Jane stood motionless as she took in the sheer opulence of the bathroom before her. It was unlike anything she had ever seen—larger than her dormitory at Hogwarts, with soaring marble columns and a vaulted ceiling painted with constellations. The dark stone floor gleamed beneath the soft glow of enchanted sconces, and a massive, sunken tub dominated the center of the room. The silver faucets, shaped like roaring bears, were intricately engraved, their polished surfaces catching the light.
She had heard of wealth like this, whispered about the grandeur of old pureblood estates, but standing here now, she realized she had never truly understood it. This was a world where luxury was not just an indulgence but an expectation, woven into the very fabric of daily life. The sheer grandeur of it all was almost comical. Did people really live like this? Did they just wake up every morning, stretch, and think, "Ah, yes, time to bathe in my personal Roman spa"?
At her feet, a crumpled pile of bloody clothing sat. Dried blood clung to her skin, cracking as she moved, leaving the metallic scent lingering in the air. The day's events still pressed against her shoulders, but for now, she pushed it aside, focusing instead on the simple necessity of cleaning herself.
Stepping forward, she reached for the nearest faucet. A turn of the handle sent a cascade of steaming water into the tub, the scent of cedarwood and amber rising with the mist. It was rich with a warmth that curled through her senses. She exhaled slowly, tension beginning to ease as she watched the water rise.
Turning away, she moved to the nearest cabinet, expecting to find a neatly arranged selection of toiletries. She opened one drawer, then another. Empty. Her brow furrowed.
It seemed impossible that a place like this would lack something so basic. A flicker of irritation surfaced, but before she could debate what to do next, a soft pop split the air. She spun, heart jolting, only to find a house-elf standing in the middle of the room. Jane barely had time to process its presence before awareness crashed over her—she was completely naked.
Panic surged. She instinctively moved, reaching for the nearest towel, pulling it to her chest in a desperate attempt to shield herself. "Merlin's tit!"
The elf let out a startled squeak, nearly dropping the armful of toiletries she carried.
"Oh! Oh, Wobbles is sorry, mistress!" The elf's voice was high-pitched and trembling. She was small and hunched, her bony frame wrapped in a clean but well-worn linen shift. A faded floral kerchief covered her oversized ears, and her large, brown eyes darted downward in distress. "Wobbles did not mean to intrude! Wobbles should have knocked, but Mistress Yaxley said mistress would be needing—"
Her words broke off in a strangled gasp before she let out a wail and threw herself forward. Jane barely had time to react before the elf slammed her forehead against the doorframe with an audible thunk. Horror shot through her.
"What are you—stop!" Jane lunged forward, grabbing the elf's thin wrist before she could repeat the motion. "You don't need to do that!"
Wobbles trembled under her grip, ears flattened against her head. "But Wobbles has seen mistress improperly!" she whispered shamefully. "Wobbles must punish herself—"
"No, you don't. I—I was just startled. It's fine." Jane swallowed down her unease, softening her hold.
The elf hesitated, eyes darting up uncertainty.
"Please. Just… don't hurt yourself over this."
There was a long pause before Wobbles gave the smallest nod. Still, her fingers remained twisted together, her entire posture rigid with anxiety. Jane gently released her grip and stepped back, exhaling as she tried to regain some semblance of composure. Her skin still burned with embarrassment, but the elf had meant no harm.
Glancing down at the toiletries Wobbles had brought, Jane realized they were finer than anything she had ever owned. Cut-crystal bottles filled with fragrant oils, embossed tins of soap, delicate glass jars containing thick creams that smelled of vanilla and jasmine. Even the linen-wrapped bars of soap bore the elegant insignia of an artisan brand she had only ever seen in high-end shops.
"This is a lot," she murmured, running a finger over the gold-foil lettering.
"Mistress Yaxley says mistress should have the best." Wobbles perked up slightly.
Pressing her lips together, Jane was unsure how she felt about that. It was overwhelming—this excess, this expectation of refinement. But at the same time, there was something oddly reassuring about it. A silent promise that, for all the blood and violence of the past hour, she was safe here.
Wobbles moved with quiet efficiency, her small hands carefully placing the toiletries into the drawers, smoothing out the edges of neatly folded linen, and ensuring each bottle and tin was arranged with meticulous precision. Then, turning her attention to the crumpled heap of clothing near Jane's feet, she hesitated for only a moment before scooping it up. The fabric sagged in her grip, stiff with dried blood.
