Chapter 10

"If you remember me, then I don't care if everyone else forgets." - Haruki Murakami

Selflessness, Bex had realized from an unusually early age, was not an innate human quality; it was a distinguishing trait that had to be practiced with intention, and often. It was something that required an immense amount of nurturing and encouragement, regardless of their species' pre-existing prosocial behavior.

At age three, and in all the unfiltered, brutal honesty of a toddler, she'd foretold the way in which her mother would die many years later. The revelation understandably shook Aurelia to her core, having had her own fate delivered as casually as if she was learning the weather for the following day. Bex recalled every excruciating moment of that night – how cheerful her mother had been just before tucking her into bed; how Aurelia's entire disposition changed when her daughter shared what she'd Seen. The result of uncontrolled magic – she recalled noticing the smallest prick on her mother's finger, possibly from their rosebushes, she'd thought – she'd reached out, intending to give the injury a kiss in the same way her father had done many times to her, but before she could bring her mother's hand close, the prick was healed. Unintentionally. But healed nonetheless. Suddenly armed with information she would've rather not known, Aurelia's face had soured – fear, disgust, and furyfighting for their rightful place.

And then, she'd left. To be replaced by caregivers and governesses. And then, eventually, Mahoutokoro. Keeping her distance both physically and emotionally, at the cost of her daughter learning that humans were perhaps inherently more selfish than they liked to think themselves.

This belief, well into her teenage years, was what eventually drove her to take an interest in an internship at Erinlẹ's, a hospital as equally committed to service as it was to upholding the Elementals as sacred magical forms. It was named for the orisha, Erinlẹ, an androgynous deity of health and medicine; they were a fierce hunter, and loved just as hard. Upon deification, they became a river by choice to appease the thirst of the Yoruba people, who were suffering the effects of a terrible draught. That singular act of service to humanity had gone down in history, with Erinlẹ being hailed a river god and going on to have hospitals around the globe named after them – Muggle and magic alike.

Bex learned more about altruism during her intern years at Erinlẹ's than she had at any other point in her life up until then. The incident with her mother should have traumatized her into never again using her healing ability, but it had simply been another foundational stepping stone onto which she'd built realistic expectations of people. Acknowledging humans for the flawed species they were helped shape Bex's selflessness in a way that was rare and authentic. Which, in turn, allowed her to be one of the best resident mediwitches Erinlẹ's had ever received.

She stretched like a cat in her tub at Hogwarts, relishing in the feel of hot water on her aching muscles. Tense from watching children dodge the flaming jaws of multiple breeds of dragons, Bex sank lower beneath the water. Two kids out of four had sustained severe burns, and Potter was slashed by one of the spikes on his dragon as it attempted to attack him. Fortunately, all of their wounds were minor compared to the kind of injuries she was used to healing, and she had them all patched up by suppertime. Another instance where Occlusion was beneficial, as she'd wanted to rage at anyone who would listen about just how unethical these games are.

Potter had seemed more relieved to be alive than ecstatic to be ranked in third. She recalled how shaken he'd been as she used cooling waters from the River of Erinlẹ to treat the worst of his cuts.

"I didn't put my name in the cup," he'd said, after watching her work for a long while. Possibly mistaking her anger towards the tournament as irritability towards him.

She'd softened her face considerably, further dissociating from and compartmentalizing the emotions that were obviously interfering with the care of her patient.

"I believe you, Harry," she'd said, compounding his relief.

"You and maybe two others," he sighed.

She placed a light hand on his thin shoulder. "It might be more than you think, hon. Here – take this potion for any lingering pain. I'm going to monitor you for the next hour, alright? That cut on your side was pretty deep."

"Yeah," he smiled, taking the potion without any hesitancy. "Thanks, Healer Kakudō."

Bex massaged an almond milk conditioner into her thick curls, ensuring each strand was coated, and trying to perhaps physically rub her anxieties away. Her mind eventually wandered to Severus, as it often did these days. For someone who supposedly cared about Potter, like her aunt proclaimed, the man had been rather indifferent to whether he lived or died by Hungarian Horntail. He'd sneered down his nose at Harry as the boy victoriously held up the dragon's egg. Just when Bex thought she sort of had Severus somewhat figured out, he added yet another layer of complexity that left her confused and shooting in the dark.

It was like Rowan said – the Potions Master embodied the meaning of "never let them know your next move". Highlighted by the fact he'd essentially shared his status as Dumbledore's spy several days ago. The situation was surreal in that nothing had changed between them that night, and yet… everything had changed. It was a defining point in their relationship and in their continued interactions, something that could never be taken back – the true beginning of a tentative friendship.

Exchanging secrets has the habit of forming close bonds.

Bex rinsed her hair and her body, and stepped out of the luxurious bath to towel off. She had about twenty minutes left to herself before she had to relieve Adam and Claudia from the Hospital Wing; it was nearing curfew and she wanted to give them both ample time to get back to their common rooms. Next Saturday was the first Hogsmeade weekend for the students, and while she applied her moisturizer, Bex considered whether she might begin shopping for Christmas gifts now rather than wait until the last minute as she usually did. After all, the list of people she had to shop for had lengthened a significant amount.

The Hospital Wing was just as she'd left it forty-five minutes ago; Claudia and Adam were hunched together on one of the infirmary beds, completing their Transfiguration homework while Henry Vaisey, a fifth year, sat in his own bed looking quite bored. The poor Slytherin had leeks growing out of his ears, and wasn't fessing up how they'd gotten there, although Bex could venture a few guesses based on his sullen attitude.

"Have a goodnight, you two," she called after her young apprentices. "Get some rest."

She turned to her only patient left. "How are we feeling, Henry?"

"Well, considering I am the only one afflicted by this brainless, juvenile jinx, I am feeling quite annoyed by your use of the word 'we'."

Before Bex had a chance to match his snark with the same energy, the infirmary door creaked open. A little third year came shuffling in, looking quite red in the face and glistening with sweat.

