Tete-a-tete

Chapter One: Dumpkiss and Snivellus

"Who will be the King and Queen of the Outcast teens?"-Kurt Cobain.

Malvina Florence Midgen scuttled along the darkened corridors of Hogwarts, trying hard not to be seen. She was a short girl with a pear-shaped body and a mass of thick, matted mousy-brown hair that came down to her shoulders. She kept her head lowered the whole way; there was a knot of boys ahead. They were Gryffindors: Potter, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew. Her heart pounded faster. She felt a lump of fear forming in her throat, and her stomach knotted up.

“Please... please don't let them notice me,” she prayed silently, but too late.

"Hey, Dumpkiss!" Black called. "What happened to your face? Did your neck throw up?"

The other boys laughed maliciously. She winced, knowing he was right: her heart-shaped face was covered with spots . She began moving faster, hurrying down the hall. They caught up with her walking next to her, matching her stride, making niggling comments and laughing.

She was trying very hard to ignore them.

"I wonder where you’re off to in such a hurry, Malvina," Pettigrew asked with a snicker.

She hated her first name; she gave a sharp intake of breathe when he said it.

"I know where she's off to. She's going to snog her boyfriend Snivelly," Potter said

She flushed and muttered, "Am not. Severus and I are not involved; we are just friends."

"Oh, come on! Everyone knows, Dumpkiss, " Black said with a smirk. "Thinking about it makes me sick, though."

"Eew! Padfoot, bad image. I'm going to have to wash my mind," Potter said with mock disgust.

"I think they'd have the ugliest babies ever," Pettigrew said.

"You’re right, Wormtail," Black said."Maybe we should spay and neuter them. Not that Snivelly has any ba-"

That was it, she’d had enough. They could insult her all they wanted, but she hated when they said anything bad about Severus. She spun around, blue eyes full of hatred, her face red with anger.

"YOU ULIGINOUS, PUERILE, QUISQUILIAN CARBUNCLES!" she screamed.

They howled with laughter in response. "What the bloody hell are you saying?" Potter said with a smirk.

"You’re too stupid to understand, you papuliferous, zoophytes," she responded.

"What a mouth you have. I suppose you have to do something with it when you’re not sucking on Snivelly’s inch-long worm," Black said, his face contorted in a sneer.

They weren’t leaving her alone, and her anger was growing. She groped for a verbal tool to strike them with.

"F-F-FUCK-FUCK-YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! “she sputtered, hoping somehow that this would scare them away. They only laughed louder .

"No, thanks. I wouldn't know where you've been," Potter added.

She Florence was defeated, and she broke down, tears covering her blotchy face. They kept laughing. She sank to her knees and sobbed harder. She covered her face, and curled up into a tight ball, sobbing and rocking back and forth . They kept laughing and mocking, though it was beginning to die out.

"C'mon guys. We should get to class," she heard Lupin say.

Florence could hear them walk away over her sobbing. She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up at the brown-haired and pale-faced Lupin, who looked concerned.

"I'm sorry about those guys. Are you all right?" asked Lupin.

She glowered. "The sick bastard. Is this his idea of a joke?" she thought.

"I don't need pity from my enemies," she snarled, and spat in his face. He reared back and wiped the spit off his face.

"Why did I even bother…” he muttered as he walked away.

She stopped crying and smiled to herself; it would be something to snigger over later when she told Severus in the library. It was another strike against the hated Gryffindors. She didn't want to get up, she wanted to stay there, the eruption of emotion had tired her out.

"But I looked so stupid. How could I let them push my buttons?" she thought. “Will I get detention for spitting in Lupin's face? No, of course not. I'm poor little bedraggled, victimized Florence. Pity. Hah! That's a joke! He was just trying to find out something else to torment me about.”

Now a group of Slytherins was walking by. Most of them thought Hufflepuff (her house) was full of idiots, and that she was too sad to be worth noticing. Bellatrix Black let out a shriek of laughter at a joke her current paramour, Wilkes, had just made. Her shimmering black hair was elaborately plaited; her high heels clicked when she walked, and her ample breasts jiggled.

Florence wished she could be her; Bellatrix was older, beautiful, confident, sexy, and funny. Florence knew how Severus dogged that girl's step, how he watched her, how he looked up whenever she entered a room. Who wouldn't?

And sure enough, he was following a few steps back with his awkward, twitchy way of moving. The awkwardness was caused by his discomfort with his own growing body. The twitchiness could be explained by his paranoia that Potter and Black could be lurking around any corner ready to spring a hex on him. His black hair fell like a curtain over his face as he walked.