Wrinkling her nose, Wobbles said nothing of the state of the garments. Instead, she bowed her head slightly. "Mistress, Wobbles will have these laundered at once."
Hesitating, Jane stared at the bundle in the elf's hands. Those were her own clothes, Muggle clothes, at that. A second hand shirt and overalls, nothing remarkable, yet here they looked entirely out of place. An aberration against the grandeur of Yaxley Manor. She wondered if they would even survive the laundering process, or if Wobbles would return them in a form unrecognizable, perhaps embroidered with silk thread or pressed into unnatural crispness.
Before she could respond, Wobbles disappeared with a pop. The air settled into silence once more.
Jane exhaled, running a hand down her face before her gaze fell on the neatly arranged toiletries. There were oils and soaps in delicate glass bottles, each scent carefully curated, but what caught her attention was a small, cloth-wrapped bag of what appeared to be bath salts. Unfolding the linen, she tipped a generous handful into the steaming water. The crystals dissolved instantly, sending up the scent of citrus, something fresh and subtly expensive in a way that was unfamiliar to her.
The heat of the bath beckoned. She reached for a few of the finer things—one of the oil bottles, a comb—and then lowered herself into the water.
A quiet sigh slipped from her lips as warmth seeped into her skin, untangling the tension in her muscles. The cedarwood and amber deepened with the heat, wrapping around her like a second skin. For the first time in what felt like hours, she let her mind drift.
At first, her thoughts flickered aimlessly, touching on inconsequential things—the silkiness of the soap, the subtle shimmer of enchanted light against the marble, the way the water softened the dried blood still clinging to her skin. But soon, her mind settled on something heavier, something she hadn't considered in what felt like a long time.
Her father.
Or at least, the man who had once been her father.
She frowned, chasing the memory. The more she tried to grasp onto an image of him, the blurrier it became, as though her mind had folded in on itself, locking those recollections away. She knew his face or she should have. She knew his voice, the cadence of it. But when she tried to summon even the simplest detail: the color of his eyes, the shape of his hands, there was nothing.
No warmth. No grief. No anger.
Just emptiness.
Jane let her head rest against the cool marble, blinking at the realization. Do I even care? The question should have unsettled her, but it didn't.
He was a blind spot in her mind, an outline without substance, a ghost she couldn't bring herself to chase. And if there had once been something worth holding onto, some love, some lingering pain, she couldn't feel it now. A strange, weightless indifference settled over her, and Jane let herself sink into it. But then, without warning, another name surfaced.
Dumbledore.
A chill swept down her spine, icy and immediate, so at odds with the warmth of the bath that it made her shudder. The sensation was visceral, like the scrape of cold steel against bare skin. She didn't want to think of him. Didn't want to pull at the threads of whatever memories lurked in the corners of her mind.
Forcing the thought away with a slow breath, Jane reached for the nearest jar of shampoo. Uncorking it, she worked the lather into her hair, scrubbing with deliberate pressure, as if she could wash away not just the blood, but the sensation itself.
By the time she rinsed the last of the soap away, her skin felt raw, but the chill had finally faded. She would think of none of it. Not here. Not now.
Stepping out of the bath, Jane's feet sank into the plush rug beneath her, a deep shade of aubergine that felt like walking on clouds. She hesitated for a moment, the warmth of the water still clinging to her skin, before she reached for a towel hanging nearby.
Once her hair was damp but manageable, she turned to face her reflection. Her body, though thin, was more skeletal than slender, a consequence of years of inadequate nutrition. Her dark skin, a nice contrast to her piercing blue eyes, was a feature she appreciated. Her hair, a long, curly curtain that fell to the middle of her back, was a result of neglect rather than intention. She wasn't unattractive, but compared to the pampered, well-fed students she often encountered, she felt ordinary, even plain.
She turned her attention to the bathrobe hanging neatly on the back of the door. It was the softest material she had ever felt, a deep shade of emerald green that shimmered slightly in the low light. She slid her arms into it, the fabric flowing smoothly over her skin, and let out a small sigh of relief as she cinched the belt around her waist. It was comfortably oversized, wrapping her in a way that made her feel like she was cocooning herself from the world outside.