"H-hello? Madam Kakudō? I don't feel too well."

"Here, hon. Oh, you poor thing – looks like you've been hit with that nasty bug going around in Ravenclaw Tower." She was preparing to set the boy up on a cot across from Vaisey when she noticed a shift in the Slytherin's posture.

"Is there something wrong, Mr. Vaisey? Beyond your current condition, of course."

He grumbled, wrinkling his nose and shooting a glare behind her. "Would you please move him further down the Wing? I don't want his germs reaching me from over there."

"I can hear you, you know, arsehole?" the Ravenclaw asserted, annoyance come through his voice despite the congestion and stuffy nose.

"I wasn't trying to be quiet, mudblood!"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

Bex's magic cracked around her in fury, stunning both boys into silence. She snatched the curtain in front of Vaisey's bed so that his view of the aggrieved Ravenclaw was blocked. She then tended to the younger boy – whose name, she found out, was Bryson – giving him a PepperUp potion and sending him on his way with compassionate words of comfort. Once he was safely out of earshot, the matron spun on her other patient, pulling his curtain aside with a snap. Vaisey shrunk back a bit in his infirmary bed, clearly wary of her next move. He actually looked a little pathetic, petulance written on his face even as root vegetables grew from his ears.

"I'm going to be very clear with you, Vaisey," said Bex, dropping the use of his first name. "And I will only tell you this once. There is no place for bigotry in my Hospital Wing. I treat you with the same respect that I expect you to then show myself and your peers. Am I understood?"

He sneered a bit and grumbled a noncommittal response.

They stared at each other for a long moment, neither one backing down. Suddenly, Bex asked a question that made him recoil in shock.

"Does the color of my skin bother you?"

"What?!" He blinked hard, as though that could erase the words she'd uttered. "No, madam! Not in the least!"

"Well, why not? I'm obviously black – and you're obviously white. Why wouldn't that bother you if you're so willing to discount a fellow student for their blood status?"

"It-It's different!" he insisted. "Blood purity is different!"

"In what way?"

"They don't deserve to have magic. They shouldn't even exist!"

"Many would argue that I also do not have the right to exist because of my skin – because of who my mother was. All around the world, people who look like me have been killed for it, in fact."

All arguments left his body in one breath, his eyes looking down to the bed linens as if they had all the answers he'd yet to be given. In spite of the weight their topic of conversation carried, the ensuing silence was not uncomfortable – it was thoughtful. Reflective.

"I… I had not considered that perspective," he whispered slowly after some time. He would not look at her.

Bex just stared down at the boy, something like pity and anguish mixing in her belly like a sour cocktail. "It's all the same, Henry, or… at the very least, it all comes from a very similar place of hatred. I implore you to think about that further… while you're scrubbing bed pans here in the infirmary. As soon as you've recovered, of course."

RK + SS

True to her word, Rebecca had Vaisey come into the Hospital Wing for the next three nights in a row to scrub piss-soaked bed pans without the use of magic. Severus relished the punishment; for once, not having been the one to dole it out. Rebecca had not seen fit to take points from the idiot boy, but it was no matter – he did it gladly, and left it up to Vaisey to tell the other members of his House why they were down one hundred points when the term had barely just begun. His snakes knew their Head of House did not tolerate the word that had to carelessly fallen from their peer's mouth. They were allowed, by him, to make all the crude remarks they wanted about blood status, and he would turn a blind eye.

But they were not to use that word. Ever.

It was Saturday, and horribly overcast; torrents of rain were expected to flood the hillsides over the next few hours, and still, students flocked to Hogsmeade in their little cliques. Severus watched them leave from the enormous ocular window in the restricted section of the library. He frowned – Potter and Granger were linked arm-in-arm with Weasley as they plodded down the main path. It would seem the Golden Trio was reunited once more, following Potter's harrowing, near-death experience with a supremely miffed Hungarian Horntail. They all acted as though Weasley hadn't iced Potter out at all.

With a sneer, Severus turned away from the window, cloak whirling around him like the wings of a giant bat. Contrary to Dumbledore's belief, as long as the brat was not mingling with Death Eater spawn, Potter's social life was inconsequential. In Severus' mind, there were more pressing things to worry himself with… like how life after thirty-five looked for most Vītālinare, who often utilized more intricate forms of Occlumency to channel the visions they were plagued with deep into their subconscious.

Of course, even the Restricted Section had its limits to what was available on such topics… given that it was still accessible to certain students. Severus found nothing beyond a basic definition of the Vītālinare and other rudimentary information that he was already privy to. He thumbed through a thick tome titled The Social Transformation of Muggle Medicine: A Holistic Approach with a Historical Perspective. Again, the book offered little more than a cursory glance at what it dubbed "the original Healers". The text read:

"Panckarma (Pancha = Five and Karma = Action), arguably one of the most powerful ways to eliminate deep-seated toxins from the body, alongside bezoar, is a treatment program for the body, mind, and consciousness. If the sufferer's body remains sufficiently strong enough to undergo the intensive therapeutic cleansing and healing, original Healers may consider this detoxification program as a way to eliminate accumulated magical impurities from the mind-body-spirit physiology. Mediwitch care in regions like West India have adapted the alternative Muggle medicine system in combination with runic spellcasting to provide reductions in pain across multiple curses and magical ailments."

Frustrated with the lack of answers, Severus snapped the book shut with a sharp sigh. Any further research would have to be done when he could spare some time to go off campus to Spinner's End. Or Knockturn Alley. Such a trip would end up falling closer to Boxing Day than he would have liked. Spy status aside, Severus was an incredibly impatient man. He couldn't imagine waiting to find out whether Rebecca would soon go mad and lose her brilliant, precious mind to constant Occlusion and horrific visions. Not that he cared. She would likely be long gone from his life by then.

Still, as they resumed their usual routine of brewing in the Potions classroom later that same evening, Severus couldn't help but wither at the thought of a world without Rebecca Kakudō – even if he was not necessarily part of it.

