Lies and Solutions

3: Lies and Solutions

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She didn't need to bang on Severus's door three nights later, on Saturday night before the students were expected back from the Christmas holidays. When she raised her hand to knock, the door opened on its own, and she was grateful for it. Banging might have been heard, and she didn't want anyone to know where she was. It had been hard enough to convince Albus that she felt better. She had even forced herself to eat a bit; she had smiled and pretended that she had slept well.

To Albus, she had said, "Give me the weekend to sort this out. On Monday, if... if things are still the way they are now, I will go to St. Mungo's willingly and talk to every healer you appoint for me."

Albus had looked at her dubiously. "I cannot believe that a weekend will make a difference, Hermione. You both need help; I will watch neither you nor Severus be crushed by this."

She had raised her chin at the Headmaster. "I have no intention of letting that happen, Albus. There is a possibility of making it right, and I am not only talking about me, but about Severus as well."

That she had said his name so naturally obviously had made the difference for Albus. He agreed to give her the weekend.

And now, trembling with fear at the prospect of what she was about to do, she was in Severus's private rooms, as he had lowered the wards to let her in whenever she liked. He had promised to do whatever was in his power to ease her pain; giving her access to his quarters whenever she demanded it was therefore an obvious action.

It was icy down here in the dungeons, and she knew that he was sensitive to the cold. In his rooms, there usually was a fire in the hearth, and the floor was enchanted to please even a naked foot. She had been in here more than once, as she sometimes in the past had asked him for potion ingredients or for a book that wasn't available in the library. Always there had been dozens of candles lighting the rooms, and the heat from the fire had washed over her. Always it had been warm; always it had been surprisingly cosy, she remembered it clearly.

Tonight, though, it was not only cold, but nearly dark as well. The fireplace was swept clean; only one candle on the table cast a tiny circle of light onto some parchments.

"Lumos," she snapped, annoyed by the darkness. "Why are you sitting here without light, Severus?" she demanded, snappish with the fear she felt and addressing the man sitting at the table, his hands pressed flat to the surface in front of him. His hair was damp from the shower he had just taken, and he wore only shirt and trousers. He seemed to be cold; he was certainly shivering.

"It makes thinking a lot easier when the mind is not disturbed by the flicker of the flames," he answered quietly.

"Oh dear, I'm so very sorry for you," she said dryly, forcing her voice to sound hard. If this was to work, she needed him to believe that she wanted him to suffer. The need to sound cruel helped as well to keep her own fear at bay. It was imperative for her sanity that she saw her plan through, but doing it cost every bit of strength she had left.

Hermione took a seat opposite him, the table between them. Her own hands came to rest on the wood. Seeing his pale fingers clutched into fists, she remembered the feeling of her tooth breaking out of her gum and shuddered.

Piercing him with her eyes, she said, "Are you still up to it? You will do whatever I require to ease my pain?"

He returned her look steadily. "Yes."

She forced her lips to curve into an ugly half-smile. "We'll see if you are still that brave when I have told you what I want." Taking out a phial from one of the pockets of her cardigan, she rolled it between her fingers for a moment and then placed it exactly halfway between herself and him.

When he didn't move, she pushed it further on with one finger, slowly, deliberately, and observed with deep satisfaction that he couldn't take his eyes off the phial. "Take it. Drink it. Suffer like I have suffered," she purred.

His head snapped up. Staring at her, realisation dawned in him. It showed clearly in his face – next to the pain and the guilt that had been there in the first place, fear appeared, fear of what she was asking him to do. But it was replaced with grim determination only a moment later.

"You know what this is, then," she said, smiling. Her stomach clenched, though.

He looked back at the phial. "Of course," he said calmly. "It contains your memories from... the night..."

"The night you raped me," she clarified, just to see him flinch once more.

"I assume it is combined with a binding potion. When I drink this, I will not only witness this night from your point of view, as would be possible in a Pensieve, but feel everything you felt, endure everything you had to endure, suffer from everything I have done to you. I will feel your terror and your pain. I will be the victim; I will be you."

"Precisely," she said. Her hands had found each other, and her fingers were entwined. Drink it, she thought with desperation. Drink it, I beg you! Aloud she challenged, "Now then – it should be within your power to take a sip."

He had given her his word, and what she demanded was more than fair. Reaching out a steady hand, Severus took the phial, uncorked it, and drained the contents in one gulp.