“Why can't I look like that?” Florence thought, watching Bellatrix. ”He'd want me then, and those Gryffindor bastards would curl up and die from envy. But I don't. I'm so awful.” She put her head in her hands as she silently wept.

Severus had been pondering exactly how he should start a conversation with Bellatrix, but Wilkes was telling his famous joke about the Mudblood and the flock of sheep. So, he kept quiet. Looking up he spotted Florence curled in the corner.

“Oh no. Why is she acting like she’s suffering from a mental breakdown? he thought, sighing.

Florence was the only one who really paid any attention to him. She was his only friend. His only friend was an annoying, melodramatic, whiny, weird, unkempt, short, chubby girl who had an obvious and pathetic crush on him. However once you got past her flaws, he had to admit she was amusing and had a formidable wit. She was a passable chess player and a great conversationalist, an avid reader, and most importantly of all, she shared his interest in the Dark Arts. Besides, once you got used to the pimples, she was almost…cute. But the way she fell to pieces about him, the way she’d rush around to please him, the simpering way she looked at him when she thought she wasn’t paying attention. He hated that most of all. In his experience, caring deeply about someone was a weakness. He watched as this sickness called love drained and destroyed his mother. He waited until the others had gone on, watching as Bellatrix got further down the hall. Shaking his head, he walked towards Florence, who was curled up tight in her corner.

She was just imagining herself as a sixty-year-old spinster, surrounded by twenty-four cats all named after children she never had, when she heard a voice above her.

"You are a truly pathetic excuse for a human being, Midgen."

She looked up and tried to smile through her tears. There he was--Severus. Others didn't see it, but he was good-looking…if you looked at him a while. She liked his gaunt form, pale skin, and long black hair. If only he would wash that hair, didn't have such a large nose, and had clearer skin (not that she was one to talk).

She thought of Black, Potter and the rest. How could they treat anyone so cruelly? She thought back on their words.

"Hircine… Slubberdegullions…" she was saying between sniffles.

"Not Potter and his bunch again," he snarled, "They think they’re better than everyone else because they play Quidditch, when they are nothing but a bunch of vicious jackals!" He handed her handkerchief from his pocket to wipe her eyes with.

"Jackals?" she dried her eyes and smiled weakly. "Don't jackals always pick on the weakest members of the herd? What are you implying about yourself?"

"Me? I meant you, Florence. You’re clearly not built to survive," he responded with a smirked.

"Speaking of survival, Severus, you look as if you’re about to waste away from malnutrition," she added, getting to her feet.

They were mere inches apart now.

There was a slight pause before he looked at her and said, "Do you ever brush your hair? I swear, there are small mammals living in it."

"I brush it about the same number of times you wash yours. If you put both of us together, we're well groomed," she said.

He gave her a small smile; it was something he rarely did.

"So, did you happen to finish the Valquez book I lent you? I would like to see it back some time this century," he asked.

"Yes, it was interesting. I like the author and the characters are the most complex I've seen so far. But the plot is rubbish. He is right about the world. People are essentially lumbering, nasty, and instinct-driven bags of pus. And the world is a bleak and cruel place," she said.

"At least Valquez manages to make it amusing. Didn't you like the part about how-"

"You mean that brain cell-depleting curse -- where all those arseholes end up thinking of was only eating, fucking, and Quidditch? I laughed so hard," she giggled, “but it’s so true.”

"Unfortunately," he sighed. "Do you have the book?"

"No, not with me, but I'll get it. It's in my room," she said.

"I'll meet you in the library, then," he called after her as she scurried down the hall.

After classes Severus and Florence met in the library, as per usual.

They were in the middle of their fourth game of wizard's chess. No one else was in the library except the new head librarian, Irma Pince, who just happened to be Severus's older cousin. She didn't mind if he and his friend loitered there.

"Check. Don't tell me you didn't see it coming, because it was as plain as daylight.” Florence smirked.

He furrowed his brow, rested his chin on his hand, looked to the board then back to her several times before speaking.

"This is the Korochenski strategy, right?" She nodded yes.

"It's new and they’re touting it in all the magazines. I've read the same magazines, Midgen, and I've noticed some very obvious flaws."

"Really? That is gelogenic talk coming from someone in check." Florence said, crossing her arms over her chest.

He made a move.

"Checkmate, I win. Maybe if you spent less time looking up strange words, and more time examining your precious Korochenski strategy, this wouldn't happen."

