Tete-a-tete

“And you were never very kind,

And you let me way down every time

But oh, oh, oh what can I say...

I adore you."- Ani Difranco, Gravel

It was the beginning of November now; nearly a month had passed since Florence and Severus had begun their pathetic excuse for a relationship. Florence found that almost nothing had changed. They hardly had a chance to do anything, what with classes for most of the day, Filch prowling the halls in the evenings, Madame Pince in the library, and of course, the constant taunting of their peers. Sometimes they managed to sneak away for a moment or two for a quick snog and grope, but these times were so few Florence could count them on her fingers. This evening they were playing wizard's chess in the library, though neither of them was really that interested. In fact, the chessmen had to call their attention back to the game twice. Florence, for her part, decided to at least try to play. It was better than trying in vain to think of a place to which they could slink off to make out. Her bishop had just taken his knight, beating it soundly with its curved cane.

She waited for him to move, but he was staring into space away from the chessboard, his chin resting in his hand. After trying to get his attention through glaring and making small noises in her throat, she resorted to a direct verbal approach.

"Severus, it's your move," she growled. "If you're going to be so yemeless, I wonder why we bother playing at all."

He shook his head. "Oh, I'm sorry; it's just that beating you at chess is growing boring."

"That isn't altogether true. Sometimes I win," she said, ignoring a derisive snort from him. "I might even win this game, since you aren't actually playing."

"I'm playing, Midge, and not just because I want to prove that defeating you at chess is no hard task," he said and then he looked away from the board. "Pawn six, to bishop two, pawn takes bishop two, check."

"You blasted etiolated git," she hissed darkly. "How did you do that without looking at the board?"

"Eons ago, when I moved the knight, I did it to bait you. I knew that your bishop was blocking the king. Once I drew your bishop away, I knew it was only a matter of time." He smirked.

"But what if I didn't move my bishop? What if I didn't rise to the bait, Severus?" she asked.

"Midgen, I know you too well. Of course, you'd rise to the bait. You always raise your hackles at the mere hint of a threat," he said.

“He's right, he really knows me,” she thought as she studied the board, trying to decide her next move. “Why am I so predictable? She looked over at him, but he'd gone back to aimlessly staring into space. How can he know me so well, while he remains a near mystery to me? What is he thinking?”

Severus wasn't thinking of the game, or even of Florence. His thoughts had drifted far away from the dark library to a familiar and well-loved subject: Bellatrix.

"Where is she? Where does she go? She wasn't in the common room, and I haven't seen her in the halls," he thought. Bellatrix had started disappearing at night, at first only on the weekends, but now even on weeknights. He missed her -- her beauty, the sound of her laughter, the smell of her perfume. "I know I'm not worthy, but seeing her again would be nice. If she was here..." he thought, "I'd ditch Midgen, and sit in the common room, watching her while pretending to do my homework. Though that sounds unfair to Midgen… I am with her… but I'm just thinking about Bella, not actually doing anything… so it wouldn't be like anything I've done before."

It wasn't just Bella who disappeared in the evenings. Most of her friends were noticeably absent as well. They must be having parties out in the Forbidden Forest or something. Severus sighed. He knew he wasn't old or cool enough to ever be invited to things like that.

"I know how utterly fascinating staring into space is, but…" Florence said, her voice bristling with irritation, "It's your move."

"Oh, thank you." He shook himself and looked at the board. "What the hell?"

The chessmen were doing some kind of rustic country dance.

"See what happens when you take so long?" she huffed.

"I don't really feel like playing anymore," he sighed.

"Me neither," she said, pushing the board aside and putting away the pieces. "So what now?"

"I don't know," he said morosely.

"We could play Exploding Snap?" she suggested.

"I don't like Exploding Snap." she growled.

"We could read," she suggested. "I bought the latest copy of The Journal of Obscure Magics. There's this really exciting article about Occ-"

"Reading some dry academic journal is your concept of fun, Midgen, not mine," he said.

"Fine, then what do you want to do?" she asked, putting her hands on her hips. She watched as he looked her over, a glint coming into his eyes. She knew what he was going to suggest as he leaned in close.

"Well we could," he started eagerly but noticing the sudden presence of Madame Pince, didn't bother continuing his thought.