"Sickle for your thoughts?"

Her soft voice carried over the bubbling of their cauldrons, and snapped him back to the present. He paused his stirring (only when it was safe to do so), his heart making a nuisance of itself as it jittered in his chest. He did not want to look at her. Looking at her often resulted in revealing secrets and parts of himself he would rather keep concealed. A disastrous effect, indeed. So, instead of glancing up from the Blood Replenisher he was brewing for the infirmary, he merely murmured something unintelligible into his cauldron. Immediately, he knew this would not satisfy her. Not after the confessions they'd made to each other days before.

"Severus."

How she did that, he would never know. Her voice was the perfect balance of gentle and commanding, patient and tenacious. It grasped him by his face and forced him to look at her, dark hair falling falling back so that his eyes weren't obscured.

"We've been working for over two hours, and you've barely said a word," she continued. Obviously, she'd been studying him just as long as he was her. "Please, share. We're all dying to know what's on your mind."

He quirked a brow at her antics, noting the empty classroom. "We?"

"Well… mostly me."

"Mostly?"

She rolled her eyes cheekily. "Are you planning to do this all night?"

"That would depend. Will you continue badgering a man to reveal his innermost thoughts all night?"

"…perhaps."

Loathe as he was to admit it, he thoroughly enjoyed their banter. There was an undercurrent of… something that wasn't there when he went at it with Minerva. He and Rebecca could go back and forth in this way for awhile, hardly missing a beat. It led him to believe that had she attended Hogwarts, she may have been sorted Ravenclaw. Possibly even Slytherin, based on her mixture of self-reliance and resourcefulness.

"I'm thinking…" he began, trying to sort out his thoughts so he didn't reveal anything too damning. "What are the after effects of your… ability?"

She froze, but only for a moment.

"My Sight?"

"Precisely."

Puffing her cheeks, Rebecca blew out a breath. "Over there thinking about me then, eh?"

He shrugged one shoulder, as though it was the most nonchalant thing in the world.

"Um, well… when I was little, they were almost crippling in their intensity. Because I wasn't able to fend them off – that is, send them to my subconscious as they came. It was… almost similar to how some Seers experience their prophecies, except more… destructive."

She was quiet for a long while, but he knew, intuitively, that she wasn't done. So, he waited, and was then rewarded for his patience when she spoke again. Quieter now.

"After I arrived at Mahoutokoro, a mentor pulled me aside. He'd seen how I was just barely managing to hold it all together without crumbling. But… I think he also noticed my potential – what I could become if I gained some kind of control over my ability and the resulting side effects. So." She did a little hair flip, and Severus recognized it as a nervous gesture. "He taught me Occlumency. And, ever since, I've been able to block the worst of them while I'm conscious."

He was silent for a moment, considering the fact she'd been an Occlumens already for at least the past decade, if his quick math was correct.

"And… you have a vision for every person you've healed?"

"Yes."

Another stretch of silence, the bubbling of their respective brews bouncing off of the hallowed dungeon walls. He took her in with one measured gaze, this small slip of a witch who'd given so much of herself to others so undeserving, the evidence of which was buried in her soul. Hidden behind her eyes. He wanted to reach across their shared workbench and stroke a dampened curl away from her cheek; but the sudden urge terrified him, so he compartmentalized, keeping his face neutral. She was the one who now appeared lost in thought.

"Do your visions often repeat themselves?" he asked, snapping her out of it.

"Sometimes," she answered lightly. "Certain ones."

"The more traumatic ones, I presume?" His attempt at a joke, though in hindsight, it wasn't one of his more humorous moments.

She smiled sadly. "That would be correct." He thought she may elaborate more, offer additional information, but he remained disappointed.

"Are you also chaperoning the Yule Ball?"

"Unfortunately," he drawled, but refused to let her redirect the conversation, as she did on occasion when she grew uncomfortable. "I too have studied the subtle art of Occlumency. And Legilimancy. If you should so ever be out of practice…"

At this, she gave another of her classic snorts – a quality he'd actually grown rather fond of, because it was not part of a carefully constructed image.

"Nice try, Severus. I'm not letting you in my head."

"I was under the impression that I already reside there?"

"Only on Tuesdays, you do."

RK + SS

As per usual, Bex had saved the hardest person to shop for up until nearly the very last minute. Consequently, she had to contend with a mass of teenagers in Hogsmeade, who rushed to complete their own Christmas shopping; this included gathering new dress robes and various accessories for the Yule Ball. Bex almost felt like she was going to be sick amid the sea of dazzling Christmas lights and bright flashes of color.

To avoid the worst of the hustle and bustle, she ducked into the nearest shoppe off High Street, and let out a breath of pure relief.

"Absolutely mad out there, isn't it?" the shopkeeper laughed.

"Absolutely," Bex huffed, removing her hat and gloves as she took a peek around. It seemed to be some sort of stationary store, with all kinds of odds and ends. Chocolate frogs, Quidditch collectible cards, and wizarding games like Exploding Snap lined the shelves. Ironically, it was just the sort of shoppe she was looking for.

"You must be the new matron up at Hogwarts," she shopkeeper continued as she browsed. "Rachel? Rhiannon?"

"Rebecca. You can call me Bex, Mister…?"

"Mulligan. Cam Mulligan of Mulligans' Quill and Ink, and I must say… I'm happy to have you here. You seem a good fit for the school. For the kids. Based on all the gossip 'round here."

Bex laughed, the sound carrying over the shelves of books and journals she was going through. She replied with how happy she was to be here, and then grew quiet as she rifled through the selection of enchanted items. One journal played objectively terrible melodies while another penned the author's thoughts as they came, completely unfiltered.

Why is this sonofabitch so hard to shop for?

"Having troubles looking for a gift, dear?"

