The Chord 2

by 26Chapters

Part 2; Hermione and Severus' unspectacular journey to each other, beginning in 6th year.

15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

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Given the opportunity to, Minerva can absolutely be devious and cunning. She knows how to wait and watch, she's very excellent in taking her time to endure what she feels is relevant to and yes, she is highly thorough in delivering her own form of justice. That knowledge alone is what's keeping him under her command, falling into her whims as they arise, and not taking her silence for granted. Had she wanted to say something to him, she would've, thus, it's an absolute fact that she knows what she's doing. That being so, magic keep him stable and firmly in place, but he won't so much as chance sneaking a look at her, as tempted as he might become along the way. It's difficult enough to keep his steps even when there are arms securely held around him.

For those arms, he will not fail, nor will he allow them to fall into trouble while around him. In a manner, he feels that this position of hers is his due penance for how he's treated her over the days, therefore leaving them to loosen their desperate hold around him will not do. He shouldn't find any form of comfort in knowing that he will do everything in his magical power to protect her presence, except, he does feel a sort of satisfaction in knowing that he can do it. For certain, he'll have to be careful enough to pay Minerva the right amount of attention so as not to stumble and give himself away, though that is not as much of a threat to him as the idea of giving away her identity away is. Were he to fail her so abysmally, he'd surely give up his position in the Order, for it would be for nothing that he has it.

Still, though, the way to his office is a long one and he should be mindful of Minerva as they walk to it. She may very well be complacent now, right in step next to him, but he mustn't forget that she's brilliant in as much right as she has. Just then, she'd stood with Weasley, silently casting a detection spell around them and if not for his circle of protection subtly repelling it, their walk would have been in another direction. In short, he cannot make any wrong move around her, not lag, not double-take or shift unnecessary. By magic, it's incredibly a task do all that while maintaining his steps with someone so closely attached to him, but who is he, if not crafty enough even to fool the darkest wizard at present? He can and will survive this, preserving both her reputation and his own skin.

As challenging as it is to do so, they at last reach his office in complete silence. Not one other word was exchanged between them, but oddly, that only made him feel completely ridiculous about himself. In his life, especially as a student here, he's done stupid things, but nothing then could ever compare to this. Now, at this age, he finds himself in the position of ducking and diving from Minerva's suspicion? Ha! If the Dark Lord really knew of the things that he got up to at this school… Nonetheless, he opens the door, showing her inside with his free hand. Accepting the invitation, Minerva moves in and as she does, he hurriedly moves his arm backwards, poking the one behind him with his elbow to communicate that the chance to release him has come. Unfortunately for him, his signal is missed entirely, instead making her press further into him at just about the second that Minerva faces him, her expression waiting.

'Severus?' she arches her eyebrow at him.

Wonderful. Simply wonderful. They've missed their chance. He can't give that away to Minerva, no, to Minerva, he must give something else.

'You do not come here often,' he responds, going as far as to try a thin smile. 'I am merely appreciating.'

In his desperation, the lie is easy to tell.

The hope of her believing him, however, he must surrender to divine magic.

Minerva is not one easily seduced by flattery when determined on a particular case. Or hopefully, he's wrong and she has softened over the years.

It would appear the former, what with the lowering of her readied eyebrow and the softening of her eyes, all that the indication of how touched she is by the remark. He nearly has the decency to feel bad for moving her with a lie, although, the end considered, he can't attach emotions to the means. Through her nodding, then turning away from him as though she cannot quite handle the aftermath of being touched so unexpectedly, he expertly knows not to feel anything about his deception. Did he have the accommodation for feelings to do with his colleague, he wouldn't be using the little moment of her stepping inside to reach around him and touch her to lift her feet off the floor, firstly loosening her hold on him and suspending her with magic just as he steps, closing the door behind him.

'Shall we drink in here?' he offers, partly suspecting that she might say no.

Facing him once again, she replies with an understanding, 'As you wish.'

Oh, good, he's managed to fool Minerva. Now, only to make it to the floo and then through it without incident.

'Have a seat,' he casually tests for her compliance. 'And excuse me for a moment. I will return shortly.'

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he takes careful steps to the floo, making sure to not disrupt his circle of protection. It's not an impossible thing to move along with hovering weight, he finds. In fact, stepping into the fireplace with his back to it proves to be easier than he believed it would be. In a flash, he's releasing the powder from his hand and opening his eyes to the sight of his own sitting room. Truly, he must pat himself on the back for his stealthy ability being out of this world. Along with his first step out of the fireplace, he reaches around him and pulls her to his front, immediately pushing her to walk before him until they reach his bedroom.

Once in there, only then does he lift all of his charms on her, grasping her by the shoulders, making her look at him, but not without lightly expressing his relief at the achievement. At the first note of her eyes, wide and expressive before him, he very nearly lowers his head, his lips really, onto the side of her head with the intention of assuring her of her complete safety now, except that in the nick of time, her waiting silence reminds him that he needn't tell her anything about trusting him to make things all right for her.

'I will come for you,' he whispers to her.

It's both a precaution in case Minerva followed him and is outside in her feline form, and a quiet promise so as not to startle her with a loud announcement in her current state.

She gives him no response, yet he's certain that she understands being told not to move from his bedroom, and that being so, he slides both of his hands down either arm, squeezing them for reassurance. When he heard Minerva first coming their way, it took him only a second to conclude that he couldn't tell her to leave. Allowing her to do would've made her challenge him with staying, which then would have led Minerva to 'catch' him in the act of attempting to charm her to his liking, and that would have been enough of a scandal. He's quite glad now, that despite the scare in the beginning, she's held her trust in him firm until this point.

He wishes that he could congratulate her refusing to give up on his protection, even when he nudged her to, but he cannot linger more than necessary, lest Minerva starts getting suspicious. He only allows himself to squeeze one of her arms one more time before leaving the bedroom in a hurry. As he closes the door behind him, he quickly summons an unopened bottle with two glasses from his small cabinet, steps through the floo as it reaches him, and in a second, he's back inside his office with Minerva.

'In here,' he invites already leading the way to his private room.

Past his table, he slips a quill from it with the intention of handing it Minerva. Once he's opened the door, he busies himself with conjuring up a small table where the single sofa is, placing the bottle and glasses onto it. When she joins him, he hands her the quill, verbally trusting her to do what she excels at.

'Your seat,' he tells her.

Without missing a beat, she changes the ordinary quill into a cosy-looking chair, decorated by the deepest of greens and very much to her liking as she smiles as her effortless work while moving to sit.

'Why didn't you ever marry, Severus?' is her first question as she settles into her seat, crossing one leg over the other and planting her eyes on his face.

Taking his own seat, he realises from his sagging body just how tired he really is. From watching over Draco, wondering if he wishes to have died and that way be spared from the task given to him, to hiding Minerva's beloved student on his body, he apparently spent much from himself. How could two students wear him out so much? Although as tired as he might be, he cannot escape entertaining Minerva until she's had her fill. And a fill she shall have, he thinks as he begins to pour into their glasses.

'Why do you ask?' he asks, handing her a glass. 'Why the sudden interest?'

Taking the offered glass, she first takes a sip and then only returns his question with one of her own, 'Have I not made my position on Miss Granger clear?' spoken with strong curiosity.

Ah, Minerva!

At least unlike Albus, she does not beat around the bush to get any information that she needs; he can truly appreciate that. However, she mustn't for a moment think that he will be as forthcoming as she expects him to be. For any scrap of information that he chooses to give her, she'll have to do her share of earning it.

'You have,' he nods, 'but I fail to see how she fits into my getting married. I haven't proposed marriage to her, whatever you've been misinformed about.'

'You can have no interest in her, Severus!' she warns, taking another quick sip. 'You are unmarried and young. It would be stupid of me to accept that wizards have evolved into creatures perfectly capable of separating their desires from precisely where they oughtn't to have them. After the story recounted to me by Horace, I find myself worried about you with her. Mind you, Mr. Weasley also had his share of opinion about her where you are concerned.'

How very unfortunate for her that both of those people know nothing about anything. For her information, Albus would have been a better choice, as lacking as his lose assumptions are. Her sources of information are as inaccurate as they could be, having never seen more than a dot of what it's really like between them. They haven't witnessed the tense arguments, neither the tender moments, nor the silent ones, and so do not have the depth of it all. Minerva shouldn't be so fast to cement her suspicions with opinions from unreliable parties.

'I fail to see your point again,' he tells her, his voice carrying a softness that's only meant to deceive her into believing his innocence. 'There have always been tales surrounding me, nothing is new there. If you'd truly like to know why I never got married, it's because there was no one to get married to.'

'Oh, for goodness' sake, Severus!' she scolds to then take a sip from her glass and complete with, 'Don't give me that! You could've gotten married to any witch, really.'

This time, he's the one to scoff at her words, mockingly taking a drink as she did to say, 'Don't mock me!'

'I am not,' she denies.

'Oh? And to whom could I have gotten married?'

If, according to her, he could have married any which, she must then explain why he is still as alone as he was born.

'As I remember, there was a witch who had an interest in you. In your sixth year particularly.'

'I never had an interest in her.'

His eyes were elsewhere, where they'd always been. No one knew, of course, not even Lily herself. As far as his teachers and Lily were concerned, Lily was only ever his friend. The only one to whom he confessed his longing for Lily was the Dark Lord, under the belief that he would spare her from death. Realising that Lily and her family wouldn't be saved, however, he was forced to partially confess about her to Albus. Outside of those two, no one ever knew of Lily to him, although Minerva would have liked to know about Lily, it appears. The way in which she is scrutinising him, her eyes unblinking and assessing, he can just about hear her thinking to ask him why he never had an interest in the quiet and pleasant Scholastica from Hufflepuff.

'Then have no interest in Miss Granger as well,' she settles on at last, her eyes remaining as they are.

He should be wary of her being that way, he supposes, it's only that Minerva is not as calculating as Albus is, thus, there's no effect to her threat. Where Albus wouldn't be as afraid to use her against him, Minerva would rather protect her than plot against him with her. Put accurately, he will not be unsettled by Minerva's scrutiny. Instead, he should be considerate enough to assure her that he's behaved decently so far.

'Rest assured that I am not as despicable as to be improper with a student,' calmly comes out of his mouth, his own try at pacifying her.

Her counter to that, just as her change in posture, from relaxed to staunch, is sharp to leave her mouth, if not sharper to reach his ears as the words, 'You were holding her hand!' hit him like a vengeful attack.

'I was,' he doesn't even try to deny, because what would be the point of explaining away something that she witnessed? 'However, I did tell you to take up that particular complaint with Albus, not me.'

'Severus,' she says simply and nothing else.

There might be a statement of reprimand within the utterance of his name, maybe even an unwillingness to accept such an answer, only, he does not care in the least. In fact, he rather likes that he can evade her to his liking without consequence. His unresponsiveness should prove just how little she can do about his choice to withhold information, except maybe lean forwards to set her glass on the table.

'Hhm,' she exhales as draws herself up into her proper sitting position. 'From what I could tell, Albus was right about a lot of things that night. Between then and now, have you once tried to deny that you care for Miss Granger?'

'You've not asked about it,' he calmly supplies. 'Unasked questions cannot be answered, Minerva.'

If they simply must, they will cat and mouse. Magic knows that after Draco and the other one in his bedroom, he needs to amuse himself to proper relaxation. Fittingly, Minerva narrows her eyes at him, the cat that she is, eyeing the mouse that he isn't, waiting for the perfect opportunity to adjust her hind paws and then pounce on him. She finds it, it seems, for a few breaths later, nodding, she challengingly presents him an offer.

'Now would be the perfect time to give me some clarity, surely.'

Ha! Surely, she says.

As if he would be persuaded by something that obvious. Really, he'd laugh in her face if she weren't serious in her enquiry.

'No,' he declines rather, no shame about it whatsoever in his bones. 'Believe what you will, from who you will, only do not meddle in my affairs. Albus does enough a job of that to last me to my grave.'

'Oh, Pish Poff!' she exclaims through a short laugh. 'Albus has nothing better to do than! But I should hope that what you say is true, Severus.'

'Speak to Miss Granger yourself tomorrow morning. Use whatever method you believe is necessary to get your desired information from her…' he pauses to take a drink, then after taking a bit more time to swallow, he carries on with, 'and still you will find nothing out of order. Or am I wrong? Isn't it a teacher's dream to fill a willing mind? My interest in her is as much interest as she has for learning from me.'

Now, should Minerva specifically ask about that interest to learn of hers, he'll have no defence to shield himself with, because it is too abundant ergo his own interest in her.

'I should hope so,' she declares and then reaches down for her glass, making him tip his glass towards her in acknowledgement of the agreement that they've just reached.

'And you, Minerva?' he wonders, slanting his head to the side purely for the humour of it. 'Since you found it appropriate to ask me personal questions, why is it that you never had children?'

Heartily so, she all of a sudden bursts into a merry sound of genuine laughter, striking him to the root of his stomach with surprise. Of the many times that he's had tea with her and Albus, he's never before seen her so utterly amused by something to the point of laughter like this. He must say that he likes it; it makes him want to sit back in his chair, enjoy his drink while listening to the story behind her laugh.