“She's pouting now. For some reason, she seems vaguely attractive when she does this,” he thought. “I don't think the girls will ever swarm me… and she's the only one interested. No, I can't. It would make things far too complicated.”

"It's not my fault," she whined. "My father made me memorize all this stuff when I was little. I didn't have a childhood; I had flashcards and algebra problems. And he still wishes I was a boy."

He shook his head. Why did she have to blame everything on that man?

"Don't play the 'hard-life' card with me Midge. My father is a raging sociopath."

"Midge, am I?" she smirked. "Have we just been transported to America in the fifties? Has the library suddenly turned into a soda fountain?" she said, her voice oozing with sarcasm.

“Hmmm, she didn't get it,” he thought. Either she wasn't as smart as she bragged or he had been too vague. Actually, he had been too vague, but why should he let her know.

"No, you dolt, I was referring to a midge -- the minuscule insect that bites and stings larger creatures," he said, sneering, but she was smiling. "Which accomplishes nothing but irritating them, and leads to a violent end for the midge."

Her expression of mirth was still there. Florence decided she liked the nickname Midge, it wasn't the worst thing she had been called and it reminded her of the incident with Lupin.

"You know, that reminds me of something that happened before we met…" With that, she told her tale.

"So you spit in his face," Severus said, smirking. "Good for you. Lupin is the only one that wouldn't report you. He's mostly harmless -- more or less a pussy. But you should have ignored them all together."

"I didn't get angry until they started saying things about you," she confessed with a sigh. He glared at her.

"How many times do I have to tell you? I can fight my own battles; I don't need anyone's help, especially not yours." he snarled.

"But I hate it when they torment you," she protested. "The burn marks on your hand still haven't healed properly; you should have let me take you to the infirmary-"

"I could handle it just fine," he growled, "if it weren't for your bloody interference. And I don't need Madame Pomfrey getting suspicious. I can heal myself."

"You're joking, right? You could never manage to make Soothing Solution right in class. It's been a week and I've seen how you still wince when you hold a quill," she said, thinking about the times she'd seen him crumple in agony while Potter and Black laughed. "Please if you let me --"

"I don't want your pity! And I don't need your mothering!" he spat back at her.

"I'm sorry. I'll try not to mention it again," Florence muttered, looking downward, caving under his burst of temper.

“She's starting to sound like my mother,” he thought. He didn't want her to turn into that, but even her expression was the same now. He could almost see his mother, a black-haired wisp with a haggard face. Loving someone who only returned their affection with abuse.

“Wait,” he thought, “If she sounds like Mother, do I sound like Father?” He shuddered at the idea.

"Don't look so sad. Let's go and do something else," he said.

"I have a pass for the restricted section," she muttered, "for that book on sex magic; it's got evidence for my Defense Against the Dark Arts term paper."

"So having a father for a professor does have its advantages," he said, smirking.

"It's the only advantage. I have to spend dinner with the bastard tonight for this; we're going to study for the O.W.L.s-which are next bloody year," she grumbled.

"I'm in Arthimancy; I've had him for a year. I fail to see how he is a bastard," Severus said as they entered the restricted section.

"You're not related to him," Florence replied with a sigh.

She searched eagerly through the stacks for the book called Ars Amatorius by Freyja Sluttain.

Severus had gone to the back and was examining some tome on hexes. She finally found it what she was looking for on the highest shelf and had to use the stepladder to get to it. Just as she was reaching for the book, another book -- Death by Laughter: Perfecting the Art of Tickle Torture --started tickling her. She didn't know how, exactly. She made attempts to stifle her giggles, reach for Ars Amatorius, and defend herself from the pesky hardcover-, but lost her balance and fell from the stepladder.

It hurt, and her robes were tangled around her waist, revealing a pair of short freckled legs and white lace knickers. Florence blushed and smoothed down her robes.

Rubbing her back and groaning, she looked up at Severus, who was leaning against a bookcase and watching. She snarled, "Why didn't you help me, you varlet?"

"It wouldn't be half as amusing as watching you," he answered smoothly.

"I didn't even manage to get the book I wanted," she groaned. It was then that the Ars Amatorius fell smack on her head. "Ow!" She rubbed her head. "I swear, the fates hate me."

The book now lay on the ground, open to a rather ‘interesting’ moving illustration.

"How exactly are they doing that?" Severus asked, studying the image.

Florence stared at it the got up. "I don't know, and I really wish we didn't have to look at this page," she said, closing the book and blushing deeply.

