Stealth

Chapter 4: Stealth

A/N: I'm so grateful to JaneAverage, my beta.

For almost two weeks Snape bided his time, shadowing her as only a skilled spy could. Each day he managed to get into the school after Macnair had left. He was somewhat surprised by what he saw. With the students, she was caring, yet firm, slow to anger and quick to forgive. But she rides her staff hard, too hard. She has high expectations for herself and desires the same in return from her employees. There is a hardness there, a sharp edge . . .

Despite his best intentions, he found himself enjoying the time he spent watching her interact with her students. She has a beautiful smile that lights up her whole face and...Merlin, help me...her eyes sparkle like Albus' when she laughs. He could see, too, that she delayed leaving the haven of the school as late as she dared every evening. Her loneliness weighs heavily on her, just as mine does me.

Snape was there at the bakery every morning when she appeared for her morning coffee and pastry. They had progressed from eye contact, to nodding, to smiling a greeting; to today, when he arrived later than usual and asked if he might sit down with her. She narrowed her eyes in answer, but he explained quickly that there was no other place to sit or stand. She acquiesced.

He introduced himself: "I am Steven. As you most likely can guess, I'm British. I'm here in the city to do some contract work. I'm a chemist by trade."

"Nice to formally meet you, Steven. I'm Emma. I work with autistic children. How are you finding New York?"

"Loud, busy, bewildering and entertaining. In short, much like London."

Emma laughed her reply, but did not offer any more conversation. He didn't seem like one for small talk, and neither was she.

Emma believed herself to be a good judge of character, and after a while, unconsciously, she relaxed. Yesterday, out of the blue, Nonna had mentioned him to her, saying approvingly, "I know his type, darling. Still waters run deep, Emma, and passionate. Once you break through his defenses, there's more love there than you could spend in a lifetime." Despite her mourning, encouraged by a trusted friend, Emma was beginning to be intrigued by the handsome British chemist.

When Emma started clearing her space, he asked quickly if she would have dinner with him.

"Oh, Steven, no thank you. I don't feel ready for company just yet." She debated with herself whether or not to tell Steven about her recent losses, but for some reason decided not to. She could see the disappointment in his eyes, but he did not press her.

As Emma left the table to throw away her trash, "Steven" leaned over her open canvas tote bag and removed the first thing he saw...a puppet. It was a white polar bear. He quickly secreted it under his black leather coat and wished her a good day. She lingered for a moment, as if she wished to say something, but reconsidered and smiled wistfully at him, gathered her belongings, and left.

From her place at the counter, Nonna had caught the whole thing. He clearly wasn't stealing; the puppet had little monetary value. How sneaky, she thought, and how determined. He's going to contact her to return the puppet. He slowly turned his head to make eye contact with her, as if he had been reading her mind. She smiled conspiratorially at him and decided to help his cause, and Emma's.

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

That afternoon was a long one. Macnair's routine was to come every morning at ten o'clock and leave promptly at two. He had insinuated himself into the daily workings of her school, and Emma had to admit, Ian was starting to relax around him. She was not. Something about his manner, his being, put her on edge. He was ever the gentleman, excessively complimenting her teaching and the school, inquiring about her life, all the while never taking his eyes off her. He rarely interacted with Ian and never with the other children. Snakelike! Yes, that's it. That's how I see him. A snake-oil salesman. But what's he selling?

Needing an afternoon pick-me-up, she started over to Nonna's. Just as she grasped the doorknob to the outer entryway door, she felt herself pulled forward as the door was opened. It was Steven! My goodness, what does he want? she thought, surprised to see him, and somewhat irritated.

"Steven! This is a surprise! How did you know where to find me?" Oh, God, I hope he's not a stalker.

A small smile played on his lips as he dangled her polar bear puppet between his index finger and thumb. "You left this behind this morning, and Nonna told me where I could find you."

"Oh, my goodness. I didn't even realize it was missing. Thank you so much for returning it."

He continued, "What do you do with it, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I was just on my way to Nonna's. Join me for a cup of coffee so I can properly thank you?"

As they walked, she explained that they used the puppet for storytelling, to help her students practice their verbal communication skills. This puppet was a favorite of one of her students, and she thanked him sincerely for its return.