'Children,' she remarks, her tone relaying how absurd the idea is.

Having silently watched her laugh until she sobered up and with his full attention on her now, he notes her face change for the briefest of moments after that one-worded remark, the consequent expression reminding him of a look that used to cross his mum's face at times. It's gone in the blink of an eye, resulting in Minerva shaking her head as if to clear it before taking another sip from her glass. He drinks from his glass as well, telling himself that he will allow her the privacy on that.

In truth, he was never interested in her story to begin with, it'd really only been the shift in conversation that he wanted, and having managed to get it, very well, let her keep her privacy – they can talk about some other mundane thing until she's had both her fill of him and her drink.

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26Chapters

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Their meeting just a few moments ago, ended on good terms, leaving him with the impression that Minerva would hurry right to her rooms and settle into her own surroundings. His apprehension and scepticism, however, have him staring at the closed door. For a while, he just stands there, positioned like he is expecting Minerva or another person to burst through the door expecting to catch him in the act, only to find him in order. As he stands, gradually shedding his alertness, the truth of his behaviour returns to him in flashing images.

Can someone tell him, just when he reverted to being a teenage boy who hides and ducks in the hope of not being discovered by McGonagall? One moment, he was immersed in thoughts of Draco, and then he was rapidly falling into a truce with her, and from that, everything changed. As soon as his ears picked up faint voices approaching, his mind knew nothing better than to think keep her out of sight, no matter who it was that was coming their way.

Thinking that it could be Albus, Minerva or Horace on the other hand, made fear bounce around his chest, never landing on any specific part inside there. His body tried not to tingle as a result, but it failed. Never again, would he like to be in a position like that, where he worries for her through a decision that he made. It had been so potent, her surrender to his protection, and it was then, realising what he'd done by inviting her to trust him, that he understood the weight of being responsible for her safety. Thinking back on it now, he only wants to go to her and assure her that's over now.

'Lefa,' he immediately calls out, his eyes still on the door, but his mind racing for his bedroom.

She's waiting for him in there, never having left since he told her that he would come for her. Although able to keep herself busy, he's a little worried that she's been bored in there while waiting. If only Minerva didn't stay for so long, then perhaps he'd still have a small portion of the night left to keep her in his sitting room. It's too late now, and he will have to send her to bed, but he can at least hope that she will give him a little time to define their truce.

'Sir?'

Hearing the small voice, although he doesn't look to his side to confirm the small creature's presence, he can imagine that it bows to him as always. Hogwarts' elves have such discipline in addressing the teachers, if he can take a moment to appreciate.

'Be attentive to when Miss has to leave,' he says. 'You will come for her then.'

Then won't be too long after this, he reminds himself as he hears the elf disappear. He nearly wishes that he could extend his stay in here, just to know that she's still in his bedroom waiting for him. That would be selfish, of course, more so after the hard time that he gave her since Weasley was poisoned. It's that last though that pushes him to walk through the floo, into his sitting room and right through that to his bedroom door. He falters at raising his hand to open the door, finding that he evidently needs the little bit of time to prepare himself.

She's in there waiting for him, he reminds himself, and by magic, if that doesn't present as an ideal to him, then his heart needs to protect itself from the small dribbling waves within him and remain untouched. But, oh, magic, if he could pretend that his dreams from long ago have come true. That leaving the company of his colleague at last, he's stepping into his room, to find his wife, waiting and just dying to listen to him unshed the pleasant and not so pleasant things from their meeting. The thought brings a longing smile to his lips, imagining that he could relay Minerva's reactions to her and -

No, what is he doing?

While separated from another person by a door, is not the right time to entertain himself with dreams and visions of something that he would like to have. He must get over the things in his head, step in there and only once he's sent her away, can he return to his dreams of longing. He ought to be ashamed of himself for crossing a boundary that should be well in place, and because he isn't, he hastily reaches around the door knob to push the door open, which then reveals to him a picture that hadn't even crossed his mind. He knew that she would be waiting in here, he only didn't consider that she would grow tired of waiting and so pull his only chair to his bed, sit in it and fall asleep in it with her arms and head braced on his bed.

Oh, he simply can't believe his eyes.

If he was so lucky as to have her always waiting for him like that; refusing to properly fall asleep in bed without him there.

No one in the world will ever, ever be able to tell him that a simple thing as that isn't one of the more endearing things a romantic partnership has to offer. But then to know that he will never have it, not when he is to be shunned soon, and she is apparently a 'thing' with Weasley... Perhaps was right to keep her away from him. Magic, she does such a fine job of rearranging things within him that he's becoming malleable to all that she brings with her, it's only that he cannot forget himself, nor lose himself – his part has always been what it is and so it must continue to be. Like that, he pulls in a small breath to lead him further into the room and in no less than four steps, he's standing beside her chair, looking down at her sleeping form.

'Wake up,' he murmurs, truly hating to do so.

Why must he wake her up? Isn't it a bit too insensitive? After subjecting her to a long wait, why must he be reaching out his hand to tap her on the shoulder?

'Wake up,' he whispers again, only slightly bending for his voice to reach her from closer than further up his full height.

She protests his touch, maybe his words even, groaning and moving her shoulder a bit, but she seems to be rousing, so he steps back. It's only fair that he allows her the time to lift her head, look around while touching her hair and then settle on him on her left.

'Oh,' she sleepily lets out, a small smile beginning to decorate her face. 'I didn't hear you come in.'

'Clearly.'

It's all he can say to stop his hand from reaching out and moving away those stubborn threads of hair missed by her hand – they're bothering him so.

'Is she gone?' she cranes her neck to look around him.

He moves then, making room for her to see that Minerva would have dared to follow him into his bedroom, and as he nods to answer her, he notices her begin to stretch her body and right then, he decides that all right, he will keep her for a few more minutes than he had planned to. When she feels comfortable enough to move in such a manner around him, then surely she's in no hurry to leave, he will assume her.

'You cannot leave yet,' he tells her, deliberately watching for her reaction while he shifts to sit on the bed. 'Your Head of House will be waiting outside your Common Room to catch you.'

He has no proof to support that claim, in fact, he may just be looking to convince himself to allow her more time, but what of it? Since he's already made the necessary arrangement for her departure, it's no matter which possible fibs he may tell her.

'You want me to sleep here?' she cries, eyes wide open, possibly waiting for his immediate answer.

Simply because he wants to see what she will do about, he remains quiet, only looking down at her, which no later than a short gasp from her, makes her jumps from her chair as though it suddenly caught fire, accidentally bumping it to tumble back and away from her.

'I can't!' she exclaims, her hands coming up to clutch her face. 'How can I sleep here? I left my bed made up. Those girls will notice and then what will they think? They've been horrible lately and might start a rumour about me. I've never even slept in the same bed with a boy before.'

Who, him, a boy?

He most certainly is not a boy! He might have behaved as one earlier with Minerva, but he is not a boy. And, as humorous as her outburst is, he'll have her know that he hasn't ever slept in the same bed with a girl before either. She's the first of her sort to even grace his bedroom, both here at Hogwarts and there at his house.

'I said not yet,' he clarifies, that way admitting his fall into the temptation to keep her and assuring her that he has no intention of sharing a bed with her tonight.

Should it come to her being unable to leave by some other circumstance, he would easily leave her his bed for the sitting room.

'Oh,' she realises with a tinge of shame. 'Sorry. I just – Sorry.'

To answer her, he inclines his head to his left, inviting her to sit on the bed with him. Unlike the last time when he'd been under the influence of a pain potion, he believes that it's all right for her share the bed with him. She evidently believes so as well, for she doesn't hesitate to fold one leg under her while settling her back against his headboard and leaving her other leg to dangle from his bed, her foot not quite reaching the ground.

He wonders, what left is there for him to do but marvel at her level of comfort in such an intimate place? One day probably, she'll stop to do things that amaze him at the wrong time, but please, if anyone can hear him, it should not be yet – it should continue for just a while longer. Unless he drank too much with Minerva and now his mind is a little less than sober, cunningly whispering for him to take advantage of her being here for more.

More of anything, really, even -

'What is your opinion of me?' he questions, because he's wondering about it at the moment.

As she sits there, just now roused from sleep and assumed that he'd meant for her to sleep in his bed, who does she think he is? Honestly, why is she comfortable with him now, when during their last unpleasant exchange, she said some things about who she saw him?

'Why?' she asks in return, not quite defensively, although not enthusiastically either.

'Is there a reason that you won't answer me?'

Because if there is a reason, then he can't feel anything but uneasy about it. When other people mostly feed him that she is young, inquiring if he's bewitched her to his liking, he at least needs to know where he stands with her, not have her evade his question.

'I wanted to know something first,' she timidly says, tucking some hair behind her ear. 'And I also wanted you to know something first.'

But of course, how could he have forgotten that she always has a foreword of sorts? Or that she finds the oddest of moments to try and bargain with him? It's a relief, though, he cannot deny that. Neither can he deny the curiosity that she's sparked in him now; he simply must hear what she has on her mind.

'Tell me,' he invites, only hoping that he doesn't sound as hungry to hear as he feels.

'Okay. Uh...' she pauses there, an indication that the words to follow are not of the usual sort.

What could it be? Both what he needs to know and what she's curious about.

While he wonders, she pushes some more of her hair behind her ear - taking time to get her courage together, he supposes. Let her take her time, he reasons despite his curiosity, if it will make the difference, he is not objecting.

'Uh,' she starts after a long breath, 'I wanted to know if you were jealous that I stayed with Ron when he was sick?'

Her eyes, after she's aired her question, stare at him as if expecting him to shed out his skin to instead appear as something unfamiliar. She doesn't present to be afraid of him necessarily, it's more that she is expectant of the worst, if he's deducing correctly. Not that he can blame her when he doesn't answer her immediately. He has his reason for keeping quiet, though, not only because that word that she used is such an ugly one.

'It's all I could think of as the reason, honestly,' she interrupts the silence. 'It wasn't Harry or anything else that I did. You answered me all right when I wasn't worried about Ron, so I thought that it might only be him. But then I'm not all that sure, because you gave him that potion and I...'

And what? What does she think, that he behaves like that for no reason? She is to blame for everything that she is saying, first by making a show of her feelings, and then hounding him into feeling responsible to assure her that Weasley would be fine.

'I think that you were,' she states boldly and just like that, his heart to beat faster.

Curses!

It's like she pricked his heart with a pin and now it's moving fast to recover from the uncomfortable effect. Whether she hit the right spot, with the right weapon or not, he can't accept to be labelled as that. At least, not without his side of events not being known, whether entirely accurate or simply an excuse to free him from the image clearly in her head.

'I expected you to know better than to behave in such a manner.'

Only slightly, like she knows what he's doing, the outline of her lips tries to form a smile, but her mind appears to win in suppressing it from fully appearing on her face.

'I still think that you were, and you can say that you weren't, but I think that you were.'

Well, clearly. Looking at him with that touch of assured smugness, why is she asking about it then, if she already knows?

'What you think doesn't answer my question,' he says in as much of a bored tone as he can hope to deter her, and just so she knows.

'I'll answer it,' she snaps lightly, and honestly, he rather enjoys her ignition. 'I only want to know if when Ron was sick and I stayed with him - I didn't stay with you very long when you were sick, and I wondered if maybe you thought that I didn't care enough to stay with you like I did with him - That maybe you were angry with me for it?'

'Your question is unnecessary,' he delivers as evenly as possible, making sure not to miss a beat, because it simply is.

'But were you?' she presses much like his answer will alter her opinion of him.

'There wasn't anything to get angry about,' he supplies, specifically naming the other thing as opposed to her original question.

Nodding, she starts with, 'Then… Uh, you should know that what Ron said tonight isn't true. He only ki - We're not what he said.'

Later, when he is by himself and analysing this conversation inside his head, he might understand why she's supplied that as nervously as she did, even keeping her mouth slightly open like she has something to say but not before he reacts to her confession. He can't react to it, if that's what she's waiting for. It would be too asinine to; thinking about her in a romantic capacity with her peer, when more than twice, he's imagined her in a romantic position with him.

'Anyway,' she tries to smile as she shifts in place – is she trying to move closer to him without doing so? 'I've always understood that rules are there to protect us. I follow them because of that. My parents say that they're for all our good and breaking them is bad, so I don't ever break the rules unless I have to. I know that you don't believe me. You think I actually like breaking the rules, but it really does bother me disobey the rules. I don't just do it for fun.'

But, this girl, doesn't she know? He'd listen to her talk about things as much as he has to, but at the moment, he is a blink away from losing his mind just to hear her version of him. Just where, in that world of hers, does he stand with her?

'My answer,' he urges a little too impatiently to his own hears, but so be it, if it must be.

'I didn't ever think that I'd like a teacher,' she responds instantly and then blinks in the following pause.

She blinks again, probably waiting for him to say something, but he, still taking in what she just said remains silent, watching her while she waits for him.

A small, belated thud brings him back to life, poking his heart to beat from the shock again, causing a lightness to settle in him, so much so that while keeping his eyes on her, he effortlessly lifts from his place to a place much closer to her. He doesn't quite reach close enough to her, but even from where he is, please, she should say that again. That part about liking a teacher, him, really, she should say it again.