"How can you be so squeamish when you're borrowing that thing? You know you’re going to have to look at it," he said.

"The only reason I'm borrowing it is that the field of sex magic is considered both 'good' and 'dark'. There are ways to heal someone through intercourse, and also to drain their life force. As you know, I am doing a paper on how the idea of the Dark Arts is an oppressive sham. The term ‘Dark Arts’ was coined by Cadwallader Humphrey, an eighteenth-century politician -- what does that tell you? A politician! And it was perpetuated by a centuries of oppression, censorship, and the ignorant Muggle-borns who were influenced by a Judeo-Christian morality. Magic is just a tool, that's all; it can be used for good and evil alike," she lectured.

"I've heard most of this rant before," Severus groaned. "Do you really think people listen to you with all this news about that new and powerful Dark wizard in the news, Vold- whatever his name is…"

"Ha! Yes, well, that is another fraud. This guy comes from nowhere, and does what so far? Slaughter a few Muggles and other idiots? They’re making it up to keep us frightened; it's a load of crap," she laughed.

"But you're forgetting one thing. How are you going to get through this book to find your evidence? You're fourteen and you've never even been so much as kissed," he sneered.

"Shut up. You’re no fount of carnal knowledge: you've never been kissed, either," she snarled.

Suddenly, a realization dawned on them as they stared at each other. She gasped, blushed, and averted her gaze. His eyes widened, and then he hung his head. Florence was a girl, Severus was a boy, and Madam Pine was on the other side of the library.

"Uhh…Well…I wouldn't…ummm…" he started saying.

"You see...I wasn't thinking at all about… uhhh…that," she muttered.

"But because I just happened to notice that you're female… and I'm male doesn't mean… if it did…" he stuttered.

"Yeah," she said.

"But if we decided to-" He looked up and gave her a very strange look.

"For just reasons of pure experimentation- to find out what it’s like-" she said.

"Yeah," he nodded.

"I guess I wouldn't object," she mumbled in the direction of the bookcase.

"Neither would I. But just once…just to find out what it's like," he said.

"Fine then; it's agreed," she said. There was another pause during which they stared at each other.

"Sooo…Are you going to kiss me, Midgen? Or do we just gawk at each other for the rest of the millennium?" he asked.

"Kiss you? I thought you were going to kiss me. That's how it's normally done," she said coolly.

"Well, it was your idea," he snarled.

"No it wasn't," she replied.

"It was your idea. I know you fancy me," he said.

"Fancy you? My, my. Aren't we conceited?" she snapped.

"So. Then we aren't going to do this?" he said.

"Of course we are," she replied, as if not doing it was the silliest thing in the world.

"Then let's get it over with," he said, as if it were some arduous chore.

They got closer and he awkwardly placed his hands on her waist. She put her hands on his shoulders.

“So much thinner than I supposed,” they thought simultaneously. “It must be the heavy robes. “

He took a deep breath, and a strand of black hair fell over his face. She brushed it away without a second thought. He didn't yell at her or wince that much. Pretty good so far. He drew closer, and she closed her eyes. It wasn't so bad. His lips were soft. It felt nice and light but then something happened. She didn't expect the kiss to change, but his tongue was in her mouth. It felt so violent and forced, like it was an assault. But two could play this game. Her tongue joined the battle. The kiss continued for what seemed like forever.

Finally, they broke away, breathless. She wiped her lips with the sleeve of her robe.

"You…can't kiss," he accused.

"Well, if everyone osculated the way you do, the practice would be discontinued," she replied venomously and continued wiping her mouth.

"I deserve no blame. I was just doing what everyone else does. It's not my fault you are so bizarre," he sniffed.

"It was like having a flobberworm shoved in my mouth!" she complained.

"Exactly my sentiments," he countered coldly.

"So, you want do it again?" she asked a second later.

"Yes," he said quickly, "But this is the last time."

They kissed again. It was a bit better than the first time. She knew what to expect, but it kind of felt like her mouth was being raped- but he was holding her and that was nice. Then suddenly it stopped.

"Wha-?" She was startled.

"You have dinner with your father soon, so you should be going. I've been keeping an eye on the clock," he said.

"Oh, thank you." She smiled and blushed.

He watched as she took her book and scampered away. He went back to reading the tome on hexes. Finally. A kiss. But with Midgen?

This would make things more complicated. Though it felt interesting. Partly the touch, the warmth, the smoothness, but there was something else… something he couldn't put his finger on. And the blasted girl hadn't brought his Valquez book back.