"Where, in the bloody school, Severus? There aren't many places we can sneak off to without the risk of running afoul of Filch, a student, or worse, that wlatsome Peeves who'd delight in making facinorous sport of us."

"There is an unused and rather large closet, on the fifth floor, behind the tapestry of Euphemia the Stubborn," he said.

"How do you know about it?" she asked.

"It's another place I use for practicing curses and brewing potions that happen to be illegal," he said.

"Oh, that's good." She didn't ask how he'd found it. She knew it was probably a place to hide from his tormentors, but he didn't like admitting to weakness, and she didn't feel like pressing him.

The corridors they walked through were empty; no sign of anyone. They made small talk about slow-killing poison, which they had tested on mice, and the results.

Florence looked around once more--no one. She moved closer to him and deftly slipped her hand into his.

"Don't do that," he hissed and drew his hand away. "Someone might see."

"Who? There's no one around except you and I. What's wrong with a little gesture of affection?" She pouted.

"We'll have plenty of time for that when we get to the closet," he said.

"That's highly unlikely. I've met reptiles who showed more affection than you," Florence sneered.

"What you want is a simpering, soppy, poetry-spouting, clingy, soft-hearted fool for a boyfriend. I loathe people like that." he snarled back.

"I don't want that," she sighed. "I'd never ask for a sonnet about my beauty, because it's outstandingly hard to write a sonnet to something that doesn't exist."

"Then what do you want?" he sighed.

"I just want to know that you... umm…have feelings for me," she said in a meek voice.

"That's a stupid question. If I didn't feel something, would we even be doing this?" he replied, smirking.

"Point taken," she said, managing a small smile. "He said he has feelings for me, that's good," she thought as they were coming to nearer the tapestry of Euphemia the Stubborn, "but what are those feelings?"

She fought down her doubts as they ducked behind the tapestry and Severus opened a door in the wall. He entered and she followed, closing the door behind her.

Twenty minutes later, they emerged from behind the tapestry, blushing and rumpled. Severus brushed off his robes, straightened his tie, and set himself to rights quickly. Florence was still looking dazed and unkempt (she always looked unkempt, but now it seemed more than usual).

"Re-button your blouse, it's crooked. Straighten your tie and stop clutching your neck," he rebuked.

"But it hurts. You hurt it, you etiolated, Lusus naturae," she spat.

"Stop being a fool, you did the same thing to my neck," he said pushing back his long hair and pulling down his collar to expose the magenta bruise blossoming near the base of his neck.

"Fine. I will 'stop being a fool,' then," she huffed and removed her hand.

She tucked her hair to one side so he could get a good view. It was in the middle of her neck--a large, dark, violent-looking thing dotted with small, fresh, bleeding bites.

"Oh," he blushed upon seeing it. "I'm…sorry…Midgen, I was a bit too enthusiastic, I suppose."

"Don't worry. It's nothing I can't cure with a Decoction of Figwort and a Healing Charm," she sighed as she re-buttoned her blouse. "I'll make you some of that Decoction of Figwort on the morrow,"

He stiffened. "I am perfectly able to Decoct my own Figwort, thank you very much. I'm best in Slytherin at Potions."

"If that's the case, then Slytherin is going downhill at a very rapid pace indeed," she teased, straightening her tie as they started walking down the hall. "Remember, I've helped with nearly all your work in that class."

"Aah, but I'm smart enough to take advantage of your devotion and exploit it for my own means," he smirked.

"You say things like that about your only real friend, Severus," she grinned. "And yet you wonder why people don't like you very much."

"There's no wondering why people don't like you. They think your hair is going to attack them," he smirked, throwing a glance at her head. "Speaking of which, I swear I just saw some movement in it."

"You should talk! Your attitude about personal hygiene is from the Middle Ages," she retorted. "Just to give you a little update, water is not evil, and bathing should be done more than once a year."

"Oh, that was original back in first year, Midgen," he said.

"Ah, around the same time your quips about my hair were new," she said.

They had reached the dungeons. It was time to split up and head to their separate dormitories. They bid each other good bye and went on their way.