Hermione let out a shaky little laugh; she felt as if she had held her breath for hours, not only a few seconds. Then she rummaged through her pockets again, ignored her fluttering heart, and found a second, similar phial. She held it in the light of the candle, and before she could have second thoughts about it, she drank the watery, foul-smelling liquid. "Horrible," she said, pulling a face. "Now that tastes absolutely awful."

Severus, still holding the small glass container between his long, pale fingers, was clearly confused. "What... why..." he started and broke off, surprised at the slur in his voice. He rose, but when Hermione ordered, "Sit," he did so, unable to disobey her.

"That was not..."

Her eyes were sad when she looked at him. "Did you truly believe I could be that cruel?" she whispered. "To force you to relive what happened that night? I confess, I wanted you to suffer. A week ago, I would have done this with pleasure. But then I saw you there under the trees, I saw your memories, and I now know that you are indeed as much a victim as I am."

Taking a deep breath, she continued, "I needed to find a way to heal us both. And I did. It won't be easy for either of us, but it will work. Unfortunately, I had to force you into it, as you wouldn't have done it voluntarily. It might be mad, but I will certainly lose my sanity if I have to live with those memories for much longer. And so will you. I can't let that happen." Reaching across the table, she placed her hand on his arm. Touching him was hard, but when he wanted to pull away, she whispered, "Don't" – and he didn't.

Visibly horrified at his inability to do as he liked, he croaked, "What have you done?"

The question earned him a bittersweet smile, and Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. It had taken all her willpower to come down here, to come inside, to sit at his table. Touching him would have been impossible only a few heartbeats ago. But the liquid she had just taken was working already. "The potion you just drank can alter memories – under the right circumstances. It doesn't erase them like a memory charm, as neither of us can stand that idea, and you, at least, need to keep them. But the potion flattens the memory in question, so it will seem as if what happened a few weeks ago instead happened a lifetime ago. The memory of you being forced to rape me will feel like something we might have read in a book; it will lose its colour, we won't be able to remember details, and it won't scare us anymore. We will be able to go on with our lives."

It took him quite a bit of strength to answer. "Impossible," he hissed and tried to regain control over his hand. "It doesn't work that way – you need to overlay the memory you want to alter with a similar memory, a memory stronger than the one you want to..." He stopped in mid-sentence, ripped his hand away, and jumped to his feet, toppling over the bench he had been sitting on. White as a ghost, he stumbled away from the table. The terrified look on his face showed clearly that he had understood completely what she had done and what she was about to do.

She said, "Sit down again," and although he fought against this order, he took one step after the other, like a puppet on strings, back to the table, straightened the bench, and sat as she had demanded.

"You can't be serious," he managed. "You are terrified of me, and you are very right to be so. You need to go! You can't expect me... you honestly think that to force yourself..."

"There is no other way," she insisted. Getting up, she walked around the table and stood behind him. Her hands lingered above his shoulders before she forced them down and dug her fingers into his flesh. Touching him wasn't as terrifying as she had feared it would be. The potion worked fast – desire was shining in her eyes and overlaid the fear, but she needed him to hear her out.

"I am going to sleep with you, Severus. Both of our potions contained a generous amount of a strong aphrodisiac. Additionally, mine keeps the fear of getting touched at bay; yours was laced with ingredients that suppress your will, allowing me to order you to my liking." Sighing, she continued, "You never would have taken the potion if I hadn't blackmailed you into drinking it, and I assume that you wouldn't allow me to go on with my plan with your will intact. I apologise, but this is best for both of us. I'll make it as quick as possible. Believe me, I want to get out of here as much as you want me to go."

He wanted to get up again, and this time she let him. He backed away from her, but she followed him, chased him until they stood in front of his bedroom door.

"Haven't you had enough of my cruelty?" he croaked, wrapping his arms round his waist. "You can't... you must not do this to yourself!" There was despair in his voice.

"Get into your bedroom," she replied. "I want you to know that at one point, I will ask you if I should go. You will then have the opportunity to throw me out of your room. But until then, you will do what I tell you. And at the moment, I want you to stop talking. Understood?"

Snape had to experience that he could nod but could not move his tongue. His pupils were huge; he was very clearly drugged. And by the look on his face, he was terrified as well – either by me or by what he might do, Hermione thought. The aphrodisiac was already washing though his veins; she knew it, as she felt her potion at work.

