A Solemn Promise

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I received my letter when I was 10. It was a special case, really. My mother insisted upon it. And when that woman insists upon something, no one can argue. No one.

            I despise her for this. Perhaps things would have been different… who can say? But they weren’t. My fate was set.

            I arrived at Hogwarts in the usual manner, the school train. And we did the traditional sail across the lake, but none of that is important. Everyone knows those things. What everyone doesn’t know is my story.

            My first year at Hogwarts was the last of the Marauders years. I saw them all at school that year. Everyone knew them. Everyone loved them. They were popular and wonderful and bright and… terribly dull.

My brother was in their year too, but thankfully for him, he’d been sorted into Slytherin. He made better friends than the likes of those four foolish gits. He befriended a bloke named Severus Snape. And every summer he’d come home and delight us with tales of what they had done together and the pranks they played on those insufferably arrogant prats. I was fascinated by these stories, and especially by Severus Snape and his role in those stories. He seemed like a rather clever fellow and I admired him even then.

            In my third week at Hogwarts, I met him. Though I didn’t know it at the time, and wasn’t to come to know it for many years; I met him. I ran into him quite by accident in the hall one morning. And when I say ran into him; that is exactly what I mean. I was trying to stuff a scroll containing my just finished essay for Transfiguration into my satchel and running to class in fear of being late, when I ran into an object that presented quite a bit of resistance.

It was a boy: a seventh year Slytherin boy. And he looked positively murderous. I wanted to say something: apologize, something, anything! But instead, I just stood there, staring up at him blankly. I felt like a complete fool. How shameful for a Ravenclaw to be struck speechless!

            But as he looked down and met my gaze, a strange thing happened. His face formed such an odd, unreadable expression that I just stared back intently, trying to understand. But it was unfathomable. He turned without a word and walked away, school robes billowing out behind him. I stood there watching his retreating form for a moment, trying again to understand his expression, but finally I shook my head, picked up the dropped scroll, shoved it in my bag and ran the other way.

            I was to have several similar experiences with this boy that year. Never once speaking to him, but each time, he would meet my gaze head on and that strange expression would appear and then he would simply walk away. It was absolutely vexing, but I never could find words in front of him so I never asked him.

            The year concluded and he graduated, along with my brother and those ridiculous Marauders. I continued my education at Hogwarts and they all went on to other things, but I never forgot that boy. I couldn’t. When something vexes me the way his expression did, I have to discover it’s meaning before I can forget it and move past it. It stayed with me for many years.

            And the years did pass.

I heard of Voldemort’s downfall. Who didn’t? Of course, I was only a fourth year student at Hogwarts, so it didn’t really affect me personally, so I thought. We all did. We knew we were safe at Hogwarts and that Voldemort wouldn’t dare to come there. Several students did lose their parents or other relatives to the Dark Lord, yes. But none of us were killed; we were tucked safely away at our school with Albus Dumbledore to protect us. We were invulnerable, invincible. We were Hogwarts students!

            With Dumbledore as headmaster, many odd and irregular things occurred. Most ordinary wizards and witches would never allow the things he allowed. But Dumbledore was never your average, everyday, run-of-the-mill wizard. None of his strange ideas and rules had ever really bothered me. The only thing he did that irked me was the worst he could have done to me, or so I thought in those days.

Dumbledore hired a new potions master: Professor Severus Snape.

When I heard the news on the train, I was highly interested. At last, I would meet my brother’s friend and idol! Of course, by then I was nearly finished with school. A new professor didn’t faze me. I could handle anything. After all, my best friends were Slytherins, I was a prefect, and I was next in line for Head Girl. (Parish the thought! How I loathed the very idea of being Head Girl! Yuck!) I hadn’t met a professor yet who didn’t adore me. I knew how to play them all, just as I played my Muggle piano back home.

            Boy, was I in for a shock. So were my best buddies, Serefina Tithos and Roger Lortuien. They were Slytherins, but they were more intelligent than the rest of their house. We had become friends because of this, and because the other Ravenclaws weren’t much for action. We were the perfect mix of both houses. We sat together in every class we could. Especially Double Potions. (Back in those days, it was Ravenclaws and Slytherins in every class except Arithmancy, Magical Languages, and History of Magic.)

