What Would You See?

"What Would You See?"

a series of short stories by Ada Kensington

AN: By this time, I have lost all of my regular readers due to lack of updating. I apologise sincerely, and can only hope that this latest installment will be enough to bring me back into all your metaphorical good books. I know this was due to be release last week, but it is a mammoth chapter and took me quite long to write. I hope you all enjoy it, regular readers and new readers alike!

***

Frost clings thickly to the bare branches of the many thousands of trees in the Forbidden Forest - their green leaves have long been shed to make way for ice and shadows. A deep blanket of new fallen snow spreads out over the forest floor - deadening all sound but the crunching of the feet of the shadowy figure up ahead, as it trudges through the seemingly endless white.

Small, shivering hands clasp tightly at the deep hood, drawing the edges inward to shield a delicate, masked face with slender slits for eyes against bitter Midwinter's chill. A billowing, thick, black travelling cloak drapes over, but does not disguise, a painfully thin figure - and the black robes that lie, just visible underneath the travelling cloak, indicate the thin figure as that of a woman's. To look upon, one would expect the perfect picture of frailty and vulnerability - this figure being a lone woman in a place as perilous as the Forbidden Forest.

Not so.

For when one looks a little closer, this woman's posture, the way she holds herself - her gait, her manner - all seem to radiate a certain arrogance, a coldness, a defiance, hatred, and pride. It speaks of a woman who has no fear of what the shadows may hold - because of her unsettling confidence that they can contain nothing worse than the shadows that she holds within...

***

It was becoming painful to breathe, the bitter air burning coldly at her insides, and, although there was no breeze, the chill air had begun to bite, making her skin tingle unpleasantly.

Twelve years ago, a journey such as this would have posed no problems. However, her term in Azkaban had rendered her seriously out of practise. She wanted to sit down somewhere, in order to get her breath back.

However, she could not afford to be casually late, so she resolved to keep walking until she had reached their old meeting place. You could never be late. Not when you were meeting him. Gritting her teeth, now determined, she struck off upon a new course which lead her deeper and deeper into the heart of the forest.

After walking on a little further, she came upon a clearing where a gnarled and knotted old yew - whose reach extended sufficiently to leave a small patch of ground around the circumference of the trunk untouched by frost or snow - had been growing steadily for hundreds of years. Her dark eyes darted to and fro.

Are you already here and waiting for me? Hiding in the black shadows, waiting to catch me off my guard?

She smiled, her dark eyes sparkling dangerously through the slits in her hood.

It'd be just like him...

But she knew that it was more likely that he was merely late (some things never changed) and confident in her assumption, she sat down underneath the overhanging branches of the ancient yew upon the frozen ground, removed her mask and let down her hood, and as she did so, great, thick, coils of raven hair untangled themselves from their confinement and slithered all the way down her slender back - framing her pale, slightly drawn face, which was (at the moment) flushed with exertion. However, it was her eyes that were undoubtedly her most striking feature - dark eyes with luscious, heavy lids, glittering dangerously with malevolence and defiance.

Azkaban had robbed her of most of her strength - and her once infamous beauty. She had rotted for twelve years in the bowels of the wizard prison and had become a shadow of her former self. But now that she had returned to the Dark Lord, gradually, she had felt her former strength return, and as she gained confidence, so the malicious sparkle in her eyes returned, and with it, her fervent desire to serve...

Once again, she was Bellatrix Lestrange: most feared of the followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, most faithful of faithful, most favoured servant of the Dark Lord, Voldemort. Cold and beautiful. Dazzling and merciless. Breathtaking, and yet utterly, utterly mad. Fanatic. Murderess.

Adulteress...

Grinning, she leaned back in against the protruding roots of the yew tree, and reached into her thick, winter travelling cloak and extracted from its folds, a thin slip of parchment, which she carefully unfolded and began to peruse for what seemed like the millionth time since she had received it.

Three days ago, she had sent him a letter by owl asking him to meet. She didn't know what had come over her. Possibly, it was nostalgia, the desire to see an old face again, to talk about old times - the good old days.

She smirked.

