Chapter 16

“What’s Madam Paddy-foots?” Sarah asked as she followed him back down the spiral staircase.

“Madam Puddifoot’s is a nauseatingly twee tea-room up in Hogsmeade village, where lovesick teenagers go to moon at each other over cloying cakes and weak tea,” he sneered. “It was Dumbledore’s idea of a little joke. There is no way I’m taking you to that godforsaken place. Jasmine’s Restaurant is far better for lunch.” He paused and looked at her swiftly. “That is to say, if you would like to have lunch with me this afternoon?” he added quietly.

“I’d love to, Sev—I mean, Professor Snape,” she replied hastily as they walked back towards the Great Hall.

Severus smirked. “As we have established, I will not be teaching you this year, and I will have as little as possible to do with your education. Any grievances should go through to your head of house, and in the unlikely circumstance that it's me, then you would go to the headmistress instead. In which case, you are now permitted to call me by my ridiculous Latinate forename.” He looked sideways at her and gave her a wolfish smile. Sarah beamed back.

“In that case, I’d love to, Severus.”

He looked down at his feet, feeling just a little like a mooning teenager himself as they turned a corner and found themselves back in the entrance hall.

“Do you wish to see the lake and the Quidditch pitch before we go to Hogsmeade?” he asked.

“The lake and the what now?”

Severus groaned. “I keep forgetting how little you know. Quidditch is a wizarding sport, played on brooms. It’s fast, brutal and skilful, and I guarantee that after you watch your first match, you’ll be hooked.”

He led her back out into the sunshine, and they turned right towards the Quidditch pitch. “You see those tall posts up in the air? They’re the goalposts.”

“Do wizards really fly on brooms?” she asked curiously.

“They most certainly do.”

“Do you?”

Severus rolled his eyes. “Yes, even crusty old professors like me are known to get their ancient legs over a broom from time to time.”

Sarah giggled. “That’s not what I meant!”

Severus raised a sinister eyebrow. “Most pupils don’t believe I need a broom at all, actually. They tend to think I am distinctly bat-like and merely flap my robes about in order to fly.” He gestured the action lightly with his arms.

Sarah burst into more peals of laughter. “Stop it!” Her face feigned seriousness for an instant. “You don’t, do you?”

He gave her a look that could turn Medusa to stone and she once again giggled wildly. Severus smiled despite himself as they passed the Quidditch pitch and made their way down to the Great Lake. He wasn’t used to causing such hilarity intentionally, but he rather liked the warm feeling it gave him in his stomach. Whereas sniggering schoolgirls sent his blood pressure soaring, Sarah’s laughter was like music, and he hoped to make her laugh as often as possible.

“Brooms have a slightly different usage in Wicca,” Sarah told him after her giggles had subsided.

“Oh?” he replied curiously.

“They are commonly used in handfasting ceremonies, or Wiccan wedding rites. That’s where the expression 'jump the broomstick' comes from. We also use them to sweep away negative energies if performing a ritual indoors. I always carry a mini-besom with me as part of my tools.” She turned and saw Severus was listening to her with genuine fascination as they picked their way down the slope of grass.

“In the past, though, witches would literally 'ride' their brooms during fertility rituals.” Her mouth curled into a smile.

“Witches used to fly?” he asked with disbelief.

“Ah, no… how shall I put it? The broom is seen as a masculine object in Wicca, and therefore quite phallic…”

Severus coughed as the realisation dawned on him, and Sarah’s smile widened further.

“Rest assured, the practice is very much extinct these days. We much prefer the Great Rite.” She grinned up at him as they approached the lake.

“So I understand,” he said roguishly, giving her a thin smile.

He sat on a tree stump at the edge of the lake and watched Sarah as she took in the sight of the purple mountain tops that surrounded them, then the onyx depths of the water. So black, so fathomless, just like his eyes, she thought.

“You know, there are Merpeople who live at the bottom of the lake,” he said after a while.

She turned to him and this time it was her face that bore a withering look. “Come on, Severus. Flying on brooms is one thing. Merpeople! Pull the other one.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “If I could speak Mermish, I’d stick my head under the water and call one of them up for you!”

“Mermish!” she snorted, turning back to the lake. “Next you’ll be telling me there’s a giant squid in there as well.”

Just as she said this, a huge, suckered tentacle rose from beneath the murky surface and gave a little wave with the tip. She shrieked and ran towards Severus as he burst into laughter.

“That was not funny!” she fumed and slapped him disdainfully on the arm. She’d not really heard him laugh before, other than a short bark-like sound. This was a low, rumbling chuckle, which seemed to be exacerbated by her slaps of annoyance to his arm. She continued to slap him, mock-angry, punctuating each hit with, “Really-not-funny-at-all!”

“Ow! Stop it, you infernal woman, or you’ll damage my wand arm!” He reached forward and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her to him so she was standing between his legs. Her hands instinctively rested on his chest and their eyes drew level. His breath caught as they gazed at each other for a moment, their faces becoming serious. Her eyes searched his, before flicking to his mouth. Little tendrils of her hair had come loose from where it was pinned up, framing her face. Merlin, she’s lovely, he thought.

She reached a hand up to his face and caressed his cheek gently, her deep green eyes glittering with emotion. He could see desire in them, but he could also see something else; something he was afraid to acknowledge.

Slowly, she ran her thumb down his cheek until it reached his lips, and dragged it across them. They parted instinctively as her thumb brushed his mouth, and her eyes flicked back down to his mouth again with a small smile.

Now she was moving her face towards him, ever so gradually, her mouth slightly open. Severus’ heart began to race. This was potentially the most romantic moment he’d ever experienced, but he had to tell her.

“Sarah,” he muttered thickly.

“Hmmm?” she replied, not taking her eyes off his lips, edging forwards even more.

“Albus explained about the bind,” he breathed, their mouths barely inches apart.

She pulled back, the spell broken, and her eyes met his with concern.

“What did he say?”

“He said that it wasn’t the rite that caused the emotions we felt. He said the flames were caused by our emotions.”

Sarah looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Severus sighed; he hated talking about this kind of thing. Showing how he really felt made him vulnerable and weak, but Sarah deserved the truth. He took a deep breath.

“He said that we must have had… feelings for each before we completed the rite. The emotions had activated the rite, not the other way round. So therefore, the flames were not a bind, and you’re not bound to me,” he finished and looked down.

The breeze rustled through the treetops, making a soft shushing sound. Somewhere, a crow squawked in the distance.

“Oh, but I am,” she said quietly, after a moment.

Severus’ eyes shot up.

“I’m bound by the heart. I love you, Severus Snape.”