Now clean, Jane felt lighter, a sense of calm settling over her. The previous hours—filled with blood, violence, and uncertainty—seemed like a distant memory, as though they had happened to someone else. For the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to breathe deeply and just exist.
Curiosity slowly began to pull at her, and after a few more seconds of quiet reflection, she turned toward the rest of the suite, eager to explore her surroundings.
The room was enormous. Her eyes swept across the space, taking in the grandeur of it all. The bed was what Jane could only describe as a super king by the looks of it. It was massive, with thick, embroidered canopies hanging over the edges like something straight out of a fairy tale. She imagined sinking into it and had to push back the desire to launch herself at the bed
Her eyes drifted to the far side of the room, where she saw a seating area designed for visitors. Two chairs sat facing each other, both in a rich, warm blue that reminded her of twilight skies. Between them was a table just large enough to hold a tea tray, a small, intimate space for conversation. The idea of hosting someone there, though who she had no idea, was immensely appealing.
The windows across the room were adorned with fine drapery, the fabric deep and velvety, hanging in such a way that it was as though they were made to block out the world entirely.
What really caught her attention, though, were the wardrobe and vanity opposite the bed. The woods from which they were made were impossibly glossy, each piece gleaming as though it had been polished for centuries. The wood was so foreign to her, so far beyond anything she had ever encountered, that she couldn't even begin to guess where it had come from. Some ancient forest, perhaps, hidden away from prying eyes.
A laugh caught in her throat, both half-surprised and half-amused. She almost wanted to giggle. This is all mine.
For a fleeting moment, she felt like one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight—an overwhelming, intoxicating feeling that made her head spin. A part of her wanted to shout for joy, to claim the room and all it contained as her own. The feeling of power, of ownership, was dizzying.
The room was full of little treasures that seemed to anticipate every one of her needs, a sanctuary of both comfort and intellectual stimulation. An antique writing desk sat in a corner near the bed, Gold handles adorned the drawers, catching the light with every subtle shift. Quills, made from exotic creatures she couldn't name, were displayed neatly in a crystal holder. Their iridescent feathers were a mark of the room's previous occupant's taste and intellect. It all felt deliberate, as if Mistress Yaxley had crafted this space with an understanding of Jane's desires, her hunger for both comfort and knowledge.
Her eyes then wandered to the towering bookshelves that lined the walls. Bookshelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, overstuffed with volumes of every size and color, their spines worn from years of careful use. The titles were tantalizing, each one a mystery waiting to be unraveled. From Arithmancy to Dark Arts, from goblin wars to the intricacies of spellwork, every subject, every corner of magic seemed to be represented. It was the kind of collection that made her feel both awe-struck and giddy.
Jane found herself drawn to the books. Her fingers trailed over the spines, brushing lightly against the leather covers as she searched for something that caught her eye. She could hear the faint rustling of pages, the whisper of knowledge hidden within. She pulled down a thick volume on Charms, feeling its leather cover in her hands as she flipped it open. The scent of aged paper and ink filled her nostrils. It reminded her of the Hogwarts library with the endless rows of books that had always been her refuge. If she could bottle that scent, she thought with a small smile, she could make a fortune.
Lost in the world of words and magic, Jane didn't notice the movement at the door. It wasn't until a voice broke the silence that she was snapped back to the present.
"I didn't expect to find you here," Snape remarked quietly.
Jane's heart skipped in her chest as she spun around, her eyes wide with shock. Her stomach dropped when she realized she was standing there, in front of him, clad only in a plush and luckily long bathrobe. She immediately felt exposed, too aware of the soft fabric brushing against her skin. The room suddenly seemed much too small, the space between them too intimate.
"W—What are you doing here?" she stammered, feeling the blush flood her cheeks. Her mind raced as she tried to figure out how to cover herself, to hide behind anything. But there was nothing. The room felt like it had shrunk in an instant, and her pulse quickened as panic set in.
Snape raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. He didn't seem to be bothered by her state of undress, but Jane couldn't help the feeling of discomfort that crept up her spine.
"I was... just passing through," he said, his gaze flicking to the book in her hands before returning to meet her wide eyes. "I didn't expect to find you here."
Her embarrassment clawed at her throat. She moved slightly, instinctively pulling the robe tighter around her as if that would somehow shield her from his scrutiny. She felt foolish for not thinking to change before exploring the room, but at the same time, she didn't think he would just walk in.