            The three of us could concoct more brews than our professor. We prided ourselves on this fact. Then came Professor Snape.

            He breezed into the classroom that first day. He didn’t seem too happy to be teaching, that much was certain, but he dived right in. And the three of us were ready and waiting to prove our prowess and talent for his subject. But he never gave us the chance.

            “May I ask what you are doing sitting at a Slytherin table, Miss…?”

            “It’s Malone and I always sit here, Professor.” My two friends nodded vigorously in agreement.

            “Yeah, sir, she does. We always sit together.” Good old Roger. He was always there for me.

            “Well, perhaps, she did sit there, but not anymore. In my class, you will sit only with your housemates. That goes for everyone.”

            I picked up my bag and begrudgingly said, “Yes, sir,” of course, I couldn’t hide the dripping sarcasm in my voice. That has always gotten me into trouble.

I moved to an empty seat beside Marcela Evidare and sat down, looking daggers at Macy Hornvlad, who was taking my old seat. To show solidarity, Roger and Serefina both turned away from her and continued to ignore her for the rest of the class.

            As I was resetting my cauldron and ingredients at my new seat, Professor Snape said quietly, “That will be 5 points from Ravenclaw, Malone, for your insolent tone.”

            Roger made a face behind his back. I of course, had no response, with the Professor glaring down at me like that, but Marcela burst out laughing.

            “Another five points from Ravenclaw, Evidare.”

            She hung her head and Roger turned back to Serefina, looking properly shameful. He didn’t want us losing house points because of him, even if we weren’t Slytherins.

            The year continued along in much the same vein. Snape taking points right and left and watching me like a hawk.

I was quite angry about the whole situation so I got my revenge by telling the stories my brother had told me, elaborating upon the parts where the Marauders had gotten poor old Severus Snape into quite ridiculous scrapes, and conveniently forgetting the parts where he got them back. I had a million of them, and soon, so did the rest of the school. Of course, no one dared to mention anything to his face, but all kinds of not-so-affectionate nicknames for Professor Snape were echoing through the halls of Hogwarts.

I still smile at some of them, and use them to my advantage these days, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

When I graduated, I was grateful to be done with it all, especially Professor Snape.

Unfortunately, I would not be done with it for very long. I moved from job to job in the wizarding world, quite unsatisfied with it all and drifting aimlessly into obscurity. And then my brother came home. Or rather, what was left of him. He was barely alive and was, we soon discovered, not going to have a chance anyway. He was most certainly headed for Azkaban.

How I cried! My precious brother had become a Death Eater, like all his friends had when they’d left Hogwarts. He’d been running from the Ministry and from the remaining Death Eaters. He’d had nowhere left to run and that was when the last of the Death Eaters had caught up with him.

He told me how they’d caught him and tortured him. They told him he must be punished for his betrayals. He had been a loyal servant to his master, he had said, what did they mean? Then they told him that someone had been spying for Dumbledore and they knew it was he. He had been taking all the information he’d been given and turning it over to the other side so that Voldemort could be destroyed.

My brother didn’t understand, “But the child… it was the child that killed him!” he had cried.

“Yes,” they had said, “but that was not the plan was it, traitor? That was just a happy accident for you, wasn’t it? You were going to kill him yourself and be worshipped amongst the mudbloods and Muggle-lovers, weren’t you, you slime?”

He had been so confused by all of this, the pain from the Cructatius Curse was bearing down on him, and he couldn’t understand. He never knew what happened next. The only thing he remembered was the Death Eaters leaning over him, leering at him, and then a lot of blackness and then he was running again. Running, far from the place where they had captured him, and his only thought had been “Home.”

I held him in my arms that night, whispering empty reassurances to him, brushing the hair from his face, and letting my tears wash over him.

He grabbed my arm with a sudden, surprising strength and looked up at me, “Promise me,” he whispered, “Find the traitor and kill him… promise me…”

I looked at him in horror, “But… Voldemort is evil! He--”

“Not for… Voldemort… For… me… Avenge me… sister… Promise me…”

I looked down at him and wept, I could not deny him his last wish. I steeled myself and “I promise. I will… Oh! No! Don’t… go…”

But he was gone. His empty eyes stared up at me. I wept. And then, as I looked down at him and brushed a stray lock of hair from his face for the last time, I knew what I had promised and I felt afraid. But I knew, looking at him then, that I had to do it. I had made a promise, and this one I could not break.

