Mulled Wine and Mysteries

"Charity..."

It was her dad's voice, accompanied by a knock on the door.

"Hmm, yes?" she mumbled, sitting on her bed, staring blankly at the spot on the wall that, until a couple of weeks ago, had been adorned by a poster of the celebrated England Seeker.

The door opened, and her dad entered. He seemed to have more grey hair since his return from St. Mungo's, but he was smiling, and his voice was upbeat when he said, "I thought you wanted to do some Quidditch practice over the summer. The weather is great outside, and I polished up my old broom for you."

He was trying to cheer her up. But any cheerfulness just felt fake after what had happened. Her enthusiasm for Quidditch had vanished. Instead, she had spent the best part of the holidays brooding in her room. It was all her fault. If she hadn't been so insistent about going to the World Cup, if she had listened to her mum....

"Hm... not now," she grumbled. She didn't feel like going outside and sitting on a broom.

The smile on her father's face faltered. He looked at her with sadness in his eyes, his brow furrowed into worry lines. With a sigh, he sat down on the bed next to her.

"We were lucky, you know. Neither of us was seriously hurt. We should be grateful for that. But if you let it affect your life like this, the damage done will be much greater."

Charity bit her lip, not looking at him.

"These things are much better dealt with by fighting back," he continued, protectively placing his arm around her. "Don't be a victim, Charity. Don't let them win..."

When Charity woke up, drowsily checking the clock on her bedside table, it was three in the morning, yet she was wide awake. She remembered every detail of her dream, perhaps because it was not a dream at all, but a memory.

In a heartbeat, her thoughts had returned to Snape. Had it been like that for him? Had fighting against his former master been the only way he could live with the things he had done, with his guilt, with the tragedy that Dumbledore had alluded to? And what might they have done to him for being a traitor? If marrying a Muggle was enough reason to torture well-respected wizards, how would the Death Eaters deal with a defector from their own ranks? Surely, it took a great deal of courage to do what Snape had done – courage and probably just as much desperation. Didn't a man like him deserve a second chance? Where was her own courage, her own will to fight?

She recalled the excitement she had felt about going to the ball with him, the strange attraction, the unexpected intimacy, and then, the exhilarating feeling of falling in love, the hope that maybe, just maybe, she had finally found that special someone. When had she last felt so alive? But now she had lost it again, had been thrown back into her life of solitude and unfulfilled longing by the shadow of events so long ago. Yet, it was in her power not to let them spoil this. She just had to be stronger, braver, and not let them take what might be her only chance of happiness. It was her choice to take fate into her own hands and not to become a victim. No, she would not give up so easily, not without getting to know Severus first.

Slowly, her resolve hardened. She put on her slippers and, for the third time that night, made her way down into the dungeons. Dressed in nothing more than a thin white cotton nightshirt, she really felt the cold, but it just made her walk faster. And so, yet again, she found herself outside the heavy oak door sealing off Snape's realm from the rest of the castle. This time, however, there was no light on the other side. It appeared that he was asleep, like every other sensible person at this time of night. But Charity didn't care. She had come this far; nothing would stop her now.

Raising her fist, she banged loudly against the unyielding wood, again and again. She would talk to him, even if she had to wake up the whole school. It wasn't long before the door flew open, and the Potions master, his lit wand in hand, stood before her with a scowl that would have sent any student running. But Charity did not budge.

"What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing? Have you gone completely insane?" he spat.

"I'm waking you up because I need to talk to you, and it can't wait," she replied calmly.

His mouth opened but for a moment, he seemed lost for something to say at such insolence. She seized the opportunity to push past him, heading straight for his bedroom. She could hear him cursing under his breath as he closed the door and followed her. The room was lit only by the flicker of a single candle on the bedside table, making frightening shadows dance across the walls. Taking a deep breath, she sat down on the edge of the bed, watching him stand in the doorway, seething with anger.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" he hissed.

"About four in the morning, I'd say," she replied, completely unperturbed.

"Exactly! And now you will leave my quarters! Get out!" he snarled, pointing into the darkness behind him.

"Not until you have listened to my explanation."

His features froze in cold fury as he seemed to be considering his next response, a malicious glitter in his eyes.