"I... I got into a fight with my father," she blurted out, in a compulsive need to defend herself. She was desperate to deflect from the awkwardness. "I just needed to escape."
For the first time, Snape's expression softened, just a fraction. He blinked a couple of times, his mouth barely parting as he spoke. "I see. Home can be... challenging."
The air between them grew thick with an uncomfortable silence, pressing down on Jane, making her even more acutely aware of how little she was wearing. Her heart raced, and she could hear the beat pounding in her ears as her hands fiddled nervously with the hem of her sleeve. Snape, on the other hand, seemed to be fighting his own discomfort, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and occasionally darting his eyes away from her.
After an uncomfortably long pause, Snape cleared his throat, his voice almost cracking as he tried to regain some semblance of control. "I suppose we're neighbours now," he ventured. "Across the hall."
He gestured toward the hallway with a quick flick of his hand, as though the motion would help him escape the tension. Jane's eyes followed, but when she saw her room directly across from his, it was like the floor shifted beneath her. She hadn't noticed before, but now that it was pointed out, it felt... strange, like a connection she hadn't expected.
Her stomach twisted, and she let out a soft breath, though it did little to calm her. She forced a smile, but it was shaky, almost imperceptible. "I suppose so. Never in my wildest dreams did I envision ending up here."
Snape didn't respond right away. Instead, he just stood there, his dark eyes studying her with a curious intensity, making Jane fidget. He shifted again, and his shoulders seemed to relax ever so slightly, though the nervous energy in him was palpable. He seemed to struggle for a moment, like he was choosing his words carefully, unsure how much of himself to reveal.
"Neither did I," he said quietly, almost shy, though it carried an edge of reluctance. He seemed to regret even saying it, as if admitting anything personal was somehow a weakness. "Life has a peculiar way of... surprising us."
Unable to think of anything to say, Jane's attention shifted to the movement from out of the corner of her eye. It was her Kneazle, who had decided that now was a good time to bat at a stray feather floating through the air. She blinked in surprise, having no idea when he'd been placed in her room.
"Have you... encountered anyone else here?"
Her eyes flicked back to Snape. "Only Thorfinn and Mistress Yaxley," she said, still not entirely comfortable with the thought of talking about Thorfinn's hospitality. "They've been... helpful, I suppose."
She watched as Snape noticed the animal's presence as well. "And the... creature," he muttered, clearly trying to find the right word. "What name did you give it?"
"Cat," she said, almost defensively. "It was the first thing that came to mind."
There was a small twitch in his thin lips, and for a second Jane thought he might actually smile.
"So... I didn't expect..." he started, then trailed off. "I didn't expect you to be... dressed like this."
Jane blinked, glancing down at the robe she was wearing. "What's wrong with it?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "Not good enough for you?"
"No, no," Snape quickly replied, his tone a little too rushed. "That's not what I meant. It's just... it's a bit different from your usual... appearance," he finished, a blush creeping up his neck.
"I didn't think there were rules for showing up to see you," she teased lightly, trying to ease the tension in the air.
Clearing his throat, Snape's fingers twitched at his sides. "It's not—" he began but quickly stopped himself. "I just... didn't expect it."
"Well, here I am. So, are you going to stand there all day or ask me something?" Jane said, a soft laugh escaping her lips.
Snape cleared his throat again, seemingly trying to compose himself. "Are you attending the ball?" he asked with an undertone of something that Jane couldn't quite place. There was an odd tightness in his posture, as though he were nervous about her answer.
"I suppose I will. It seems to be the reason I was invited, after all," she replied cautiously.
"Your invitation wasn't a gift. It's because of your... intelligence and skill."
Jane's eyebrows shot up in surprise at his sudden candor. "Oh, well, I'm glad you're not offering me up as a trophy for someone's wall."
"I wasn't implying that," he muttered, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. "But the ball is a formality."
She looked at him, trying to figure out why he seemed so off balance. "So because I nearly defeated you in a duel, you decided I'm worthy of this ball?"
Snape sighed, clearly trying to brush off the conversation. "Don't start with me, Lewis," he growled, but there was a slight quiver to his words that belied the usual icy nature he tried to project.
