You Will Now Divide Into Pairs

Chapter Ten – You Will Now Divide into Pairs

An ocean of students flooded the Entrance Hall. Their juvenile squeaks of excitement melded into a cacophonous roar that assaulted Snape's ears upon the moment of his ascension from the dungeons. Onyx eyes swept over the seething bass of brightly hued dress robes, glistening hair and clicking jewellery. A sneer twitched his lips as snippets of conversation became distinguished from the general hum of noise.

"Oh my God, Tiffany, those robes are HOT!"

"Oh great, the bat is here. I hope he's not going to be glaring at us the whole fucking time!"

Fighting back a smirk, Severus shot a dark glance toward the outspoken student. Michael Freeson paled, hiding behind the thick dark shield of his unkempt hair. The seventh-year Hufflepuff was clutching the plump fingers of Samantha Lannister. The shifty glint in their guilty eyes revealed their intention to depart the ball early, no doubt heading for the gaudy Christmas-themed rose garden established on the front lawn. If Lannister's reputation was anything to go by, there was probably nothing but bare shaven skin beneath those fluffy periwinkle skirts. The thought turned Severus' stomach.

Upon entering the Great Hall, the Potions master's lunch threatened to burst from this throat. Albus' usual Christmas decorations were foul enough, but the icicles draped from the ceiling, falling onto a winter wonderland of tables and lanterns, was enough to make Severus taste bile. He ducked under the low hanging sprig of mistletoe, the prickly green foliage combing through the upper layers of his obsidian hair as he did so.

"Severus, my boy, a smile would not hurt, you know!"

The eccentric figure of Albus Dumbledore floated across the room, his robes shimmering in the low light. Severus nodded in acknowledgement, unable to speak a word, having just noticed Ludo Bagman's skin-tight robes of bright purple blotted with yellow stars. Albus started to chuckle.

"I daresay Ludo's robes are brighter than my own this evening. Yours, on the other hand..."

The sneer on Severus' lips morphed into a scowl. Only until the first dance, he chanted to himself. I can leave after the first dance. It was then that he would be able to sneak from the hall into the quiet seclusion of the rose garden. He almost grinned with glee at the prospect of blasting apart bushes, revealing the copulating students within. Many points would be taken from houses this evening, hopefully most of them coming from Gryffindor.

The truth of the matter was, Severus hated balls. He hated them with such a passion that sometimes he felt as if the hatred was so congested as to create another seething organ within his tainted body. His hatred did not spurn from a petty belief that someone of his countenance ought to hate balls, but rather from past experience. As a student he had attended only one school ball at the closure of his seventh year. His thin lanky form had been clad in the first of his many frock coats and a pair of well-tailored trousers: a gift from Lucius Malfoy. He had taken a few turns around the dance floor, accepting the invites of several spotty, self conscious girls. However, his eyes had only been for one: the red-haired goddess sweeping around the floor in the arms of handsome James Potter and his ridiculous flouncy hair. Later that evening, Potter and his brood of foul Marauders had cornered Severus in the shadows of the Great Hall. He could still smell the alcohol tainting Potter's breath as the Gryffindor leant closer.

"She's mine, Snivellus, keep your eyes to yourself."

She's mine. The pain of this declaration shot through Severus more so than any physical blow. This agony must have been evident in his eyes, for Potter had continued.

"Mine, in every way. Just now, in the rose gardens, she screamed my name as I licked her wet c-"

At this point, Severus had screamed, the shriek from his throat a useless attempt to block out Potter's words, the sniggering of his pathetic friends. Tears had threatened to spring from his eyes.

Even now, the memory of this confrontation lingered in his mind. It was a shift of thought he knew he must discard, especially now since Ichabod Flank had made his timely appearance.

With most of the school now seated at their designated tables, the Tournament official swept through the remaining clusters in robes of pale grey, his golden waves tied behind his head with a silver ribbon. His handsome visage drew the gaze of the female populace, even those who had experienced pain and pleasure at his long, elegant fingers. As Flank sauntered in his direction, Severus began to wish that Dumbledore had not flittered off to discuss the finer points of archery with Percy Weasley.

"Snape, old boy, splendid to see you."