Cam appeared at her shoulder. The shopkeeper was short and stocky with friendly blue eyes, small ears, and neat eyebrows. He had fuzzy black hair, the texture of which reminded her of Rowan's tight curls. Instead of robes, Cam wore a Muggle tweed suit, complete with a jacket. He smiled at her kindly.

"Actually, yes," admitted Bex, realizing she was perhaps a bit out of her depth. "I'm shopping for a wizard with a massive book collection already, so I don't want to get him another…"

"Lest he have it already," Cam murmured with a thoughtful nod.

"Exactly. He's a quiet man, and he likes to keep to himself. He also has a penchant for brewing."

"Aha." The shopkeeper grinned knowingly. "Would this young lad happen to teach up at the school?"

Again, Bex laughed. "So he's made a bit of a name for himself around here then?"

"Ah, I've known Severus Snape since he was a boy at Hogwarts himself. Always a sullen one, he is."

"He has his moments," said Bex, thinking about the times he allowed his mask to fall in front of her. She'd yet to see or make him smile, to her knowledge, but she knew there was more to the man beyond his frosty exterior. The sincerest apology she'd ever received to date had stumbled from his lips in a desperate attempt to save their… camaraderie.

"Well then!" Cam said, clapping his hands together. At the motion, several items came flying towards them. "You're right to steer clear of my books – Severus likely already has the entire collection. Here – take a look at these."

Out of the air, Bex plucked a little sphere about the size of a Remembrall; it worked like a calendar and organizer, filling itself in when the owner committed to an engagement, and reminding them when an event was upcoming. As nifty as the enchanted item was, Bex couldn't imagine Severus had much to fill in his social calendar. So she moved onto the next floating object – a Potions journal. She flipped through the pages of the leather bound book. The journal appeared to be for more advanced potioneers, complete with moon phase diagrams, astrological charts, and other detailed illustrations. Everything from the periodic table to simple runic translations was included – almost all the reference materials a Potions Master could need was buried in the appendices of this journal.

"A fine choice," Cam applauded her. Seeing her satisfaction with the journal, he sent the remaining items – including another Dicta-Quill – back to their homes.

"Yeah, I think he'll appreciate this," the Healer replied, touching her fingers to one of the moving illustrations of a bubbling cauldron. She browsed Mulligans' for awhile after selecting Severus' gift, choosing a few more things for herself and for the two closest people in her life.

Five Galleons poorer – though money was inconsequential, given her inheritance – Bex juggled her bags a bit to get out the door. She thought maybe she should've taken Cam up on his offer to shrink her purchases for easier transport. The crowd certainly hadn't gone anywhere, and she was about to shrink the shopping bags herself when she bumped into someone… literally and figuratively.

"Oh! I'm so, so sorry!"

"No, the fault is entirely my own. I'm afraid I wasn't paying attention."

"Healer Kakudō!"

"Oh, hello, Harry! Hermione, Ron!

The trio had nothing but grins for their matron, Harry quickly introducing her to the wizard she'd bumped into as his uncle. Bex could see the signs of lycanthropy just as clearly as Severus could see past her glamours. Despite his rough and shoddy appearance, he seemed gentle. Kind. With highly intelligent eyes the shade of moss.

"It's very nice to meet you at last, Mr. Lupin," Bex said with a smile of her own. "I've heard many great things about you… and not just from this lot here."

They all shared a laugh, and Bex once again felt the comfort of home squeezing in on her from all sides. Even amidst the cacophony of the Christmas crowd, a warmth that began in her heart spread to all parts of her body. It was with startling clarity that she realized she'd never experienced the spirit of the holiday quite like this before.

"Please," said the former professor, "call me Remus. I'm perhaps twenty or so years away from being Mr. Lupin."

"Well, it was very nice to meet you… Remus." She'd shrunk her gifts down to miniature size, tucking the now tiny bags in a pocket on her cloak. "Do try your best to keep these three out of trouble."

"No guarantees," he chuckled, to the indignation of the teenagers in question. She waved goodbye, and Remus watched the Healer disappear into the swell of people, already captivated by her.

RK + SS

For the past two weeks, Rebecca had been spending more and more time off school grounds. Initially, Severus thought she may be avoiding him, for some reason that remained unknown, but Minerva (ever the informant) reassured him that the Healer was simply picking up some days at Erinlẹ's prior to the holidays. She would apparently be working more full-time hours there while the students were away, and Severus was struggling to decide how he should feel about her continued absence. He'd grown evermore accustomed to their rendezvous in the dungeons, not only for the engaging discussion – the witch had a quick wit and a sharp tongue – but also for the long stretches of silence that would indicate complete concentration in their individual task. He'd glance up from his marking to see her bent over a cauldron, biting down on her lip as she paid attention to the subtle changes in her potion. He would notice that she'd always hold her breath when counting stirs – only when she counted counter-clockwise, though; she never held it when counting clockwise stirs. She'd also hum softly under her breath when dicing ingredients. A curious little thing, indeed.

He especially liked it when they both spared a moment to break for refreshments. Tilli was always there to provide them with tea and chocolate biscuits, which they enjoyed at his desk. It offered him a chance to be nearer to her; she smelled soothingly like patchouli, mixed with the subtle scent of the lavender from her research. He would be lying if he said he didn't take advantage of his obscenely large nasal passages on the days she asked to read – laugh, really – over his students' essays. He could simply sit there and breathe in the scent of her without the musty smell of the Potions classroom interfering. Severus had even gone so far as putting aside a pile of particularly atrocious pieces for her to read through, just to maybe… stretch.. their time sitting beside one another. She often read his commentary aloud through fits of uncontrollable giggles – her impression of him was improving, but a career in acting was not in her immediate future.

At the bell, Severus dismissed his last class of the day. He was eager to be rid of them so he could shift his focus to more important matters.

"Three feet on the anti-inflammatory properties of powdered bicorn horn, and provide no less than five examples of how this ingredient has been shown to ease discomfort. Due on Monday."

"But, sir! The holidays start next week! And the ball –!"