Where she felt fear, the self-disgust she saw in him grew with every breath he took. His urge to run was immense, she could see it. Unfortunately for him, until she freed him, he had to obey her.

He stepped into his bedroom.

She lit a few candles and the fireplace, then she closed and warded the door. She dropped her wand and took off her cardigan. "Sit on the bed, and don't move until I tell you to," she said, her voice trembling, and when he did so, she hesitantly took one step, then another until she stood beside him. Her desire became stronger by the minute, but her heart thundered in her chest when she slipped behind him in a swift move.

He was barely more than a shadow in the dim light, which helped her to go on with her plan. The potion she had brewed in the last few days kept her hands steady when she hesitantly placed them on his shoulders once more. Closing her eyes, she swallowed hard and moved a bit closer, kneeling behind him. Breathing fast, she took in his scent, the fragrance of his skin, in order to find out if the potion was strong enough to suppress the horrors she felt at the very thought of being close enough to actually smell him.

Flaring her nostrils and bracing herself, she breathed in.

He smelled of soap and shampoo, not a disturbing smell. Next, she brought her face closer to his exposed neck. When her breath warmed his skin, he couldn't suppress a shiver, and when he nearly touched her with the movement, she caught a whiff of his natural fragrance: autumn leaves, wind, and ash laced with a sweet note... like... like... a bit like the taste of wild honey. Relief washed through her body – he did not smell like a monster. She might be able to force herself to continue.

He hadn't smelled like that a week ago; a week ago she hadn't consciously smelled him at all, and she was more than grateful for it, as she had feared this moment when she would be close enough to breathe him in. Luckily, his fragrance was not disturbing; it was, on the contrary, strangely appealing.

Allowing her hands to reach for the collar of his shirt, she let them wander down his front until her fingertips found the first button and opened it. The second button followed, and she had to lean in a bit, her chest pressing against his back whilst doing so. He didn't move a single inch. When she came to the buttons at the height of his navel, she stopped, leaned back, and pushed his shirt down his shoulders. "Open the last buttons and take your shirt off."

Seductive words whispered in his ears. He could not disobey them – what she demanded was what he did.

The shirt slid to the floor, and he hung his head low in order to keep his face covered by his hair. His teeth were clenched; so were his fists, but the potion was doing what it had been brewed for: it heightened his desire, although he clearly tried with all his might to fight against it.

"I know what you think," she whispered. "You think that you won't touch me again, under any circumstances. But you are wrong. You will, as soon as I order you to do so."

Her cool hands touched his now naked shoulders; her palms were running down his arms and up again. Up to his head she went, burrowing her fingers in the strands of his hair, only to consider how strangely erotic it was, touching him wherever she liked with him being unable to resist. I'm raping him, she thought. I actually made him the victim – and he has agreed to play along by drinking the potion. This is sick!

But she didn't stop. She was right about this. She was always right, and it would heal them, free them. If she managed to go on.

"I didn't realise how long your hair has grown in the past years. It's nearly halfway down your back," she murmured, trailing her fingers down his skull through the ink black strands and then over his spine until she reached the border of his trousers. Her other hand brushed the black curtain aside to have free access to the tender spot just beneath his left ear. On this spot she chose to place her first kiss, as kissing was important for her if she wanted this to work. Her lips bushed against his skin, and she couldn't help wondering if she had gone completely mad.

His skin was so cold, and he shivered continuously now – she knew it wasn't all because he was freezing. Ignoring it, she told him to lie on the bed, face down. "Wrap your arms round your waist; I know it's uncomfortable, but I want to immobilise you like that, and I want to see your hands." His hands were the second most scary part of his body, at least for her. Although the aphrodisiac had awoken lust in her, and the other ingredients suppressed her fear, she didn't want to risk too much at once, and having his hands where she could see them and where they would be harmless seemed a good thing to order.

He obeyed, bereft of speech and the ability to follow his own wishes.

Stretching out beside him, she reached round his waist and opened his belt, then the buttons of his trousers. With a swift move, she had them off, but she was careful not to touch him. "Now your underwear. Take them off."

A moment later he was naked, lying on his belly, his arms clutched tightly to his body in a self-embrace.

She continued touching him: shoulders, arms, legs, calves, even his ankles and feet. The fabric of her blouse touched his skin, her trousers were rubbing against his bare legs, and her hair fell over his chest. She was stroking him with long, slow movements, and she didn't spare a single spot. Her hands moved firmly up to his neck, then down to his thighs, across his bottom only to find their rest at the small of his back.

