Hall, and Freya had more chatting partners with which to pepper questions. Normally he would have found it amusing to witness as she tried to ferret information out of Professor Powers while the man thought that she was asking him about tomorrow's holiday for entirely incorrect reasons, but as the first thing out of his mouth pertained to the exchanging of presents, making Freya exclaim an overenthusiastic "Really?", Severus found himself just wishing to make it through dinner listening to no more than the unintelligible murmur from the lively tables. If a giant box of chocolates showed up in his bedroom tomorrow, he was chucking them straight into a cauldron of Acid Brew.

Though the worst idea the Astronomy professor had imparted her with had been the mention of a date; "Usually a romantic dinner". The man had hastily explained, after Freya's less than receptive response ("Oh..."), that of course plenty of people without romantic interests went out as friends to simply enjoy the festivities as well ("Oh!"). She had seemed to finally remember talking over people at the dinner table was rude, and had adjusted in her seat to cut Powers off from view again, looking directly at Severus—and he had stared fixedly at an apple on the table that looked about the right size with which to plug up her mouth before she blurted something out that would put him under a spotlight in front of the entire school; particularly McGonagall, whom he had thought had been listening to the whole conversation, and could have sworn he had felt her eyes boring into him just then. With a very wooden turn of his head, he had sharply mouthed the word "later" to Freya and gone back to his meal.

Once they were alone again, in a deserted dungeon hallway as he was making a bee-line for any amount of privacy, he had a second singular word for her.

"No."

"But," Freya said, trying to keep up with his long strides, "don't you think it would be fun?"

He paused for a moment in front of a carved column, squinting as if deep in thought. Then he leveled his gaze back to her and delivered, with more drawn-out satisfaction on the word this time, "No." Far from put out, she was starting to look like she might be contemplating if he weighed too much for her to drag over the threshold of the nearest dinner place. With an inward sigh, he went on. "Why don't you run and ask Powers to take you? I'm sure he would be more than happy to have a stargazing... companion."

"I wanted you to take me."

His unpleasant baiting tone had not been echoed at all in her voice, nor anywhere on her face when he turned to look in surprise. Instead, she was doing that thing she did that he had deemed her 'open book' expression, as if inviting him to read a single sign of dishonesty in her eyes as they gazed up at him. He didn't remember her ever having looked quite so imploring before though, blinking at him with such bare sincerity, and he almost thought her lower lip looked to be sticking out just the slightest smidge. It was altogether far too much interest for her to be showing, and left him feeling like he still had a spotlight on him regardless of the lack of audience, so that he sputtered out his reply as if he had forgotten his line in a play.

"Why?"

Her brows raised, and she slowly grinned with a small shrug. "Because... the thought of spending an evening with Powers makes me want to dash my own brains out?"

Gradually, the corners of his mouth followed hers in a tight upwards curl. "Well, you might want to avoid doing that... seeing as you're already working with a lightened bag."

"How very flattering, obviously I've made the correct choice in dinner partners." He gave her a mocking look as if to indicate that if she didn't like his attitude, then perhaps she should indeed rethink it, but she only sighed and rolled her eyes. "It's just, you've been a bit..." Her gaze didn't return to him, instead searching in the distance. "...odd—lately, and I think it would be nice to do something... well, nice. But if you really don't want to, I guess I can't exactly drag you along."

He wondered if he had been right about her earlier look and she must have determined he was in fact too heavy to physically pull. More seriously, he didn't have any clever remarks to make when she was speaking truth like this. He had been even more jittery and quick to temper for no good reason lately, even falling back into sniping at her as he had earlier in the schoolyear, and he couldn't seem to break the habit even when he purposefully tried. As much as he still wanted to keep her at arm's length, he didn't want for it to be by making himself out to be unbearable. Plus, he was finding himself rather unbearable as well. Being constantly at odds with himself, whether around her or alone, was becoming a large sap to his mood.

Perhaps it would be good, a test of sorts to iron out once and for all his uneasiness around her. He had been wracking his brains for just such a way to do so the past few days, and this had his more desperate ideas of willingly giving himself memory loss, or perhaps adjusting his vision to be slightly worse, beat by a good margin. He did always work best when thrown into high pressure situations. What could be a more determining trial than if he could play it cool out to a café with her on Valentine's Day of all things?

It was just coincidence that going along with this was also precisely what he wanted to do, though perhaps under more ideal conditions. He missed having their private meals together, and in the interest of not being trapped in a continual loop of being a total git, it might be a nice gesture for both of them.

It was much easier to deal with in the framing of being dragged into it though.

"Alright." Contrary to appearing to understand his confirmation, Freya looked up at him in complete surprise as he stepped toward her, until he was staring down with the same intense determination that she usually turned on him. "I'll take you."

There was a light dusting of snowflakes flurrying down only to melt on the grounds, putting just enough of a chill into the evening air to require bundling up should one plan to be outside for long.

This is good. This will be a good thing, he assured himself as he stood out at the bottom of the stone steps up to the castle, hands in the warm pockets of his robes underneath his cloak. A 'nice' thing.

A handful of students plodding along the path from the greenhouses, making their way after the last class of the day, glanced at the clenched and menacing expression of their Potion's professor and quickly hastened passed.

The deep and slow sigh he exhaled sent out a continuous cloud of condensation.

There was still time to back out; it wouldn't be the end of the world for them to turn right around once she showed up and head back into the Great Hall for a normal dinner and evening. There were enough decorations in the castle to count as still celebrating the festivities, which seemed to be what Freya was after most. She kept referring to 'the atmosphere' and 'how quaint Hogsmeade is'; while all he could think was that if even one person mistakenly called them a couple, he was going to make her walk fifteen feet apart from him. About the only upside he could name now was that at least they wouldn't be in front of the whole school if he embarrassed himself, the students not scheduled to be released upon the town until tomorrow.