I had a new goal now. I went to the ministry and worked as an Auror for a short time, but that was not enough. I attended every trial of every Death Eater, trying to discover who the traitor must have been. I searched out all those who had claimed to be under the Imperious Curse and interrogated them. I even traveled to Azkaban and searched for answers there.

But no matter what I did, or whom I spoke to, I could not discover the truth. I felt a great sense of shame for I could not fulfill my brother’s dying wish.

Then the news came. My mother and remaining siblings were in trouble. Big trouble. They needed money. And fast.

I set aside my brother’s wish and went to the only person I could. Albus Dumbledore. As I remember it now, I think perhaps, he would have just given us the money if he hadn’t known our pride. But he knew it well.

He offered me a position at Hogwarts.

I balked. “I can’t teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor! I may have been an Auror, but I was not good out of skill or talent. I was only good out of desperation, grief, and vengeance.”

He shook his head and smiled, “No. I did not have the Defense classes in mind. I thought something simpler, perhaps, would do. After all, the term starts in just over a week, Trista. I have a need for a Magical Languages professor. I do believe you’re quite knowledgeable in that area?”

“Oh, yes! Thank you, Professor!” I could have hugged him. Magical Languages had been one of my favorite class as a girl, second only to Potions.

I started immediately. I set about organizing my private quarters and office. I labored endlessly on lesson plans and other preparations. I sent owls to each of my students, introducing myself and giving them information on required texts and supplies.

My office was neat only because it was empty. I had my desk and chair, another chair for visiting students, and two large, brimming bookcases. On these bookcases were every number of language manuals and special texts pertaining to my subject. The only decoration was a large, simple landscape of deer grazing by a lovely river and a small, framed portrait of my family from… a time when we were whole.

My private quarters weren’t much different. Simply an unadorned bed with some old Ravenclaw bed-curtains, a rather weary-looking wardrobe and dressing table containing my few personal robes and grooming items, a sad little mismatched chair at the dressing table, and one small nightstand with an oil lamp and a picture of my brother and I taken when I was very small. We were dancing at a party, me standing on his feet because I didn’t know the steps. He always seems to be laughing, and that twinkle he used to get on occasion never leaves his eyes. I love that picture.

The only other decoration in the room was made up of old Ravenclaw memorabilia like flags and banners and a few small contributions from my old Slytherin mates.

Each of my students sent me a rather enthusiastic response and all had assured me that they had gotten all of the last minute materials I had requested.

I was eager to start lessons with them, even if it did mean setting aside my promise for a time. This had been a secret yearning of mine for many years. When I had started at Hogwarts, I had quickly begun dreaming of my days as a professor in those hallowed halls. But then I had set my dream aside, first out of my own fear of failure, and then for my brother. But here I was, my golden opportunity! I felt guilt too, for not keeping my promise first. I felt so selfish!

But the term started and I was to become too busy to wallow in my guilt.

I was ready for lessons to begin, but first came the thing I dreaded most: the feast in the Great Hall and the accompanying Sorting Ceremony. I was rather nervous about where I would be sitting in that familiar hall: the all too unfamiliar staff table.

I arrived at the Great Hall with several other professors, but before I could say a word, they rushed to their usual seats. Unsure of what I should do, I looked to Dumbledore. He smiled and nodded towards an empty chair and I instantly moved toward it.

Then I received a shock that nearly stopped me cold. Occupying the seat beside mine was a man I recognized. This was not what shocked me. The shock was that he was also a boy I recognized.

This was my mysterious seventh year Slytherin boy! This, too, was my most dreaded former instructor.

It was Professor Severus Snape.

I am too grand a person to let this appalling discovery make me take pause! I have been to Azkaban! I have faced some of the greatest dark wizards of my time! It will take more than Severus Snape to stop me in my tracks!

I held my head high and continued to my seat. I even managed a sly smile at him.

He only nodded as I took my seat. He didn’t even bother to stand for a lady! Ooh, how he infuriates me!

I gave him my most enchanting smile and in a voice dripping with honey and daggers, “Hello, Severus.”