"Are you really that desperate for a fuck?" he finally asked, his voice now silky and controlled, carefully delivering his venom. "Or does it arouse you to spread your legs for a Death Eater? In that case I could introduce you to some of my former associates. Perhaps you'd stop accosting me then."

For a moment, she was left speechless by those awful words, deliberately calculated and chosen to hurt. She looked at him incredulously, trying to reconcile his spiteful behaviour with the affectionate man she had known only hours before, in this very room, in the very bed she was sitting on. Suddenly, perhaps because she had had a glimpse of that shy and vulnerable man, it became crystal clear to her. The anger, the aggression, the sarcasm, the harsh words – they were a mechanism of defence by which he kept people away, probably fearing the very rejection he had experienced earlier that night. Now even more than before, she wanted to reach out to him, past the barbed wire fence he had erected around himself. She realised that if she wanted to win back his trust, only the truth would do, the whole truth. She would have to tell him everything, no matter how frightening and uncomfortable that might be.

"I know you're just saying that to make me go away. But it won't work. I'm not going to leave until you have heard what I have to say. Sit down, please."

He muttered more obscenities but in the end seemed to decide that hearing her out was the quickest way to get rid of her and sat down opposite her with a look of extreme irritation on his face. He was wearing an old grey flannel nightshirt, not exactly becoming for a man of his age. She noticed that it, too, had long sleeves, wondering if it was because of the cold in this part of the castle or because he himself could not bear to see the Dark Mark on his skin.

"The reason I reacted so strongly... the reason I ran away," she started hesitantly, "is that I had a traumatic experience once, involving a Death Eater."

She kept watching his face as she spoke. His expression seemed to change subtly, from annoyance to trepidation. It was difficult for her to talk about those painful memories, but she forced herself to continue.

"I – When I was thirteen, I was... nearly raped... by a Death Eater."

She took a deep breath, relieved that she had got those words out. From the look on his face, it seemed just as difficult for him to listen to her, but she did not stop until she had told the whole story. When she had finished, the silence that followed was truly uncomfortable.

"I – I'm sorry," he finally said, his eyes lowered, as if he could not bear to look at her.

"It was not you. You don't need to apologise," she replied, watching him attentively.

"No, but it could have been me. I was there... I set tents on fire, I enjoyed spreading terror and fear," he said softly, staring at his hands.

"But you didn't rape little girls, did you?" she asked, praying that he had not.

"No." As he looked up to meet her inquiring gaze there was a hardness in his eyes that was almost brutal. "But I have tortured. I have killed. People are dead because of me. Although perhaps you think that's acceptable as long as I'm not a child molester?" The sarcasm could not conceal the undertone of self-loathing in his words.

"No! Of course not. But – But you changed. You regret those actions now?"

It was more a question than a statement. She really wanted to hear the truth from his own lips, to know the reason why he had switched sides.

"That does not make them undone or bring anybody back to life," was his bitter reply.

"No, it doesn't. But I think I could accept whatever you may have done in the past. What matters more are the choices you'll make in the future."

"What makes you so sure that those will be any better?"

"I trust you."

She had told him the same before, a few hours earlier, but this time, she actually felt it.

"Pah!" he spat derisively. "Because Dumbledore told you to?"

"Yes... But also because I want to. Because I don't want this... us... to end. Because I think it's worth the risk."

"You have no idea what that risk is!" he snarled. "When the Dark Lord returns – and he will return – there will be no escape for me. I will have to rejoin him or die."

"But Dumbledore said..."

"Dumbledore intends to use me as a spy," he interrupted her harshly. "I will have to act as a Death Eater would. I will have to spend a great deal of time in the Dark Lord's presence. And he is the most accomplished Legilimens of our age."

"Legilimens? You mean he can read minds?"

"Yes, if that's what you want to call it."

"Like – like what you did to me?"

"Yes." He frowned. It appeared that he didn't like to be reminded of that little incident in the corridor outside her room. "Only he is far more accomplished than I am. To him, it's second nature."

"But then how can you hope not to be discovered?"

"By being an even better Occlumens." He moved closer to her, taking her by the shoulders while looking her in the eyes with a seriousness that was almost frightening. "Do you understand how dangerous that is though? You don't want to associate yourself with me. What if he finds out about this, about you? What if he orders me to kill you, just for the sake of testing my loyalty?"