She had sent him a letter asking him to meet, under the pretence of requesting that they remake their acquaintance with one another - for small talk, and reminiscence - after all, it had been twelve years since they had seen and spoken to one another.

Even before sending the letter, she had been expecting an outright refusal - hastily dashed off, with his "regrets" and "compliments" and "regards," which she had always utterly detested. Therefore, she was pleasantly surprised when she received on owl the very next day bearing a reply written in his familiar, cramped, spidery hand:

Bella,

Meet me in the Forest on the 12^th.

Be there at the old yew around midnight.

Severus.

Normally, she would have laughed. Normally, she wouldn't have even looked twice at such a request before pitching it into the flames. Normally, she would let them come to her - never once putting herself out - after all, she was the one they all so desperately craved...

Lucius, her sister's husband, little Regulus (dear little Regulus) and Antonin Dolohov. The traitor, Igor Karkaroff, Walden Macnair and Evan Rosier and Augustus Wilkes (before they were struck down by that filthy, grizzled, old thief-taker.) Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle and Algernon Rookwood (it was she who had... persuaded him to fight for the cause.) Theodore Nott, Virgil Avery, William Travers and Julius Mulciber. Dear Rodolphus, her loving husband, who guarded her so jealously, and darling Rabastan.

She could see it, she could see the lust glittering in their eyes, with the satisfaction of knowing that it was she and she alone who had placed it there...

Initially, not all had looked upon her as an object of desire. However, over the years, she had turned that around. The world of a servant of the Dark Lord was a delicately spun web of corruption, cunning and deceit - and if she could use her great beauty to spin her own web in order to ensnare those within the inner circle, then so much the better.

The result was that she had nearly all of the members of the inner circle hanging on her every glance... her every word... her every night she chose to spend in their beds...

All, however, except him. He alone had not succumbed to her will. A last unconquered fortress unattainable to the besieging forces of Bellatrix Lestrange. Little did she realise, from that fateful night so long ago, she had begun a game that would last for twenty years...

"Incendio..."

Grinning, she watched the parchment burst into flames, the edges curling up and blackening, the embers whizzing up into the air in a flurry of red and gold before drifting, pale and listless, to the dirt.

Tonight, it would all end. Tonight, she would finally walk away, the victor. Tonight, that which she had so patiently waited for, for almost twenty years would finally come to pass.

The game was almost over...

***

They were in their final year at Hogwarts. Seven years they had all been doing this - meeting at the "study room." The "study room," was an empty classroom they had occupied the past seven years in order to study the fruits of their latest excursions to the Restricted Section to prepare them for the years to come. It was also a place where they could tutor each other in their less illicit, everyday subjects. Seven long years of Severus tutoring Potions and Defence to the rest of the gang, Rodolphus going over Transfiguration and herself explaining the intricacies of Charms, whilst Avery rambled on about Herbology. Seven years of practising their hexes, jinxes and curses (especially the Unforgivables) until it came as easily as a simple levitation charm. Seven years of long talks, where they planned what they would do after leaving Hogwarts and discussed current events.

Seven years of this - same time, same place - and he still managed to be late.

Bellatrix was not surprised, however, as Severus had never taken kindly to a summons - clearly displaying his considerable displeasure by arriving thirty-five minutes later than "eight o-clock, study room." So, in the absence of her tutor, she took the time to set the scene: removing three rolls of parchment from her satchel and placing them upon the desk, flicking through her essay on (such and such a subject) without taking in a word, sharpening her quill, running a comb through her long, raven hair and adjusting the neckline of her dress. Once satisfied, she sat back in her chair and waited for Severus to arrive.

Why she was going to all this bother, she really did not know. With his lank, greasy, black hair and sallow skin, he was, by her standards, ugly as sin. His nose was, frankly, absolutely huge, and he was nothing more than a rack of bones - far too skinny to be healthy.

However, it was fair to say, that Severus Snape had managed to get under her skin.

His intellect, while not hugely superior, was just that bit better enough to make hers pale in comparison. His ability to manipulate and deceive, while neither as overt as Avery's, nor as subtle as her own, was always recognised as the marginally greater. His cunning, perhaps his most considerable asset, she could match, but never get the better of. Brute strength, he was unable to call to his aid in a tight spot like Avery, but mind games were undoubtedly his forté. She had watched him reduce even the strongest of wills into absolute compliance with a growing resentment that was becoming harder and harder to hide.