That shocked him. He certainly wasn’t expecting this, was he?

“Hello, Trista,” he said in his silkiest tone. He gave me that sardonic smile of his.

Ooh, how this man irritates me! But I daren’t show it.

Before I could answer, the students began filing into the hall, jostling and yelling and laughing and talking and excitedly moving towards their seats. The noise was incredible. I had never been on that side of the din before. It was quite shocking, but I kept my wits. I couldn’t let Snape see me taken aback.

The Sorting Ceremony began shortly after the returning students found their seats. There would be no chance to speak to him again until the feast commenced.

Most of the eyes in the Hall were focused towards the front, where the Sorting Ceremony was taking place, and where we were seated. Several interested pairs of those eyes settled on me.

I applauded politely as each new child was sorted, but my heart gave a secret cheer for each new Ravenclaw. Deeper still, I cheered for each new Slytherin.

When at last the meal commenced, I made a point of not replying to him. I made no move to continue our previous conversation, and, fortunately, neither did he.

 

The next morning classes began. My students were, for the most part, exactly what I had hoped for and quite lovely. They made the job rather easy and enjoyable; thank the gods!

A few were rather too stupid for the subject, but certainly not from a lack of trying. The Ravenclaws, of course, were divine and incredibly adept. I expected nothing less from them. The Hufflepuffs were, not surprisingly, rather studious and eager to learn. Though they were mostly only sufficient, I tended to go a bit easy on them. I always had a soft spot for the poor things.

The Gryffindors were another matter entirely. One of the Gryffindor fifth years, Granger, I believe, was particularly capable, if a bit too eager to please. But the Weasleys surprised me most of all. The “Terror Twins” as they are known in… certain circles, paid careful attention to my lessons, so much so, that I had to ask them why. Fred and George sheepishly, if somewhat devilishly, replied that they wanted to make their “products” accessible to a wider market. I raised an eyebrow, worried about what sort of “products” these two could want to sell, but thought it best if I didn’t know.

Ron Weasley was just as studious as his friend Granger, and quite possibly more adept than she. He kept turning rather odd shades of red whenever I awarded him points for his correct answers.

The fourth year Weasley, Ginny, seemed to struggle a bit, particularly with Gobbledygook, Dwarfin, and Vampish. I suggested to her, after class of course, that she might ask her brothers for help and she too turned an odd shade of red.

And then there was Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. He seemed nothing short of confounded and hopeless. It was quite disappointing. I expected someone with such a history to be more quick-witted and capable. He seems quite the lost cause.

The Slytherins. Most were quite capable and many came to school already knowing at least one foreign and/or magical language, most often Latin, but there were exceptions. Parkinson and Bulstrode were horrid. I was quite amazed that those two had been sorted into Slytherin. No cunning at all. Perhaps that old hat was becoming a bit senile at last.

Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Quite intelligent, I’ll admit. But I can’t stand him. He gives me an extremely uneasy feeling. Perhaps it’s only the resemblance to his father, but I doubt it. I feel an odd urge to try and wrench that Teflon-tough, greased helmet just to see if there is any actual hair attached to the boy’s head. I had the great misfortune of dealing with his father while I was an Auror. Not a man I respected in the slightest. Never a good combination, dull wits, arrogance, and wealth, but add his manipulative nature and he becomes particularly menacing and loathsome.

I threw myself into my lessons for the entire first term. My guilt began to way heavily upon my shoulders and I wanted to forget it, but my brother’s dying face haunted me. I had to learn the truth. I had to know why he had died and I had to fulfill my promise.

I went to Dumbledore.

“Lemon drop? Gummy worm? Oh, what is it this time? Jellybean? Ugh! This is ridiculous! Hey! Hey you!” I banged on the gargoyle’s head, “What’s the password? I need to see Professor Dumbledore! It’s important! I don’t have time for this, damn it! Let me in!”

To my surprise, it swung aside. I stared at the sudden opening in shock. “Bloody hell! I didn’t think that would work!”

“Hello, Trista! What are you doing here?” It was McGonagall.

“Oh, hello, Minerva. I need to speak with Professor Dumbledore, but I couldn’t remember the confounded password. I always have trouble with those.”

She smiled at me, “I understand, dear. Go on in. Actually, he wanted me to come and find you.”