"I know this is wrong," she said. "You might hate me at the moment for doing it. In a way, you are the victim; but I won't hurt you and I won't beat you."

Hermione allowed her eyes to wander across his body. That he was so muscular surprised her. She had not only known but experienced how strong he was and was amazed to find that he quite obviously didn't spend all his time in a sitting position, as most teachers did. "You work out," she stated, and talking kept her fear under control as well as the potion. Her fingers were trailing along his legs to each sinew she could find. "But I can't see you in a fitness studio or doing group sports; you would do something in solitude. And the shape of your body tells me that you go for stamina and tenacity, so a workout in your quarters wouldn't do, either."

It wasn't that cold anymore. Hermione took off her blouse and her trousers, only keeping on bra and knickers. Her stomach, which had been tight with fear before she had taken the potion, had loosened up, and now she felt a familiar pulling between her legs. A feeling she would have sworn impossible ever to feel again, especially when in the same room with her rapist. But then, she had taken special care to add the perfect aphrodisiac to her potion.

"Do you run? No – your shoulders and arms are too strong for that, and there are too many people around who could see you jogging. Hmmm. Interesting riddle." She placed her hands on his; his hands, wrapped round his waist, became less scary with every minute she was in his bed. His fingers marked his own skin with deep imprints when he clutched his ribs tighter under her touch. Unperturbed by this clear sign of his uneasiness, she mused, "So what sport requires strength, stamina, concentration, and is solitary enough for you?"

As this had been a direct question, he was able to answer, "Climbing."

"You climb – mountains?"

"Whenever I find the time." She guessed he wanted to tell her there and then to leave; instead, he could answer only what she had asked. Good.

She told him to turn round and saw him fight against the order. His shoulders trembled, and he shook his head. He didn't want to face her, that much was obvious, but she needed him to. She asked, "Do you feel the mask against your face? Do you recall how you followed me to the clearing?"

"Yes." A faint whisper. "I had an erection when you tried to get away from under my weight. I remember your soft, naked skin under my hands and your blood spraying into my face. I could see how horrified you were; I always, always dream of the sensation of moving inside you whilst you tried to push me off. I... I enjoyed it."

She blanched at those words – she hadn't expected him to tell her that. "Turn round!" she said once more and saw him fight even harder against her order.

Digging his fingers into his skin, he first left deep, white imprints on his back, then bruises, and then his nails ripped open his skin, drilling holes into his flesh. Blood trickled down his sides, but he managed to remain lying on his belly. His shoulder muscles stood out from the effort not to move, and after some very long moments, when she saw him fighting and observed that this was something he really didn't want to do, she ordered, "Relax," and he did with a shaking sigh.

"Severus!" Whispering his name in his ear, she now pressed her whole body against his back. "This either works for both of us, or it doesn't work at all. I can find salvation only with you and you alone; do you really intend to deprive me of it?"

"No! But – I cannot face you!" She heard panic in his deep voice, and she felt his whole body go rigid.

What is he scared of? I should be scared of him, not the other way round, she wondered. What is it that he fears enough to refuse to simply face me? "Why? Why won't you look at me?"

"Did you not listen? I enjoyed raping you! The Dark Lord cursed me, but I was hard enough to do it. I was horrified, but still I hurt you. I am a monster with no control over my actions. If I face you, if you force me to look at your naked body and make me touch your skin, I will rape you again."

"I don't believe you are a rapist under normal circumstances, Severus," she stated calmly and most surprised at herself. "You were under the Imperius Curse; Voldemort told you to rape me, and you did. Naturally, your body reacted in every necessary way to the Curse."

He drilled his face into the pillow. "I don't know how I react to women under normal circumstances. It might very well be that I am a man who actually likes to rape. I am cold and cruel – it wouldn't surprise me if rape is the only way I want to be with a woman. All I know is that I ... spilled inside you. Conclusion: I enjoyed it. I believe I will turn into the same brutal animal again with you only inches away and arousing me into madness. You are mad. You are in danger! I won't turn round; I won't face you. And I will never, ever touch you again!"

Clear words. Maybe she would have listened to his reasoning and his fear if the potion wasn't running through her veins. She wanted him. She needed him. Soon.

Well, he certainly was terrified at the sheer thought of putting his hands on her, and as this was something she didn't want either, she said, "So I will prevent you from touching me. Turn round!" Placing her hand on his trembling shoulder, she turned him onto his back as easily as if he were a rag doll – he was not able to withstand her order, accompanied by her hands.