"Make that five feetand an additional two examples."

Students groaned, shuffling out the door of the Potions room before their professor could assign them even more homework before Christmas. He watched them go, considering how he might approach Rebecca to ask that she join him in afternoon tea. He knew how hard she must be working between her responsibilities at Hogwarts and at the hospital; it was easy for her to forget to eat, he'd realized. She was much like him in that regard, and they'd gradually begun holding each other accountable for nourishing their stomachs.

Severus rushed through the draft of a lesson plan for his N.E.W.T. students next term. If there was one thing he loathed – and he loathed many things – it was a poorly thought-out lesson plan. Getting a jump well before the holidays always ensured a smooth transition when the buffoons returned from their little vacations in the Maldives or wherever.

After finishing, he cleared his desk and quickly locked up the classroom; his mind nagging him to place extra security wards to prevent more theft of ingredients. He decided to bring with him a resupply of potions that he knew the infirmary was low on, just so it wasn't completely obvious to her… and others.. what he was doing. A bubblewrap charm secured the bottles and vials in place on the trip from the dungeons up to the Hospital Wing.

As he approached, Severus heard the distinct endless drum reverb and tensely plodding bass of The Cure coming from Rebecca's record player. The welcome, familiar sounds resonated in his chest; his feet carried him faster, palms slightly clammy around the box of healing potions. And then, he came to a rigid halt when laughter echoed over the music. Not her own, no. That was a wizard's laugh, one who was full grown.

Needlessly muffling his footsteps, Severus drew closer to the infirmary doors, which were currently wide open and not closed for student privacy like usual. He recognized the wizard's laugh, but had a difficult time placing it, and his eyes narrowed as he came to a slow halt in the shadows, just out of view. It wasn't until he spoke that Severus was able to put a face to the voice and the laugh – this was the same wizard Severus recalled seeing with Rebecca at the Three Broomsticks. She'd called him… Rome? No.. Rowan. Definitely Rowan – she'd mentioned him in passing just a handful of times.

Severus' jaw tightened in annoyance. Was he the true reason why she'd been so unavailable recently? So busy entertaining others, that she hadn't put a single thought to her research in the past fortnight? Her own laugh met his ears sharply, making his stomach curdle in the most unpleasant way imaginable.

Pull yourself together.

Turning silently on his heel, Severus made his way back to the dungeons before any students – or, worse yet, staff – could catch him balking outside the Hospital Wing. All the way down, he wrestled a savage little green monster back into its cage, finding himself exhausted even as the devil conceded.

He was not sure how long he could continue putting up this fight.

Severus' exhaustion carried over for what felt like years (when, really, it was just shy of a week). Currently five days until the Yule Ball, most of the youngest delinquents had returned home for Christmas hols, and he felt like he could breathe, at last. Now free to come and go from campus as he pleased, he made himself as unavailable as he possibly could at Hogwarts. Which included waking every morning, taking breakfast in his private sitting room, then fucking off to either London or Spinner's End… where he would sit in discomfort until inevitably going back to Hogwarts. He didn't even wander into the Potions classroom around the midnight hour to see if a certain Healer was using the space to brew and conduct her research. And he especially avoided his private office at all cost; it was far too accessible.
Having lived over two decades within these walls, Severus was particularly gifted in seeking out all of the various nooks and crannies of the castle where he wasn't likely to be disturbed, even in early afternoon hours. It seemed like everywhere he looked, there was a student – so unusual for Christmas hols, it made a nerve thrum in the back of his head.

As was typical when he needed a break from the dreariness of the dungeons, Severus found solace in Hogwarts' own secret garden; the garden, unknown to most students, was accessed via an arcade behind a bookshelf near office for the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Different varieties of plants grew in this garden – all… mostly harmless – ranging from magical to mundane.

A yew tree, about seventeen metres tall, stood proudly at the center of the garden. Underneath the shade provided by the tall tree, a stone bench. Because he wasn't actually outside, but in a room enchanted to look and feel like the outdoors, Severus did not have to battle with snow and ice. In fact, it was pleasantly warm – the exclusive little ecosystem teeming with life. Herbaceous plants pushed through soft soil, nettles and primrose watching afar from more shaded corners, alongside deadly foxglove and poison hemlock.

He breathed it all in, taking his usual seat on the bench, back pressed against the hard wood of the tree. The yew embraced him, as it had when he was a child, and he sighed wearily. He allowed the ancient magic of the garden to knead his worries until they were somewhat more palatable. Still, he refused to give into the compulsive desire that told him to roll up his sleeve and check the status of the Dark Mark on his forearm. He lolled his head to the side, peering in the direction of the Hospital Tower. He wondered if she was there, or if she was attending to more severe matters at Erinlẹ's – regardless, he would be seeing her at the ball, as all staff was required to chaperone… much to his distaste. His mind lingered on her for a moment, compulsively wondering how she was doing. Not that he cared all that much – his envy towards the wizard who was so… familiar with her was palpable, even days later.

Be that as it may, he couldn't help but ponder whether she'd appreciate the gift he'd so painstakingly sought out for her.

Instead of succumbing to more of his wandering thoughts, Severus sat up a bit straighter and spent the next two hours meditating and compartmentalizing; an organized mind was a fortified mind. Upon completion, he felt only slightly more refreshed, and chased any tenuous feelings down with the bottle of All-Nutrition in his front pocket.