Flank's pomposity seemed almost ludicrous emerging from a man with such timeless good looks. Lucius Malfoy may have been sickeningly handsome, but at least he had the common decency to look his age. Flank looked like a man in his mid-twenties.

"Flank."

Flank ignored the tone in Severus' voice, sending a sweeping glance around the Great Hall. "Caught sight of Barny's girl, yet?"

"Miss Hamilton has not yet arrived."

"No doubt still squeezing that tight little arse of hers into that dress." A hunger leer formed on Flank's face. "I'm getting hard just thinking about it."

So much for pompous class, Severus thought humourlessly. Without excusing himself, the Potions master swooped toward one of the teachers' tables, finding several carafes of wine and a flask of Ogden's untouched upon its circular surface. At least he had been granted respite from the Head Table this evening; having to digest his food in the close proximity of Potter and Granger was an experience he was thankful to have evaded. Snatching the glass next to the small inscription of his name, he poured himself a liberal tot of Ogden's, savouring the flaming sensation of the liquid against his throat. As crude as Flank was, Severus could not help but revel in the idea of Isolde in the foul slip of a dress.

"Merlin's ten-inch cock, what is that fucking potato sack she's wearing?"

Severus was drawn from the quagmire of his thoughts by the now whiney tone of his unwanted companion. Flank's perfect complexion had turned somewhat pasty, sheer blue eyes sending daggers in the direction of the smiling girl. The sight of her caused a jolt in his groin, a quickening of the breath.

She was sheer perfection.

"Are you listening to me, Severus?"

Snape reluctantly broke his gaze and threw black pupils onto a flustered Ichabod. All traces of poise and lecherous bravado were gone, leaving raw, abandoned fury. Two pairs of eyes tore through the chattering crowd of silk and taffeta to a single body encased in emerald: the rich blue pair was shrouded in a haze of red, whereas the darker duo emanated a glow of warm affection towards its subject. The irises, however, were encrusted with sheer lust; they crept their stealthy way along Isolde's form as it swayed in ignorance towards her lantern-lit table.

Despite fearing the serious repercussions of her actions, Snape could not resist savouring a fleeting pocket of satisfaction over Flank's beruffled plan. "Of course," he replied nonchalantly, having deliberately prolonged his confirmation to aggravate the already spewing flame. When it was finally uttered, it was punctuated with a deluge of impatient huffs from his companion's lips.

"Well, this is – ludicrous! You were meant to – you –"

"What, Ichabod? Prepare your pig for slaughter?" Snape hissed through the crowd of festive chatter, withholding the urge to gesture testily in the direction of Isolde. "This may come as a shock to you, but I do have other matters to attend to here. Ripening virgins for your plucking is not my primary responsibility, despite what you may have heard from Lucius."

To Snape's surprise, Ichabod's eyes regained a flash of optimism and the left crease of his lip drew up into a toothy leer. "So she is still a virgin, then?" he posed repulsively. "Barny swore to me she was, but you never know what these nubile witches get up to in dark corners..."

His voice dissipated into the surrounding hum of chatter and giggles as his piercing blue eyes captured Isolde once again. The leer flickered briefly before contorting into a cold grimace. "Virgin or not, I'm not fucking her in that – that sack!"

Relishing Flank's outrage a little too much, Snape parted his lips, ready to prod the fire again, but before he could beckon another prick of sarcasm, Flank turned on his heel and strode towards the main entrance of the Great Hall. Even within the excited blur of tinselled student bodies, Snape could hear Flank's retreating mutter: "...father can't keep tabs on one wily minx. The useless wretch... should have fucked her when..."

As his eyes pursued Flank to the exit, an uncharacteristically broad smirk carved its way across Snape's features, but it lasted only until his gaze fell upon Isolde once more. Irises buckled under heated lids as he absorbed the displeasing sight: the surrounding circles of light illuminated Marius's arm snaked around her beautifully moulded waist as if they were taunting him deliberately, callously drawing his attention to that which he could not have. His eyes remained fixed in a practice of self torture as Marius's lips drew close to Isolde's earlobe, uttering words only she could hear, and she giggled. Or was it a shiver from his proximity? Knuckles clenched as his palm took more of her against him, the icy light highlighting her swollen, rouge lips as she replied inaudibly.