As Florence walked her dormitory, her good cheer wore off. Her lips ached from his rough kisses, the places on her breasts where he had dug in his nails stung, and her neck still hurt. It seemed as if her whole body was covered with a layer of dirt. She wanted to bathe as soon as got back. It wasn't right. She knew it should make her feel good, and maybe it did, but not good enough.

On Monday morning Florence read the news in the Daily Prophet that a pregnant Muggleborn witch and her husband had been killed in their home. A lot of these things happened. But the witch in question was the elder sister of a first year, Rose Addler, a quiet sort of girl who seemed to blend into the walls and never bothered Florence. Rose started weeping when she got the news. She was inconsolable and had to led away to the infirmary.

"It must be awful to lose someone that close to you," Florence thought as Professor Sprout walked past her with Rose. "I don't know what I'd do if something like that happened to me."

But there was nothing to worry about, really. Severus was a pureblood, and so was her father. Jenny was safe in Canada. Mother was a Muggle-born, but no one knew that. So these Death Eaters wouldn't be able to get her. Then again, maybe they had ways of knowing. If they did, Mother was in trouble, and she hadn't spoken to her mother since they'd had their row. What if those were the last words they ever said to each other? The idea worried Florence immensely. She went through her morning classes in a haze until Potions, where she was paired off with Severus. This usually brought her joy, but today she hardly noticed him.

"Something is wrong with Midgen," Severus thought. "She's usually talking my ear off by now." She was never this quiet and withdrawn, unless something really awful had happened. He didn't like her silence. This was the only time when he had social interaction, and he missed it.

"Is everything all right?" he asked.

"Yes. Why are you asking?" she replied.

"You're mangling those roots," he said, looking at the ingredients she was cutting.

"So? Professor Smythe said they didn't have to be perfect for this to work," she said.

"We already put in the roots, though," he said coolly.

"Oh yes, we did," she sighed.

"What's bothering you? You're acting quite out of character today," he said.

"The Muggle-born slaying in the paper," she said. "I know it's happened before, but one of the people killed was the older sister of a first year in my house."

"Why are you so worried? You told me you detested most of those little brats," he said.

"This isn't a bratty one. She's a nice kid…a nice, normal kid. She doesn't deserve something like that happening to her family," Florence retorted.

"That's not what some people in my house are saying," he replied coldly. "They're saying the Mudbloods deserved it, and the little Mudblood should be next."

A look of shock and worry passed over Florence's face. "You don't believe that yourself, do you?"

"No. I don't think anyone deserves to be killed just because of the purity of their blood," he sighed.

"So what do you think of Muggle-borns anyway?" she asked. Throughout their four years of friendship, they had never broached the subject.

"I don't have a problem with them, as long they know their place," he said.

"Ah, yes," she nodded in agreement.

"They're one step any way from Muggles, so it's logical they shouldn't have too much power," he said.

"Mmmm, that sounds about right," she said, feeling slightly nauseous.

"They should do menial jobs only, you know; Knight Bus driver, clerk, waitress, maid, that sort of thing," he said.

"My thoughts exactly," she lied as her uneasiness rose.

"If they want to marry, fine with me, as long they marry some other Muggle-born or half-blood," he said. "I despise any Mudblood bastard who ruins a pureblooded woman."

"Yes, that sort of person should be sent to Azkaban," she said, trying to say the words with conviction.

"I also don't like uppity Mudbloods. They should be put in their place," he snarled.

"Put in their place, how?" she couldn't hide her worry at this statement.

"Depends on the situation," he replied coldly. "I'm getting tired of this subject. Let's talk about something else."

"That sounds like a great idea," she replied, smiling. "Any ideas what we might do this week?"

"Hmmmm, we should practice dueling before the weather gets too awful." he said.

"We should. What day and time, though? I'm pretty busy all week," she asked.

"How about Thursday after classes? Are you free?" he asked.

"Yes. Our usual spot then, behind Greenhouse Three?" she said.

"Of course," he nodded.

"It's all set," she said with a smiled.

The sky was growing dark when classes ended on Thursday. It was cold, and that didn't help. The idea of spending the evening curled up in bed with a cup of hot chocolate and a good book crossed Florence's mind more than once. But she had to do this; she needed to see him, she needed to hear his voice, if only for a little while. Also, her dueling probably could use some improvement.