“Really? Odd. Why?”

“No idea. He didn’t tell me. He likes to keep his secrets, dear. Go on. I bet he knows you’re here already.”

I nodded and headed into the inner sanctum of the headmaster.

“Ah, Trista, at last!”

“Professor? You wanted to see me?”

“I believe it was you who needed to see me.”

“Well, yes, but Minerva just told me that you—”

“Yes, well, I felt it was time we had a talk. I’m afraid I’ve a few things I need to discuss with you.”

“Sir, I’m sorry. Whatever I’ve done wrong… I’m new to teaching. Please, whatever I’ve done—”

“No, no dear. It’s not about your lessons. You’re doing just fine with the students. It can wait, on any account. Now, tell me. Why did you need to see me?”

“Well, Professor, you know about my brother. When he died, I made a promise. And I haven’t been very successful. I’m… I need to do this, but, I…”

“I understand, Trista. Your brother asked you to do something the night he died. You’ve spent all this time trying to fulfill his wish and thus far, you’ve failed to find an answer. Now you feel trapped because you can’t even think on it because teaching has kept you so busy. Am I right?”

“Well, yes, exactly.”

“Tell me, if you can, what was it you promised?”

“Sir, I… He—he was a Death Eater. They turned on him, calling him a traitor. He died because one of their ranks betrayed them. They punished my brother for the treason, but he didn’t commit it. He was loyal to them… despite everything my family tried. He made me swear that I would find the real traitor. And… and…”

“Ah. I see. That is quite a promise. I’m quite aware also that you were very much against Voldemort. You were not a Death Eater. Surely, you don’t want to kill the person who helped to bring his fall?”

“Well… no, but… he was my brother… I loved him. No, I worshipped him… I couldn’t refuse him. I need to keep my word.”

“Trista, that is quite a task to place on you. I doubt your brother would want you to kill. Not really. Are you sure you must do this?”

I thought for a moment. “Yes, sir. I must. I can’t break my word.”

There was a deep sadness in his eyes, “I am sorry for it, Trista.” He looked so old, every year was suddenly apparent on him.

I wanted to cry. I don’t want to kill anyone. I hate killing. My brother was wrong to want revenge. But he needed me. I was the only one who ever loved him. I was all he ever had. I can’t tarnish that bond. I have to do what he asked, even if it kills me too. “Can you help me, Professor? I don’t know what to do!”

“Dear girl, I can’t help you fulfill your brother’s wish. But if you need me, I am here. I am willing to listen. You cannot linger in his death, Trista. You are still alive and you must live,” he paused, giving me a rather comforting look and then changed the subject. “There is something more. He is back. He has risen again.”

Obviously, this was why he’d sent Minerva for me. I looked at him, terror flowing through me, “No! Oh, please, no!”

“It’s true. I need help, Trista. Your help. Will you help? Put it aside once more, and defeat Voldemort, for good, this time?”

“Of course! My brother might have served on the wrong side, but I know my place in this. What can I do?”

“What I need most from you, you cannot do alone. I need you to work with someone else.”

“Work on what? With who?”

“There are potions that need to be brewed and research that must be done. My Potions Master, though incredibly talented, has other tasks. He cannot do it all alone. I must ask you to work with him to complete the concoctions and research. There is much to be done, and talented though he is, he cannot do it alone. You, too, have an unsurpassed talent with potion-making. And you can translate many languages that most do not know. Your abilities are in short supply. I need you desperately.”

“You want me to work with Severus.” I felt utterly defeated. Surely, that man would want none of my help.

“Yes.”

“Oh, gods, Professor! How? He despises me. Have you asked him about this?”

“Yes. He actually suggested you. He may dislike you, but he does respect you. He is an intelligent man, Trista. He knows as well as I what is needed. And what we need most of all is what you can provide. Some of the potions he needs must be translated from very old languages. You are the only person who has a chance with it. What you lack as an Auror and in Defense, you make up for in Language. Your talent is unsurpassed by any living witch or wizard.”

That was an incredible compliment, and he meant it. I was stunned. I never realized that anyone respected me. Least of all, a wizard as great as Albus Dumbledore.

“I—I… Sir, I don’t know what to say. Thank you, I didn’t realize… Well, how can I refuse when you offer such praise?”