RK + SS

Much to Severus' disappointment, a giant meteor did not descend upon Earth and take them all out before the clock struck eight on Christmas Day. The doors to the Great Hall were thrown wide open, and the champions, along with their dancing partners, filed in from the Entrance Hall. He applauded on entry of the champions, keeping his face exceptionally dark in case Potter got the wrong idea and assumed he was clapping for him. The prat had gone and gotten himself a set of expensive-looking dress robes that would make even Draco jealous. Severus bit back a sneer and glanced again at the top table, where Karkaroff and the other judges were waiting – the Durmstrang headmaster certainly wasn't hiding the abhorrence on his own face. Severus' brow quirked only slightly, wondering what was amiss, before his expression darkened to match that of the swine sitting in front of him. He thought of cursing the headmaster, who glowered as Krum dipped a laughing, breathless Miss Granger; he then spent the rest of the champions' dance reigning in his bloodlust. Karkaroff was a coward – there was no way he'd lay a finger on a student… a Hogwarts student, anyhow. And he certainly wouldn't dare to try anything under this roof with Dumbledore nearby. Krum was not phased in the least by his headmaster's disapproving glare as the champions took their seat at the top table. Potter seemed a tad… distressed to be sitting next to Percy Weasley, a stand-in for Barty Crouch.

All through supper – their choice of soups, stews, and various mince pies – and up until Dumbledore commenced the dancing portion of the evening, Severus' eyes scanned the Great Hall. Where was she? Surely she would show, given it was a compulsory activity. Right? His frown deepened, for the champions and their partners were taking to the center of the room for the first dance, and Rebecca was still nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, his heart began slamming in his chest, his mouth going almost entirely dry. Perhaps she was avoiding him after all – and why wouldn't she? He felt very foolish now, having taken all that time trying to find the perfect gift for her when she didn't even want to see him on Christmas Day.

He'd had a plan. Ask her for a dance when it seemed like things were wrapping up and the twits were all mostly tucked away in bed. Whether she accepted or declined his offer would alert him to her level of reception to the gift that was shrunken and stowed away in his front pocket. If she accepted, he would then take her to the small grotto outside that was done up in fairy lights and rosebushes; it would give them more privacy in his exchange. Actually handing her the gift with a face of searing neutrality was the final step of his plan.

Of course, all of this hinged on her showing up in the first place.

Not quite able to exactly relax and enjoy the Twisted Sisters due to the perpetually growing knot of self-loathing in his stomach, Severus retreated to the shadows amid gyrating teenagers. His eyes narrowed, expecting his Slytherins to show some decorum and remain conservative in their dancing – he wanted no pregnancy scares. He deserved just one year without a pregnancy scare, dammit.

As anticipated, they behaved remarkably compared to their peers. Good. He'd threatened their instructors – his prefects – with two months' detention under Hagrid's supervision should any little snakes embarrass him at this festivity. They all seemed to retain the message well. Satisfied with their conduct, but also disappointed that Rebecca would clearly not be in attendance tonight, Severus disappeared through the doors that led to the Entrance Hall. A few students were there, including some from Beauxbatons, who presumably arrived via invite. He ignored them and continued outside onto the snowy grounds.

The portion of lawn that made up the grotto was already dotted with children. Severus' lip curled in irritation – why couldn't the brats just stay inside and enjoy the entertainment put on for them without sneaking off to a romantic tryst? The same self-loathing that sat curdling in his stomach spurred him into action; no teenager nor rosebush was safe from the wrath of his wand. Little fairies hidden amongst the shrubbery made reproachful noises at him for destroying their hard work, to which he muttered a tight "bugger off". He knew he would pay for it later, when he needed a favor from the colony in the Forbidden Forest. Right now, he could not bring himself to care too much.

Just when his night couldn't go more sour, Severus spotted Karkaroff approaching in his peripheral vision. The professor swallowed his groan and pretended not to notice, blasting apart another rosebush to reveal two snogging Hufflepuffs.

"Ten points from Hufflepuff, for each of you," he snapped. "Get out of my sight."

They scurried off just as Karkaroff came up behind him and laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. Severus squashed the urge to flinch, showing not an ounce of weakness.

"Severus, my friend – we much speak."

Severus grit his teeth and turned. Tonight. Of all nights, the smarmy bastard wanted to have this conversation tonight.

"Igor," he deadpanned. "A pleasure, as always. I trust you've been enjoying your stay."

The little roach trailed after him, and Severus grew increasingly hot-tempered. "You know very well that I have not been, Severus," he said in a hushed whisper that wasn't even discreet. "Please – have you even looked?"

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're referring to."

"Are you not terrified?" Karkaroff hissed. The same crazed look that he wore earlier in the term returned. Severus realized he was chomping at the bit, and wanted just any excuse to do the spineless thing.

"Of?" The Potion Master's keen senses caught the adolescent magic oozing from one of the Beauxbatons carriages parked nearby. Two more couples were… intercepted as he marched over, the damnable coward following close behind. "You should go back inside," Severus continued. "Get a drink. There is nothing worth fussing over tonight, Igor."

Karkaroff's blue eyes grew ever more frenzied when his fears were not validated. Truthfully, it gave Severus no small amount of sick enjoyment to see the man squirm upon being gaslit.

"Severus, you cannot pretend this isn't happening! It's been getting clearer and clearer for months, I –"

"Then flee," Severus hissed, his last nerve hanging on by a tenuous thread. He'd give the pathetic, gutless headmaster an out, but that was all he'd offer. "Flee – I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts."

A shock of red hair on the path ahead alerted him to the approaching Weasley brat (and therefore, Potter as the two were practically joined at the hip). He had to be extra cautious with his words, lest they overhear something they should not. Rarely had his wishes been granted, if ever, but he wished with all of his blackened heart that Karkaroff would just fuck off.

"Ten points from Ravenclaw, Fawcett! And ten points from Hufflepuff too, Stebbins!" Ripped rose petals fell from the mangled bush, which magically reconstructed itself, though not nearly as charming as it had been decorated before it was blown to bits. Severus turned his murderous glare upon some of his least liked students, barking out, "And what are you two doing?"

Weasley gave him some lip, while Potter stayed suspiciously silent. Perhaps ashamed of his disastrous performance in the Great Hall with Miss Patil? It mattered not – Severus was fortunate to be rid of the Gryffindors rather quickly.

And now he had only to deal with Karkaroff.

The man's life was forfeit, and he knew it. Miserable idiot just didn't want to accept it.