"You wouldn't..." she replied meekly.

"I would have to."

The firmness with which he said it left her in no doubt that he meant it. She swallowed. Still, the danger he was describing was no deterrent. She had already decided that she would rather risk her life than not live at all, safe and protected as that might keep her.

"I'm willing to take that risk," she said firmly.

"Why?" he asked, seemingly aghast at her response.

"Well, why would you risk your life, trying to double-cross your Dark master?" she challenged him.

"My reasons do not concern you," he replied, again avoiding the question.

She felt disappointed by his lack of trust and openness; after all she had just divulged her most painful memories. But maybe one day he would tell her... She would be patient, she could wait...

"Fine, you don't need to tell me. But I have my reasons, too," she replied defiantly.

"Whatever the reasons for your... insanity – I don't deserve it. And I cannot return it."

His words hung in the air like a knife above her head. Was she making a mistake by allowing herself romantic feelings for this man? Was she just setting herself up for heartbreak and pain? But the answer to that question didn't matter; she wanted him too much to care.

"Can you hold me though, the way you did last night?" she asked hopefully.

The feeling of longing, the need to feel his arms around her was so strong that she cast away any remnants of pride or dignity. He looked at her uncertainly. It seemed that, while he shared the same desire for closeness and human warmth, he was held back by the very concerns he had just raised. Finally, he gave a small nod but remained sitting where he was on the bed, somewhat stiffly and looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"That's all I want for now," she whispered, but still, he did not move.

She reached out to place her hand on his in an attempt to bridge the gap between them, to alleviate the awkwardness that hung in the air. He glanced at her shyly, leaving his hand in place, yet it was clear that he was not going to make any attempt to hug her. Once more, she would have to be the one to take the initiative. Taking courage, she climbed onto his lap, somewhat clumsily, straddling his legs, and slung her arms around his neck. He put an arm around her, tentatively at first, but then pressed her against his chest with obvious need.

"Severus..." she exhaled in a sigh that was almost a sob.

It felt so right to be in the embrace of this man, who was nearly a complete stranger for all intents and purposes, and not only that – a stranger with a dark and mysterious past, and possibly an even more sinister future. She had no idea whether it was wise to trust this feeling, or whether it was just an unhealthy infatuation coloring her judgment. All she knew was that she wanted this so badly – being sheltered in the warmth of his body, feeling his strong arms around her, his hands in her hair, hungrily clutching at any part of her they could get hold of – that she had no choice but to throw caution to the wind and hope for the best. With every deep breath she took, drinking in the scent of his body, some of the anxiety of the past hours fell off her. She started to relax, feeling totally at peace despite the danger and darkness associated with the man holding her.

She felt the tickle of his breath against her neck as he buried his face in her hair, warm puffs of air caressing her skin, hoping they would soon be followed up with kisses. Suddenly, she realized that there was a strange wetness against her ear where his face was resting. Was he crying? His hands stilled, but his breathing seemed hitched and irregular, as if he were trying to suppress the sobs. She made no attempt to look at his face, sensing that it was better to spare him the humiliation of someone witnessing his tears. Instead, she held him close, gently stroking his back. She wondered what had caused this sudden loss of composure. Was it a sign of how much she had hurt him, or was it something different altogether? Perhaps their conversation had brought back memories of a much darker time in his life. How much pain and loneliness might be hidden beneath the Potions master's usual appearance of cool aloofness? And could it be a good thing that some of it was now bubbling up to the surface? Perhaps being able to cry would help to lighten the burden of his sorrow.

After a while his breathing became calm and regular again. She closed her eyes and sighed, suddenly overcome with a heavy tiredness as her body seemed to realise it had received far too little rest during the last two nights.

"Let's go to sleep..." she mumbled into his hair.

Without a word, he gently rolled them over on the bed. She snuggled up to his chest as he pulled the covers over them, placing his arm around her, protectively, or possessively. A content smile spread across her face, setting in place as she drifted off into slumber.

---

Charity awoke from an awareness of someone moving around the room. She reached out, instinctively checking the side of the bed where Severus had been lying but found it to be empty. As her eyes flew open in alarm they were greeted by the dim light of a grey winter dawn that filtered through a small window beneath the ceiling, telling her that it was morning, though still rather early.