'Is that so?' he asks after all, feeling that she won't repeat if he doesn't specifically ask her to.

One last time, she must say it again, and exactly as she said it before. With the strong undertones of reverence and an even clearer tone of certainty; just like that, he'd like to hear it again. It doesn't appear that she will repeat it, however, not when she merely nods, looks down at something for a little moment and then only brings her eyes back to him to say something.

'The teacher's Code of Conduct says that I'm not supposed to, though,' she lets him know, sounding defeated, as if the sad smile on her face doesn't speak for her. 'Have you read it?'

'I've been required to,' he responds, lightly clearing his throat afterwards, if only to move the small build-up that is beginning to form in there.

'I thought so,' she shrugs, and he unwillingly pulls in a breath in the hope that she will not apologise for feeling that way simply due to the love for rules. 'But, Professor, I was also wondering about what Ron said to me about two people's magic intertwining with each other and being controlling and all those things…'

Pausing there, she seems to want him to interject her somehow, except, he can only think that just like that question about him leaving school, that thing will continue to plague her if he doesn't give her an answer. The problem is, though, that right there at the front of his heart, he expects her to trust that he did nothing like that to her, so he says nothing, which urges her to pick up speaking again.

'I haven't read much about it, to be honest. I tried looking for it, I even looked through your book, but I only found traces of what you mentioned to me…'

Again, making him anxious for her to continues, she pauses and for a moment, it looks like she's going to burst out into tears, the way that her face breaks into a broken expression. That is until she lightly bites down on her lip, seemingly steadying herself.

'What is it?' he decides to ask, since he can't be sure how much more of the steadying she's going to do, thus making him wait through it.

'He's not right about that with you, is he?'

No, he's completely mistaken, it's what he wants to say to her, to make her stop looking at him that way and threatening to fall apart any second now, but he finds that once again, he can only lightly shift a centimetre from his spot to closer.

'Please tell me,' she begs, leaning towards him as well. 'I don't like to think that it's because of that. It won't be real like that, so I have to know.'

'No,' he quietly offers nearly immediately. 'I meant what I said then; I would never do such a thing.' Most of all to her. 'I haven't done anything to you.'

The other horrible thing that he said to her then, he now regrets. Using her own words against her, claiming that he wasn't pathetically desperate to be wanted, should've never been something that he said to her. It's part of the reason that he didn't take too long to answer her, but now he can only hope that she will believe him to the fullest.

Quietly, her face lights up with the smallest yet most radiant of smiles, as her eyes speak of her gratitude, shining with it. As though her own radiance is too much for her, she looks down, but he won't have any of that picture being taken away from him. Combined with the wonderful confession from before, this is one thing that he would like to cherish for a little while longer.

'Look here,' he coaxes, and when she slowly does, he wishes that his hands would do their part of caressing her face.

Whatever it is that she finds on his face, makes her look down again, and just then, he remembers telling her to direct what she means to him. If that smile growing on her face is for him, then he should see it, not her lap, not her folded leg or his bed.

'Look at me,' he instructs again, to which she does and just because he wanted to in the first place, he takes his time to absorb her into his memory, filling his heart with the goodness that she represents to him at the moment and when her eyes are set on him for a satisfactory amount of time, he asks, 'Is that your final opinion of me?'

'Does it answer your question?' she asks in turn, making him fight the urge to smile.

Of course, she would have her piece to bargain with as well – how could he have thought that she'd give in right away just like that?

'I suppose,' he quietly resigns, seeing no other way around it.

True, she took a long route to bringing him what he asked for, but she reached him with it, in spite of all the apprehension that she might have felt for breaking the rules and not knowing how he would take it. But still, she nods.

'You could tell, couldn't you?'

He hesitates in answering for a beat, because actually, no, he didn't know. He had desired and he'd entertained dreams, however with Albus and recently Minerva's influence, his mind became infected.

'That wasn't why I asked you,' he says at last.

'I think that I might get you fired,' she says warily. 'I don't like to think about it much, but I think that you also know it. I've thought about it, though. There's a reason Professor Dumbledore stopped our lessons and… I don't know what will happen, but I also know that you won't come back after this term, and it might have something to do with me always coming to you. You hide me, because of that-'

She mustn't say things which are not true.

'-and I know I should feel bad about always coming to you, but...' she ends with a shrug. 'Sometimes, I only want you to make things clear, especially when we're fighting –'

Fighting?

He gets irritated with her, vexed even and she makes him feel things so unexpectedly, but he never thought of it as them fighting, yet, apparently they do.

'But mostly, I only like being where you are. You mostly hear me tell you things that you don't ask for, but you just let me even if you aren't interested and I like that.'

What does she know about what interests him about her? There's nothing that she has volunteered to him that he doesn't remember.

'Even now,' she emits a little laugh, 'I'm talking a lot, but you asked what I thought of you, so I might as well tell you all that. I'm also telling you, because I think that you know something, and you're finally going to tell me to stop coming to you. I was really afraid when Professor McGonagall was talking to you tonight. I thought that she was going to see me and then we'd both be in trouble. I'm sorry for nearly getting you into trouble.'

'Your Head of House has her concerns about our meetings,' he tries to redirect her from thinking that he hides her out of his own will and distract her away from thinking about him leaving soon. 'However, you should know, were you willing have one supervised lesson a week, the headmaster would consent.'

She shakes her head, laughing a little to say, 'He can't just expect me to do whatever he says when he feels like it.'

He thinks the same way.

'Unless you want me to, but you won't ask me to, I know,' she looks up at him excitedly. How you teach us in Defence is actually helpful and having people to practice with is great. Everyone thinks you're the best Defence teacher we've had so far. Even Neville thinks you're great at teaching Defence.'

He tries to smile, to tell her that it's nothing, but he hardly feels the muscles on his face move, so he must not have done so.

'To me, you're...' she looks down and then at him. 'It's not just Defence and Potions. You've taught me other things as well.'

He considers her to ask, 'What I else have I taught you?' since he was only ever under the impression that the dark arts were where he gave her most information.

She shrugs, 'Just other things. I don't know much about you, but I've learned a few things from you. I know that you're not what everyone says about you.'

'Name one thing,' he asks.

He would like to hear what she knows about him, if it's his liking for her cards, if it's his love for ice-cream or if his empty life with no one by his side.

'You prefer me to mean what I do,' she tells him. 'Whether it's right or wrong, or if I'm not supposed to.'

He raises an eyebrow thinking, only that?

She responds, however, but suddenly moving from her place, onto both of her feet and while he's trying to figure out what she's doing, she sits thigh to thigh with him, her upper body and face only a short space from him. Her closeness does not shock him in the least, they have been as close as this before, however, her eyes right on him have something in them that he can only imagine is daring from her side. Like that, absolutely no one will convince him that she isn't offering him something.

Firstly, she's breathing in a way that would kill the harshest of creatures; so delicate and so much like subtle poison – deceptive with its softness only to lure in and instantly kill. And secondly, being so close into him like this, and that after everything that he's put her through, her intentions are perfectly clear now. Equipped with that information, in his mind he is transported to the earlier months when he would create fantasies around a similar scene of them and as such, he shamelessly reaches out behind her, putting his hand on the lower part of her back, and then he waits.

In the waiting, he notices his breathing start to change, becoming more calculated and deliberate while she seems to wait for him to make a move. Oh, who'd ever have thought that he'd consciously be breathing, counting down towards something in a way? Her smile, so natural in how it comes from her, causes him to press his hand harder on her back, silently urging her to move closer. He drank with Minerva earlier, but it didn't leave him dulled enough to forget himself, and so whatever he is doing, whether improper or not, he will not assign to the liquor that he had – it is all him, in his right mind, only desiring.

'You want to do something?' he presents after the long silence of waiting, his fingers beginning to drum on her back.

Nodding and then following it with leaning close, she parts her lips as though to say something but she doesn't. While waiting for her to complete her journey, there's anticipation on his part, that crackle of wanting something from her, knowing what she feels for him. Alongside it, however, is restriction, the sort that knows better than to go with the moment.

Quickly, he analyses the situation.

He could step over that boundary, but then how would he go back to teaching her and never want to kiss her again? He has control, enough of it, in fact, yet on the other hand, he's also intelligent enough to know that his actions will create memories that will forever stay with him. From word of mouth, he's learned that some memories, the sweetest ones, most of all, can drive the sanest of people to insanity, remembering what they could have, but don't.

'No,' he groans, surprising both himself and her, also denying himself the chance to flirt with insanity.

He simply can't, at the end of it all.

As much of a starved man as he has been, as much as he would like to have a taste of what others have taken gor granted, and as much as she was willing to make that move with him, he cannot do that with her.

'Am I wrong to want that?' she brokenly asks.

No, she's not.

She's rather absolutely lovely to him, wanting him like no one ever has. He could do it, he supposes, but he chooses to pull her to him with his hand, pressing their fronts flush together. At the renewed closeness, he lets out a satisfied sigh, a low sort of groaning that's purely satisfaction. A small moan escapes her too, overtaking him so fiercely that he, tilts his head upwards to gently touch his nose to her forehead, very nearly planting a kiss right there. His lips are near enough to her forehead, and dear magic he could do it...

'Can't I?' he soundlessly mouths, and then draws back to look into her eyes.

She's still absolutely lovely to him.

She looks exactly like she did in those dreams that claimed him for the first few days after he'd taken her to Muggle London.

'Please don't make me leave,' she begs. 'You said that I couldn't leave.'

So, that's what he could never manage to hear her say to him?

Lazily smiling at her, he tips his head back, strangely knowing exactly what she means by begging him to stay. He did say that, and it's the weekend. There are not as many restrictions over the weekend during the school week. In her innocence, she believes herself exempted from the regulations as she believed that entering the headmaster's office with a password to steal his sweets exonerated her from the act of thievery.

In the meantime, however, oh, how he fully understands the thrill in meshing the lines between propriety and the freedom of the weekend. The weekend offers one a freedom that the normal week usually restricts one from and the very idea of it makes his blood thrum with excitement. If he wanted, if he was made up of a weak substance, he'd spend his time with her to the fullest, on top of knowing that he evaded Minerva, went over Albus' head and spat in propriety's face just to engage in a kiss with the one in his arms.

'You will eventually have to leave,' he reminds her, only, his eyes are turned to the ceiling, contemplating if he is doing the right thing.

His cautioning reason, is that she's the persistent sort and when afforded the avenue to, she will find a way to seek him out until she gets what she wants. In pursuit of what she wants, she's bound to try and reason with him, not knowing that his biggest weakness, the perfect seduction, is hearing certain words said to him. His primal impulses come out by what he hears, meaning that the more that he is subjected to hearing that she likes him and wants to kiss him, the deeper he will be seduced and continuously stroked to react. Once that happens, it would only be a matter of time before his control would spiral. For one, seeing her fuss over any boy her age would send him into stupid rage with her. He barely manages his temper with Potter, how much more with her?

No, he is making the right choice.

'Not yet, though,' she mumbles darkly, that way bringing his attention back to her.

Looking at her for a moment, he wonders, why she is so flexible to want him this way? Why it's nothing to her to ask that they remain in his bedroom? With her love for rules, can't she think of Monday, the afterwards? When only the memory remains and she has to bear it against the cruelty of reality?

But even so, he finds himself succumbing to a smile, toothless and barely there to agree with, 'No, not yet. You are indebted to me,' he presents, and to the wondering expression that follows from her, he adds, 'You assured me an analysis of a fairy-tale.'

Rumpelstiltskin and his tale are nothing important to him, they can wither away into nothing as far as he cares, although to diffuse the serious temptation that is between them, he must use something mundane. It sullies his mood to kill the thrum of excitement so, however, this is the right thing to do, for her and for him.

'Oh!' she exclaims light. 'You do want me to stay with you then?'

She just had to present is as question that he needed to answer! And that is simply the thing about her; were he to give her this moment, she's less likely to leave it end there and only there.

'Need I remind you, that you made the offer not so long ago in here,' he sends back to her, causing her to break out into a small laugh, a little of her spit hitting his nose.

'Just say yes.'

'No.'

'I know you mean that anyway,' she says, smiling about it.

Good, 'Then do it,' firmly leaves his mouth, his mind expecting nothing else as he moves from her, gets up and invites, 'Come with me,' without waiting to see if she'll follow him.

As he leads her to the sitting room, he wants to hex himself for being so unbelievably stupid. He would lose nothing in giving in to what she is offering and what he is willing to have, however, for the first time, he is more concerned about how she will feel afterwards. There's a sense in which he wants to protect her from her own developing feelings. Should he allow her this - the love and respect for rules as she explained, would have no weapons against the strength of her desires.

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26Chapters

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The thing that she said about telling him things that he never asked to hear about, well, he must say that she's exceptional at cataloguing things in great detail. Although, when he remembers the first unprovoked piece of information that she ever gave him about her cat not liking lizards, it really shouldn't be any surprise to him that she would tell him things that include even her parents. What didn't he learn about her already, really?