She bundled up in her winter cloak, donned her witch's hat, and shuffled off to Greenhouse Three. The other students ignored her, being too busy with the affairs of their petty lives. Florence preferred being ignored: it allowed her to go about her business in peace. Even Black and Potter paid her no mind tonight.

She liked the grounds at twilight. They were virtually deserted, and the scraggly leafless trees looked like something dead. She often felt that she had a strong desire to be dead.

She walked up to the space behind Greenhouse Three. Her heart leapt when she saw him waiting.

"You're late, Midgen," he greeted her curtly.

Florence sighed. She had started off on the wrong foot already, and she didn't want to annoy him.

"I'm sorry. I'm always late, aren't I?" she whimpered.

"Yes you are, but I didn't come out here into the cold and the dark to listen to you whine. I came here to duel," he said. "Are you ready?"

He removed his wand from his robes.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she replied, taking out her wand as well.

"Good, then let's get started. Get in position," he said.

They turned, facing each other, and raised their wands in front of them.

"Err…Just one question, do I curtsey or bow?" Florence asked.

"You bow. You'd only curtsey if you were dueling with another witch," He answered. "But that custom is declining in popularity."

"Aah, all right then." she said.

They bowed to each other. That is, Florence bowed, but Severus just bobbed his head in a disgruntled way, staring coldly at her.

"I'd better make this good," she thought as she bowed. What should I use?

She'd barely had time to open her mouth when Severus shouted: "Expelliarmus!" Florence was knocked to the ground.

Groaning and rubbing her arm, she searched for her wand on her hands and knees.

"You anathema! You didn't even give me time to react!" she grumbled.

"This is a duel, Midgen. It's not supposed to be fair. And I'll not coddle you, even in practice," he smirked.

She scowled at him, and stuck her tongue out. "Where is my bloody wand?" she grumbled.

"Here," he said smoothly, plucking it from the ground by his feet and handing it to her.

"Thank you," she sighed.

How could she overlook the obvious so often? What was wrong with her?

"Aren't you getting up?" he asked.

"Yes, yes, I am," she sighed, and struggled to her feet.

"Well, that was good for today. I suppose you're going to crawl back to your room to nurse your wounds,” Severus said resignedly.

"Whatever gave you such an ill-conceived notion? I'm not that pathetic," Florence snorted, brushing dirt from her cloak.

"That's a matter for debate, Midge," Severus smirked.

"Go on. Get in position. Let's duel," she said, attempting to twirl her wand, but only managing to fumble and nearly drop it again.

"We will duel again if you wish it, Florence, my dear," he replied, his voice filled with a wicked delight as he twirled his wand perfectly between his fingers.

They squared off again. As they bowed, Florence shot him what she thought was a very menacing look. Instead of looking the least bit apprehensive, however, he grinned, sniggered, and shook his head. They raised their wands.

"Impedimen-"

"Expelliarmus!"

"Ow, my back! You are a dirhinous papuliferous teratosis!"

"Mind your language, Midgen, don't be such a poor loser. Going to give up?"

"Ha! You wish," she said.

They practiced over and over again under the darkening sky. The third time he'd laid her out flat with a Disarming Charm before she had spoken even half of her curse. Her confidence was dwindling. He was so much better than she was at everything that was important. In the dim light, he looked more handsomer than ever. Why would someone like him choose to be with her? He deserved to practice with someone at his level, not with her. She was worthless, useless, ugly, loud and forever complaining. It would be better if she made up some excuse to leave.

She glanced at him. He didn't look frustrated or exasperated. She could see a slight grin on his lips and his dark eyes glittered in the half-light. In the near-total darkness he was beautiful and grotesque. She had to get up; she wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. "I probably won't manage it ," she thought, "but at least I'll be able to entertain him in the process."

He watched her struggle to her feet again, trying to hide his bewilderment. "What's going on? This is supposed to be the part when she gives up," he thought. "I know Midgen, and when the going gets tough, she goes away. Oh well! It'll be good for a laugh."

He was really enjoying himself; he hardly did anything, and yet was able to beat her every single time. He was surprised when she got up afterward, and amazed that she wasn't crying. He hated it when she cried, not just because it was pathetic, or weak, or immature. Watching her cry made his insides crawl; it made him feel so awful. He didn't like to linger on any feelings for Midgen, so it was good that she didn't cry.