Snape was standing beside the bed, fastening the belt of his trousers. His dark eyes were resting on her without giving any hint as to the thoughts going on behind them. She watched, propped up onto her elbow, as he adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, shrugged into his heavy black coat and did up the long row of buttons with practised, nimble fingers. There was something surreal about seeing the man whose bed she had shared last night transform back into the stern Potions master. The unfamiliarity inherent in the situation made her acutely aware of how little she really knew him, something she was determined to change. It wasn't enough for her to just sleep with him; she wanted more than that.

"So, what are we going to do today?" she asked, as he carefully fastened his neck tie.

"I have no idea about your plans," he replied, raising a questioning eyebrow, "but I have work to do."

"Are we not going to have breakfast first?"

"Your attire is hardly appropriate for attending the Great Hall, nor should you be seen wandering the corridors this way. Use the Floo in my office to go back to your quarters."

"Well, I was thinking we could have breakfast here. You could call a house-elf. We could have breakfast in bed."

"Absolutely not!"

"Why not? It's Sunday! Surely we can have a break and spend some time together?" she insisted.

"No! Were you not listening last night? How do you suppose I am to keep the Dark Lord unaware of these... occurrences... if you insist on behaving like a couple on honeymoon?"

She could see his point, and it was the only thing that lessened the hurt she felt at his words, even though she preferred not to take it as a given that You-Know-Who really would return as Snape had claimed. Surely Dumbledore would be able to prevent that from happening? She climbed out of bed, feeling decidedly underdressed in her nightshirt, compared to his formal attire. He turned away to leave the bedroom, but she grabbed hold of his arm to stop him.

"Please, Severus. I just want to spend some time with you. Talk... get to know each other. We could go somewhere outside Hogwarts, somewhere we won't be recognised."

"Why?" he asked, seemingly puzzled by her insistence.

"Maybe I'm hoping I'll enjoy your company, unlikely as that may seem," she replied teasingly.

"Unlikely indeed," he growled.

She wondered whether the look in his eyes had softened slightly or whether she was just imagining it as it was really impossible to tell just what he was thinking. But then his next words completely took her by surprise.

"If you need proof, meet me outside the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade an hour after lunch, wearing Muggle attire."

Now there definitely was a little twitch around his mouth. She stood there flabbergasted as he marched out of the bedroom. A moment later, she heard the sound of his office door and realised that she had been left alone.

With a big smile on her face, she made her way to the fireplace to Floo back to her rooms.

---

Back in her rooms, Charity immediately started to go through her closet, trying to pick an outfit for the afternoon. Her wardrobe was well stocked with Muggle clothing as Muggle fashion was one of her passions. Unfortunately, she rarely got to wear any of those things, so she was determined to take full advantage of the opportunity at hand.

Pulling out piece after piece and arranging them on the bed in various combinations, she wondered where Snape was going to take her. Most wizards were completely at odds with the Muggle world and didn't want anything to do with it. Charity knew this attitude only too well from her students, especially the Slytherins. So the last thing she would have expected from their Head of House was to suggest a type of activity that required Muggle attire. And she couldn't quite picture Snape in anything other than his long black wizard robes.

By the time she had decided on a long, grey wool skirt, knee-high boots, and a soft, purple jumper, it was way too late to have breakfast. She spent the remainder of the morning in excited anticipation until it was finally time for lunch in the Great Hall.

Snape arrived at the staff table several minutes after her. He didn't acknowledge her presence in any way, choosing a seat at the opposite end. Charity felt slightly irritated by his distant behaviour. When he left again after the meal without so much as a look or sign in her direction, she started to worry whether he had forgotten about their date. She left immediately after him, but when she passed through the heavy double-winged doors into the entrance hall, he had already disappeared down the corridor leading to the dungeons. All she could do was turn towards her own quarters and hope for the best.

She changed into her Muggle outfit, anxiously watching the clock to make sure she was not late, applied just a touch of make-up, threw on her warm coat and hurried down towards the path leading to Hogsmeade.

Outside, it was a glorious winter day. The sun had finally won the battle against the heavy grey clouds, making the snowy valley glisten like a sea of diamonds. The fresh snow on the path down to the village was still pristine and almost untouched. Soon her anxiety started to dissipate. But she needn't have worried. When she reached the Three Broomsticks, Snape was already standing outside.