Apparently, her parents don't allow her to do the simplest of things yet trust her enough to do big things like leave to the library alone when she was just seven and then attend a school for witchcraft at eleven. He found out that they wouldn't allow her to pierce her ears until she was thirteen, how they wouldn't allow her braces for her teeth, and how they wouldn't allow her to attend big birthday parties at a schoolmate's homes. They won't, to this day apparently, allow her to straighten her hair, thus being unable to cut it.

The interesting thing about that piece of information is how she'd leaned over from her place and reached out to touch his hair, asking him how often he cuts his hair. Her fingers played with his hair for a little bit until she righted herself, only to thrust her head in his face, showing him just how her curly her hair grows from her scalp, also giving him a good scent and softness before she continued to tell him countless other things. Those things led into other little things for her to share, things like going to see Rubeus with her friends tomorrow afternoon and their tradition surrounding him.

He has lived a long time and he has lived a lone life, and until recently, he hadn't thought that he would ever host someone who would be willing to engage with him beyond what he could offer them. Because he has lived a long and lonesome life, he wonders now as he watches her, listening to her speak on and on, if he isn't overcompensating for what he never had, thus finding pleasure in all of it much too sinfully. It can't be right, dare he say even healthy, to take pleasure in such trivial things as he is, hunger to hear more about her – everything about her, if she will – and not ever want the night to end.

Surely, if the night never ends, he will never rest through sleep, and if he doesn't rest, how will he look like tomorrow? But what is sleep, but a thing that will hinder him from discovering more about her? No, for tonight, he's deciding to go without it, and perhaps tomorrow he can –

'What are you thinking about?' she asks, suddenly scooting from her portion of the couch to his, barely leaving space between them.

He looks at the dying space between them first, then reprimands himself for getting too lost in his thoughts that he slipped from paying attention to her paying attention to him, and lastly, resigns to simply taking her as she is by fact that with her, his best option is to take her in as she is, why is why pinning his visual focus on solely her.

'You weren't really listening to me, I could tell,' she tells him. 'What were you thinking about?'

'Nothing,' he replies, since he can't very well tell her that only she's been playing a role in his mind.

With a smile on her face, she leans even closer to him as though looking for something, and he wonders if she's going to bring up her hand and touch his face, only, she doesn't.

'Do you like me?' she asks just like that instead.

He's sorry, what?

Whatever is the prelude to wizards succumbing to insanity, he surely is experiencing it right now! But what a bold, magic-stilling and unexpected question! Certainly, she meant to struck him to numbness for a moment!

'You didn't expect that, did you?' she asks through a soft laugh, like she just make him react so very oddly. 'I wanted to ask you before when I told you, but then I thought I'd better catch you off guard for a proper reaction.'

So, just so he understands it perfectly, his eyes blink at her one more time than they should, she did it for his reaction?

Giggling like that, she must be so proud of herself. Does she think that he wanted to be rendered unable to say anything?

'Is that what you were thinking?' she continues to giggle, her playfulness shining through her lightly shaking shoulders.

Why, the little rascal of a person!

And why, his traitor of a heart, pattering so lightly!

Is it supposed to like her like that when it's clearly at his expense?

He can at least thank it for bringing him back to life, though, if nothing else.

'I certainly wasn't thinking that,' he says to her, meaning it as well.

If she'd like to get to the intricacies of it, perhaps yes, he was thinking something close to that. Overall, however, no, he was not.

'Okay,' she accepts, although sounds to not believe him. 'So then, do you like me?'

'That's a needless question,' he quickly states, unwilling to be driven to the beginning of insanity by the same question twice.

'I know,' she responds, accompanying it with a great smile before she looks down at her thighs.

Now, whether she knows his answer or she knows that she shouldn't have asked him such a question, he doesn't know, not that it makes any difference in either case. She knows something, that much is certain, but if he could tell her the truth, he would answer her with all the things that he likes about her.

He'd tell her that he likes that she doesn't make him feel less than, incompetent or have to compete for her attention. Or that when she talks about her friends, she doesn't make him feel like she will eventually have to choose between them all. That he likes that he's someone that she chooses to be with. He'd tell her things about herself that would surprise her, maybe even make her cry and when he was finished, he'd be fighting with himself on letting her go before he did something remarkably self-indulgent.

'Do you now?' he questions after all, feeling rather different due to nature of his thoughts.

'Hm-mh,' she nods, looking up then. 'Does that mean I can visit you over the summer once you're no longer a teacher here?'

Like that only? Should he take it to mean that she's concluded what she feels is fair? And really, she mustn't believe herself so clever that he didn't catch the sneaky search for confirmation in her question. He heard it, all right, but he will make as though he didn't.

'I will not tell you where I live,' he answers rather.

'I'll find out,' she says, convinced of the fact, 'Lefa would know.'

Of course, 'Your elf,' dryly leaves his mouth just so he doesn't smile at her challenge.

'He's not mine,' she shoots. 'I'd never own him. It's a ghastly thing to do, to own elves. They should be free.'

'Yet you have no problem sending him on errands,' he raises, his eyes trained on her for her specific response.

In the event that she didn't know, she should know that there's nearly no difference between owning an elf and treating one as a servant.

'That's different,' is her stern argument. 'I don't know how else to send you things. I don't have an owl.'

'And I suppose that I should forget about the two times that you sent me messages with your friends' owls?'

She gives him an unpleasant look at that, something close a warning about bringing it up, although in another, she's behaving as though the matter's settled when she asks, 'Anyway, will you want to come by my house? Harry and Ron don't ever come to my house. We always go to the Burrow. It would be nice if they came to my house even just for a few days. No one ever comes to my house.'

How interesting that she, who has friends, never receives any visits from them. He never would have thought that she struggles with having people over, not when her parents are as hospitable as they showed him. That aside, however, and more to focus on her actually bringing up the invitation, taking her earnest demeanour into account, what sort of ingrate would he be if he plainly told her no? Doubtlessly, he'd be shattering her hope, if nothing else, and he simply cannot be that cruel. Not to her.

'We'll see,' he makes no promises, lest he disappoints her.

She smiles then, the radiance of her smile playing with his stability. All of sudden, he feels on the verge of tears, an emotion so far from where he'd been a moment ago and he simply can't believe it. Truly, his halfway promise has brought her to such brilliance?

'Miss,' is all that he can manage to say, and again, she smiles at him, only making his instability worse.

Like this, he might not make it through the night.

'If you say that, then you're not still angry with me for knowing about Harry's textbook, are you?'

'Why didn't you say anything about it?' he quickly asks in return, grabbing the slight change in topic with his whole body. 'He's been cheating all year and you allowed him to do so.'

Thank magic that they've migrated to familiar ground. Here he can flourish and thrive, not constantly be on the edge of throwing away his right senses.

'I already told you that I kept telling him to not listen to it.'

'You should have reported him!'

'He's my friend,' she protests with a scowl. 'I can't just report him.'

'He -!'

'Please don't!,' she begs, shifting even closer into him. 'I'm also angry with him, but I don't want you to say nasty things about him to me. You said Malfoy will be fine, so please just don't.'

'He will land you in the wrong hands one day, don't you realise?'

'I can take care of myself, you know,' she waves away, 'and I'm used to Harry's trouble.'

He isn't, not when it makes him worry about her. He'd also like to not be used to worrying about her safety at every turn; it unsettles his very bones, but he says nothing about it. Should he choose to continue pushing keeping herself safe, he might just retreat to that place near insanity's domain. There's silence between them for a while where they both sit back in the couch, not saying anything. Through it, he marvels at their current peace, partly wondering what she's thinking about now. He, for one, never would have believed them to reach this point of civility. Come to think of it, were it not for Draco getting harmed, he never would've heard her defend him to Potter in comparison to Albus, and his softening would have taken at least another week or so.

Unashamed to do so, despite the quiet settled between them, he glances at her. It's quite something that they are here now, side by side – thank Weasley, that idiot.

One thing that he never told her, is his deep appreciation for how she never kept him a secret. Not once was she horrified to be seen with him, never behaved as though he was some secret that was only to be had within closed offices and abandoned corridors either. As a bearer of secrets and hidden things, that she never made him feel like that, he will eternally appreciate her for. When her fellow students accurately spoke of his anger with her at the beginning of term, her aim hadn't been to deny any connection with him, but to clear her name from a stain that she felt she didn't cause.

'Professor?' she calls in perfect tune with the end of his thought. 'Tell me the truth. I should stop coming to you now, shouldn't I?'

Although he'd had his head turned her way, lightly gazing at her while his mind wandered, he puts proper effort into looking at her with purpose, but just then, she springs up from and onto her feet.

'And you won't come back, will you?' she asks him again, taking away whatever window he'd had to answer her and oddly looking all around except at him.

Confused by it, he tries to get her attention with a calmly uttered, 'Miss.'

'Just answer me,' she says, her tone a little irritated. 'I told you what you wanted to know. It's only fair that you -

'Most likely not,' he cuts her, deciding to be honest and hopefully get her to stop with that rubbish looking around.

She seems to shrink into herself, but still, she gives a curt, apparently accepting nod, 'Okay, and your book?'

'I will send for it,' he excuses, but what he really wants to do is get up and touch her for the sole reason of restoring her to herself.

By no means is he slow on the uptake, though for the life of him, he cannot comprehend her behaviour. Her questions, he understands, even knowing where they stem from, but her behaviour is a mystery to him. Within his seat, he attempts to study her movements, to analyse her senseless search around the room and most especially her avoidance of him.

'Okay,' she says again, this time sending a quick glance his way. 'Professor McGonagall might see you if you take me back, so I'll just go now.'

'Your elf will come,' he lazily tells her, convinced that she wouldn't just go like that.

'He's not mine,' she snaps, briefly shooting him a glance again, giving him no time to assess her face, her eyes specifically.

No, for this he must get up, and so he does, not stepping far to stand before her and look down at her. He hopes that his proximity will touch her to look at him.

'He will come,' he repeats, watching her carefully.

The fruit of watching her is her ducking from his gaze and completely looking the other way as she says, 'He should come now, then. I want to go.'

'He will,' he replies, his words hard and the starter to him putting his foot down as he is quite unimpressed with her.

It's only that the elf chooses to appear in that instant and she, seeing it appear beside them, lunges for its hand. Getting hold of the elf's hand, she makes the very fortunate mistake of fully looking at him, probably to tell him goodbye, which exposes him to her breaking face.

Simply wonderful, he inwardly lurches.

Someone just tear him apart openly, instead of using that method to get to him. The tears are clear in her eyes - no wonder she was quick to accept all that she asked him. To hold back her tears, she's been answering shortly. Why hadn't he realised what she was doing before?

'Wait!' he instructs to the thorough elf, because any second more and they will disappear from his sight. 'You've never learnt how much I dislike that?' he tilts his head to point at her face. 'It solves nothing.'

Being a primary witness to how useless crying is, he doesn't like it for it for her. He also doesn't like how useless seeing her do it makes him feel, knowing that he can't do much to stop her from doing it.

'I'm not crying, yet,' her face scrunches. 'That's why I wanted to go so you wouldn't see me do it!'

Ugh, damn it!

To that, he has nothing to say. In the corner of his eyes, however, while taking a moment to find something appropriate as a response, he sees the elf begin to lift her hand from his.

'No, stay,' he stops him with his eyes watching her and that is how he recognises the lighting up of her face.

'Really?' she quietly cries, her disbelief evident.

Damn it again!

He didn't think.

Closing his eyes for a flash, he swallows the heavy dose of his own stupidity. Looking at her while addressing the elf, just how did he think it would appear to her? He should have done better than be so impulsive to the point of not being in control of the things happening around him.

'No,' he begins to corrects himself, 'I –'

She must understand, he made a mistake - he wasn't speaking to her.

Yes, he would very much like it that she leaves here smiling and happy rather than crying, but there's no way around it, she will have to go. He should tell her that he feared that Lefa would leave them, and because he didn't read the lead up to her tears, he didn't believe that he would be doing her favour by making her stay longer. She looked hopeful to stay, though, so maybe he should just keep her, but surely he's not thinking again? She wanted to go and cry in peace, maybe to spare him the discomfort, yet here he is, obstructing her for the reason that her tears do something unholy to him.

He doesn't know. What should he do?

Lefa isn't being of any assistance to him, simply waiting for him to say another thing, and she - Seeing tears in her eyes is doing something unholy to him and how much longer must he bear it for?

'Goodnight,' he settles on at the last second, looking on as she pops away hand in hand with her elf.

For the final time, damn it!

There just went someone important to him, and he didn't even have the guts to keep her for just a while longer. Sometimes, he really does dislike his decision-making; it's not always the best.

---

26Chapters

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The mocking thing about not expecting someone, is how they happen to show up, knocking on the door and waiting to be invited inside. From his standing position in his office, his mind a little bit buried in the matter to do with Albus, he eyes Draco in his doorway, simply that – it is up to Draco to do what he wills from this point onwards.

Yes, he'd told Poppy to tell the boy to come and see him when he was released from the infirmary, though considering all the dodging that Draco had been doing, it was never expected that he would consent to coming. In fact, if he could be honest, looking at Draco now, he couldn't care less whether he came or not.

'Can I come in?' Draco wants to know, which is very unlike him to be apprehensive.