As the sound of the oak front doors opening had him turning around expectantly, he had the bracing impact of the first thing he saw providing a different reason for him to want to walk separate from her, with the hem of her robes taken up an inch and ankle boots to show as much of her candy floss pink socks with little mobile threaded cupids chasing after flying hearts on them. He couldn't decide between nauseatingly kitsch—or cursed with Dark magic. Maybe she was possessed, and he would have to call the whole thing off to have her examined.

"Like them?" she said with a bright smile as she reached the final step to his level and his eyes were finally peeled away with a last blink to hopefully clear the horrid image. His gaze lingered only a second longer, on his old Slytherin scarf around her neck and overtop her hair, before facing back down the path and starting forward, wanting to get on their way.

"I'm more curious how you managed time to... craft them," he said carefully, imagining the socks could have only been created on the night of a new moon using actual hearts from some terrible creature, "on such short notice."

"Borrowed from Albus," she said, and then added after misinterpreting his sideways glance of disapproval, "I did have to shrink them a bit."

He only gave her a continued stern look in response before the path grew too slippery in places for his gaze to be anywhere else, and they settled into a would-be comfortable silence on their trek—unfortunately, he was far from comfortable today.

"How were your classes?" he asked, and then immediately gave himself a mental thumping for bringing up work immediately, as if this wasn't all they talked about every day.

"Fine," she said mildly, and then continued with a weary sigh, "I had mostly first-years today though. So it was nice to have this to look forward to."

He met her warm grin with only a sideways peek and a very short returned one of his own, quickly diverting the subject safely back to work after all. "Did you have your veela-believer, then?"

"Stop," she said with an exaggerated roll of her eyes, though she was grinning. "He doesn't deserve you making fun of him constantly, it isn't hurting anything to believe his cousin or whoever is part magical being."

"Apart from his future test scores."

"How do you know that he's wrong? There could be some... distant veela relatives," she said without much conviction, shrugging her shoulders.

He scoffed, glancing further down the path through the trees as they rounded the corner to check that no one else was around, saying absently, "The only one even remotely resembling a veela around here is you."

"What? In what way?" But his casual grin had become a tight-lipped line, and he kept his gaze straight ahead even as she leaned in to look him in the face. "In what way, Severus?"

He might be able to admit it to himself that she was beautiful, but he wasn't about to go blurting anything so bold out loud. So, he found himself, as they continued on to Hogsmeade and eventually crossing onto the main street, going on far too long of an in-depth explanation about hair, wand core usage, and shapeshifting abilities, until he was positive that he had talked himself a good six feet into the ground, and Freya was squinting at him in silence, not offering him any help out of this hole. In fact, when she spoke up, she only seemed to push him down further.

"Except veela are all women," she said skeptically as they turned on their path, "and phoenixes aren't."

"Well, perhaps if you were to share more details about them, then I could be more informed about such things," he countered. Most of his intent was just to steer the conversation in any other direction, but he did hold his gaze on her for an added second, eyebrows raised, to see if she would indeed divulge more. It had been some time since she had first been secretive about the life of phoenixes besides herself, and he assumed things had changed since then, even despite that her eyes looked to be narrowed now for more than just one reason.

She fell silent for a moment to gaze around at the town's decorated streets, dotted with overflowing planters of huge varied flowers in red and pink, and streetlamps just beginning to come on, small flames flickering to life seemingly automatically, adding a warm cast to the otherwise grey wintery scene as he led the way further on.

Finally, she said, "Well, I'm sure you already know of one other phoenix; he's with the New Zealand quidditch team."

"That?" he said, turning to her in disbelief. "The mascot is a real phoenix? I always thought they had dressed up a parrot."

"No," she laughed, "he's very real. Trust me, we think he's a loon for going along with it, too."

"Is that how you choose to immortalize him in your notes of people to remember? 'Quidditch loon'?"

"Huh?" She gave him a quizzical look, having to tilt her head an extra inch as she looked to the side while walking. "Why would I have him written down—?" Realization smoothed her expression and she looked away just as he caught up to speed with what he had wrongly assumed, diverting his gaze back ahead as well.

Of course. Why would phoenixes forget each other? That would make things so much more complicated for their relationships, and wouldn't that just be such a shame...

Overtop his silence caused by the sudden dull pit in his stomach, Freya continued on in a nervous babble, "I met him once, actually. He said they used to give him firewhisky before big matches as entertainment for the crowd, but then they got in trouble for care violations with some Magical Creature Departments and they had to stop. So... you know, it's nice that I'm not the biggest embarrassment to us... Oh, look!"

His sullen stare followed to where she was pointing and his brooding thoughts about some flamboyant sporty idiot having a more solid history with her than him was promptly evaporated by the picture before him. Across the street there was a café that he recognized as having always been painted in a light pink stucco all year round, but now had so many additional decorations to its shopfront that his eyes hardly knew which garish thing to look at first. The whole scene was just a bright red and pink assault on the eyes, and they had even tied enormous bows on the lamp posts directly out front. The large windows showed a clear view into a table where a couple was sitting marveling at a fat golden turtledove flying around their heads, sprinkling some sort of confetti, before abruptly bursting into a large pile of it and leaving a floating sparkling heart in its wake. The couple stopped clapping as they looked down at their ruined meal, now covered in exploded bird confetti.

He turned in a stiff motion towards Freya, who thankfully also had her jaw hanging in utter disgust, and peered back up at him to exchange a look.

"You've... got somewhere else planned, haven't you?" she said tentatively.

He had half a mind to point out that she was the one wearing socks that matched the place perfectly, so he wasn't sure what she was put off about it, but he was in too much of a hurry to drag her away before she started to get curious about two more twittering golden turtledoves flying out to greet a new couple that had just walked up to the front doors.

After a short ways more, they made it to his chosen destination and he nodded towards a much more subdued-looking corner café, its aged dark wood architecture blending in with the rest of the street.

"Here."