"Oh, I won't, don't worry. But I'll save a dance for you, though I suspect you might be my only partner. I'm not much of a dancer." She half joked but was almost certain it was true.
"Good. One dance. Consider it repayment for all my efforts in making sure you're here."
"A true Slytherin, always keeping track," she snorted.
"Now, regarding your attire, are you planning to wear the dress that is so blatantly a transfiguration of old trousers, or the one that was so obviously borrowed from Lily?"
"Hey! I looked perfectly fine in both!" Jane retorted quickly, her cheeks turning pink with a mixture of indignation and embarrassment. She crossed her arms, trying to appear confident, though her eyes kept darting down, and she couldn't help but fidget with the hem of her sleeve.
Snape's eyes flicked from her face to her arms and back up again, his expression staying impassive.
She felt her confidence waver. The reminder of her makeshift outfit made her feel exposed. "I... I haven't decided yet. I'll figure something out."
Standing still for a moment, he watched her with an almost analytical precision. His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a fleeting second, there was a softening in his eyes—something close to concern. "I could take you to Narcissa. She could assist you with everything you might require."
Caught off guard, Jane just blinked. She paused, her head tilting slightly as she thought over his offer. She had heard Narcissa Black's name mentioned here and there, but the woman was a mystery to her. "I appreciate the offer," Jane mumbled, her hands twitching at her sides. "But, I only have a few Muggle pounds to my name." The admission made her stomach twist uncomfortably.
"That won't be an issue. Consider it taken care of. Narcissa owes me a favour."
Her heart fluttered unexpectedly, but she tried to mask it with a slight tilt of her chin. "Thank you," she said sincerely, betraying how much the gesture meant to her.
He gave a small nod, but his posture remained rigid, his usual reserve settling back into place. "I'll arrange everything. We can visit her now if you'd like. She usually enjoys her dinner around this time."
Jane felt a sudden urge to express her appreciation. She wanted to give him a hug—something warm and entirely Hufflepuff of her—but she stopped herself, unsure if it would be too much. Instead, she managed a small smile, trying to convey her gratitude in the best way she knew how.
"That sounds lovely," she said, trying not to sound too breathless or too eager. The whole situation felt odd, but for once, it was a good kind of odd.
He just stared at her as if waiting for something to happen. Jane stared right back at him, now wondering if she should have given him the hug. His eyes looked her up and down pointedly.
"Right. Clothes. Just give me a moment."
Slipping back into the bathroom, Jane let out a quiet sigh of relief as she shut the door behind her. To her surprise, her clothes were already cleaned and neatly folded on the counter. Wobbles. The little elf must have taken it upon herself to launder them while she was distracted. She shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips, before quickly changing into the fresh set.
The fabric was warm, carrying the faintest scent of lavender soap, and had no silk thread embroidered into the denim. She ran her hands over the material absentmindedly before stepping back out into the room.
Snape glanced up from where he was standing near the doorway, his arms folded, eyes flickering over her attire. "Are you a fan of The Who?" he asked, the question abrupt but casual, his tone not quite teasing but edged with curiosity.
Looking down at her shirt as if seeing it for the first time, she tugged at the collar, suddenly a little self-conscious under his scrutiny. "I think I got it at a secondhand shop, but honestly, I'm not sure."
He made a small noise—something between a scoff and a hum—but didn't press further. Instead, he straightened and gestured toward the door with a sharp tilt of his head. "Come on."
Following as he stepped out, Jane trailed a few paces behind him. He didn't speak as they made their way down the hall, his silence not cold but deliberate. As though he had nothing to say but also nothing to complain about.
Still, there was something in the way he carried himself—polite, restrained—that made Jane reconsider what she knew of him. His quiet composure was in line with the manners expected of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, yet the mention of The Who nagged at her. It suggested a familiarity with Muggles he didn't often advertise.
The thought distracted her just enough that she almost didn't realize they'd stopped. Snape turned slightly, his dark eyes meeting hers before he knocked lightly on a door just a few steps away.
A faint, muffled "Come in" drifted through the door.
Releasing Jane's arm, he opened the door slightly and called out, "Miss Black?" His words came out as soft as velvet. Jane had never heard him sound like that before. It made him feel more refined, less like the prat from her potions class.