Since Draco made the effort to come, however, he might as well find out what's brought the boy by asking, 'You've come?'

For his part, Draco shrugs as he steps into the room answering, 'I was told to.'

'And?'

It's safer, he feels, to present that one word rather than a drawn-out question, because he might just be made to sound begging for a place in Draco's plan, when he honestly has other, more important things to worry about. And if he so clearly didn't want to come, what's brought him then?

'Have you told my father about what happened?' he wonders, giving off an air challenge as he stuffs his hands into his robes' pockets.

Would someone look at him over there! Just what would he do if his father was informed? Does he truly believe that a fool's errand from the Dark Lord and Bellatrix's dim-witted, though passionate influence make him invincible enough to question him as though the consequences would be dire if the answer given wasn't to his liking? What a misguided boy he is.

'No,' he says despite his thoughts.

'Has Dumbledore?'

Again, his tone carries with it a sort of indignation that it really ought not to – he hasn't borne all that he has for an unthinking boy to speak to him like he has the superior authority.

'I appraised the headmaster to keep it quiet.'

An ugly look crosses Draco face and angrily, he demands to know, 'You're protecting Potter?! Potter tried to kill me.'

He wonders if that outrage is real or practised, because were he Draco at that age, he would have preferred to be killed than to be the one who does the killing. There's also no sense in him acting one way and then another over the same subject; he either wants his father to know what happened or he doesn't.

'I am protecting you, Draco,' he says, lacking the urgency that he should convey. 'It's your reputation I am concerned about. Think! What will the Dark Lord think about your near demise? Do you think that he would take it so lightly, that the one to whom he charged an important task, was this close to failing? Who next in your family do you think would have paid for your failure?'

'Mother has nothing to do with this!' he passionately cries.

It's strange, nearly a miracle to him how one thing can make everything else feel bearable. Since that short night with her, he's been walking around placated enough to accept that if nothing else went his way, she likes him. He supposes that the reason that he honestly doesn't feel that bothered by Draco's outrage, has everything to do with her. Looking at the boy now, he can quite easily sat that he's lost the investment to convince Draco to accept his assistance. He does, however, still feel an obligation to caution against foolish actions.

'Be warned that you could never reason with the Dark Lord on that matter,' he tells it as simply as it is. 'It is therefore up to you, Draco, that you maintain yourself in proper form, always be on the lookout. As you have constantly refused my help, I may not always be here to save you. For the sake of your mother, be wise with your actions from now onwards - you cannot afford to be careless.'

It was unnecessary to bring Narcissa into this, seeing as she long ago made peace with what her fate could be, but for Draco to grasp the point, he had to use something that would make him stop and think. That he's quiet now, considering perhaps, is proof enough that he did well in bring up Narcissa – perhaps he will step extra carefully from now on.

'Fine,' Draco looks up, seemingly coming to a conclusion, and then with a confused expression asks, 'How does Potter know dark curses?'

'Your concern should be not on what Potter knows, but what you can do to protect yourself,' he replies, because he will not answer that question.

Besides the very obvious reason, what does he have to do with what Potter knows? As far as he is concerned, Potter could have picked up some dark tips from the Dark Lord invading his mind here and there. Who know, maybe even Albus could be teaching him one or two dark curses, thus his knowledge.

'I know how to protect myself, but the dark arts…' he trails off, looking into the distance for a moment before he continues. 'Ever been to Borgin and Burkes? That place… The dark arts… They're deep. I don't…'

'The dark arts are meant to be that way,' he snaps at the self-pitying tone especially, because damn it, now he's feeling sympathetic. 'Nothing about them will change. Bellatrix should have warned you well, but now… Only allow me to help you, Draco. You wouldn't have to do anything.'

He didn't want this, didn't even think that he had it in him to care to this point knowing what he already knows, but in the end, Draco doesn't know what the dark arts are truly like. It's a minimal sort of feeling, yet he rather laments that he can't begin to take away the full burden of involvement from Draco. He can at least hope that in accepting the help, Draco's thoughts won't torment him so much.

'My aunt…' he begins to shake his head doubtfully. 'She's convinced that you are a traitor. She says that Father will be honoured greatly when I succeed, but you want to take that for yourself.'

'As you wish,' he instantly dismisses, assured that in the end, he'll be the one to stop Draco from committing that crime, so he won't insist further.

His curt response is met by a stunned expression, one that slowly turns into confusion and then resignation, as Draco's eyes deeply look into his and a meek, 'Thank you for healing me, then,' leaves his mouth, to which he nods in acceptance.

There's nothing else, then.

He could open his mouth and tell Draco that it had shocked him to find him bleeding that way, more so because of a spell that he created, only, there'd be no point to that. Some things just never make the proper difference to be known, not really. What's more Draco already has a polluted mind against him, so why would he bother to paint himself human and concerned for nothing? No, some things he'll simply have to feel in silence, keeping them for his grave to guard after his death.

---

26Chapters

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After speaking with Draco, he couldn't wait for this moment to come. All day long, inside his head, he's been practising the tone in which he would announce himself to the headmaster. He polished his lines, making sure to instil in himself the discipline to remain undeterred by any distraction that would be thrown his way, which is why his, 'We need to speak, Albus,' leaves him with perfectly controlled urgency as he steps into the headmaster's office.

Of course, disturbed from chewing on a sour sugar straw, Albus simply looks at him for a second, bring out one of his welcoming smiles in the next and then indicate for him to take a seat. As he knows the gravity of their conversation, he gladly moves to chair, settling himself well.

'I heard that Draco was released and sent to see you,' Albus brings up, quite casually, nearly distractingly.

Safely, he will assume that Albus is attempting to lead the conversation by starting with that, it's only that he will not have any of that. While it's very like Albus to lower a person to his liking before fully engaging them, he was the one to come here, so he will be the one to present his subject of conversation.

'We need to speak about Potter, Albus.'

'Ah! Harry,' the other man solemnly nods, placing his straw sweet on his table to clasp his hands together.

He shouldn't give him that! Nothing about Potter should be responded to with such a passive reaction.

'What will happen the next time that Potter is upset?' he questions, leaning forwards to make his point clear - he is not here on behalf of Draco. 'Who will he curse next? And what curse will he use next?'

Though the curses in that book are few, they are wicked enough to kill someone at the most opportune of times.

'No, Severus, Harry won't curse any other person,' Albus shakes his head. 'He will no longer use that book. He disposed of it.'

'His account of events, I am sure?'

'Harry wouldn't lie to me,' the other man calmly tells him.

'Are you certain that he didn't make a copy?' he challenges. 'I was told that he was repeatedly advised to get rid of it, but he never did.'

His reasoning that something about that book obviously made Potter hang onto it, using the spells within it. Had it been a useless book, he wouldn't have given it much attention, which is why to a wise person, the idea that he made a duplicate wouldn't be implausible at all. Albus too, if he would stop being so trusting of the boy, would see his point as it truly is.

'Rest assured, Severus, he has disposed of it,' Albus ascertains him with all seriousness. 'Harry is not the sort to use dark curses.'

That may be so, however, 'I am concerned for others, not Potter,' he harshly declares. 'In a moment of anger between friends, anything could happen.'

What he speaks about, he can back up with his own life, seeing as he has a terrible testimony of his own sin against his only friend. He knows how possible it is for a friend to turn against a friend when they're young and pushed into a terribly tight corner. Potter is no exception to boys who came before him and the ones who will come after him, although were he to find her cursed by Potter, surely someone would have to restrain him.

With a light smile, Albus replies with, 'Harry would never intentionally harm his friends, Severus.'

Deliberately, he scoffs, partly hoping to mock the certitude coming from the other man, and the other part not willing to believe that hot-headed Potter isn't capable of losing control. Albus is just as trusting as she is, believing that good people could never be pushed to the extreme by the wrong circumstances.

'I don't care what Potter does! I will not, however, remain still and wait for him to harm another person.'

'Ah!' the other man says, dragging the word enough to help him lean back in his seat and then only asks a quiet, 'Miss Granger?'

'Who else?' he snaps with absolutely no filter, something apparently displeasing to Albus, as his face changes just like that.

'See how you have become, Severus,' a deeper of his tones makes this known to him. 'This is why I put an end to your lessons. The more time that you spend with her, the more room that you allow her in your heart. You might grow to love her before we can accomplish anything. We are so close, Severus. You cannot abandon me now.'

Who said anything about abandoning his task?

Worried about Albus' state of mind, he stares at him for a moment, a sour feeling of annoyance beginning to rumble inside of him, leading him to ask, 'For Potter, you would sacrifice the one person who would be able to protect him?'

Through a shrug, clearly showing his bias, the other man replies with, 'In the end, what must be done, must be done. By no means am I sacrificing her. Harry would never harm her when they've always protected each other, she will be perfectly all right. Although, understand me, Severus. As you are, you have affection for the girl, it has not blossomed into love. Leave it be at that. Nothing good can come from insisting on her.'

Ah, he understands it now; apparently, his private life is a direct affront to Albus' quest. Albus is making it clear to him now, that though he may rage with him, he will never, until his goal's been met, stoop and fight with him directly. What Albus can do, however, is fight the one closest to him, the right elect, who can't be touched, as that would be Albus' means of laying hold of him.

Why, the nerve of the man!

He could spit in his face for that, except, that will not keep Albus from seeking a way to use her against him.

'You boldly speak your own lies as you believe them,' he spits the words, hoping that all derision is clear to him. 'You haven't a single idea of how my feelings look like for her.'

'I know you, Severus,' he's told self-assuredly. 'I have known your motivations from the moment that you came to me. I can boldly speak my own lies and believe them, because I have the knowledge to do so.'

In immediate response to that, heart jumps from place, displaced by his Albus' words, but determined to contend with Albus on knowing himself better than Albus does, he manages to compose his heart to its usual place and pattern.

'That was a different time, when I came to you,' he answers, mostly thinking that then cannot be compared to now.

It appears that Albus finds his answer humorous, letting out a soft chuckle laced with mirth while he leans forwards in his seat.

'But at the core of it all, are you not the same person?' he wants to know.

Not liking the reminder of his errors, he swallows. Albus may not have specifically mentioned the actions that led him to his servitude, but who is Albus to remind him now that he has the Dark Mark and would like to atone for having it? Can't he be allowed a moment without being reminded that he came to seek deliverance?

'Only keep Potter under control,' he tries to redirect to the subject that brought him here, not follow along the path that led him to servitude – he's practised his words well, and he will not let the opportunity to speak them pass him by.

'How interesting that your answers no longer match your character as it has been,' Albus remarks, refusing to speak about his precious Potter for now. 'I can hardly believe that I am talking to same man that I have known for years.'

It's vexing so, that Albus has this notion in his head that he knows best at all times. Albus, though truly a good man, is otherwise mostly a leader who judges him based on how well he carries out the grand agenda, and up until a certain student (on whom Albus doesn't have proper influence) in his day-to-day, that line of observation wouldn't have been spoken between them. The man shouldn't now pretend to be appalled by his response to a personal matter, when personal matters rarely surfaced between them, allowing Albus the chance to evaluate him outside of his usual duties. In short, if Albus is feeling very-out-bounds and underhanded, wonderful.

'You are correct, Albus,' he decides not to deny, and rather spite the man where he sits. 'At the core, I have not changed. However, you've never known me to be valued without motive before. For all you may know, I am the worst of fools then. The man selflessly valued is one you have never seen before. That man is completely unknown to both of us. Perhaps he is rash or ruthless. He might even be a terrible man, capable of anything at any time. We shall keep finding out, I along with you, just how far he can travel and how low he can reach.'

He admits, that is vulnerable information to hand over Albus, it's even more vulnerable of him to be this honest, however, it has been said, and so let Albus swallow that; if it goes down his throat like a sharp blade to his agenda, then so be it.

'Hm, she's confessed at last?' he seems to catch on, surprisingly not angry in tone.

What is Albus thinking?

He surely didn't know that such a thing would happen, and besides, he could've been the one to confess and then urged her to reciprocate.

'If you must know,' he responds with a fake smile, 'we are headed to the Ministry to bind ourselves in marriage tomorrow afternoon.'

Fire brighter than what he's seen consumes Fawkes enlarges Albus' eyes, who, for the moment that nothing else is said and done, seems to believe it – a true testament of his wariness. He begins to laugh at the expression, of course, highly satisfied to derive such unease from Albus.

'Your humour is atrocious, Severus!' he's told through a tight expression, his tone just as tight.

'As is your opinion on my private affairs,' he smugly replies, still pleased with himself for what he's done.

'Private affairs with a student?'

Well, isn't Albus simply a character? It makes him want to let out a derisive laugh at the question of outrage, only, he thinks better of it, choosing to confront the other man instead.

'That is not your issue with this, and you know it!' hotly leaves his mouth, just a sentence more from getting up in fury. 'Had it suited your agenda, I'd be the one protesting away from your request. You are quick to forget your own role in what she has become.'

'My instructions were not to attach your feelings to the girl,' Albus counters, eyebrows drawing tightly together. 'You were supposed to have her there to help Harry along, nothing more.'