Charity didn't know what she had expected. In general, wizards were notoriously lacking of any Muggle fashion sense, which was especially true for those from the old pureblood families. They usually ended up looking like scarecrows when they did try to dress as Muggles, probably attracting more attention than if they had just donned their wizard clothes. Snape, on the other hand, would not have looked out of place anywhere on the streets of Muggle London. He was dressed all in black, wearing formal trousers and a fine knitted turtleneck jumper underneath a long woollen coat, which was a flattering cut for his tall, slim build, exuding a sort of understated elegance. His hair was tied back in a ponytail, making his nose look even more prominent. He could not have been described as handsome by any definition of the word, but his look was certainly striking, and when his black eyes met hers, her stomach fluttered with a tickly sensation, similar to what she had sometimes felt as a child when going as high as she could on the playground swing. She wanted nothing more than for him to greet her with a kiss.

"Hi, Severus."

Unfortunately, he did no such thing. He looked her over with his intense gaze, making her feel increasingly self-conscious about her appearance. She was anxiously watching his face for a sign of approval, but his expression was completely unreadable. And when he finally spoke, his words were about the most alarming thing he could have said.

"How is your long-distance Apparition?"

Charity felt her palms go sweaty and her knees turn weak. She had failed her Apparition test three times. When she had finally passed it at the fourth attempt, it had probably been more due to the examiner taking pity on her than the level of skill she displayed. Even after she got her license, she never felt confident. She hated the sensation of being squeezed through a narrow tube, always worrying that she might get stuck and disappear into nothingness. So she had never made use of this form of magic, preferring to walk for short distances while taking the Floo or even Muggle trains and buses for longer travels. Apparition was a skill adult wizards and witches generally took for granted, just like the ability to read and write, so Charity had always felt greatly embarrassed about her handicap, keeping it a secret even from her closest friends. She had developed a host of excuses and pretexts to avoid situations where her impediment might be discovered. One thing she loved about Hogwarts were the Anti-Apparition charms covering the entire grounds, so that she was at no disadvantage compared to anybody else while she stayed at the castle.

"Eh, hm, alright, I suppose," she lied, trying to sound confident. "How far do we have to go?"

She was feverishly trying to think of a way to suggest an alternative form of transport, without having to own up to the fact that she could barely Apparate across the street, and least of all to somewhere across the country. But Snape seemed to see through her as if she were a student who hadn't done her assigned reading.

"Never mind. I happen to be rather good at it. You'll just have to trust me," he said, offering her his left arm like he had done when he had led her to the ball.

Hesitantly, Charity took hold of his arm. She was not looking forward to this at all, but there was no way to refuse without losing face. She nervously squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for the sensation she hated so much. Then she remembered that there, underneath her hand, hidden by several layers of clothing, was the Dark Mark branded into his skin. 'I must be crazy,' she thought, 'He's a Death Eater, and I'm allowing him to Disapparate me to some unknown place.' Crazy – or maybe just madly in love.

Snape was very good at Apparition indeed, as she had to concede with a little envy. The whole experience was so swift and smooth she hardly realised that they had already reached their destination. When she opened her eyes, she found herself in a cobbled little street of some historic Muggle town. The medieval half-timbered houses with their snow-covered ridges and the Christmas lights suspended across the street were a picturesque sight indeed, but Snape didn't allow her much time to admire the surroundings. He led her down the street at his usual ground-covering pace that made it difficult to keep up with him even now that she was wearing entirely sensible footgear. When they emerged onto the town's market square, she almost squealed with delight.

"A Christmas market! Oh, Severus, look! There's a Muggle Christmas market there!"

"Yes. It is the reason I brought you here. I thought you might enjoy it."

Charity couldn't wait to join the crowds pressing themselves past rows upon rows of wooden stalls, each sporting their own unique Christmas decorations, huddled at the foot of the majestic old cathedral that towered over the colourful scene. There were all sorts of things on offer, from local crafts and pottery, to fine food and drink. It was the perfect place for some last-minute Christmas shopping. She bought a bottle of orange and cinnamon liqueur for Dumbledore and a jar of "Gardener's Hand Cream" with lavender and goat's milk for Pomona. She would have loved to get Severus a gift, but she absolutely could not think of anything he would like, especially not as he followed her around with a dour expression, obviously not sharing her enthusiasm.