She would, in all probability, have been content if Severus had been completely untouchable. For what frustrated her more than anything, what made her perfect teeth grind with fury, what made her blood boil, what made her toss and turn, sleepless, in her dormitory in the wee hours of the morning, was the notion of being "almost there." Of being "not quite." Of being second best.

But it was more than that...

He had grown some in the past seven years. Not in a physical manner, no. It was more of a psychological change and (dare she bring herself to say it) possibly a change in spirit. For example, she noted how he no longer walked in that twitchy, awkward manner. Rather, now, he had gained a little grace of movement, flitting fluidly from class to class with all the soundlessness and inherent malevolence of an ancient lethifold. Also, he had somehow begun to hold himself a little differently, appearing less submissive, whilst still managing to retain his impenetrable, iron veneer.

The rest, with the flick of her hair and a flutter of her heavy lids, their minds she could see in an instant. Severus, however, would remain in the background - staring at her impassively from the flickering shadows over yet another book from that bloody armchair beside the fireplace where he sat night, after night, after night - his hollow eyes glittering with a -- a something which she just could not read. It was not desire, and yet it was not disgust. It was not the superior smirk and neither was it the disdainful sneer - both looks that normally twisted Severus Snape's pale, angular features. It was a look, which she had never seen before - not on anyone - and therefore, had certainly never expected to first see it in Severus Snape.

It was a while before she noticed the look again. Perhaps, it had transpired a number of times prior to her first catching an accidental glimpse of it, upon an otherwise forgettable evening, in the Common Room. But now that she had seen it, she began to notice it more and more frequently, and the more she perceived it, the more frustrated and puzzled she became, until she found herself unable to sleep at night, her thoughts wandering increasingly to the strange, cold and elusive Severus Snape - even though she had recently accepted the long-awaited proposal of Rodolphus Lestrange (to the lasting grief of his brother).

What was that look? What was it about Severus that unnerved her so? Why could she suddenly desire obsessively, the one thing that made her so incredibly furious, the one thing that intrigued her to the point of obsession?

He was completely different from Rodolphus -- from any of them, in fact. He was always so aloof, so silent, so cold, so calculating, so deliberately self-controlled, and so careful not to let slip the chilly façade. Yet on a rare occasion, he could kindle that ice into a flame so intense, that it would sear and scorch anyone unfortunate enough to incur its wrath.

All he had done was managed to irk her, like an itch underneath the skin, which you just could not alleviate - no matter how long or how hard you scratched - and she could scratch and scratch until she bled, but she knew then that she would never be clean of him unless she did something about it. She knew that, as it was, he was just beyond her reach. So, naturally, she was going to do everything in her power to overcome that particular obstacle.

... she was going to scratch that itch.

The sound of the heavy, oak door of the study room creaking open snatched her from her reverie and then the soft, low, clear voice of the object of her unwilling fascination filtered through her into thoughts. She felt the familiar rush of hatred that accompanied such encounters with Severus, causing the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and her fists curl and turned just in time to see Severus Snape leaning against the doorway, his sallow face smirking slightly.

"Daydreaming, Bella?"

"You wish, Severus," she retorted, scathingly.

"Let's get this over with," Severus continued in that maddeningly cool tone, ignoring her, as he began to rummage around in his backpack for a quill. "I really do not wish to be detained any longer than is strictly necessary..."

Arrogant bastard...

"Then, Severus," Bellatrix whispered icily, her dark eyes flashing, "if you do not wish to be detained any longer than is strictly necessary, I suggest you do not turn up for your engagements thirty-five minutes late," she finished, viciously.

Severus halted abruptly, and looked coldly up from the shadowy depths of his backpack - staring unabashed, into the smouldering eyes of the scornful young woman before him.

There was a brief, but pregnant pause. After a few seconds, Severus broke the silence, and began to whisper, his tone sickly sweet and dangerously low.