“Ah, wonderful! Let me call Severus in so you two can get everything in order.” He turned to the fireplace and stuck his head into it. A moment later, he pulled his head back out. Severus quickly followed him.

He scowled at me, obviously not enjoying the idea of working with me, but I couldn’t shut out the little voice that kept reminding me of what Dumbledore had said. He actually suggested you. He may dislike you, but he does respect you.

I gave him my best sneer. I was not going to allow him to intimidate me any longer. He was going to have to be civil or I was going to make him pay. If he needed my translating skills, then I had, at last, a decent hand to play against him. I was intent on keeping my dignity in this, as well as gaining his trust. I can’t stand it when people don’t trust me.

“Hello, Severus. I hear you need my help.”

He scowled, “Yes, unfortunately. The potions I need are all written in rather ancient texts. I haven’t had much luck in the translations myself, and the headmaster, here, insists that I get these blasted potions completed as soon as possible.”

“Well, I suppose if you ask politely, I would be willing to help. Just remember this, Severus. I don’t take kindly to being treated as inferior. You just said you need me. Don’t forget that.” I met his gaze head on, daring him to challenge me.

The battle of wits had begun.

“Of course, Trista. Now, when will you have the time to come to my office?”

“Anytime other than during lessons or meals, Severus. Whenever you need my assistance, I can be there.”

“Well, I was just beginning to work on it before Professor Dumbledore sent for me. Do you have time now?” He was speaking through gritted teeth.

“Let’s get on with it, then.” I stepped over to the fireplace and pinched a bit of Floo Powder from the dish Dumbledore offered. I tossed it into the fire and spoke clearly, “Severus Snape’s Office, Dungeons of Hogwarts.”

Severus joined me swiftly. If I had thought on it, I would have realized he didn’t want me alone in his domain.

“Well, Severus, show me the texts.”

He pointed to them, strewn about his desk. Obviously, he’d been working very diligently on translating them. I strode over and surveyed his work. Impressive. He’s much better at this than I expected. Though there’s still quite a lot to be done, it doesn’t appear as though he’s had any trouble at all reading these. He seems to be doing just fine without me. I wonder…

“Well, what have you to say about my work?” There was an edge in his voice, but I couldn’t understand why. Perhaps he did respect me, after all.

“You seem to have done well enough without me. There’s quite a lot to translate, but I don’t see any mistakes.” I whirled around; my suspicions taking hold of me, “Why did you ask for my help. It doesn’t look like you’re struggling even a little.”

“Perhaps, but I’ve other things to do. I can’t spend all my time working on these bloody things. It will be done much faster if you help.”

“Fine. Do you have a quill? Thank you.” I set to work, picking up where he seemed to have left off.

He moved over to his cauldron, obviously already brewing something. I watched him from the corner of my eye. He was amazing to watch. His instincts with the art were incredible. His movements were deft and sure. He never hesitated.

We spent many a night over the next several months like that. He, standing over his cauldron, slaving away, only occasionally looking up when I announced that I’d completed another translation. And I, working diligently at his desk, single-mindedly focused on the endless scrolls before me. We often worked into the early hours of the following morning, occasionally only finishing in time for the morning’s lessons to begin.

I must admit; I came to quite enjoy the quiet companionship that grew between us on those nights. And, it seemed to me, so did he. We came to trust one another during those nights. He would even ask for my assistance in brewing several of the potions I translated, especially the ones I expressed particular interest in. He seemed to enjoy sharing this art with me. I felt that perhaps he had not been allowed to share it with anyone for a very long time.

It tugged at my heart to think such things. He was so lonely. I felt it every time I entered his office. I offered him the best I could, by staying quiet and working hard in close proximity. That seemed to ease his loneliness, and I was glad of it. Many people mistreat him merely because he looks and acts like a cold and uncaring bastard, but I came to understand that beneath that well-crafted exterior, lay a human being, none-the-less. Despite all his actions to the contrary, the man longs to be recognized for his talents by his peers. He craves a respect long denied him. I willingly offered him that respect after working with him. He deserves more respect than he desires. I must ask you, though, dear reader, please don’t tell him I said any of this. His pride would never allow him to admit such things; dear, grizzled creature that he is.