'Nothing more, indeed,' he agrees with a cold tone. 'As you will, Albus, I will have no further interactions with her. Only know that should Potter cause one more thing to happen to one more person, specifically her, my hand will be forced.'

'And you know that your forced hand will in turn force my own hand,' Albus, more composed now, tells him. 'Please, Severus, let us not travel along that path.'

The threat, as softly and tiredly as it's delivered, is clear.

It's plain, very simple and the only thing needed to reel him back in and restore him to subserviency.

With her, he will not gamble, he must rather grovel for forgiveness in protection of her, because should Albus feel the need to, without actually harming her, he would very use her against him.

'You must trust me, Albus,' he tries, setting himself to appear meek. 'I've given you no reason to distrust me. When did my word become less than?'

He hates to say the words, more so beg for them, it's only that Albus needs to be steered away from her.

'I trust you, Severus,' the other man answers him. 'But you must understand from my side of things. If anything changes now, so do the chain of events. I'm taking no joy in being out of sorts with you, neither do I wish to stifle whatever good thing could befall you. Would you consider that we never had such quarrels before? Your cause for Lily must burn as brightly as it did when you conjured your Patronus in my presence. That held you focused on our goal, Severus, remember. When speaking about the Dark Lord, we must always be strides ahead of him.'

'I know my place,' he solemnly ascertains to the man.

He may not prefer it since recent events, though he knows it very well. Delusion has no place in his life, perhaps only fruitless hope and fantasy, but never delusion.

Albus, seemingly understanding his position, nods at him in a repetitive motion to say, 'I would truly like to believe that, Severus. I am only advising you thusly as I have lived through such a thing, but the mere taste of something different could mean the entire world's difference you.'

'I have no delusions as to what my end will be, Albus,' he admits, even to the hard protesting of his stomach. 'Do not paint me the undisciplined man.'

'I am sorry, Severus,' Albus sincerely says to him. 'I cannot emphasise that enough, but it is for the best that you release yourself from her companionship. In a realm near this one, she would have been extremely fortuitous to you. She is loyal and firm in what she believes is right.'

Albus is telling him, but he doesn't know the heart of it.

He should have tried nightly interactions with her for months and then he would have been exposed to more of her than that. He would have seen her be playful when least expected, emotional when it didn't fit for her to be, and oh-so reactive to everything that she deems worthy of a reaction. More than that, Albus would have discovered that she, just like him, isn't delusional either. Her freedom to achieve whatever she determines to makes her a little bit unlike him, although all in all, she isn't one to hold onto something that she shouldn't – she proved it just the other night.

'You will have your way, as you deem it best,' he forces out, rather than saying what he really feels.

What will remain for him in the world, then? Hogwarts has been his home since he started attending school her, but he is to leave it soon to his own house where Peter Pettigrew is? Is he really to spend the rest of his days with that one for all of his remaining days?

'Do not despair, Severus,' Albus stands up and wearing an understanding face, shakes his head in refusal. 'Have faith that to atone for my selfish requirement, I will make sure that you are never alone. My promise to you, is to never leave you alone.'

As the last of his words leave his mouth, Albus directs his eyes to his bird, but in a second, they are eyes to again.

'Will you accept an embrace from an old man, Severus?' said old man holds out his arms.

He looks at the open arms without getting up, and then looks up at Albus's face, uncertain. Albus has never offered such a thing as an embrace before, just as he never felt that he needed an embrace from him, although now, he can't just refuse, can he? Thinking so, he gets up, immediately walking around to meet the offered embrace, keeping his arms loose around the other man.

'Forgive me, Severus,' Albus sounds to plead, patting his back once and then again.

---

26Chapters

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The next Saturday, when giving himself a break from supervising Potter's detention, he finds her in the library. He hadn't imagined that he would find her here, only hoped that he would and that way get a glimpse of her. Upon locking into her form, he's immediately taken back to the time when Albus roped him into getting her to attend Occlumency lessons with Potter. It had been such a different time back then, with his intent only being to take back the power that she had stolen from him by escaping him each and every time. How glad he is that it's very different now.

Now, she is the girl who likes him.

Now, he's under an agreement to maintain his distance from her.

And so, he does.

He smiles to himself as well, a small smile that hardly moves anything on his face, but still a heartfelt smile from him.

There she is, the girl who likes him just as he is. The one who, despite being assured that he could do many things, never once asked him for favours - not to look after her friends, not to overlook their crimes, not to protect her Muggle family, and not to be lenient with her due to the nature of their interactions. She, who knows his position in the Order, and has seen his Mark twice, never made him feel any obligation to do anything. All the questions that she asked of him, were to learn, never for an ulterior reason, and never to repeat to her friends for the fun of it.

How really did he become so fortunate?

To answer his own question, he briefly looks around the library, as much of it as he can see from where he stands, that when he finds no one else, he returns to her in her secluded corner, silently casting a masking spell over himself. His hope had been for a tiny glimpse of her, although surely, while she's deeply immersed in her books and he is hidden from her sight, he can stay a little longer?

There, she has three books open in front of her, and a notebook close to her right hand. How is studying going for her, and does she still want him to visit her, or has she changed her mind?

Look now, she's scratching her nose, two fingers of her left hand dedicated to that. Does her nose usually itch while she studies, and does she regret confessing to him yet, will she want to revoke it?

Albus was right.

Now that he's sniffed in and inhaled the substance of her approval and praise, the highs making him swell with pride, he wants more and more of it. He wants to go over and watch her react to him finding her. He wants her to intercept his walks through the castle, running to catch up with him. He wants to find her waiting for him at his office and...

He wants too much of what he was never meant to have.

He allowed something into his life that shouldn't have been there, knowing very well that he would have to give it up. Still, he reasoned with himself that when the time came, he'd be ready to give it up as he's always done in his life, yet here he is, staring at that something.

He stands deeply wanting all of the quiet and loud intimacy that she's able to give him, all of the value that she places in him and so much more. Perhaps it's because everyone around him, from Horace and Draco to Albus and Minerva has particularly been making him feel either unfairly judged or excluded, that he finds himself a little needy for some intimacy in the sense of being valued. He doesn't know, truthfully, and neither is he supposed to know. What he knows is that he must ignore what remaining time he could have had with her not because wanted it, but according to someone else's will.

If only it wasn't such a brave thing required of him.

Why does he always have to be the one who has the strength to endure?

Does endurance equal to his very name and his entire existence?

---

26Chapters

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Tomorrow is June.

He lays on his bed, fully clothed with his eyes closed, thinking back on the events of this month.

Since agreeing that they couldn't see each other anymore, not a day went by when he didn't think of her. He never really knew that it could feel like forever ago since he saw someone when just yesterday, he saw them in his class. Also, he never knew that there was such a thing as seeking to have cheap replacements as substitutes for desired company, until two weekends passed with him visiting Sybill, only listening to her talk about nonsense. The third time during school week, made him realise what he was doing, that on his way to Sybill, he stopped and turned back for his own room.

Everything else to do with anyone else looked like blurs of motion, going by around him, not catching his attention in the least. But at least tomorrow will be the first of June and hopefully, with a bit of help from magic itself, some incident or other will forcefully lead her to him.

He hopes for it.

He will even accept her coming to him with cries over Weasley, if it should come to that.

---

26Chapters

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His whisper is urgent, but Albus tries to walk away from it as though it was a stupid request that he was making. The man doesn't understand that gravity of what he just said, saying it as though he was talking about the marks that each individual student got on a mock test and nothing about losing and taking a life. How does he simply want to walk away like that, taking long and deliberate steps to get away as fast as he can? He will not be left behind, however, he will follow him along the corridor which will soon come to a turn, not daring the chance to lose sight of Albus at the turn.

'Albus,' he urgently whispers again, 'please, wait.'

If he must plead, he will; it appears to do the trick, as it causes Albus to stop and turn wait for him. Seeing that, he doesn't waste time in reaching Albus, his breath a bit laboured by the words left with him and not the short walk to catch up.

'This is not the place for this conversation, Severus,' Albus reaches out and grasps his shoulder.

Albus should have thought of that before bringing him the news of it being only a matter of a last visit for everything to fall into place. How was he supposed to take the sudden attack on his peace? In the middle of the corridor or anywhere else?

'I need to know when,' he says, shrugging off the hand on his shoulder.

'I cannot tell you when, only be aware that it will be soon.'

'And what of me then? What if your thoughts are wrong, Albus? Won't I be a criminal? I would be sitting in Azkaban after all.'

'Only trust me,' Albus grasps his shoulder again, squeezing it as well. 'It shall not be so. I have the utmost confidence that you will not suffer the path to Azkaban.'

There's something infinitely amiss with him then, taking his desperation to know what will happen to him into account. Although he knew that the moment would come, and that the task has been a constant in his mind lately, with this sudden announcement, he feels woefully unprepared to hear such news. Not only is he concerned about his status as a wizard in the community, he's also not that prepared to leave the school yet. He has no doubt that Dark Lord can influence the Ministry officials to keep him out of Azkaban, but what if the Dark Lord rather fancies for him to arrested, just so he could destroy Azkaban under the guise of releasing his follower? He may be other things, but he does not want certain things attached to his name; he has honour enough to not want the title of a fugitive.

'Trust me, Severus,' Albus says for the last time, apparently reading some of the fear between them and then seemingly satisfied with the result of his words, turns and leaves.

With increasing frustration, he stares at the leaving man. Is he now supposed to go about his day without interruption?

It's maddening to be left this way. His inside feel equally frustrated and uncertain that he wants nothing more than to shout out and release everything bubbling within. He turns on the spot, his eyes looking for nothing, only his body needing some form of movement before he is driven to madness, but his eyes catch her there, just standing there. In an instant, he's frozen, positively caught off guard right into tamed submission by her toothless smile. Even from afar, the warmth of her attention pours down on him, doing away with the more aggressive part of his frustration the longer that she continues to look at him.

Dear magic, has he ever thanked anyone for her existence?

If not, then her parents did well to bring her into this world. And if that is to intimate a thought, then at the very minimum, Septima's appearing form did very well to bring her this way where they could cross paths from afar. Septima's not doing well in nudging her along now, thus removing her from the stationary place, but gratitude still fills him to the brim. As he watches them disappear behind an intersecting wall, he at least feels lighter than before, and his lips are twitching, fighting a smile.

Maybe, if magic is still on his side after he completes his task and he dares to visit her, she will still greet him at the door with that warming smile.

---

26Chapters

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Here he is, having left her and Lovegood with an unconscious Filius in his office, when it feels like just a moment ago, he was thinking about her. It feels like just a day ago as well, that he was turning back from Sybill's, refusing to use her as the inadequate replacement for her and yet here he is rushing through her door and calling for her.

'Sybill.'

The name tiredly leaves his mouth, it being the result of him rushing away from the first of his crimes tonight. Standing in her doorway, her sees slowly turn away from looking into space to him. Her face changes to that of concerned as their eyes meet, but she does nothing else than look at him, which only brings him a pool of nerves. He usually doesn't care for astrology and the like, however, Sybill can be perceptive at times and only that look on her face is enough to remind him of his life after this.

'What is it, Severus?' she carefully asks. 'Don't just stand there, come in.'

'No,' he shakes his head. 'Your tea, I'd like some.'

That's what he came to her for, not to speak with her and definitely not to seek her company. Because she knows nothing, probably so consumed inside her head that she's unable to hear the noise sounding in the castle, she doesn't understand what he is facing. Apart from just leaving an important person behind, the moment has truly come.

'I will brew you a cup,' she promises, beginning to rise from her plush cushion on the floor.

'No, I need -' he begins to say, but she's already moving to her nearest cabinet to find the tea.

It's then that he hears a loud noise from somewhere in the castle, distracting him away from Sybill. That's the last sign of the hour, he tells himself with a loud groan! He takes one last look at Sybill fumbling around to help him, and then he silently cries a curse for never getting the tea before rushing out without a word to her out. What he wouldn't have given to take a few leaves of that tea, but it looks like he'll have to do without anything soothing for a while – he's leaving all of it at Hogwarts tonight and never to see it again.

---

26Chapters

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The hour has come.

It's come with Potter at Albus' side, the fear in his eyes magnified by the lenses making up his glasses. Albus' desperation is magnified by his smaller glasses as well, his eyes a clear and pleading image of his wish.

No, his inside twists into knots, just a little second more, please.

He's not as prepared as he believed himself to be. Knowing that the hour has come, yet not being able to make the first and needed move to complete his task, he's not prepared.

'Severus… Please,' comes from Albus, so pleading and right in accord with the pleaded-for additional second.

No, no, another second more then, please – he needs it gather himself from his trepidation.

Despite their differences recently, it's Albus - the one who he's had for most of his life. It scratches at him so, to be needed this desperately that he would have to be begged for relief. He raises his wand in any event, pointing it at Albus, breathing a small, 'It is your wish,' inside his head and then shoots the spell right onto a waiting Albus.

Did it hurt to die?

Is it over now, that pain that Albus never expressly shared with him until the end?