"I feel you may be labouring under the delusion that I am going to stay for the full hour," he said silkily. "Then, I apologise, my dear Bella, but I do not plan to stay a minute longer than what we originally agreed. I leave at nine o'clock - no earlier, no later. I happen to be thirty-five minutes late. Why I am so, is none of your concern. This leaves me twenty-five minutes in which to correct this abysmal effort," he said, waving her potions essay in one thin, blue-veined hand, "and also leaves you twenty-five minutes to shut your mouth and let me get on with it."

With that, Severus's head snapped downward and he began reading casually, as if nothing had happened, occasionally scribbling upon the parchment with his fine, rook-feather quill.

Porcelain features twisted into a vicious sneer, she sat back and watched him in silence, her dark eyes aflame with hatred and admiration. She was going to have him. Even if it took weeks, months, years - she was going to have him. She would break through his iron veneer and eventually, he would be begging and pleading and screaming for more just like all the rest.

No matter how long it took, she would triumph over Severus Snape...

...and then nothing could stop her.

When the twenty-five minutes was up, Severus tossed her essay across the table. There seemed to be a lot of scoring out.

"I'm sure that will keep you occupied until tomorrow," Severus said, gathering up his things and stuffing them in his backpack. Pushing his chair under the desk, he swung his bag over his shoulder and prepared to leave.

Oh no you don't...

"Yes, I'm sure it will. Thank you, Severus," she replied sweetly, gathering her belongings speedily, rising from her seat and moving a little too swiftly around the table to stop directly in front of Severus, preventing him from moving any further.

Arching a thin, delicate eyebrow, he halted abruptly, and stared coldly down his nose at her with a look that said simply: "you are in my way."

Here we go...

"Severus, do you mind at all if I come with you?" she sighed, running a hand through her sleek, shining hair. "I really don't want to stay here until two in the morning working on this bloody essay and then have to dodge old Pringle on his rounds."

His response was a small laugh and a shrug of the shoulders.

"It really doesn't bother me whether you do or don't, Bella," he replied, disinterestedly, by way of saying yes.

Yes, that's it...

"Thanks, Severus," she said happily, perking up suddenly, "I know a shortcut. We can go that way and be back in the Common Room in five minutes."

"Why don't we just go the normal way?" Severus asked, his pale brow furrowing.

"Because my way," she began irritably before remembering herself and starting again, "because... because my way is quicker. I've used it loads of times," she finished, smiling.

Severus shrugged his consent once more, and the two young Slytherins left their study room, Bellatrix leading the way by casually slipping her arm through her friend's and Severus - showing no active resistance - was lead off down the corridor in the opposite direction of the Common Room.

***

The room that Bellatrix had chosen was certainly deserted and looked as though it had been so for quite a long time. It did not even have the usual clutter of empty classrooms - desks, chairs, old blackboards and such. The room must also have been very old, as it seemed to be constructed solely with a smooth, polished stone. The floor, which was coated with a thin film of dust was made of stone, the shadowy ceiling high above and also the huge pillars which rose up into the lofty rafters, where they joined their partners in making arches that ran all the way down the room - creating a long, grand corridor of which the end was obscured in shadow. It seemed to call to her. She liked it very much. It was pretty, in a melancholy sort of way. Unfortunately, Severus did not seem to share her opinions...

"Bella, where in the name of Merlin are we and why the hell have you brought me here?"

Severus hissed, whirling round to face her, dust billowing under his feet.

Her mind in a state of delirious pleasure, Bellatrix noted how his sallow cheeks were flushed with anger, how his black eyes seemed to smoulder with fury, and how his thin strands of jet-black hair were streaked wildly over his pale face.

"Why, Severus," she simpered mockingly, twisting a strand of curly hair around her finger, "do I detect a hint of anger?"

Look at his cheeks - they're red! Red, red, red, red, red...

She could contain herself no longer, and let out a scream of laughter. She laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed until the tears came. Then she dropped to the floor and laughed some more. Severus didn't seem to find it funny, but she didn't care. She could hear his voice, screaming over and over again for her to shut up, but she couldn't, for it was so incredibly funny.