Narcissa sat gracefully at a vanity, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulder like a shimmering waterfall. Her figure was slender, almost ethereal, and her skin held a porcelain-like translucence. Her eyes, a piercing shade of blue, seemed to hold the depth of a winter sky. There was an elfin quality to her features, accentuated by her high cheekbones and pointed chin, that made her appear almost otherworldly. Upon hearing the soft creak of the door, she turned, her expression softening into a welcoming smile as she rose to greet the strange pair.
"Severus," Narcissa greeted melodically. She moved with a grace that showed her fine breeding, crossing the room to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"
Not flinching at the affectionate gesture, Snape merely inclined his head in a respectful nod. "I've brought Jane," he explained. "She requires your assistance for the upcoming solstice."
Narcissa's eyes lit up with curiosity as she turned to Jane. "Of course. I'd be delighted to help. And since you're already here, why don't you both stay for dinner? It's awfully quiet around here without my fiancé or Bella." She gave Snape a playful pout.
"Unfortunately I have made prior plans with a few of the brethren." Once again he spoke with that smooth velvety tone.
"Of course. Good evening, Severus." Narcissa gave him a sorrowful look.
Snape excused himself with a curt nod, Narcissa motioned for Jane to join her in the sitting area of her somehow more extravagant room. Jane followed nervously, trying her best not to bite her lip.
"So, who have you met so far?" Narcissa asked, settling into a plush armchair. "I don't have much more information about Severus, other than what you probably already know. But there are a few people here who might be interesting to talk about."
A knowing smile creeped across her lips as she added, "Before we get to the good stuff, of course."
"I- we- what? I thought I was just here to borrow a dress." Jane stammered.
"Oh, we'll get to the dress," Narcissa replied, waving a dismissive hand. "But this place is more interesting than a simple wardrobe change. Trust me." She picked up a glass of wine that had popped onto the tea table. "Besides, you need to know who to avoid and who to befriend."
"I'm sorry. Can we start from the beginning? I'm a bit lost." She nervously adjusted her hands in her lap, unsure how to place them.
A delicate laugh escaped Narcissa. "Severus didn't mention how adorable you were in his letters. Though I have a feeling he didn't mention many things about you in his letters."
Jane blinked in surprise, her ears perking up at the mention of Snape. "He has?" she asked, curiosity piqued.
Narcissa nodded, her silvery blonde hair catching the light as she leaned forward slightly. "Indeed. He speaks highly of you," she assured Jane. "Who do you think helped you get invited?"
She bit her lip, the familiar dull pain shooting through her. "Thank you. I appreciate it."
There was another pop, and a full spread of what looked to be rabbit and assorted vegetables materialised on the table.
"I was delighted too," Narcissa continued, her hands moving to get a small plate of vegetables. "We need new blood around here ever since Andromeda left. And any woman Severus finds worth his time must be impressive."
Jane looked between the pureblood witch and the table. "Thank yo—-"
"No." Narcissa commanded. "Jane. You are an intelligent witch if anything Severus has said about you is true. Now I know you're just a half-blood-"
"Muggle-born." Jane mumbled.
"Half-blood," Narcissa resumed firmly. "You are an intelligent witch, if anything Severus has said about you is true. Now, I know you're just a half-blood, but that doesn't matter here. I expect you to act like a pureblood. And that means having confidence and not thanking everyone for what you are owed.
"You are here not because of your blood status or because of who your husband is. You are here because you almost killed one of the Dark Lord's most promising recruits. And that is an honour the Dark Lord does not offer lightly."
The second Narcissa finished, she casually took a small bite of roasted carrot, acting as if she hadn't just given Jane the most intense pep talk of her life.
Jane didn't know how to respond to any of that.
Pouring another glass of the elven wine, Narcissa swirled it gently in the glass before taking a sip. "Now, let's get down to business," she started, shifting from stern to playful. "Starting with that perfectly muggle outfit you're wearing. I've never seen anything like it."
"Thank—-" Narcissa shot her a pointed look. Jane paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Of course. These… are really… comfortable?."
It didn't take long for Jane to become enamoured with Narcissa. The pureblood witch was nothing like she'd expected. It was refreshing to talk to someone who didn't constantly obsess over boys or try to hinder her studies. Narcissa filled her in on the intricate dynamics within the ranks of the Dark Lord, offering a wealth of information and even a few scandalous tales to use against Snape.