Even falling ever-so-slowly backwards, Albus is disappearing from his sight, and he can only hope to good magic that wherever he goes to from here, he will be from pain and that it didn't hurt him more to die than to endure the blackening curse. He can only hope for that minimum, because he no longer has the luxury to do more than that. With Potter coming back from his shock, gasping in heartfelt earnest, he must flee.

---

26Chapters

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That last stinging hex on Potter was not something that he had planned on firing, neither the disarming one following it. Rather, he burned with rage to the point where as much of a sting as he felt inside at Potter's words, he wanted to return to the clueless boy, thus launched the consecutive spells towards him. Harry Potter especially has no right to call him a coward!

He, who has put himself in front of danger for the lot of them!

He, who is currently sacrificing his own life, be it far from wonderful, for the sake of Potter and his peer!

He, who resisted the urge to turn back to the castle, take her to the side and explain his position to her!

How dare Potter! That word should've never left the boy's mouth when he knows absolutely nothing!

A coward wouldn't be able to face the future knowing that the one person left in the world who likes him as he is, might very well revoke her feelings for him soon. A coward would've done everything in his power to run away from Albus' grave request and not end up in the Dark Lord's lair following this!

It enrages him beyond reason that Potter could be so callous with his words! In all of his life, no other thing has ever cut at him like that one word, that even now, in spite of knowing that it came from a place of anger and despair, it wounds him deeply. He is anything but that. Cold, cruel, horrible, miserable and unbearable, yes, those he can accept, but never that. It's a fortunate thing that he left Potter looking for his wand, because he probably still would've been running after him, spewing out curses that he couldn't even begin to imagine the foundation of and naming him the very thing that he isn't, forcing him to retaliate against the boy. He looks behind him in any case, just to confirm that the boy's nowhere near him, and it's Draco who has him stopping with a renewed sense of frustration.

'Hurry, Draco!' he barks with impatience.

Draco has no right to be as shaken up as he is, for what does he understand of what just took place? Is he lagging because he led a group of Death Eaters into the castle? If that is the case, he has no reason to ponder on it precisely now. Two or three Death Eaters are nothing too serious when faced with one Minerva McGonagall and the rest of the staff, heck, even those clumsy DA members and probably soon, members from the Order. Draco has seen and done nothing yet to render him as he is. He should only be grateful that he was spared all the ugliness that he could've been forced to commit.

'You killed him,' Draco says upon catching up with him. 'You killed Dumbledore!' he adds as though the extra clarification was needed, sounding very much afraid of the fact.

That had been the assignment, if he has a brain enough to remember, his eyes run over Draco without a word. They certainly wouldn't be trekking towards that forest if nothing monumental had happened, which is why in no spirit to entertain Draco's tantrum, he simply turns back to his path, ready to continue marching.

'He's dead,' Draco hiccups, also suddenly taking hold of his arm to stop him from moving.

'You don't say!' he sharply lets out to mock the shaking boy beside him.

With any luck – something that he doesn't have tonight – his sharpness can restore Draco to part of his normal senses, otherwise they might as well conjure up a teapot and wait for the Order members to find them.

'He's really dead!' come the words from the boy again.

For him to say that as if he never knew that people really do die, is unfortunate, but such are sudden introductions to the actual dark side. Draco made the choice to push him aside when his help was offered, so he should carry his own weight along all of this, including the reality of death - there will be no way around it.

'Of course, he's dead!' he snaps again, this time roughly grabbing the boy's arm and shaking him twice.

Either the violent response, or the vocal confirmation, apparently trigger to make Draco burst into tears right where they stand, right where they do not have the luxury of entertaining wild emotions.

Oh, for the love of magic!

Of all the chaotic things in all things dark arts, he had to choose crying?! Even he had to ignore his fury with Potter and move along just before this. It frustrates him so that Bellatrix didn't do enough of training to prepare him for this moment! Damn Bellatrix and Lucius for that matter! Either one of them should have warned the boy how much of a difference it makes to be directly involved in a crime. Since they didn't, now he is relegated the task of attempting to comfort their boy.

'You will stop that at once!' he hisses with a step into Draco's personal space. 'You will hold yourself together and you will appear before the Dark Lord a proud and confident man! You will dislike me in his presence, and disobey me when I speak to you, because should you fail to play the part of indignant for how I robbed you of your rightful kill, you will suffer your own punishment as he wills it. Are we clear?'

This must be done, he tells himself as he waits for the boy to stop sniffling and digest his words. His mind understands Draco's ordeal, although his impatient body cannot allow itself to sympathise with him when Potter is not that far behind them. He won't accept to be forced to offer the boy comfort at this time precisely when they really must be on their way from the premises. Time will not wait for them, neither will the Order members hesitate to pin them down should they get the right information about their whereabouts. Fortunately, though sniffling still, Draco nods, conceding.

'Listen to me, Bellatrix can never do for you what I can,' he presents, part honestly and part plotting in the event that he needs Draco later on. 'Your trust should be in me. Now give me your hand.'

His sin concerning ushering the Death Eaters into school will always be before him, there will never be an escape for that, however, for the moment, he must be made to believe that there is a way out for him to be liberated from it all.

Without hesitation, a shaking hand comes into his and not wanting to miss a thing, he quickly binds Draco's trust to him. In the end, if need be, he will use it, because in the presence of the Dark Lord, one can never say what could happen.

'We must go,' he charges, turning his back and leading the way again.

From this point going forwards, he can only really help Draco as little as possible. Once they've returned to Malfoy Manor and have called the Dark Lord to deliver the news, Draco will be left alone to his privacy and then he can start shivering and crying for his role in tonight. It's bound to be long night for him, but unfortunately, he will have to bear it.

---

26Chapters

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Why is he looking around his own sitting room?

What does he think it will bring him, rotating on his feet this way?

This is the same house in which he grew up, the one that he vehemently refuses – even now - to give up no matter what. Long ago, he could have done away with it, leaving it to settle in some other place, but his mind reasoned that it'd be of no absolute use to him to move homes, and still carry his misery from here to there. Had he done something to remove himself from these familiar walls, from this shack of despair, it would've been a stupid thing on his part - and so he kept it. He remained, and so now, he is reaping the harvest of his cultivation.

His eyes look around again, led on by his moving head, only to meet the same colour of paint on the walls, the same Muggle lights above his head, the same old furniture, and the same bleakness from the days of his childhood when his parents still lived with him. For a small second, only to block it out for just a little bit of reprieve from the compression inside his chest, he closes his eyes. It won't help change anything, he knows, but if, just if he could open his eyes and come eye to eye with something soothing to his chest, something like a person who cares...

'Aah,' he heavily rumbles, his tone low and unwilling to be louder than a whisper as his eyelids press tighter together. 'Why?'

Why can't he be one of those who have a place to fall?

Why must he be alone and face this house by himself after all that's happened?

Just for tonight, he couldn't have been afforded a medium of comfort?

The deed with Albus has been done, the Dark Lord knows about it and since then, he's not received any other instruction. Of course, he takes that to mean what it means; that his home at Hogwarts is gone for all of his days, and with it, his other valuable, while the Dark Lord carelessly goes about his life as normal. Never again will he have access to either of those things that matter to him, and the reminder is like acid from his throat into his mouth. He tries, magic, he really tries not to bite down onto his lip to help bear the taste, but when he fails, abusing his lip with deep anguish, he attempts to pry his eyes open, seeking to prove to himself that he is not as weak as to crumble. The pain in his chest doesn't allow him to fight, though, it seems that to bear that pain, his eyes must be closed.

It's unbelievably uncomfortable to feel his inside closing in within - it hurts, actually. He always knew that this moment would come, that the culmination to the moves that he's had to make throughout his life would look something like this, and yet, he apparently didn't prepare for the depth of pain that it would bring him. Or rather…

Be honest with yourself, Severus, he thinks with a short, wry laugh inside his head. You had prepared for this moment, whipping out your Patronus to see its effect on you, even cried in lament long before its time, and you knew that you would have no one beside you as it always has been, but then an owl tapped on your window, causing you to feel hope, and so your thoughts began to behave out of order.

He did it to himself, all right, he knows, but then so what? Assured that she cares about him, is it that much of an unthinkable, an unspeakable thing to not want to face this all by himself? Couldn't he have had another life in which she was be available to receive him and hear his cries without judgement?

Goodness, even the thought alone soothes his mind enough to open his eyes, release his lip and then blow out a small breath through just barely parted lips. He moves his eyes to look around again, wishing to find some semblance of comfort somewhere between the air and objects in here, because this house should know better than just desolation. It's seen and known her within its walls, felt her magical presence even, so why isn't it behaving the fitting part? Couldn't it have found an empty space in between the air and objects in which to capture and store her essence? What does this house have against good things? There's not even a lingering smell of her scent?

Along with the last thought, his nose readies itself, sniffing for even the slightest of it in the air, because the very last time that he'd been in here, it was with her. Her fragrance is deeply burnt into his memory, but his nose cannot find it, so he takes one step forwards, and another, and then another, just now deciding to do the better thing and head up the stairs and into his bedroom to find a vivid reminder of her in there.

How he wishes that he would open the door to her sitting on his bed, and unsure of his reaction, or otherwise on the point of doing something out of the ordinary, she'd smile at seeing him. He'd make as though it was nothing, slowly moving to her and where they would meet in the middle, she'd open her arms to and cry a relieved, 'I was so worried,' as she drew him into her embrace, wholeheartedly receiving him. It would touch him to calmness so. He'd cherish it so. He'd lean into it with all of his might so much that he would even speak it aloud, telling her, 'You're here,' with everything good from his core.

It is only a wish, however, his heart seems to miss a beat with the thought, it will never be.

It's why he comes to a stop at his door, completely sure that at best, he'll only find a memory of her in there, never the real person. Knowing that without a doubt, he still needs something to placate him and does the part of preparing himself for the result waiting for him in there, before wrenching the door open and wildly pushing it inside. As he knew that he would, he finds nothing, yet a touch of anger twists up inside, making him mindlessly stride into the room, ready to destroy the bed for not having her upon it. Suddenly, his bed is the enemy; he hates it. Its size, its blankets, its emptiness, its neatness, he hates all of it, that upon reaching it, frustrated, he delivers a sharp kick to it.

Damn his bed, he hates it.

Looking at the spot where she had once sat, he cannot describe just how much he hates the bed for not having her there. She would have made the difference for him – she proved it that day in the corridor. She would have had questions, would've wanted to understand, and he's a hopeless fool to convince himself that in her asking, he would've had an avenue in which to speak about his feelings, even if not fully. If she wouldn't have asked him anything, he still would've appreciated that she was here all the same, that she didn't shun him on account of what Potter might have narrated to her already. That would have been the right thing for him tonight, because all he needs is a little peace coming to him in whichever way it may.

'Haaaa,' he loudly exhales, an expression from deep within his agony, feeling defeated at last.

His own futile wishes have defeated him, making him slumps onto the bed, bending his back much too low for proper posture just to drop his head into his hands. Just for a moment of relief, could he forget everything?

Since Christmas, he's not entirely sure that he trusts his Patronus, and now isn't the perfect time to confirm anything about it. Should it turn out that it can't offer him any sliver of comfort, he won't take it well. He would rather blindly believe that it can offer him some form of comfort, than draw it and realise how useless it is to him. It had been his first thought as a source of comfort before, except, it no longer is. The only other thing that remains for a moment of comfort is a method that he rarely resorts to, for a very particular reason. As emotional as he is, he might as well give it a try, though. Within a quick second, he sits up on his bed, his hands already moving to open only necessary buttons for his need. In another few seconds, his hands are moving from his garment to his trousers, limply sinking between his thighs to beneath his undergarment.

The first touch of his hand is cold on his skin, quite unwelcome even, although convinced that he's doing the right thing, he ignores it, rather choosing to close his eyes as he throws his head back a little. He is prepared to surrender to receiving the same relieving feeling that he remembers from the very few solitary experiences that he's had. He only needs a little pleasure to make him forget his pain for a moment. Only a little pleasure, so he softly rubs his bareness, thinking that very thing. His movements continue at the same pace for a while more only to give him unsatisfactory results. Determined to complete what he's started, he tries to speed up his movements, silently chanting that all he needs is a little pleasure. Quick stroke after stroke, still nothing significant happens, and angry with himself, he roughly pulls his hand away onto his lap.

This is stupidity.

The attempt itself was stupidity - he should remember that only a few times, he's managed to work on himself to a desired end of pleasure

Exhaling deeply, he opens his eyes, hating how much of his mind and time he wasted in something so completely useless. This is why he rarely does it – it's always such a long process that doesn't function according to what he wants, when he wants it. In most cases, his body always seems to fight his mind, like it knows better than him what it really needs. Doesn't he remember that his body has always done as it pleased? His body has never been able to gain weight when he wanted it to, nor his hair be less oily than he would have liked it to be. Even now, the lump forming in his throat says that it's painful not to have any relief. He pushes through it, nonetheless, standing up with the reminder to himself that it was stupid of him to think of relief. It's fitting that his attempts all mocked him without shame, because what did he think would truly happen?

He thought that he'd get some relief, he thinks in loud frustration as he spins around to deliver another kick to the foot of his bed.

A sharp pain shoots through his whole foot just as another, more fierce burning pain signals a call on his forearm.