Suddenly, the delicious smell of caramelised sugar and roasted nuts wafted into her nostrils, wetting her appetite for something sweet and drawing her closer. She followed the tempting odour and had soon identified its source – a stall selling all sorts of traditional carnival treats, nestled beneath the massive Christmas tree in the corner of the square. She had a hard time choosing from all the little indulgences on offer but finally settled on one of the gorgeous red toffee apples along with a bag of candied almonds to have later. Snape refused politely when she asked if she could get him something. She chose a spot a little distance away from the hustle and bustle to enjoy her treat. The apple smelled delicious. It was wonderfully sticky, juicy, and crisp when she took the first bite.

"Hm, yummy. You should try some, Severus."

She offered him the apple, but he just stared at her with a truly odd look, as if she were trying to poison him, making her feel a little offended by his disregard for such genuinely good Muggle food.

Once she had finished eating, Charity suggested they leave the market behind and wander about the village's streets for a while. It was rare that she had the opportunity to submerge herself in the Muggle world like this, and she was keen to explore a little, having a look at the shops and observing the people. As a half-blood, she had never actually lived the life of a Muggle, like her mother had before she married her father. She often wondered what it would have been like. When she spotted a large, red object across the street, she could hardly contain her excitement. She moved towards it with almost childish joy and started to examine it.

"Look, Severus! You'd never guess what this is!" she told her glowering companion, keen to show off her knowledge.

But the tall Slytherin just mockingly raised one eye-brow. "It's a post box, quite obviously. Don't tell me you have never seen one before."

Charity blushed, a little embarrassed and put out that she had failed to impress him. To even out the score, she continued.

"Of course I have, they have them everywhere in Muggle villages. But do you actually know what they're used for? It's quite ingenious. You see, Muggles don't use owls like we do, but instead they write an address on their letter and throw it into one of these boxes. They have quite a sophisticated system to make sure the post boxes are emptied on a daily basis, and each letter is delivered to the correct destination. It only takes about a day to send something almost anywhere in the country!"

"Yes, but only if you have affixed a stamp," he remarked dryly in response.

Now she really was gobsmacked. How on earth did he know these things? As she was lost for anything to say, they walked along in silence for a while, their breath fogging up in front of their faces in the cold winter air. She could tell he was amused by her confusion, secretly enjoying her attempts to figure him out. It annoyed her. She didn't enjoy solving riddles. Why did this man have to be such an enigma?

The sun was already starting to go down in these northern exposures, even though it was not yet four o'clock, and in the absence of its warming rays, it felt rather chilly. After taking a turn into another cobbled street, they came past an old pub, calling itself "The Farrier's Arms", advertising the sale of traditional mulled wine on a large blackboard set up on the pavement by the door. Charity stopped to read the sign, tempted by the promise of a warm drink and the opportunity to rest her feet.

"Oh, look, Severus, how about stopping for some mulled wine? I haven't had any in ages."

Snape gave her a long-suffering look but nonetheless proceeded to hold the door open for her in old-fashioned gallantry, inviting her inside. They found an empty table by one of the leaded windows. He went up to the bar to get the drinks while she sat down with a languorous sigh, watching him across the room as he placed his order with the barman as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Where had he learned to move about the Muggle world with such confidence? Soon after, he returned with two steaming mugs and took a seat across from her.

Snape took a sip from his mug of mulled wine. It was far too sweet for his taste and an abominable waste of a perfectly good wine, but for some reason he had decided to humour her. And not just by agreeing to stop for some mulled wine – this entire outing was something he would normally never have contemplated. Normally...

The warming and relaxing effect of the wine was beginning to lull his senses but did not go so far as to stop his mind from analysing the situation with its usual sharpness. His eyes swept the dimly lit interior of the old pub, observing the other customers. Most of the tables were occupied by couples of all ages, from a young boy and girl who were studying a map over their coffees to a group of elderly husband and wife pairs, chatting noisily at the centre table. And the strangest thing of all was how well Charity and he himself fitted in. There was a peculiar sense of normality about the whole scene, a type of normality in which he had never before partaken, but which he had always longed to experience.