Though it was advertising a special menu for Valentine's Day in the window, there was no obnoxious greeting as they entered, and he directed them in a quick line towards a tiny table in a back corner. To his relief, Freya seemed taken with his pick, looking around at everything with a pleasant smile and walking close by to ask if he had come here as a student. He shook his head, explaining that this had just been a spot Slughorn used to meet with him during his mentorship. He didn't say out loud that his student pocket change wouldn't have stretched through even the front door. The place was different from when he and Slughorn used to visit though, the furniture switched out to some spindly woven wrought iron, and he didn't realize until his legs were already hidden under the draping white tablecloth just how little room there was, having to awkwardly apologize and maneuver until they had sorted themselves out to both fit without touching.

"Well, at least it's quieter," he said once he had situated himself to face in towards the wall, not as glad on this visit that his usual spot, which had been originally chosen to always have a full view of the room, now just put multiple happy couples enjoying their time together within his sights. Meanwhile, Freya was facing out and staring at a painting on the wall behind him. "And it has more taste."

As soon as he finished talking, his attention was drawn by a small silver sparrow fluttering to the edge of the table to deliver a menu scrawled in curly lettering. It held both of their silent stares until Freya broke hers with a bright grin.

"Yes, silver is much more elegant, don't you think?"

He delivered a sour expression back at her, angling his face away from the intrusive third table member as if ignoring it could make it disappear, even as it twittered helpfully.

"Don't encourage it," he said as she wiggled her finger when taking one of its offers, "I'd prefer to read the menu, not hear it in song." And if it blew even a speck of confetti at him, he would be taking out his wand.

"Aw, I think it's cute. Almost like a Patronus, but not bright enough, and the edges of its form aren't quite opaque..." He watched as she leaned in on an elbow for this studious assessment—and then quickly took it off to sit more politely. He gave the bird his attention again only to check her observations for himself.

"If someone was using a Patronus to wait tables, I would rethink my choice of café." Carefully, he slid the second menu away from its little hopping feet, testing if it would leave finally. It did not, and he glared at it, asking Freya offhandedly without turning from his adversary, "Are you teaching the Patronus Charm? It wasn't in the curriculum when I was a student." A fact which he had thought preposterous given the times, and so he had taken to self-study to learn it.

"And it still isn't," she replied, twirling her own menu around on the table. "Not by Ministry standard, anyway; I must have thought it was at least important to go over it in written form though, because it is in fact in my notes."

He paused, realizing he had fallen right back into talking about work, but feeling the urge to ask more. It wasn't exactly favorable that it might be a bit argumentative for a dinner conversation, but getting to help her with classes in depth the past couple months had only rekindled his desire to get to teach the subject himself, and so he found it difficult to stop now that he had started. As Freya took notice of him staring at her intently while he decided, she raised her brows and then leaned in as if she could feel what he was after, the corners of her lips perking up in encouragement.

At once, he leaned in as well. "What do your notes say about the most effective way to summon a Patronus?"

She instantly fell back against her chair, rolling her eyes. "Oh no, not another lecture—don't you get enough time to be the smartest person in the room during classes?"

He held his ground with a self-satisfied grin. "No."

"This isn't like the werewolves one, is it? Because I looked into it, and I still say you were only right in theory—"

"No, I'm factually correct about it—"

"In theory! In practice, in a planned lesson," she emphasized, slapping her palm with the back of her hand, "I'd rather teach what's been researched; so, unless you're going to go publish a paper—" He made a face at the very thought, as she seemed to know he would, letting this hang in the air like a threat with an expression that said 'there you are, then'.

The silver bird still sitting at the edge of the table absorbed their beat of silence, its head flicking back and forth several times before Freya finally straightened back up with a sheepish clearing of her throat.

"Well—are you going to tell me what this best method is, or not?"

His cool grin returned, and he made her wait another moment as he took his time before speaking.

It was nice whenever he could argue with her in a productive way, not only because he quite enjoyed getting to show off a bit in front of her, but because it lent to a feeling of security knowing that they were close enough to heatedly disagree without her smile being absent by the end of it.

The considered point that he was trying to make was that all the books he could find at the time while studying the spell on his own had gone on about focusing on a happy thought, which had yielded him only poor results. Luckily, though, he had eventually found a solution, discovering that it was much easier to simply practice control over one's fears, keeping a clear mind and focusing only on the necessity of the spell in a situation, which he had already been studying anyway. Freya didn't seem as impressed with this explanation as he might have hoped, arguing that it sounded more like he had just created a more difficult obstacle for himself, and that it wouldn't be easier for most people. They wound up spiraling off course to bicker about the complexities of emotional meaning behind spell purposefulness, archaic forms of words versus current understandings, and veering even further into territory of whether individual perceptions of the world and oneself played a part in magic, to the effect that by the time they had ordered and received their drinks, the waitress who handed them off gave them both a tightlipped look and hurried away, presumably thinking that they were having a different sort of disagreement. Their tone took a turn after that, but it was mainly due to the fact that trying to speak with authority over the tops of mugs filled with far too many frills and garnishes proved to make them both feel silly. Freya's drink of spiced hot cocoa, with what seemed like endlessly frothing whipped cream that kept changing around into different shapes, between hearts and especially bubbly handwriting, was also more than a bit distracting as she tried without success to stir it together.

The break in their conversation opened up to a lighter—though by him, not exactly more welcome—topic, wherein they both took a stab at guessing the other's Patronus form, spurred on by the fact that he shortly declined to answer when she asked directly. He let her guess through 'owl,' 'bat,' 'horse,' and 'adder,' but cut her off with a scowl when she hopelessly threw out 'clown fish,' turning the question around onto her. However, it only took him one confident take that she couldn't possibly have anything other than some loyal breed of companion dog before she was muttering into her cocoa that she didn't really need to cast the charm anyway, her eyes pointed out towards the room as she took a long sip, and then she changed the subject back to where they had previously left off.

"So then, do you actually even conjure a Patronus, or do you just simply decide not to be afraid and stare down dementors until they go away?" she asked with heavy sarcasm.