As they reached Nonna's door, he softly said, "I'm so glad I could help." Leaning down, he lightly brushed her lips with his.

She could feel the electricity between them, but the feeling instantly brought her back to her attack, with its overwhelming feelings of negative electricity. But how could they be linked? she frantically thought. That was awful; this was ...well, wonderful.

He noticed her reaction and knew something was wrong. His carefully orchestrated kiss should not have engendered fear and confusion. She is kissing "Steven," not Snape, after all, he thought darkly. "Emma, what is it?" he asked firmly. "What is wrong?"

"Steven, it's nothing to do with you. A bad memory which I've had a hard time erasing."

"Then let me take you out tonight, and we can create some nicer memories," he said, hands on her shoulders, dark eyes connecting, sparking, with her lighter ones. She felt the gentle weight of his hands, caring, caressing, and without realizing what she was doing, heard herself accept.

*********

They met at the school at seven. He arrived promptly, with a car and driver. He is almost handsome tonight, she thought, in his black European-cut suit and tailored white shirt. His hair was glossy and dark eyes shining with approval as he took her in.

Tonight she wore her blonde hair long and loose. She had on a simple black silk dress with a side-wrap bodice that accentuated her curves. Her only jewelry was a simple gold necklace and the bracelet. Missing from her ensemble was the gold chain on which she wore her and Rick's wedding rings. She had left them at home.

Snape was staring at her, his mind a blur. Standing this close to her, she emanates magic...could she be? This Muggle...could she be a witch? A Squib? He could clearly feel magic pulsing from her now; this much couldn't be due to the bracelet.

At a loss for words, he continued to stare intently at her. Emma broke the tension, asking, "Where are you taking me tonight, sir?"

He smiled easily as he replied, "I know a small restaurant where we can relax and get to know each other, without throngs of tourists babbling in the background," and he held out his arm to her as they walked to the car to start their evening.

He took her to a tiny Italian restaurant tucked off a back street in Little Italy. He ordered for them both in Italian. The excellent wine warmed her as much as his gentlemanly attentions did. She relaxed and opened up to him.

For his part, he was amazed at how much he enjoyed her company. He could not remember ever feeling so at ease with, and interested in, a woman. Especially not a Muggle woman. He lowered his carefully crafted guard for her just a bit, whilst still maintaining his ruse. He took a long sip of wine, sat back in his chair and sighed, conflict raging within him. She thought him to be pleased, reached over and took his hand in hers. A wry smile played at the corners of his mouth.

She will have to determine the level of intimacy if I am to build her trust. But how far am I willing to take this? She was a Muggle, after all, and while he didn't hate her kind as others believed he did, he was reluctant to become entangled with one. With her. Emma. She certainly is attractive enough, and I'm man enough to admit I'm enjoying...or rather, "Steven" is enjoying...her.

He could feel the ironclad control over his emotions slipping ever so slightly. Damn you, Dumbledore. This is rapidly becoming more complicated than just a simple spying mission.

In her mind, Emma was conflicted as well. She was powerfully attracted to this dark near-stranger. So much, in fact, that she was contemplating sleeping with him. Her mind warred with itself, her relatively recent widowhood versus her loneliness and physical needs. They lapsed into silence, each lost in thought. The antipasti arrived and they both focused on the food before them, grateful for a distraction.

By the time dessert arrived, Emma had made up her mind. She longed for intimacy; she craved the release and feelings of comfort. She and Rick had had an active and fulfilling, if not terribly adventurous, sex life, and she had not even thought about being with anyone since her husband's death. But if things continued to develop nicely, she would sleep with Steven tonight, consequences be damned. I'm sorry, Rick, I love you. I'll always love you and the boys. But I need this now.

After dinner she directed the driver to her apartment. She was very sure of herself and her decision. "Steven, you can let the driver go for the night."

She held his hand tightly as they climbed her front stairs. He suddenly stopped their forward momentum, throwing his arm across her body as they reached the upper step. The door to her apartment was ajar. The intrusion of Dark Magic was palpable in the air. She felt it, too, he could tell. Shock registered on her face as he put his hand over her mouth to quiet her scream. He turned her around, pulling her toward him, grasping her firmly around the waist. He whispered into her ear, "Emma, you've got to trust me. I will protect you." She nodded her assent, and with a pop they Disapparated to his hotel room.