He bowed to her, giving her a bored look. "Why are you even bothering? It will only be a matter of a few minutes before you're knocked flat on your back again," he said.

She didn't reply; she just gave a resigned sigh.

As it turned out, however, she did not end up on her back this time. She used the Jelly Legs Jinx before he could disarm her. Suddenly she was laughing at him, rather loudly.

"So, I'll be flat on my back, eh, Severus? You shouldn't be so quick in predicting my downfall," she tittered as she watched him wobble unsteadily.

It was going to take more than shaking legs to cow him. He figured he would let her gloat for a minute, and then he'd strike.

"Impedimenta!” he shouted.

She was stopped before she could wave her wand. She teetered and fell forward, landing hard on her face. She looked up as the curse was wearing off, and found that he had cast Finite Incantatem on himself.

"You were right; you didn't end up flat on your back," he smirked.

"You teratosis! You'd better watch yourself. I'm going to…" she got to her feet.

" Pungus Celera." he pointed his wand at her in a bored manner and she doubled over like she had been punched in the stomach.

"I'll get you yet, Severus," she hissed.

"I'd like to see you try," he said with a toothy grin.

So they dueled and dueled. Towards the end, Florence looked and felt like she'd been brawling with a troll. Severus, on the other hand, only had a few scratches, mussed hair and a tear in his robes.

"Was that last one really necessary?" Florence groaned as she wiped the blood from her split lip.

"They all are, if we're going to practice this properly," he said. "This time, try to hurt me."

"Hurt you? I cold never do-" Florence started.

"If you want to be any good at this, you have to really hurt me. You have to try, Midgen. How on earth do think you're going to defend yourself if you can't?" he said, glaring at her.

"You already get beat up enough, Severus. I don't want to make it worse," she said. "I really care about you. I can't, I lov-"

"What? You think I won't be able to take anymore, you think I'm weak!?" he shouted.

"No, I never said that! I just meant-" she protested.

"Midgen, I am more than capable of handling anything YOU can throw at me!" he retorted bitterly.

"I just can't hurt you, Severus, I care about you too much, I like you to much. I can't stand seeing you in pain!" she was on the brink of tears now.

"Don't be a sentimental idiot about it. I'll be fine,” he spat. "Just get on with it."

"If you insist," she sniffled, cringing as she raised her wand. "Pungus Celera!"

He knew it was coming, but didn't expect it to be strong. It felt like he was being beaten with an iron frying pan. He barely managed to stay on his feet. How could she do this to him? They were supposed to friends, maybe something more than friends…she couldn't… he had told her to do that…but it really hurt!

Florence watched anxiously. He was shaking his head in a dazed manner and stumbling. "Merlin's beard! What did I do to him?!" she thought. "He's still on his feet, so maybe it's not so bad. But then again, he was still on his feet when Black had broken his arm."

There was little time for pity. He had collected himself and looked deadly. She acted quickly, shouting out the first thing that came into her head: "Rictusempra!"

That wasn't a bright thing to do. Florence couldn't remember seeing Severus laugh a great deal in their four years of friendship. It sounded very odd, not just because he was trying to control it unsuccessfully. It sounded like a combination of a cackle and giggle. What would be the right word for it? Gackle, no caggle…? But neither of those were real words, and it didn't matter. He was livid.

"I'll…Get…You…Midgen…" he managed between bouts of uncontrollable laughter.

"You will, Chuckles?" she taunted. This was also stupid, but she couldn't resist it.

"A…taste…of…your…own…medicine…," he wheezed. ”Ric… tu…semp…Oh…fuck…you!"

She smiled and shook her head.

"Oho, that's a new one."

"Rictusempra!" He managed in one breath.

When it hit, it felt like hands all over, tickling at her, only she couldn't brush them away; she couldn't make them stop. It was hard to breathe. She doubled over on the ground, overcome with mirth, struggling to use her wand but it was hard to stop laughing and shaking. She looked over at Severus. He was having trouble breathing. He was wheezing…choking… falling… She knew it was possible to tickle someone to death, but she didn't think she'd see it right before her eyes she moved as fast as her condition would allow. She bent over his prone form, gasping with laughter. He moved quickly and suddenly she found his wand inches from her nose.