"I believe it's you who does that, actually," he said with a pointed look that made her frown without recognition, "and yes, I do, if necessary. My point is that there are other means, and they are beneficial for not only overall defense, but the casting of this spell."

"But how would that lend to the required happiness is my question," she mused, leaning back thoughtfully with arms crossed. "I understand you think you've found a way around it, but I still think it must actually be an emotion, or at least the perception of such, of the same—"

A trio of candles set against the wall side of their table ignited, making both of them snap their heads in the direction as if to shush an interruption in class, and share an agitated look as similar candles being lit around the room made others comment in delight at the shifted evening atmosphere to a warm romantic glow.

Unaffected, Freya took an overly deep breath for continuing shortly, "I think you're just describing what has to be your own interpretation of light, happiness, or love; there isn't another way."

His brows twitched downward just slightly. "I never said that I wasn't utilizing emotion in some capacity," he said carefully, avoiding stating which one in particular, "only that it's expressly easier to be done in a clear-headed and dutiful way."

"Perhaps..." He watched as she stared hard at the table, her spoon making a muted ringing noise as she twirled it around the edge of her half-empty drink, like a visible cog of her turning brain. "I suppose it's possible that what you're describing is actually devotion, which would be a representation of the positive force of love, but lacking the happiness from it itself; but then that would be rather dreary, wouldn't it? I can't imagine someone being able to draw the kind of power necessary from something so joyless and devoid of—"

The cheerful chatter from the rest of the café suddenly stood out as their own table fell quiet, Freya's eyes widening on him and then just as quickly darting away from his scowl, her lips shut tight. She took another long sip from her mug.

Whatever warmth was left in her drink didn't seem to add anything to the cool temperature of their little bubble, nor his voice as he finally spoke, reiterating in slower words, "I never said... that was what I was doing." Her head bobbed automatically, eyes glued to the table and the mug still stuck over her mouth, as if she surely believed his statement even more after hearing it a second time. Feeling defensive, and just a bit sour from his earlier glum thoughts, he snappishly went on, "And what about you? Do you just so happen to have some eternal phoenix soulmate, and the pair of you are simply generating happiness all the time forever?"

Seeing her nearly choke on her drink cheered him up just a bit.

"W-What? No," she said with as much disbelief as assurance.

He raised a brow. "Do you even get along with your own kind?" Judging by her avoidant gaze and silence, he felt his doubts were justified. However, this brought forth a new question with which to throw at her, and he leaned his folded arms forward to the table to speak with more privacy. "Surely it can't be true, that after a hundred years—"

"Severus."

She needn't have issued her warning with such alarm, as he certainly hadn't been leading anywhere that should have made her cheeks turn such a shade of pink, but even he had to drop his blamelessly steady gaze after a moment and rethink his words more carefully.

"You were the one who wanted to 'celebrate the holiday,'" he said as his defense, for the thread he was about to continue on tugging without a doubt required one, and his bitter tone would only cover so much, "so then... why don't you share your own romance stories." Because I'm certainly not sharing mine.

Her head stayed stuck downward, but her eyes peeked up once to check if he was serious, before lowering back to her lap when he raised his brows at her. He hoped she would just get on with it, otherwise he would have nowhere to go with this, seeing as his only current viable excuse here was to be teasing her. It wouldn't do to let on just how much he was actually interested.

"Well, I... there's only really one person worth—well, at least, he's all I have written down," she stammered, making his heart involuntarily twitch despite her next words negating anything it could have been reacting to. "Actually... it's the reason I started writing years ago..."

Even though she had nearly hidden her chin in the scarf around her neck, he had caught every word with rapt attention. His eyes were no longer distracted by even her hair being wound round her finger as she mulled over her thoughts, though his mind did wander to the previous week, when they had attended another quidditch match together and she had worn similar; at the time, as they were walking away from the pitch at the end, her expression had grown to just about the same level of far-away thoughtfulness as it did now, and he had never sorted out why.

Finally, he broke the pause himself in a quiet voice. "You decided to remember... for love?"

Her head slowly came up, and then she surprised him with a sudden darkened scowl. "Are you joking? Don't make it sound so soppy; I did it out of spite so I'd never forget the bastard."

He blinked at her in dumb astonishment, remembering to pick up his chin only after a moment. "Oh." It was a few seconds longer of adjusting in his seat and quietly swallowing down his wasted excitement before he could correctly shift modes. "Then... what sort of person was he?"

"Dragon-tamer."

"What?"

Her blank gaze into the candlelight was broken as she seemed to take in that she was still engaged in conversation, and with more alert discomfort to this fact, repeated, "He was... a dragon-tamer. From Norway—I don't know, I suppose, he just..." She shrugged, looking harassed and eyeing him with apprehension. "You can't really want to hear about this, can you?"

He remembered at the last second, before he leaned in with interest, that he was actually not supposed to be interested, and changed up his movement to shrug right back, fixing her with a cool, unaffected stare. She squinted at him for half a second, and then seemed to be more caught up in whether or not she wanted to spill what she had to say—then, after one more glance at him to check that he was waiting and listening, she pulled herself in closer to the table, and it all appeared to finally pour out of her in a rushed whisper.

"Well, I forgot, didn't I? My Burning Day had to come sooner or later, and when I woke up, the first thing I see is him, just—some wizard—there—with all these grand ideas about being together forever, and he's got it all sorted out with a neat little note from me, to myself—and he's saying he's decided—oh, he's decided—that he wants to figure a way to be immortal to be with me; just needs a bit of my blood and my magic to do a bit of testing. So, I'm standing there, just woke up, and when I said, 'Are you perhaps completely mad?', he seems to think I'd want it the other way round, and offers to sort out a way to take my magic away, make me like him—just to be with him! Have you ever heard—what a load of—just... just the absolute entitlement of it all! Asking someone to change their entire life for you!"