We even began to discuss my translations and various languages. I was surprised to discover his vast knowledge of my subject. And I reveled in the conversations it opened for me. Not many people find the similarities of Elvish and Mer-tongue to be a stimulating topic. On occasion, we would spend an entire night speaking in only Gobbledygook or Druidian. He became quite accommodating to my infamous obsession with language; of course, I was quite the willing partner in several discussions over the merits of manticore horn and root of squirmwood.

One night, I was having a bit of trouble with one translation of a very old form of Mwellret. I threw down my quill and tutted in frustration.

“What is it?” He spoke without looking up from his cauldron.

“This infernal Mwellret tongue! I hate it; it’s ridiculously absurd! Are you sure we need this one?” I asked it half-heartedly, more from desperation and frustration than an actual desire to give it up. I was tired, damn it!

He was at my side in an instant. It was always a tad unnerving when he did that. He has a way of sneaking up on you if you don’t keep your eyes on him.

“Here, let me see it. Perhaps a fresh view on it will bring it to light a bit better.”

“Sure, Severus, if you think so, but it’s a very ancient form of Mwellret. It’s almost entirely indecipherable.” I handed it to him.

He took it and studied it for a long moment.

I was suddenly very aware of his body’s close proximity to my own. I felt the heat radiating from him. I twisted my head to look up at him. He’s rather handsome in this light. His nose looks much more… aquiline. And his hair… I never realized it was such a dark black! Why, it’s not greasy at all! It has an unusual sheen, to be sure, but it doesn’t look a bit dirty. And his fingers, they’re so long and… Merlin’s Beard! What am I thinking? This is Severus, for Merlin’s sake!

Suddenly, I realized he was no longer studying the piece of parchment. He was studying me.

I felt something jump into my throat. I’d never seen him look at me like that before. I didn’t dare move. I couldn’t have if I’d wanted to. He was standing over me, blocking any exit from the chair, and he had locked his gaze onto mine. I felt myself falling into those black depthless pits. It was intensely terrifying to feel this way, but it was not altogether unpleasant. I rather liked the way he was looking at me, in fact.

I felt his hand touch my shoulder. I shivered, and placed my own over his. I wasn’t at all sure where this was going, but I wasn’t about to stop it.

He took my hand and pulled me out of the chair, twirling me to face him. His arm slipped around my waist and his other hand brushed against my cheek, “Trista.”

“Yes, Severus.”

I think what happened next surprised him more than it did me.

He pulled me to him and kissed me. It was a rough kiss, full of urgency and unrelenting desire. He wanted me; desperately, it seemed.

I gasped, and pressed myself against him. I felt his tongue slip into my mouth, and I lost myself in the kiss, in the embrace.

He pulled away and looked down at me. There was a hint of a smile playing on his lips. I found myself hoping he wouldn’t smile. It just didn’t seem a fitting expression for him. And I like him just as he is, thank you very much.

He didn’t smile. He traced my lips with a single slender finger and held me snuggly against him for several moments, as though studying me like a text. I just waited and watched him with the same intensity. I wanted to understand this, but it was far beyond me to try. I knew very well that it was a bad idea to let this go any further, but he was going to have to be the one to stop it. I couldn’t reject him, not even had I wanted to. I didn’t want to cause him suffering for this. He needed human contact and I was the only likely candidate to offer it to him freely. I knew how lonely he was, I had always felt it in his presence, but now, in his arms, it was unmistakable. I let him hold me and waited.

He released me slowly and returned to his cauldron as though nothing had happened, but the feel in the air of that dungeon was decidedly different. I smiled silently to myself and returned to the Mwellret text with fresher eyes than I could have imagined.

I would have it translated in only a few hours.

In the following weeks, we returned to our previous routine. Not once did he reach for me again. I craved it, but I would wait for him. He knew my heart. He knew where I stood. It was his choice and he was content, I think, to simply know that someone cared for him. That someone respected him and enjoyed his company was enough to keep him satisfied, but it must have sent him reeling, too. I believe it was quite a shock for him because he has always had a low esteem for himself.

I don’t know why, but I believe there is much more to him than anyone knows. Not even Dumbledore himself is aware of what lies within Severus Snape, just waiting to reveal itself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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