"Shut up, you stupid cow! I said SHUT UP!!! What the hell is wrong with you-- Get up from the floor, Bella, you're making yourself filthy-- GET UP!!! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"

"Look at you now!"

she shrieked, laughing, as she grabbed his collar. Pulling him downward with a madly flailing hand, she straddled the furious, struggling Severus and pinned him to the cool, stone floor. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly and she felt that her teeth would melt together if she did not stop grinning. "Smooth Sevvie all dishevelled and worn! Now I'm the one driving you mad, Severus! Oh yes... Mad, mad, mad as a mad march hare!"

"What are you talking about, Bella?" Severus asked, incredulously, ceasing to struggle and instead stared up at her, his hollow eyes glittering strangely. At once, Bellatrix's rictus grin faded, and she felt the familiar anger rising, filling her with a liquid fire.

Oh no... don't you dare look at me like that...

"Shut up!"

she snarled, venomously, leaning right into her captive's sallow, angular face, her eyes dancing madly. "I am the one in control! I alone! Me! Now it's your turn to shut your mouth and let me get on with it, and, oh yes, I'm not completely thick you know, for I do understand your reaction. Best save your dignity, my dearest Severus, for you will be screaming for more before the end..."

Then, with lightening reflexes, she wrenched Severus Snape's head up from the dusty, stone floor toward her own and her lips met his in a rough, firey kiss. To her satisfaction, Severus reciprocated, and without warning, she felt his cold, thin hands flying over her slight figure, running feverishly through her hair and over her delicate face. She moaned appreciatively as Severus began to kiss her deeply, sliding under her robes, moving lower and lower and lower, when suddenly, she felt Severus lurch underneath her, forcing her upward. She tried to counter it, but the move was so unexpected, that she stumbled against a pillar and felt Severus pushing against her, and the cold, sharp point of a wand - her - wand, pressing unyieldingly into her neck.

"Move, Bella," she heard him say smoothly, his black eyes cold and merciless, "and you will be crawling on all fours back to the Common Room."

Knowing how Severus usually made good of his threats, she stopped dead, feeling the pressure lift as Severus took several steps backward, the wand now hovering over her heart.

"Don't think I didn't appreciate it, though," he said, with a hint of amusement. "Very flattering, I thank you. However, I'm afraid I don't think I'd take my chances with you." he went on, slowly pacing backward to the door, whilst keeping his eyes locked on Bellatrix, how was now shaking, not with fear, but with fury. "Right now, you're just too risky..."

Severus had now reached the door with the wand still pointing at the vulnerable Bellatrix, and he opened it swiftly, without averting his gaze, and stepped through it quickly and silently. Leaning around the doorframe, he smirked and added snidely: "...besides with your reputation, I'm afraid I might catch something." With that, he tossed her wand back at her - which landed at her feet with a clatter - and slammed the door closed, shutting out the light.

The room dissolved into darkness. Quaking with ire, she slowly slid down the pillar, and collapsed into a heap - wringing her hands and tears of frustration running down her cheeks. She had had him and now due to her rashness and assumption, she had lost him.

What was more, he had made her look like an idiot...

...like a whore and a desperate, little fool...

She sat there for a long time, for she knew that she could not go back to the Common Room that night, not if he was there, smirking all over his face. Clouds drifted, and a pale moonlight began to filter through the tall, but filthy windows. She did not notice it, however, until it chanced to reflect off of a smooth, cold surface, causing a shiver of white light to dance on the wall in front of her red-rimmed eyes. Bewildered, she turned and looked behind her, for she had not seen anything in the room when she had first entered (then again, she hadn't paid much attention to her surroundings) and her dark eyes settled on a huge, glittering, golden mirror.

For a moment, she stayed perfectly still, gazing coldly at the sparkling surface of the glass and then suddenly, with a howl of frustration, she lunged for her satchel and, staggering toward it, hurled her satchel's contents with all her might at the mirror - a hairbrush, quills, parchment, books, ink bottles - and only stopped when she expected the ink bottle to shatter the glass, and found to her bewilderment, that it did not. The bottle, upon impact, had smashed to pieces, the ink raining down spectacularly in all directions. By all accounts, the glass should have at least had a chip in it.

But there was nothing. Not a scratch.