His eyes had been on her mug where she had moved it aside in an agitated motion to make room for her busy hands while she talked, but he raised then once she was finished. "So... I'm assuming that didn't go over well?" The tight line of his mouth tugged up at the corners as her scowl deepened from more than just the residual emotion from her story. With a knowing look, as if this was the part he would most enjoy hearing, he lowered his chin to meet her gaze. "What did you do to him?"

"Glassed him," she said without blinking, "big mess, blood everywhere. Most unfortunate, but it had to be done." His grin widened, but only in wait of her to give an actual answer. She lifted one shoulder and brushed it off. "I left, of course."

"But," he said, and his eyes stayed fixed on hers, "you did choose to remember, after all."

She appeared to diminish slightly under his focus. "Well... yeah. But only for myself." Her eyes trailed away and she slowly sighed. His attention was competing with a noisy table of six in the center of the room, momentarily making him want to cast a cursory glance all around them to make sure no one was overhearing such secrets of her life, but he couldn't pull his eyes away. He was recaptured as she quietly spoke back up. "I found out I had written down a lot more than just one note; I ended up stuffing it all into an empty book binding. I wrote down the ending to it, that he wasn't worth a single word, and I never went back. But the idea of remembering eventually still... Well, I already had a sort of journal by that point..." She picked up her cutesy mug of cocoa and swirled it around like a glass of something stronger. "That was five years ago, but it feels a lot shorter. I hardly wrote anything down back then..."

"...Do you still think of him?"

The cold slice her eyes made as they flicked towards his answered well enough, but for good measure she added, "I think about how hopefully his dragons have permanently scorched his eyebrows off, the greedy son of..." before falling back to her introspective composure.

He decided he should end his prying there and his gaze followed hers to the table, smoothing his fingers over a crease by his elbow. His curiosity might have been noticed had he gone much further, and besides, her imperious disposition didn't lend to any more openness. It was odd; as much as he associated her other form with vibrance and flashiness, there were very few times he could recall when she actually looked as regal, usually dressing herself in such muted colors and plain clothes, almost like she was trying to cover it up. The way she looked now, arms crossed and a slight frown down at her held drink, was closer to the haughty royalty he would have expected had he known her first as a phoenix.

Whichever appearance she chose to show though, he had the distinct feeling that he had been correct with his original interpretation, and that she had indeed remembered for love; not the soppy kind, but one which had ingrained a lesson. He wondered, deep within his thoughts on the truth of why it was that procuring a happy memory for him was like plucking a blossom from a tangle of Devil's Snare, if he himself was so easy to read.

Seeing as she hadn't come close earlier to guessing that, at current, he might not even know the form his Patronus would take, and that he might be just a smidge apprehensive to know, he could only assume that he wasn't.

The quiet of their table was broken up abruptly, though it wasn't just the suddenness that startled him, but rather the sharp kick to his leg. He again shuffled his feet around under the tiny table to profuse apologies from Freya; apparently she had absently tried to cross her legs to keep her foot from bouncing in annoyance. However, he found it more entertaining to refute her excuse, accusing her of trying to take out her woes on his shins. It served nicely both to bring back a lightness to the air, and to grant him the enjoyment of the return of her wide-eyed sincerity, as she fretfully tried to make her 'sorry' be believed, even as she delivered him another accidental kick in her hurry to move her own legs out of the way.

After a short pleasant meal that wasn't nearly as robust as those at Hogwarts, but was a decent change of pace for an extravagant departure from the norm, the pair of them had headed back out onto the frosty streets of Hogsmeade for a stroll, with Freya stating that she wanted more of a look at the additional decorations to the already charming little town.

They stopped by Honeydukes, as it might well have been declared a local crime not to on this day, given all the advertisement out front by the crowd of people around even at the darkened hour to get Valentine's chocolates from their favorite sweet shop. After being advised by a helpful employee that mixing Heart-melting Toffee Bars with the rest was a bad idea if one didn't want a chocolaty soup, they had left with Freya holding a pouch of various handpicked candies, sharing between them as they meandered about.

He was leading the way for the most part, just an inch ahead of her in stride and directing when they came upon corners, following what was a familiar path to him from school trips. More detailed memories of those times were brought to his mind as Freya beside him stopped and pointed.

"Ooh, what's up there? Is it open to go look over the town?"

It might have been an old mill or granary at some point in the past, but now the towering building that had interested her was an apothecary, with its very own glass-working shop attached to one side, seemingly its business companion for bottles. The apothecary portion was shaped similar to the potion etched into its wooden sign, tall and tapered upwards, and the whole building had a cobbled together wooden walkway of stairs leading over and up to a catwalk around the whole of the uppermost floor, where an out-of-use bell tower stood out against the sky, higher than the other immediate surroundings.

It did indeed look to provide a good spot for sightseeing, but Severus had turned away after one glance.

"No."

"Aw—why not?" she asked, still gazing back.

"Perhaps some other time, but not today," he said with what he hoped was enough allusion, though her blank stared proved otherwise. With a sigh, he went on, "Kids used to go up there to... It's a popular romantic spot."

"Oh!" Her face went from mild understanding—to scrunched up and peering at him side-ways. Before he could do more than pop his mouth open, she was raising her hands. "I'm not judging."

"I didn't mean I did it—"

"Oh good, then you won't mind if we go up."

Before he could protest, she had grabbed him by the hand and was dragging him along towards the starting stairway at the side of the building. Despite her enthusiastic declarations that the day was about enjoying the atmosphere, and looking over the snowy lit-up village from this vantage point would surely be most poignant, he was fairly certain what they would find at the top. Sure enough, before they had even reached the end, they had run into a couple stopped on a short bridged gap, whose faces were hidden behind the witch's overly large-brimmed hat. As they awkwardly edged around each other, both pairs exchanging stiff nods, he hoped it had not been too noticeable when he had yanked his hand out of her grip at the last second, nor too noticeable to her that he had forgotten to take it back much sooner.