Severus Snape has a girl-friend. The thought almost made him smile. For once, he was not the odd one out. For once, he was not the loner, the ugly git nobody wanted anything to do with. It seemed like a miracle, but the attractive young witch sitting across the table was smiling at him, and there was a fair bit of admiration in the glances she threw him. It was like a balm for his soul. He just wished that certain individuals who had always sneered at him could see them now. She slept with me. That fact was even more marvellous and filled him with a totally immature sense of pride. He watched her attentively, satisfied that she seemed to be having a good time.

At first, he had wondered whether it would be a mistake to bring her here. He was a complete novice when it came to entertaining a lady. He never did anything for fun. Everything in his life always had a distinct and often dire purpose. There had only been one time really, a long, long time ago, that he had had a taste of what other people did to enjoy themselves. It was the time when Lily had invited him along to a family outing, and they had come to this village.

He recalled every detail of it with crystal clarity. It had probably been the happiest day of his life. He recalled how Lily had bought a toffee apple from her pocket money. He recalled her laughter, so bright and cheerful, bubbling to the surface like the fumes of a well-brewed Amortentia potion, and her eyes, vivacious and sparkling like the emeralds keeping track of Slytherin's house points. She was so beautiful with her hair like spun copper and her perfect creamy skin, as soft as the petals of an English rose. He had been unable to take his eyes off her as she bared her teeth towards the glossy red apple and took a bite out of its juicy white flesh.

"Hm, yummy. Here, Sev, try some."

It had been at that moment that he realised he wanted more than her friendship, that he wanted nothing more than to kiss that mouth merrily chewing on a piece of toffee apple. It was the moment he had fallen in love with Lily Evans.

He had not wanted to compare. Nobody could ever compare to Lily, and certainly not Charity Burbage. Except for her annoying attempts to befriend everybody when she had first joined the faculty, which he had duly ignored, he had hardly taken notice of her until that fateful night of the Yule Ball. While she was pretty enough, though in a rather common way, she possessed none of Lily's striking beauty, none of the doe-like grace with which Lily had moved, and none of Lily's outstanding magical talent, so astonishing for somebody born into a Muggle family. No, Charity was more the sturdy type, always appearing a little clumsy, and had never struck him as particularly bright, witty, or knowledgeable outside her field. From her reaction earlier that afternoon, it was also clear that her Apparition skills were lacking. But then Lily had never been his, had never wanted him, whereas this young woman, for some unfathomable reason, clearly did. And that fact alone was surely worth making some allowances.

Yet, despite all their differences, at the moment when she took a bite from the apple, she had reminded him of Lily so strongly that something had painfully clenched in his chest. There was one trait they did share. It was a certain zest for life and the ability to find beauty in everything and everyone. It was a trait he himself lacked completely. And he knew that, for this reason, he could never find happiness without somebody else shining their joyous light into his life. It was so incredibly seductive that he could not stop himself from selfishly indulging and taking what was offered – he needed it too much.

But he also needed to be in control. He pondered the ruby reflections of the wine in his hand. Perhaps the key lay in the exercise of restraint. Perhaps it was not dissimilar to the enjoyment of alcohol, where overindulgence was detrimental, a contemptible sign of weakness, but complete abstinence was not required either. Yes, he decided he would only allow himself occasional, strictly limited doses of this sweet intoxication. The practice of self-denial was essential if he wanted to stay in command of his feelings, something he knew would soon become a matter of life or death for him.

"You're a half-blood!" she blurted out, her face alight with sudden realisation, pulling him out of his thoughts.

He smiled inwardly, a smile that outwardly only managed to tuck slightly on one corner of his mouth. Perhaps she wasn't so dim after all.

"Now that took you a long time to figure out. Ten points to Hufflepuff," he mocked.

"Was it your mother or your father?"

"My father."

"Oh!" Her eyes widened, and her hand flew to her mouth. "He must have been a right bastard, and that's why you hated all Muggles, and that's why you became..."

"No," his dark voice interrupted her firmly. "It is true that he was not the most endearing representative of the species, but that was not the reason."

He could tell that she felt the urge to ask what the reason was, but his trademark scowl warned her not to.

"And besides, I don't hate Muggles," he added with a smirk.