"So Thorfinn is part of the House of Rowle?" Jane asked, as she picked up another macaroon from the silver platter a house-elf had just brought in for dessert.
Nodding, Narcissa swallowed the last bite of her dessert. "He's considered a rather eligible bachelor right now. Only son to a massive fortune, and well, you've seen the man."
Jane stifled a giggle behind her hand. She was starting to really like Narcissa. "Trust me, I've seen him," she managed to say without laughing out loud.
"You know, I could really see you and Thorfinn together," Narcissa mused, her eyes scanning Jane critically. "If we can just get your hair under control and find you the right dress, I think we could have you engaged by next summer. Unless, of course, Severus is more your type?"
Nearly choking on her cookie, Jane's eyes widened in surprise. "No, he's just a..." She hesitated, about to revert to her usual line about Remus, but something about the situation felt different. Could she call Snape a friend?
"I'm not particularly interested in Snape," she clarified. "We've danced twice, but that's about it."
Narcissa's eyes lit up at the mention of dancing. "Has he improved? Lucius had me spend three weeks as his dance partner two summers ago. All so he could teach Severus the fine art of the waltz. I don't think I could feel my feet for a week."
She thought back to the Christmas party. While he'd been an unwanted dance partner, she had to admit, he'd been a rather talented one. "Every girl envied me that night."
Narcissa looked as if she was about to speak, but a soft knock interrupted her. The door creaked open slowly, revealing an unexpected sight: Thorfinn.
He wasn't dressed as he had been the last time Jane saw him. The button down was standard for most wizards but his trousers were almost muggle. Wizards tended to wear tailored, high waisted trousers but these were wider and were pleated. The scent of smoke and ash clung to him, strange compared to his previous pristine appearance. Despite the change, the sight of him made Jane's heart skip a beat.
"Thorfinn, to what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?" Narcissa gave a questioning look, her blue eyes shifting from Thorfinn to Jane.
Stepping into the room, Thorfinn left the door slightly ajar as if to avoid any questions about the witches' virtues. "I came to give this to Jane," he explained. In mere seconds, he was standing beside her, offering a small, black leather pouch.
Jane stood abruptly, startled by his proximity. "What is this?" she asked, slightly breathless as she took the heavy pouch from him. She tried to ignore the flutter in her stomach as their fingers brushed.
"I got the Galleons you asked me to," Thorfinn replied, his face moved a fraction of a centimetre closer to hers. Jane felt her breath hitch.
"But..." Jane glanced down at her hands, trying to buy a few seconds to collect herself. "I only had about four galleons at home, not this much."
His hand gently lifted Jane's chin, forcing her to meet his beautifully blue eyes. "I assure you, Jane, this is the exact amount I found. And yes, four of those did come from your home," he clarified. He took a step back, giving her a moment to process the information. "As for your father and your home, you will not be questioned after tonight."
And then he placed another object into her hand. Jane blinked down at a small glass vial. The dark red liquid inside sloshed slightly as she turned it between her fingers, her name scrawled neatly across the label in an unfamiliar hand.
"Where did you get this?" she questioned.
"Found it while looking for the galleons," Thorfinn replied casually, as if they were discussing nothing more important than the weather. "I figured you'd want it back. Blood isn't exactly something you want lying around in someone else's hands."
Jane swallowed, a chill slithering down her body at the thought of who had taken her blood in the first place—and for what purpose. "Thanks," she murmured, slipping the vial into her pocket.
Thorfinn watched her for a beat, then smirked. "You owe me for that, you know."
"Owe you?"
"Mm." He reached out, and before she could react, his fingers brushed her chin, tilting her face up ever so slightly. "I think I'll collect my payment now."
Her breath caught as he leaned in, close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheek. "You could say thank you... or, I could think of a few other ways you could make it up to me."
A slow grin tugged at his lips, wicked and knowing, his thumb ghosting over the curve of her jaw before he pulled back just as effortlessly as he had closed the distance.
Jane's knees were weak, and she hated that he knew it. "You're impossible," she muttered, hating the warmth that crept up her neck.
"And you're adorable when you're flustered," he teased, his smirk deepening.
And then he was gone, leaving Jane to stand there dumbstruck, her mouth agape.
Narcissa had her hand to her chest, unable to believe what she had just witnessed. "Wait till Bella hears of this. We'll have a wedding by graduation."