Snape didn't need to look at the rich and sickly list of foods on his table menu to know that he was no longer hungry. He needed some air.

With the mass of students now seated and ready for the grand procession, Snape's departure was more conspicuous than he had hoped, and though his retreating form received a number of fleeting glances, only one pair of eyes at the Head Table held him until he was out of sight.

oOoOoOo

Severus had no notion of how long he had spent there. The garden, though transient, seemed to possess a time of its own in the stillness. In his youthful ignorance, he would have been fascinated by the animated orbs encased sporadically within each nearby shrub, reaching out his hand just to confirm the life within each light.

His sharp arrival had irked the visiting light-bearers, scattering them briefly in an angry radiance until he had seated himself on an ornate bench. The nearby trickling of water emanated from an unsightly representation of a carol singer, but its sound soothed him nonetheless.

All had settled again, bar his thoughts.

As the frivolity mumbled through the open doors of the castle, Severus made himself acknowledge that a great deal of his anger stemmed from his own damned spinelessness – since when did he care two Blast-Ended Skrewts about the dating preferences of a student? What did it matter whose awkward fingers grasped her waist or inched feverishly across her skin?

Over the past few weeks, Isolde Hamilton had crawled her way into ventricles he didn't know he had, and no amount of distraction seemed to expel her from him.

Eyes narrowed, his gaze penetrated the rose bush he now faced. The longer he stared into the brightest orb, his eyes almost watered with intensity, and though the sprightly owner was veiled in her own light, he pictured a returned gaze, meeting it with unbridled challenge.

As if snuffed with a daring pinch, all light was extinguished as a dark silhouette blocked Snape's gaze. Blinking until the lingering glow diminished, his eyes eventually readjusted.

Fairies erupted in retreat as Snape shot to his feet, making an almost imperceptible shift towards the open doors. "Igor, now is not the time."

"It never is, Severus."

oOoOoOo

Ruthlessly blasting apart another rose bush, Snape found his first ounce of relief as he met the horrified and flushed expressions of two half-clad Ravenclaws.

"Get out," he hissed, paradoxically holding a stubborn branch to aid their departure.

The two students shuffled their way out of the dishevelled bush as they hastily rearranged garments and mumbled a clumsy mishmash of Sorry, Sirs and Please don't tell my mums. Even the satisfaction of his stealthy find was not enough to lift his spirits, however, and he let the guilty pair disappear behind a mossy statue without so much as a warning.

Half-heartedly, he strode across the snow besmeared lawn to the next suspicious shrub, idly aiming his wand at its centre. For an agonising moment, he thought he had stumbled upon the same offending sight he had deliberately evaded in the Great Hall, when his savage eyes met those of Marius Spencer. As his pupils followed the crooked line of his silk-sleeved arm, however, the student's hands groped a distinctly different shade of green. Praying it wasn't a mere trick of the light, Snape took another step towards the now parted branches to see the girl's flustered expression, free of all shadows: Kathy McKenzie.

Overwhelming relief swept through him, but – true to form – Snape concealed it well as he began his reprimand.

"Mr Spencer," he drawled as each syllable oiled itself over his tongue. "I didn't have you down as a natural Casanova, but perhaps I was quick to judge..."

"We were just getting some fresh air," Kathy retorted pathetically, knowing too well that the confines of their heated fumbling had made the air in the undergrowth thick with humidity.

"Oh, of course," Snape blithely humoured them as they slank past him and onto the gravelled path. "And where have you left your first flame? Crying in the girls' bathroom?" Perhaps he had misinterpreted his intimacy with Isolde earlier...? His pupils remained rigid with feigned disgust as he furtively held his breath for Marius' reply.

"Still inside, I think," Marius shrugged.

The boy's nonchalance flicked a fuse – how could he not be more concerned for Isolde's whereabouts? Surely she had given him a full account of Flank's sordid pursuit of her?

"You think?"

Marius's eyes flickered with budding concern. "Yeah – I left her in the Hall. Sir. She said that guy had left already. Flint, he's called, I think..."

Snape's eyes rolled with impatience. "You seem to be thinking a great deal of things, Mr Spencer. It might help you to know once in a while – perhaps then you would produce a half-decent potion in my class one of these days."