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes suspiciously as she made her way closer to the mirror.

It must be magical, possibly dangerous. Why else would someone put it up here out of the way?

Halting before the grand, carved, taloned feet, she was now so close that she could see her reflection in the shimmering surface: her sleek, thick and shining, black, curly locks were tangled and wild; upon her dark, heavy lids, which fluttered over her equally dark, glittering eyes, clung small, crystalline beads from teardrops of defeat; her milky pale skin, which glowed eerily in the moonlight and her willowy frame - displaying her great (and infamous) good looks.

"What do you do, pretty mirror, that causes you to be hidden so, away up here out of harm's reach? You don't seem so dangerous..." she whispered mockingly.

Suddenly, as if to answer her question, her reflection evaporated smokily. Taking a hurried step back, she watched as tendrils of silvery mist swirled in the empty formlessness behind the surface and gasped as they began to take another shape... other shapes, in fact, very familiar shapes. Her thin lips broke into a truly evil smile, as she watched the two familiar shapes moving together, as one....

Very familiar shapes...

Now she realised why someone would not want to keep this mirror out in the open. It was not dangerous, but it had a purpose, a very practical purpose, indeed. At the moment, she was content. She could wait. If it took weeks, months or even years... she could wait.

No matter how long it took... she could wait.

***

Shivering a little with the cold, she was glad when she felt a thin hand rest upon her shoulder and a very familiar voice break the oppressive silence of the Forbidden Forest.

"Bella..."

"Severus..."

Smiling slyly, before rising to her feet, she turned to greet her old friend. Raising a small, white hand to his face, she walked over to the tall, thin man cloaked, masked and hooded, and removed his mask to reveal a sallow, angular face - more lined than she had remembered and there were dark circles under his hollow eyes - but still clearly the same Severus: cold, forbidding and untouchable.

"You must be cold."

"I am a little, if you must know..."

He laughed softly and then fell silent and still.

"You know why I'm here, Severus."

"I do," he replied simply, after a long pause.

"It ends tonight..."

Severus remained still.

"It ends tonight, Severus. All of it. I am tired of waiting..."

"... and I am tired of playing," Severus said quietly.

"Well then, let us finish this..." she said, holding out her hand.

Taking one swift step forward, he took her by the hand and drew her into the folds of his cloak, laying her down under the overhanging branches of the old yew. And there, in the ice and shadows, they made love - swiftly and silently as a passing breeze. When his seed was spent, the spell was broken. She kissed him once, they donned their robes, and there they ended it, once and for all, leaving in opposite directions without a word, as they both trudged off through the snow, masked and cloaked, into the night.

AN: Whoo! Boy, that was a marathon and a half - and believe me - it was more so for my poor fingers than it was for your eyes. It's about ten pages long (Microsoft word) and it took me the whole week to write. Bellatrix's intentions kept eluding my brainless grasp.

On that note, I thought I'd take the liberty of explaining Bellatrix's vision in the mirror. In case you weren't really sure, Bellatrix saw herself getting it on with old Snapey. Now, for those of you who would think that being Voldemort's most beloved supporter, her standing atop a mountain of muggle skulls or her sitting at the head of the war table would be her heart's desire, just think about what all these visions have in common. Yes, that's right, the answer is power. Now, when she is seventeen (in this story) what represents power (in her eyes) is Severus Snape. Her vision is symbolic of her managing to conquer the unconquerable Severus - thus stripping him (metaphorically, you little rascals...) of his power and leaving her the victor.

So, you would think, why the hell would Severus knowingly give in to her at the end? Remember when he says: "Right now, you're just too risky..." ? Yes, he made a little joke about it at the time, but he actually meant it (it's those mind games he's so good at, you see). When he meets Bellatrix after her release from Azkaban, he no longer considers her a threat, so he "gives in" to her to keep up appearances, resulting in Bellatrix believing she has won the game, when actually Severus is still playing (mind games again).

He's sneaky, but not evil.

Just had to make sure everyone understood that.

So... errr... thanks for reading. All reviews are welcome. Just a "bloody brilliant" will do, as long as you post it!

Thanks again!

- Ada Kensington.