Damn everything in the world and its consequent offspring - not now!

He's not in the mind to see the Dark Lord again so soon after their previous and brief meeting at the Malfoy's. However, as prematurely as he is pulled from his misery, he rights his clothes, just as quickly sucking himself in and getting ready to Apparate away. With no school to hide behind this time around, he cannot linger when called, least of all just a mere hour after delivering the news of Albus' death. He arrives at the Dark Lord's side immediately, certain that his tardiness will not be appreciated.

'My lord,' he announces his presence, showing him respect by bowing his head a little.

'Come, Severus,' the Dark Lord calls with an open hand, just then beginning to lead the way into the next room.

From the looks of it, he was the only one summoned, and that to a private location. He doesn't dare to look further than the corners of his eyes can see, for he was called to attend to the Dark Lord, not to amuse his eyes with where they might be. That being so, he's astute in mind to deduce that wherever they are, it isn't anywhere near Malfoy Manor. No room in that manner is as small as the one that they left behind or the one that he is entering now.

'I wondered, Severus…'

'My lord?' he questions as he crosses the threshold, really asking him to continue what he was saying.

'Since your childhood mishap, have you sought to have a female companion?'

He asks it so plainly, as though he didn't kill Lily to fulfil his own purpose. Knowing the Dark Lord, however, he doesn't falter in either step or eye contact until he's past the slithering snake on the floor and joining the Dark Lord at the curtain-less window.

'Never, my lord,' he supplies honestly, placing his hands behind his back.

As per unspoken requested, he keeps his eyes on his master, waiting for further instruction and intrusion.

'Ah,' comes the hoarse answer. 'You do not care for the frivolities of a family, women, riches and belonging, correct?'

'As you say, my lord,' is his tight answer, because it should be as the Dark Lord says.

The Dark Lord, just like Albus, has his patient ways of discovering what he wants to. His contemplative silence reminds him of that much, but of course, even evil masters can be afforded the freedom of delusion from time to time. When deception is crafted well, carried out even better, and maintained excellently, no Dark Lord can prosper against it. This is his craft; he knows what he ought to say and how to deliver it so as not to be mentally intruded – the Dark Lord would be doing himself a favour to remember that.

'That is news most pleasing and excellent to my ears,' the other wizard thoughtfully nods after a little while before looking back out of the window.

His place now, is to appreciate the honour received with a humble, 'Thank you, my lord.'

'Yes,' the word is dragged in response. 'Lord Voldemort is most gracious, though you deserve it, Severus. You have become my most trusted servant.'

Again, he is obligated to be grateful – being the entertainment that he is, he should act the part. Mentally, he curses at how wonderfully he's done for himself; confined to nothingness at Spinner's End only waiting for summons, this new life of his couldn't get any better. Verbally, however, he must fulfil his part again.

'I am more than honoured, my lord. You are most generous with your trust.'

The Dark Lord returns his eyes to him, nodding and asking, 'Have you any idea why I trust you so?'

'Albus Dumbledore's death,' he offers, since before then, the Dark Lord had been wary of him.

'I shall tell you why you are my most trusted servant,' he responds. 'Why I will teach you, among other things, to be the greatest that you are able to achieve. Why you will have the honour of becoming the new headmaster of Hogwarts. I've worked for it to be so, because the time has come for one of our own to run that school in the way that it should be.'

Following the casual announcement, he takes in a deep breath, all of a sudden attacked by a smothering feeling upon his chest. In laboured silence on his part, he looks at the Dark Lord, who in turn waits for him expectantly.

'Headmaster?' he lets out at last, partly a whisper and the other part a croak of disbelief.

'You will shape their minds and teach them the proper way in which they ought to go,' the Dark Lord explains, 'because you, Severus, are unlike any other Death Eater that I have known. Even Bellatrix married, but you did not.'

Due to his unwed status, he is getting that post? Of all the reasons, that had to be the one at the top of the list? He understands that absolute control in every expanse is crucial, but to raise a headmaster on the basis of his singularity?! To the stomach, he's quite sick of people telling him what to do and who to be. Just when will it end?

'Why is that, Severus?' he's questioned, the curiosity thick in the air.

'I have remained as you left me, my lord,' he chooses to answer with. 'I have had no interest in women since then.'

That's all true about then, about now, however, he'd have to have it excavated from him before he even gives an inkling of his desires. Once in his life, he was a fool to mention Lily to the Dark Lord and he found no problem getting killing her. Never again, will he make the same mistake of bringing up anyone important to him. If he couldn't even allow Albus to know true his feelings concerning her, much less the Dark Lord.

'See then, nothing will be in your way to greatness. With no family to limit you, you won't be confined to only base magic. Tied to nothing, you would have nothing to risk or to lose. You would be as Lord Voldemort is; powerful. You, Severus, are very much like me,' he delivers this part with a dash of pride. 'You are not bound by fleeting human traits and emotions, desires for riches or preservation of heritage. You are simply alone and ready to expand further beyond. You and I will right this world of ours, going further beyond than any other has ever been.'

'I could never be like you, my lord. There is none like you,' he humbly, though insincerely flatters.

Again, he is only speaking the truth; he could never be as deranged as the Dark Lord.

'No one could ever be as Lord Voldemort is,' he greedily agrees, his red eyes enlarging, 'but, you have the potential to be even half as powerful. We shall get along fine, you and I.'

Bowing, he readily accepts the expectation as presented to him, saying, 'Thank you, my lord.'

'I've asked Narcissa to host you for the evening,' the Dark Lord tells him. 'I'm sure that you and Draco have much to sort out since earlier. It wouldn't be prudent to be at odds with your brother, now would it?'

'I will make my necessary apologies,' he promises and at the dismissing nod that follows, he disappears for the Malfoys, hating how he has to push thinking about being the headmaster to a later time.

Truly, it's just one thing after another tonight.

---

26Chapters

---

Wholeheartedly, with an internal sigh of relief even, he welcomes when Narcissa comes to stand before him. Other than playing with his drink while looking out into space and filling his mind with nonsense so as not to give his emotions away in the company of a slightly paranoid Lucius, a crazy Bellatrix and Draco who looks ready to disappear into thin air, he'd had nothing better to do here. As such, he'd been hoping for a distraction away from the current company, if only for a moment - thank divine magic that Narcissa has brought it to him now.

'There's a call for you in the kitchen, Severus,' her soft voice lets him know from his right.

Ignoring the rule of courtesy to look her way and acknowledge that he heard her, he gets up at once, only glad to be leaving this unpleasant atmosphere behind, and without looking back or wondering who the call could be from, walks to the big kitchen with his glass still in hand. Truthfully, he never had any intention of drinking that liquid, and so will pour it out as soon as he can in the Malfoy kitchen. The lot of them should only be grateful that the Dark Lord ordered him to return here, otherwise they wouldn't have seen his face for days.

Eleven long steps and counting, he rounds in through the door, only then composing himself to meet to be in the right state of mind to meet with his supposed visitor. Away from the glum group in the drawing room, he can now properly gather that apart from the Dark Lord, no one else would search for him at the Malfoys. Rather certain that it's not the Dark Lord calling for him, his mind turns to Narcissa as the culprit. It can't be anyone else, he reasons, it can only be her, who simply found the opening to make him attend to her alone, somewhere where she could at last thank him in person for saving Draco. Or he thought it couldn't be anyone else, until coming to a stop inside the broad kitchen and his eyes behold the appearing form of a certain creature.

Unstable fright suddenly grips his heart at seeing the specific creature as his mind remembers that only one reason and one person alone would have brought it to him.

'What happened?' he urgently asks, taking a long step towards the elf, needing to be that much closer to his answer.

To the detriment of his composure, however, the elf doesn't immediately provide him with an answer, he rather moves his eyes past him to something either behind him or to avoid telling him the truth. Either option could not be any less welcomed by him, and to demonstrate the fact, he forcefully launches the glass in his hand to land on the floor with a loud shatter. Although it does bring the elf's attention back to him as he intended, even obligating the small creature to snap his fingers and get rid of the mess, the continued silence from it tears more of his composure.

'Lefa, speak,' he orders. 'What has happened?'

He left everything in a hurry. He left her with an unconscious Filius. He left her unprotected from a group who wouldn't have qualms about torturing her, and whatever news the elf has brought, he must hear it already.

'Awwww,' responds a dreadful voice from far behind him, the reason that clenches his teeth together. 'Snape is curious to know something. I wonder what it is.'

He does not like to, not even one small bit, but he sees no other way than reconciling Lefa's hesitance with Bellatrix's presence, and then begrudgingly turning to confirm her actual presence behind him. She's really there, he finds, meeting him with a wicked smile as their eyes meet, her fingers waving in a fluttering, greeting motion only to vex him, he knows. So as not to further upset his composure to a delicate situation with Bellatrix now around it, though, he returns to Lefa, silently teaching himself what exactly to say, to keep from piquing more of Bellatrix's interest.

'Everything is fine,' he states instead of posing it as a question, his eyes dead set on the elf.

Lefa nods this time at least, although still hesitates in answering, still looks past him to the one behind him, and then only brings his full attention back as if he ask if he can speak freely. No, he cannot speak freely about her in front of Bellatrix, unless she wasn't specifically named.

'Is there a message that you bring?' he poses this time.

Elves are special that way, that they withhold information until it is specifically plucked from them.

'You are expected at Hogwarts, sir,' Lefa nods, causing him to involuntarily pull in a breath as he guesses that she might have asked him to fetch him to her.

He can nearly picture her pleading with the elf, asking it to bring him to her, because she needs to talk to him, that needs to understand what Potter said to her by now, whether it's really true...

The image of her begging like that makes him weak. Weak, because he would like the opportunity to go back and comfort her, to tell her that some things in his life, he simply can't share with her...

'Not tonight,' he tries to excuse, his head stealthily looking in Bellatrix's direction, who suddenly finds then the perfect time to let out a wild cackle.

'He's never going back there,' she casts into the air, making him to spin her way.

And just who required her deranged conclusions on matters to do with him?

'Do leave us, Bellatrix,' he warns as calmly as he wants to feel. 'This does not concern you.'

Neither did the Dark Lord promote her to be his keeper, so she must keep her place away from him, if she would please. He understands that he is asking for too much with Bellatrix, especially since her eyes have been on him since he was called here tonight, but what else can he do but hope that she would grow bored and leave him? Just look, what would it take to stop her in her tracks while sliding into a place next to him? Would a venomous look do?

'But you are the Dark Lord's most trusted servant, Snape, it is my duty to be concerned with you,' she tries to sing, her free hand running from up to down on his arm while she draws out her wand to point at him – all of this done with a mocking smile, of course.

Uninteresting though her display may be, he deliberately flinches away from her touch to drawl, 'Your drama is never failing,' his eyes looking her over with boredom.

In response, she makes a muffled, 'Hpghh-mmgph,' sound of laughter like she's doing her best to contain herself, suddenly drapes her free arm around his neck, holding him close to her face and while turning his head to warn her away from him, his starting, 'Bella-' is shadowed by a eerily quiet 'Avada Kedavra!' right into his ear.

Most certain that he wasn't hit by the spell, also unmoved by the theatrics designed to scare him, he steers his face back to the front of him, looking to get his eyes away from her face, to just then catch the small elf landing on the floor, dead. Caught completely off guard by the sight, he whips his head back to her again, his breaths coming in and leaving him rapidly.

'Oh, look, more drama from me,' she tells him with another one of her horrid smiles. 'Now you owe me, Snape. Thanks to me, you no longer have to concern yourself with that creature or any precious beloved thing that you might have left at the school.'

Still reeling from the shock of seeing Lefa drop dead, disgusted now with her touching him, he tries to push away from her hold, but she refuses to release him, keeping her hold firm. She instead manoeuvres her wand hand to meet and deposit her wand into the other hand before putting his covered neck into a light chokehold. She has him in no position too difficult to move from, however, he won't fight her anymore. As she wants, he will let her have her time with him. After all, he is to be sent around as people please tonight.

'Mmmmm,' she seems to rejoice. 'I hate you, Snape. Your very existence repulses me,' she whispers, maybe needing to sound seductive, he doesn't know. 'You stole glory that wasn't yours to have. You slithered your way into a position with the Dark Lord that you do not deserve, and for that, whatever of yours I find, I will destroy.'

She then leans over and plants a kiss, a dry, chaste thing on his cheek. And then another one just below his ear, his hair blown out of the way for her assault. To finish off, she bites down hard on his ear, cackling in there when he openly winces in surprise, only then to loosen her hold around him and step away from him.

'It was fun,' she laughs, and though her footsteps indicate her leaving him in peace at last, he remains rooted on the spot, looking at the dead elf before him as his heart begins to thud very hard, the result of being bombarded with unimaginable gloom.

Bellatrix and her poison kisses, he doesn't care a thing about, she could never frighten him enough to get him on proper edge. His care, the thing that's sinking into his skin is the idea of having going back to Hogwarts and be confronted by her presence as the headmaster. Not only will he have to admit to her that he did kill Albus, he'll also have to look her in the eyes and tell her that her elf died. That picture and only that one, fills him with such frightening sadness that he could break down right where he stands.