He downed the remainder of his mulled wine, pulling his face into a look of disgust.

"Drink up. It's time to go back," he told her.

A few minutes later, they emerged from the pub and walked down a quiet side alley. He glanced around to make sure nobody would see them Disapparate, but the street was completely deserted. He felt her tug on his sleeve and turned to see her smiling up at him with a flirtatious look.

"Kiss me," she whispered sensuously.

He studied her half-parted lips, plump, soft, and inviting like a ripe fruit. Marvelling at the fact that he was allowed to do this, he drew her up against his body, one arm around her waist, the other hand cupped around the back of her head. She fitted into his embrace so snugly, like a nut into its shell, as if she belonged there. As he brought his face close to hers, their hot breath intermingled in a heady perfume with notes of sweet wine and spices. He inhaled it deep into his lungs, feeling its intoxicating effect on his brain. Then he moved closer still until their mouths met in a hungry kiss. The sensation of her warm, moist lips hit him like a shock wave, such that he could hardly repress a deep groan. His arm pulled her harder against his abdomen. She felt so incredibly soft and feminine, so alive. He clenched his hand in her hair, grabbing a fistful of her brown curls, feeling how silky and springy they were. She let out a soft moan in response, which fanned the flames of his passion further. His mind and body were engulfed by a desire so strong, he wanted nothing more than to draw her into a dark corner between two houses, back her against a wall and make love to her. From the entranced look in her eyes he suspected that she would have no objections, and the relevant part of his anatomy was already readying itself at the thought.

But at the same time, a small voice at the back of his mind was protesting, berating him that he would so easily throw his earlier resolution overboard. He knew he had to stop, even just to prove to himself that he still could. It was hard, incredibly hard. This feeling was like a wild horse that just wanted to run, rearing and fighting against his attempts to rein himself in. It took all his concentrated will power to pull back, break their kiss and loosen his grip on her. With a deep breath, he took a step back and straightened himself. Charity moved as if to follow him, but he held up a hand to stop her. The look of disappointment on her face gave him a certain degree of satisfaction. At least he was not the only one suffering.

"It's time to go back," he said in the most matter-of-fact tone he could manage.

She opened her mouth as if about to protest. He really didn't want to argue. It was difficult enough just to resist the spell she seemed to have him under; he didn't want to have to come up with reasons as well. Before she could say anything, he offhandedly grabbed her arm and Apparated to the edge of the Forbidden Forest with her. It was the closest they could get to the castle by Apparition. He didn't want her to walk all the way back from Hogsmeade in the dark, as she had apparently done on her way there, another sign of her obvious reluctance or inability to Apparate. They would have to walk up to the gates separately so that they wouldn't be seen together. He would stay behind her at a distance to ensure she got there safely.

Charity let out an outraged yelp, seemingly struggling to find her bearings after the unexpected manoeuvre. Coming from the warmly lit street to the pitch black night that had already fallen over the Scottish hillside, it took his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the lack of light before he could make out the threatening shade of the line of trees. This was no place to go dawdling. He took her by the shoulders and turned her in the right direction.

"There is the castle. Go on, you go up first," he ordered, his voice lowered so as not to attract the attention of any creatures dwelling beyond the darkness.

He sensed as much as saw the look of hurt and confusion on her face. Her eyes were glittering suspiciously in what little light the starry sky could offer. It seemed that she was completely unable to conceal her emotions. Perhaps he had been too harsh; he really did not want to aggrieve her. To smooth over his rough behaviour, he pulled her back and pressed her against himself in a brief hug, placing a chaste kiss on her hair.

"Thank you for the pleasant afternoon," he said softly, hoping that this would do as a conciliatory gesture. "If you'd be so inclined, I would like to spend some time with you again in the not-too-distant future."

Her face seemed to light up with a smile.

"I would like that, too, Severus," she replied, wiping her hand across her eyes. "Against all predictions, I did enjoy your company."

She briefly squeezed his hand before she turned and walked away. Her little compliment filled him with a warm glow. As he watched her small figure trudge up through the deep snow towards the welcoming lights of Hogwarts Castle, his heart was thrumming with a dizzying cocktail of emotions. There was happiness in there, and excitement, a new sense of self-worth, and vindication. But most of all, there was fear.