The view was indeed beautiful, and a unique perspective of the otherwise cozy streets closing in on either side—but it wasn't really worth running into and interrupting two more pairs of people, and after finally finding a side of the building they could stand on without crowding anyone, Freya was looking more irritated than awed.

"I did try to warn you," he said with his back against the wall, arms folded, not even bothering to peer over the railing as she was. She cast him a look over her shoulder as if to argue, but then seemed to think better of it, sighing instead.

"Alright, fine. I think that's quite enough atmosphere for me."

"You want to leave?" He thought of having to wind their way back down through the maze, and suddenly wished to stay longer.

"Well... maybe if there was somewhere more..." He watched her eyes travel off into the distance with a puzzling expression before coming back to him looking slightly guilty. "You wouldn't mind going somewhere to be alone, would you?"

"Why would I mind that?" he asked with what he thought was just a bit more alarm than he had meant to let out.

She shrugged, clasping her hands behind her back idly. "I just sort of feel bad pulling you away if you'd rather be out socializing."

He stared at her in blank disbelief until the corner of her mouth twitched, and then he let out a snort as she laughed.

"No, I don't mind," he said. "You're the sociable one."

"To an extent; I do think I prefer staying alone on the sidelines most of the time..."

She leaned her back against the railing, and as he watched, the clear elevated air swept a breeze through her hair that threatened to tug it loose from his old green and silver scarf holding it to her neck. He found that, actually, the landscape was indeed breathtaking when it framed her, capturing her soft smile in picturesque form.

"...But you're nice to be alone with."

Realizing only after he had thoroughly expended the opportunity to even so much as lamely say 'You too' with nothing but a wordless stare in return, he frowned in more than just confusion as she held her hand out to him.

"Let's get out of here—the quick way."

With only a bit of trepidation before taking her hand, as it was always risky for him to willingly engage in physical contact, especially when she always insisted on wrapping an arm around him for Apparation, they managed to dodge any more holiday enthusiasts on their departure. He wondered for a split second before the pop of flame, if anyone around would hear; or, if anyone around had happened to walk in on them just then, held together against the railing, if they would have been the ones to apologize and back away.

When he opened his eyes after the flash of warm air, he found that she had chosen a spot so secluded that it didn't even look to have a path to be called less trodden. Upon closer inspection, and with the help of his wand to alleviate the darkness somewhat, there was a barely determinable trail through the floor of pine needles and leftover snow from earlier in the season, not melting as quickly in the shadows here. She had taken them to the opposite edge of the lake, so that they were facing the castle far across the water, and where the path began sat an old worn-down bench right on the water's edge.

He was about to make a comment when his glance found her looking around with apprehension, and a more playful question came to mind.

"Not scared of your own choice, are you?"

Her face set at once, peering back at him. "No. I do hope you won't be cold though, will you?"

"Not in the slightest," he said, giving the collar of his magically insulated robes a dignified straightening.

She led the way this time, stepping in the opposite direction of the bench to face further into the evergreen forest. The trees were far enough apart that walking was easy, especially as he summoned and conducted a small orb of light to snake ahead of them at ground-level and reveal the path, but their branches were dense, dampening all the surrounding sounds and only allowing glimpses of the sky above at times. He hadn't been this far around the lake before, and the new territory was intriguing.

Once they had settled into their pace, with Freya walking pointedly close to his side, though he decided not to mention this for now, she broke the silence, nodding to him and letting her arm knock into his.

"I do good work, eh?"

He glanced down at the clasp of his cloak as if just now appraising the clothes he had been wearing for months. "Yes, I'm sure they will be a blast once spring starts." He watched her mouth indignantly fall open from the corner of his eye and smirked.

"Well... Well, I could always take the enchantment off."

"And in the fall?"

"I'll just pop it back on, then."

She stretched her mouth in a self-satisfied grin, but he thought there was a slight flaw to her plan.

"And," he said slowly, "are you going to write that down, or should I make a note to remind you myself?" This time when her mouth opened, she didn't seem to have any sort of reply. With a small sigh, he went on, carefully keeping his tone in line to not disturb the mood of the evening. "I wouldn't mind being relied on for that... if you would actually let me remind you."

It felt like an empty promise now, as her reaction of tilting her eyes away from his view was more than predictable. She hadn't brought it up herself since he had first proposed it, and he had resolved that it was still a highly dangerous idea, so his extended offer of sharing his memories of their time together the previous year had sat unused in the far back of his mind. It being dangerous didn't make him feel any less driven to follow through at some point, though.

"You don't think... that you'd get tired of it?" she asked, her eyes focused straight ahead. "I would just forget again, you know." She had apparently been going for the same casual voice he had used, but her pace through the snow had slowed, as if she was listening hard over the sound of their crunching tracks.

"Would you get tired of repeatedly enchanting my robes?"

His simple unhesitant response seemed to surprise her into turning to look at him. In the low light it was hard to make out just exactly what had crossed her features, but then her smile gradually returned, wide, and then reigned in, as if it were possible to hide it.

"Well... perhaps eventually I would," she said, her cheeriness no longer sounding forced, "but I was thinking, and there should be an easier alternative than enchanting and disenchanting."

"Such as?" he asked with an apprehensive innocence, mentally kicking down his own thoughts that he had been toying with off and on, of an idea for a more sustainable transference of her memories; it didn't seem like a very good idea to bring up after what he had listened to her rant about over dinner.

She cast him a sly grin. "Such as... simply getting you a second set of robes. But I don't want to spoil this year's gifts."

The trees echoed back her laughter as he sighed heavily, rolling his eyes up to their tops.

"Great. I'll never be free from gift exchanges, will I?"

"That's sort of the thing about holidays, they happen each year," she said as if already looking forward to Christmas. "I'll give you a hint of something easy to get me if you'd like."

Begrudgingly playing along, he peered at her as she stopped. But when she held out her ankle, his eyes once again went straight to the sky, before even getting a good second look at her glaringly pink socks.