"Flee?" Karkaroff's eyes shifted back and forth through the small grotto, over the carriages, ensuring they were alone once more. "S-Severus, you do not think that I would flee, do you?"

At this, Severus stopped short in his tracks. The worst liars were often the ones who told lies to themselves; he knew this intimately, having long studied and scrutinized the art of lying. Subterfuge.

"I do," he said softly without breaking eye contact. Karkaroff's expression was stunned, and Severus quickly took advantage of the quiet interlude by turning his back on the Bulgarian. "Go inside and enjoy the party, Igor. I'm on duty right now."

It was a clear dismissal – and an effective one. Karkaroff's heavy boots crunched in the snow as he tramped past Severus back into Hogwarts, winter dress robes whipping around him furiously.

Severus could have sighed with relief. Instead, he blasted apart another rosebush. It was two hours until midnight, when most of the teenage delinquency would cease for the evening, as Hogwarts students would be required to retire to their respective dormitories; the visiting students would, of course, depart for their own accommodations. He could hardly wait. A cold, stiff drink was calling out to him. The entire evening had been a wash, and, as Rebecca's gift burned hot in his pocket, Severus was more convinced than ever that she was avoiding him. Why? Again, he didn't – did not – care. He was disgusted with himself, for letting the little witch weasel and worm her way past his defenses – acting as though she cared all the way up until she did not.

And it wasn't as though he didn't have other worries to concern himself with. Karkaroff was correct – the Mark was growing clearer each and every day now, muddied details sharpening into focus. Severus swore he felt it spasm in his sleep just the other night. Yet another indication that the Dark Lord was slowly but surely gathering his strength in the shadows. Dumbledore had told him to prepare himself to be Summoned at any time, to the point where Severus was living with a perpetual ball of anxiety in his throat.

He was doomed to a life of misery, and he was an imbecile for allowing a woman to try and convince him of anything more.

Three more bushes fell to his wand; this time, he wasn't hoping to catch students and dock points. This was purely to let off steam. As the rose petals drifted to the cold ground like snow, he panted heavily in the aftermath, not feeling even a modicum better.

"Severus?"

Merlin.

He turned so slowly on the spot, jaw clenched in disbelief. When he saw her, his heart stuttered and he couldn't help that his mouth popped open slightly.

She… was beautiful.

The Healer had ditched her white mediwitch robes in favor of a deep violet evening gown that accentuated her figure… nicely. Hugging her curves in all the right places. Tiny, glittering stones were woven into the elegant, heart-shaped bodice. Her shoulders were exposed in the strapless gown, moonlight and the glow from the fairy lights dancing upon her soft, dark skin. His mouth went curiously vacant of saliva as onyx eyes traveled up the gentle slope of her neck to her hair, done in a complicated up-do with more gems and a tiny tiara. She looked like a princess – no, a queen – who'd just stepped out of a storybook. She was watching him with question in her clever eyes, full lips pulled into a frown as she looked down at the mess around him. He'd startled her with his outburst, clearly, and he found himself struggling to say something – ANYTHING!

"I was searching for you," she said gingerly, stepping closer to him with wary movements, as though he might attack her next. "Are you… alright?"

So many questions – concerns, compliments – presented themselves to him, and instead, like a fool, he blurted, "I thought you were avoiding me?" His tone was waspish. Hurt. If the Dark Lord appeared out of thin air to smite Severus down where he stood, he would happily stand in front of the wand wielding his demise.

Understanding replaced the confusion upon her lovely face. She scoffed, then chuckled a bit, shaking her head with something similar to disbelief.

"I was. But only because I can't keep gifts a surprise to save my life." She plucked one of the gems out of her curls and Transfigured it into what he assumed to be its original shape – a small, rectangular-shaped present with black wrapping.

"Happy Christmas, Severus," said Rebecca, handing it to him.

He forced his legs to move, slowly taking the gift. His gift. He looked down, hardly daring to believe it. Even the ribbon, tied so prettily, was black.

Cheeky.

She mistook his silent amazement for condemnation, likely fearing he was not convinced by her words.

"I swear I was only avoiding you because I didn't want to spoil it."

Before her pout could slip further into a frown, Severus rustled in his pockets for her gift, holding tight the little box she'd given him. Which blasted pocket had he stashed it in – ah.

In an impressive show of wandless and nonverbal magic, Severus enlarged her present in his palm and handed it over.

"Happy Christmas," he replied finally, dark eyes aglow. There was something in her smile and in the way her magic hummed around them that made his soul stir. The self-hating parts of him fought viciously against the growing attachment. There was no way they could both come out of this unscathed, and yet…

Stiff fingers tore at the black wrapping paper. She waited politely while he opened the present, revealing what looked to be… another journal?

He quirked a brow at her; surely she knew he already had dozens?

"Well, open it!"

Her excitement was palpable, and he could now see why she'd had to circumvent him as of late, if her intention was to await Christmas Day. She was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. He thought she might have even snatched it out of his hand and ripped it open for him, if it wasn't terrible manners. Though he could've kept her waiting there forever with that anticipatory sparkle in her eye, Severus decided to begrudgingly end her torture. He vanished the rest of the wrapping and noticed a flash of silver in the bottom right-hand corner – his initials, engraved. Oh. He opened it to the inside cover to find a quotation written in glittery green ink:

"Some venomous snakes, such as pit vipers, will track their envenomated prey long distances by tracing a molecular compound in their venom."

Of course, she'd penned it; he could tell it was her handwriting based on the small, neat, swoopy letters.

The Healer watched him closely, mirth sparkling in her golden eyes.

"I charmed it to tell you a new snake fact each day. Seemed fitting."

"How… charming, indeed." It was disgustingly cute, but damned it he wouldn't tune in everyday for the next year to learn some silly new fact. He was, after all, a master of knowledge, was he not?