Her eyes firmly fixed on his face, she stared at him. "You're as scared of me as I'm scared of you."

He turned his head away and closed his eyes, pressed them shut.

Swiftly she took his right hand, placed it above his head onto the bedpost, and murmured a charm; a moment later both his hands were tied to the bed as securely as if she had used chains. "I promise: I won't allow you to hurt me, Severus, and I won't hurt you, either. I will only do what pleases me, and I will allow you to stop me whenever you like..."

He opened his mouth to tell her to leave, but she went on.

"... but only if you really want me to stop."

He tried to force the words out. And failed. Since she had tied him up, he looked less frightened, as he was now unable to do her harm. And as he couldn't get the words out to tell her to go, she assumed that he wanted her to stay.

"Close your eyes. Feel my touch. Forget what has happened." Hermione shut her own eyes so she wouldn't see whom she was actually talking to, took a breath, and gently placed her hands on him. Her hands took on their task of examining him, followed by her lips, which left soft kisses on his chest, on his throat, around his navel.

She knew he had no option but to give in to her.

Hermione, having discarded the last of her clothes after she had bound him to the bed, was burning, a quite unexpected and even disturbing feeling. Of course, she had known that the potion would heat her desire, as she had brewed it to do so, but her touching him so tenderly, her soothing him in order to relax him was beyond the potion's and the aphrodisiac's ability. She was actually lusting for a man who had beaten her half to death only a few short weeks ago, and it didn't matter that he hadn't done so by his own will. She had wanted to kill him with her own hands; Severus, who was now in her hands. And she enjoyed being here with him – now, how perverted was that?

She had planned to sleep with him rather quickly in order to rid them both of those dreadful memories. She had expected to be driven by the potion, unwilling and scared inside. She had not considered it an easy task, but a task that had to be done to free them – and quite unexpectedly, it had become more. Additionally, the fact that she was in charge tumbled her emotions upside down. It was far more arousing to see him bound to her will than she would have thought even in her wildest dreams. Where had her fear gone, her hate, her panic at the very thought of him?

Still, it was more than obvious that Severus was torn apart by his desire and his fear, so she was very careful with every movement she made. Touching him became an art, as she knew that his physical reactions were caused by the potion she had forced him to drink. Therefore, she mainly used her mouth and her fingertips to arouse him further, to convince him that he needed to fear neither her nor his reactions to her touch. And certainly, his breathing sped up with every movement she made. When she finally slipped her hand round his length, he gasped and ripped his eyes open, only to find her face right in front of his.

She saw in his face that he didn't want her to stop anymore, and she decided that this was the right moment to ask him, "Shall I leave?" slipping on top of him whilst her words were still hanging in the air. She needed to ask him – otherwise she wouldn't be any better than Voldemort, forcing herself upon him, even though she hadn't hurt him physically.

Moving her hands up to his, she nudged his fists with her fingers, and he opened his hands to allow her to wrap her fingers around his, clutching her tightly. She was staring into his eyes when she slowly moved down, until his tip touched her entrance, wet and hot at the same time.

"I'm not sure if this will work, and I am scared despite that damn potion," she whispered, her lips only an inch away from his. "Please stop me if you think this is a bad idea."

A hopeful smile appeared on his lips. "I don't want you to stop," he breathed, and she took him inside only a heartbeat later. She sat up slightly to adjust her hips and get a better grip on him, riding him slowly and getting used to the sensation of having him inside her yet again, only this time willingly. She didn't know anymore if this was only the potion's doing, and she didn't care, either. All fear was swept from her mind, and all she knew was that it felt right to be with him, that she was entranced by his desire, and that she simply couldn't get enough of the rhythmic movements of his hips, which he used to thrust himself even deeper inside her. She felt her climax building; there was only one more thing she wanted.

"Come with me," she murmured in his ear.

Her lips brushed his.

He had been forced to rape her, to beat her, but Voldemort hadn't forced him to put his mouth on hers. When she did so now, she could feel him tremble; when her tongue parted his lips, she suddenly felt his heartbeat speeding up, and when he surrendered to her, welcomed her, kissed her back, she definitely knew it wasn't the doing of the potion but him alone who responded to the kiss, as well as to her circling hips. Sharing their breath, tongues dancing in the darkness, they fell over the edge together, and in her last coherent moment before both her and his orgasms filled her body as well as her mind, she freed his hands so he could wrap his arms around her, hold her, caress her, and take the past from her mind.