They walked on through the wood in pleasant silence, taking a curving path that he thought might be diverting them in a wide loop back towards where they had started.

Getting to hear her easy laughter again after the past few moody days felt very nearly restorative. Even his anxieties that today could have gone much worse were loosened. Thus far, he thought he had avoided doing any damage to either her ego, or to his. Though he would have preferred to do a bit better than simply tolerable, it wasn't as if he would have paid for her meal or something; he was fairly certain it would have been a lost cause to even try. Besides, it wasn't as if either of them had ever said today would be anything more than friends going out for festivities together. For him, today had been exclusively about proving a point, both to her, and to himself, that he could treat her to a proper evening while enjoying her company without tripping all over himself. He rather thought he had made a vast improvement.

Indeed, the thought crossed his mind of how ludicrous this idea would have been to him last year, not just because he might have found out earlier how awful he was at governing himself around her, but because he had been—well—just a bit rude. Only at times, though. Such as most of them. Thinking about it, his most recent snapping felt on par with several other times he could recall, but he had never felt too much of a need to make it up to her back then. Even his last act towards her— before their fight—had been to rudely cut off her words. It was a wonder that she hadn't written him off in her journal as well.

As he remembered the scant few words that she had carelessly read aloud to him once before, words that he still guessed at the meaning of from time to time, he suddenly didn't feel as comforted. The same uncertainty he had felt at that time crept its way back into his shoulders.

She was right there, walking just at his elbow. It would be simple to ask. Glancing sideways past the edge of his curtain of hair, he found the urge for an answer outweighed his trepidation.

"Freya," he said slowly, first getting her attention, "what did you think of me before?"

He thought he could see the moon itself reflected in her widely blinking eyes. "What do you mean?"

He paused before deciding it would be easiest to be direct. "What I mean... is did you hate me?"

"Hate you?" Her frown was immediate and confused. "What—... I mean, surely the presents I got beforehand should be a clue, no?" His expression remained unconvinced, as he could think of a scenario where they had been purchased before she had decided he wasn't worth them. He didn't voice this rather creative reason out loud, but she shook her head with a quiet sigh at his silence. "No, I didn't hate you... It was just a bad time for me, and—well—I'm a bit private about some things. I suppose I understand why you would think that... But we're a bit better at talking now, though, right?"

He held her gaze as if searching just as much as she was for an answer to that. "Yes... I think so."

She gave him a warm smile, but then he recognized a change as the corners of her mouth pulled overly tight. "And," she said, "you're slightly less impossible to deal with than my journal made you out to be."

He tightened his own sardonic grimace in return to her teasing, but her comment had struck true on the target of his insecurities. She had pages and pages of just how bitter, untrusting, and spiteful he had been to her.

At another time, he might have teased her back, or even gone so far as to one-up her in bite. Tonight, however, his thoughts were full of just how lucky he was that things were now so pleasant. Which was why it mattered so much for him to not mess this up.

Rather than deflect her words, an idea set into his mind.

Before he could overthink his way out of it, he darted his hand out from under his cloak to take hold of hers, fixing her with an expression of unwavering purpose when she looked surprised at this sudden halting development. Her surprise immediately shot up to an embarrassed panic as he pulled her closer, though seemingly his steady gaze was keeping her open mouth mute. At the last second, he saw her eyes catch sight of his other hand—and then he was sure that she had uttered a startled little noise as he tugged her forward, catching her against him.

He paused a moment, appreciating how much shorter she felt up close, where her face was pressed just below his shoulder and, with his head tilted down at the snow below, he could just see his hand at her back, right where her long hair ended at her waist. He finally felt her take a sharp breath, and his other hand, still holding hers, was adjusted slightly as she fixed her grip. He lowered his face even more, so that he could speak just above her ear, keeping his voice soft and low.

"I'm sorry... for acting strange lately. And for back then."

He waited, wondering if he had perhaps made a mistake in going for a hug, either in the way of invading her personal space that she was so protective of, or because he hadn't thought of just how close her access to potentially hear his heartbeat might be. The reaction he had least expected, however, was to hear her suddenly break out in quiet laughter. His head straightened back, frowning down at her in disbelief.

"Do you—mind?"

Her free hand came up to cover her face as she only seemed to lose herself even more at his irritated tone, until she was practically using him more as a shield to hide against. "I'm... I'm sorry," she said in a voice stuttered with barely contained laughter, "it's just... I didn't expect you to—apologize—so seriously."

Chin raising, he stared disbelievingly into the trees and poked his tongue against teeth while he waited for her back beneath his hand to stop shaking, feeling ever more chagrined by the second. When she finally raised her head, still covering half her face with one hand, even her glowing smile didn't melt his moody stare down at her, though it did serve to get one more breathy laugh out of her.

"You didn't have to," she said, shyly blinking up at him, "but... I do appreciate it."

Very abruptly, he felt that he had made a grave error in ever willingly setting himself up to be in such proximity to her face. He narrowly diverted his eyes at the last second from looking straight to her lips, turning his head away as if an inch in angle could somehow mitigate the direct effect of staring down at her this close up. With a stiff affirmative nod, he dropped his hand from around her, and they both stepped back, each of them, he noticed, glancing at the way she brushed her hair over the side of her face, a little awkward.

It was a short walk before he again saw the bench at the shoreline, and recognized the spot they had started at, their old footprints in the snow leading off to the side. They paused together in stride, wordlessly eyeing for confirmation, before they stepped up to the old bench rather than suggest going back just yet. With a quick flick of his wand to clear off the snow, and a snap of fingers from her to dry out the wood, they cozied themselves into place. After checking with a glance her way, he even put his arm around her shoulders. Normally he might have been unwilling to risk further embarrassment, but in the moment, he had felt there wasn't a way for him to get a worse reaction unless she shoved him into the lake. It turned out he was correct to be lax with this motion though, something that she was familiar with, as she seemed perfectly happy to scoot in close to his side. As they gazed out over the still, icy lake, warm and contentedly huddled together, his hand found itself being drawn towards her hair, his chilly fingertips seeking to sink in as he absently brushed through the long, silky strands, until he became aware of just how much more she had leaned in over time, her head now resting against his shoulder.