"She said she would be fine!" Marius called after him as Snape made his way swiftly back to the Great Hall.

It was not as he had left it.

With several steps still to take, Snape could already hear a deafening hum of collective thuds intermingled with inelegantly sung lyrics which sounded like Do the Hippogriff. "Infantile drivel!" Snape spat to no one but himself as he approached the great oak doors.

As the doors swung open, the sound rose tenfold, and Snape found himself consumed by an unrecognisable mass of bodies jumping up and down, presumably in time with a beat he could not decipher. Arms flailed; voices hollered; the Hall was a gyrating maze of lunacy and even Snape knew that his indisputable authority could not bring it to a halt.

Gritting his teeth together, he swept through the crowd. Though his mind was occupied with nothing but finding Isolde, he dimly noted that the students were all facing a group of musicians on the enchanted stage where the staff table usually lay. The men were robed from head to foot in black tatters and played a cornucopia of instruments which, to Snape's ears, made fierce competition for newly uprooted mandrakes.

Having made his best attempt to circle the Hall twice, still with no sight of Isolde, Snape's nerves were beyond salvage. By his first unsuccessful inspection, he had tried to mollify himself with rational possibilities – perhaps she was tired and had gone to bed? Maybe she was dancing at the very core of the tightening crowd he had not been able to penetrate? – but he could not stop his mind wandering to darker conclusions.

Had Flank actually left the castle?

Snape cursed himself for not checking at the time – he had been so embroiled in his own stupid satisfaction and smugness that the thought had not even occurred to him until now.

Storming towards the oak doors once more, he glanced sideways in the coddled hope of spotting Isolde in the more obliging light of the candlelit hallway. He slammed the door shut against the raucousness inside, and paused to collect his thoughts. He knew for a fact that he would not settle until he knew where she was.

Deliberation took him first to the Slytherin common room, which was eerily vacant. Against his better judgement, he considered checking Isolde's dormitory. If she was in there, he would be faced with having to concoct a rather awkward and fabricated excuse – but he needed to know where she was, one way or another. Tearing all pride and decorum to one side, he climbed the rickety stairwell, two steps at a time.

Just before reaching the hilt, an equally harried form crashed into him, causing Snape to steady himself on the girl's arm.

Both pairs of eyes looked equally guilty for a moment, but Snape corrected his gaze when he realised the face he looked at was not hers...

"Miss Parkinson – and why are you not downstairs with the other dunderheads, dancing your cares away?" he accused, choosing to shift all need for blame onto his companion.

The two of them stood awkwardly on the stairwell as Pansy invented her own excuse. The extended pause was unmistakable.

"I, er..." She looked down at her own figure for inspiration, "forgot to wear the corsage Draco gave me. Left it in my room earlier, in all the excitement..."

"How careless of you," Snape drawled unsympathetically. "What a shame you will have to spend the rest of your evenings this week cleaning filthy cauldrons."

Pansy's eyebrows rose derisively. "Well, then, so should Isolde Hamilton! She was here just a minute ago too!"

Snape's grip tightened involuntarily on Pansy's upper arm. "Was she alone?" he asked, his tone more anxious than he meant to betray.

Pansy eyed him with vague suspicion. "No, actually... I don't know who she was with. I've seen him around, though... during the Tournament. A blond man... long hair..." Her description trailed off as she noticed the growing intensity of her professor's glare.

"And you didn't think to tell anyone about this? Do you realise how serious..."

"Sir, she literally left with him just this minute. He was pulling on her arm..."

"Where did they go?!" Snape demanded, his panic giving his anger free reign as both hands gripped urgently at Pansy's shoulders.

Her eyes widened in worry and confusion as she considered her reply. She had never heard Professor Snape raise his voice before, not even at a near-death potion disaster.

"I... He said something about taking her somewhere they couldn't be disturbed. She didn't seem very happy about it..."

Without acknowledging her further, Snape turned on the narrow stairwell and descended hurriedly down the steps into the common room.

"Sir? I'm sorry, I didn't think!" called Pansy in the direction of the empty doorway at the stairs' base.

"You never do," Snape retorted under his breath, exiting the common room in a billow of black fury.

Every ounce of him prayed that she had not been taken where Flank's words had insinuated.