***************

Afterwards, she cried in his arms. Hot tears flowed down her cheeks and onto his chest, and she was shaking severely in the aftermath of her orgasm, as well as her ended nightmare. The only thing he could do was hold her, stroke her hair and her back, try to calm her until the storm of her emotions was over. His hands caressed her silently until her trembling subsided, and she lay still and safe in his arms.

"I have forced you." Her words were whispered into the darkness of his hair. She was lying as close to him as possible, one arm under his neck, one leg over his hip, one hand on his belly right underneath his navel. Her face was hidden between his neck and his shoulder; her muscles tensed in anticipation of his reaction.

The potion had worn off. It had been burned away faster than she had expected, but then, she felt that their heated passion would have burned away even poison.

Carefully, Snape got up and put on trousers and shirt. Wordlessly, he picked up her clothes, placed them on his bed in front of her, and left his bedroom.

She followed him only minutes later, dressed as well, and with a guarded expression on her face – she didn't really know how to proceed from here. When she saw him sitting in front of the now lit fireplace, in his hands a mug, and with his long legs comfortably stretched out towards the fire, she hesitantly took the chair opposite his.

"If you want me to leave..." she said.

With his long arm, he reached behind him and took a second mug from a small table. Handing it to her, he looked at her intently. "Why have you done this?" His words were quiet, and there was a softness in them she hadn't expected.

His hair was ruffled, his feet naked, his shirt only partly tucked into his trousers. He looked as if he had just got out of bed, and Hermione saw herself forced to answer. "It's over," she said simply and took a sip from her mug. Hot chocolate. It warmed her not only because it filled her empty stomach but because he had provided it for her. "The memories are gone – or can you remember much of what really happened?"

In his face, she saw the effort it cost him not to bare his teeth at her mentioning the rape, then a slight confusion, a frown when he very obviously raided his memory, and finally, wonder when he couldn't find any vivid pictures of that specific incident. "No," he finally said. "I can't. I still know what I have done, but..."

"... it is not connected to your emotions anymore," she finished. "Voldemort will still be able to find the memory, but for you, for us, it's history that happened to someone else." Leaning forward, she continued, "It was driving me mad. I wasn't myself anymore and didn't even know it. I blamed you; I hated you. I now know that it would have broken me. But then I saw you in the clearing, and my brain started to work again, and I just refused to allow those memories to dominate my entire life. I decided to do what is best for both of us. You don't deserve to live with those awful memories any more than I do. All of this was simply unacceptable, so I found a solution."

"And you basically did to me what I did to you. You raped me. In more subtle ways, without hurting me, but against my will, nevertheless."

She paled. She had hoped he wouldn't phrase it that directly. "Yes. And I'm sorry, on a certain level, but can't really regret it, given the outcome. And I gave you the chance to throw me out. You didn't, though. Do you regret what happened?"

Softly, he said, "Never. I am very glad that you did what you have done. And in a way, I agreed by drinking your potion."

Hermione exhaled her relief at this statement.

"But I think you lied to me." Reaching out, he brushed her hair out of her face. "You said you could find salvation only with me, but you could have altered your memory with anyone."

"That was just as impossible as being Obliviated," she said, taking his hand in hers for a brief moment before letting go of it again. "It wouldn't have been right to force myself onto someone who didn't know why I was doing it. So actually, you were the only choice. My choice." Tilting her head slightly, she asked with a hesitant smile, "Would you have taken the potion if you hadn't believed it to be a justified sort of revenge? Would you have drunk a potion knowing it would make you my... my sex-slave?"

Barking out a dry laugh and visibly surprised that he was able to laugh again, Snape leaned back in his chair. "I doubt it. But you must have been terrified, coming down here. Truly a Gryffindor: ready for action and bravery even under dire circumstances."

"I was shaking with fear," she confessed. "But my dad always said, 'Once you've got a task to do, it's better to do it than to live with the fear of it.'" And she realised that laughing with him was wonderful. "Now do you want me to leave, as the potion is out of your system?"

His face became stern. "What do you want?" he asked.

She studied the stones of the fireplace. "Dinner," she said. "Eat with me. Let's talk for a while about Potions and Arithmancy and students. Let's find out if we can behave as colleagues again without blushing or screaming whenever we look at each other."