Just when he was thinking that he might have accidentally put her to sleep, she shifted to sit up straighter, making his hand lie still on her shoulder.

"Could I ask you something?" She looked to be taking a page from his book, peeking at him sideways from behind the loose hair that hung by her eyes. "Were you acting odd because of... the other night?"

He didn't need her to clarify which night, though he could have maybe used a bit more context as to which part specifically she was trying to clear of fault. Taking a stab at remaining vague, he answered with only, "No."

"Then... you weren't mad about finding out what I had been doing?"

As he pursed his lips, he was at least glad that he hadn't taken a firm stance before knowing what she had meant, but was now frustrated that he had locked himself out of using it as an excuse for his behavior.

"I was," he said carefully, "but seeing as that's been dealt with and ended, I'm willing to move past it." And forget it had ever happened.

She twisted her mouth to one side as she stared thoughtfully down at her knees. "Right... Well—but—I was thinking, on the topic of better communicating, and perhaps openness, that maybe if you were better informed of it happening, you would be willing to continue..." As her eyes gradually inched back over to his, her words fell short with an apologetic wince at his disapproving glare. "...Right. Not that open. Sorry."

He let her fall back into silence, turning away.

At the very least, he couldn't say that he had been any 'grumpier' than normal lately without his nightly ritual of remembrance, but he did have to admit his sleep had been feeling somehow lacking the past few days. He had been trying to chalk it up to the fact that he kept having guilty thoughts more so about her sleeping in his bed again, rather than singing him to sleep.

The truth was, though, that he was craving that forceful focus to put his mind to a restful ease.

And—that she wasn't all who he was thinking of at night.

It had felt like such an obvious choice to keep things separate; neat and orderly, each contained only within its own place in his mind. Now, as things were stretched beyond their borders, it seemed to be having the effect of unraveling things to a point of tangling him up more, rather than clearing room to breathe.

He sat in his thoughts, trying to think of some convincing thing to say on the matter that would explain it better to her so that he didn't have to leave her offered kindness completely scrapped, but all he could see down each path of conversation were more frustrating offerings of help. He was sure if he asked why she felt that it was so important, it would be some spiel about mournful reminiscing and fully feeling through one's emotions being healing or some such, which was the last thing he wanted to hear.

He wasn't sure if there even was a way to make someone like her understand. He wasn't trying to do anything close to moving on or healing.

As if to solidify some semblance of a conviction that he could hold onto, and while exerting himself to not fully drop his voice down into acidic levels as it would only ruin everything he had done today, he spoke up with deliberate slowness.

"I... understand why you were doing it." He caught sight of her head turning towards him, but he kept his eyes focused down at the water's edge, having to choose his words with care here. "But... I don't think that it was as useful as you thought."

"Oh..." She sounded just a bit confused, but overall, simply put out. "Why not?"

"Because..."

He paused, but it wasn't because he had lost what he wanted to say. The mixing of these two opposing things was proving to be as difficult as he would have imagined, with everything getting swirled together faster than his tightening chest could have predicted. Almost just to get it out of him, fling it from his mind and toss it into the lake, he forced himself to finish.

"Because... it's not necessary. I don't need a song to remember her."

He instantly regretted even so much as saying 'her,' but there was no way to take it back once it had been voiced. The indiscernible waters of the lake before them seemed to ripple hypnotically, and deeper thoughts than he ever would have liked were dredged up to the surface. It felt as if he had tossed a tiny pebble in, and the resulting splash had emptied all the water, leaving a murky alien world exposed where it should not have been.

"You... still love her?"

Even though he didn't move, the question threw him well off guard, sounding like it had come from some little voice inside his own mind. The words to deny it—to snap that he had already told her before that she had it wrong, it wasn't like that—swam through his thoughts until they were entirely dissolved, the moment for them to be said passing in silence.

His limbs felt rigid as he stayed completely still, rooted into place.

"That's... very sad."

His brow twitched, and for the first time he felt the urge to look up, drawn by the tone of her voice. When he did, it confirmed what he had heard.

He had seen her sad before, on plenty of occasions. He had seen her cry, both for utility and out of a deep reflection of the sadness of others. But even though her mouth was now pulled into a devastatingly pained smile, he saw no tears in her eyes before she quickly turned away and her face was hidden behind her falling hair.

He wanted to brush it aside, to get a better look, to know what she was thinking—but he couldn't bring himself to dare reach out.

It was sad. It was indeed very sad. And at that moment, he very much only wished to crawl inside a hole, or, barring that, at least the covers of his bed, and put himself as far away from where he could reach her as possible, not wanting to ever risk being the cause of that expression to return upon her face.

For a full week afterward, though they both seemed individually determined to go about as if very little had happened despite the long silences that frequently fell between them, he couldn't meet her eye. Even when she wasn't looking at him and he caught her staring off into the distance of her room, even though she had invited him back for evening meals, and even though he tried to discern what he thought he saw on her face, every time that her eyes went back to his, he looked away.

It was after a rough night of tossing sleep, days later, that he went down to his office to find that he had a letter, and was sucked into a distracting new occasion as he immediately recognized the handwriting and the style of envelope.

Oh, no...

He stared down at it, frozen in place, trying to decide on a sleep-deprived brain if he wanted to toss it into the fire, or scan it for information on what treacherous disaster to avoid in what would undoubtedly be, despite every ounce of him willing against it, the very near future.

His letter to Slughorn, which he had almost forgotten about in the midst of everything, had finally been answered; only, it had come in the form of a party invitation.

---

_—***—_

"Still know I'm still a monster
Still as lost as I'm found
Still a loner, still a monster
Still a lone battleground

My heart was wired in thorn"

B.R.M.C. – Circus Bazooka