The illustrations in the Potions journal were beautifully done and rich in detail. The first part contained dozens of recipes for lesser-known brews, some of which he'd not even heard of (loathe as he was to admit out loud), while the second half was blank – to be used for his own recipes, notes, and diagrams. His hands were already itching to grind something with mortar and pestle. He felt the flames of his creativity being stoked with tenderness by the witch before him.

"I… am not sure what to say," he said when he'd thumbed through the entire journal.

"People usually say thank you, I think."

It was not in his nature to express verbal gratitude, but… he found himself compromising in hopes she would continue looking at him the way she was now.

"Thank you, Rebecca. I cannot think of the last time I received such a… thoughtful gift." Never.

"You're welcome," she replied warmly, and then began to open her own. Severus tried not to fidget as she tore at the wrapping – brown with white ribbon – and gasped when she laid eyes on what was underneath. A peculiar combination of pride and relief ballooned in his chest.

"Oh, Severus, these are beautiful." She vanished the wrapping so she could take a closer look at the deep green mediwitch robes in all of their glory. They flashed smartly in the fairy lights.

"Self-sizing," he murmured a bit awkwardly. "And charmed to repel any bodily fluids that may, unfortunately, happen to land upon your person in your line of work."

At this, she threw her head back and laughed. Gods. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed the sound.

"Which actually happens a lot more than you'd expect. Particularly at a school where it seems every month is some sort of new stomach bug."

"I could have gone my entire life without knowing you're covered in sick more often than not."

"Join the club." She gazed down at the robes, feeling the soft velvety material and inspecting the delicate golden trim. He'd traveled to a small wizarding village a short distance from Magome, near Tokyo and Kyoto, to have the lavish robes made. There was no doubt she could tell, based on the quality of fabric, its region of origin.

"Thank you," whispered Rebecca, and folded the robes neatly over themselves.

"You are quite welcome," he answered, only a bit louder than she. He did not want this fragile moment to come to an end, so searched desperately for something he could say that would extend their time together.

"Where were you? At the start of the ball?"

She grinned in a sneaky sort of way.

"Truly, it was a combination of getting my hair to cooperate, and a group of sixth-year girls who'd charmed their corsets to be far too tight. The latter taking up most of my time, of course."

"Typical," he sneered, barely suppressing the roll of his eyes. Teenagers.

"I was actually here for awhile – I looked all over the Great Hall for you before realizing you might be out here sulking." She shivered a little and recast the warming charm she'd worn out into the cold Scotland night. In his state of apprehension, he hadn't once thought about how the winter air might be affecting her – particularly the exposed parts of her skin, like her shoulders and lower back.

"Let us return to the castle," he said unhurriedly, prepared to guide them back.

"In a moment. It's much calmer out here."

Severus considered her for only a minute, eyes sliding this way and that to ensure they were really alone. Frankly, he'd all but forgotten his chaperoning duties, but it seemed as though word had quickly traveled to steer clear of the fairy light grotto, as one Potions professor was in a right foul mood.

That may have been true up until, perhaps, ten minutes ago. Now, his mood had been uplifted. Now, with all of the students having migrated back inside, he and Rebecca were afforded total privacy. It was this very moment, or not at all.

"I… was going to ask you to dance."

She didn't even look at him in shock. No trace of disgust or hesitation. Instead, her face was adorned with a smile of complete affection.

"It's not too late, is it?"

"No. It is not."

Before Severus knew it, a radio was conjured, playing a mix of classical and soft holiday blues while they spun around the grotto in a small circle. It was like a scene out of his younger self's wildest dreams – though he always imagined the woman in his arms being.. Lily. The woman he held now, however, wasn't a picture frozen in time; Rebecca was here, and for some unfathomable reason, she liked him enough to rest her head on his chest as he turned them round. Here was this clever, incredibly talented Healer – Vītālinare – who saw in him what he refused to see in himself, who always seemed to somehow bring out the best in him… what little left there was. Whether she knew she was doing so, or not.

His hand held her at the small of her back, the feel of his skin against hers through the cut fabric of her dress making the movement so much more intimate. Severus dared not lay his chin atop her head like he desired, instead keeping his form rigid and textbook-perfect.

"Relax," she whispered.

And he did.

They both relaxed into each other, and after awhile, the slow tempo of the music inspired him to twirl her leisurely, then bring her body back into his. Time had served as a looking glass into the other's soul, and as their magic harmonized, Severus knew he would never be free of her. Not that he ever wanted to be. She surrounded him like fire. Or, water, more accurately – dousing the troubled flames in his spirit. He wanted to drink from her like a fountain, drop to his knees and give himself over to her completely. She lifted her head, and for a moment, he was terrified she might've heard the wildly insane thoughts running unchecked through his mind. Then, she smiled, pursing glossed lips upward in a way that made his breath catch quietly in his throat.

"We seem to be under mistletoe."

Severus' legs almost gave out. He looked up in a panic. She was correct – so lost were they in their dance, they had made their way to the section of the grotto with a wide row of rose-covered archways. Holly joined the hundreds of roses, with mistletoe tucked in strategically amongst the other plants. The couple just so happened to be swaying below a cluster.

She didn't give him time to respond – or to move them from beneath the offending plant. Like always, Rebecca caught him off his guard, standing up on tiptoe to place a single, feather-light kiss upon his cheek. Stunned. He was stunned. Her ensuing laughter was the melody of a lullaby, the ghost of her lips grazing his cheek making his head go entirely weightless. In answer to her shenanigans: a tentative, lopsided smile that worked facial muscles long out of commission. Her laughter quieted, to be replaced by a tender smile that produced one tiny dimple. He didn't talk, didn't move, didn't dare breathe lest he run the risk of shattering this precious second in time. He was gone. She was a door, behind which happiness and hope – peace – lurked in the flickering light of her eyes; and he would cross her threshold willingly, with little doubt, as long as he could just continue holding her. Just. Like. This.

Fuck.

A/N: Comments keep me going! I really want to know what you guys think of the story so far!