"What…is going…on?" she panted.

"Lesson two, Midgen," he murmured softly. "Show no mercy. You came over here because you thought I was incapacitated by your charm. Your compassion lead you right into my trap."

"But…what about…" she gasped.

"Your charm? I threw that off when you were distracted for a moment." he smirked, waving his wand menacingly before her face.

"That's…a dirty…trick!" she got out between fits of laughter.

"Yes, it is. But not everyone you duel will be interested in following the rules," he said. "Finite Incantatem!"

She blinked and shook her head. "Hmmph, how do you know I wasn't coming over here to kick you?" she snorted.

"Because, Midgen, you are hopelessly infatuated with me," he said with a smirk, his eyes shining in the darkness.

"Oh, you bloody git," she muttered, feeling a warm blush grow on her face.

He grabbed the front of her robes and dragged her into a kiss. They made out, tumbling on the ground, collecting bits of grass and sticks in their robes and hair. Finally the pace slackened, and they sat together in the cold November night. She sat on his lap, her arms clasped tightly around his waist, her head pressed against his chest listening to the steady beat of his heart. In moments like these, she felt closer to him than ever. It made her feel whole and complete. She could stay like this forever.
It was odd, just sitting so still with her arms entwined around him. He hadn't done this sort of thing since the time he was small enough to believe the lie that Mummy's arms could offer protection from everything. Her body gave off a comforting heat. A part of him wanted to just give in to that comfort, but what if someone saw them? What if someone was watching now? He couldn't have that, if they knew that he was snuggling up with Midgen.

He gave a quick look around, his eyes perfectly adjusted to the near-total darkness. He could see no one. He started to relax. This felt so good, so warm…he wasn't sure what to do, so he slipped his arms around her. It felt good. In this moment, he could almost fall in love with her. "Why not?" he thought. "She is smart, fun to be with, and sort of cute, if you look at her the right way, well, her eyes are lovely… And she really cares about me, nobody except Mother does that. And Mother won't be around forever…it would be nice to have someone to care about me, sometimes…" He looked up at the sky the stars were coming out, he ran his hand over her soft hair. She tilted her head up and looked at him, he cradled her chin in his hand. Pushing his long hair out of his face and tilting his head down, he kissed her.

Florence liked this. He was coming around. This tenderness…this caring…maybe he was starting to feel for her what she felt for him…? One could dream. The kiss was perfect, not because his technique had improved any, but because of the motivation behind it. Everything was so perfect. Suddenly the light of a wand hit her, accompanied by harsh laughter. Severus drew back abruptly and shoved her roughly off of him.

Shocked at his sudden change and squinting into the light, she saw it was Bertha Jorkins and…Pettigrew.

"Snivelly and Dumpkiss sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G, first comes love, then comes marriage, and then comes Snivelly in the baby carriage," Bertha mocked.

"I can't believe you caught them, Bertha. This is so funny!" Pettigrew giggled.

"I knew you were desperate, Snivellus, but her…? I've seen better-looking things in Care of Magical Creatures." Bertha said.

"You should talk, you -- you STEATOPYGOUS RONION!" Florence screamed.

"However do they snog, anyway, without his humongous snout getting in the way?" Pettigrew said.

"Peter dear, they probably have uses for it. It must be bigger than Snivelly's pecker," Bertha snickered.

"Ewww you're sick…" Pettigrew chuckled.

Florence's anger flared hotter and rational thought seemed to dissolve. How dare they insult him? How DARE THEY?!

"He's twice the man you'll ever be, Pettigrew YOU- YOU- NAPIFORM BATHYBIUS!" she screeched.

"Ooh, and how do you know this, Dumpkiss?" Bertha tittered maliciously.

Florence blushed. She had made a dreadful mistake. Her brain was clouded with emotions and she shouted, "FUCK OFF!" in conjunction with a flurry of spasmodic rude gestures.

They laughed loudly at this.

She felt an empty, hollow, twisted feeling inside and she was blushing from embarrassment. It just couldn't get any worse. She looked over to Severus for some sign of help. He was glaring straight ahead, a vein pulsing in his temple. He hadn't said a thing the whole time.

"Severus…" she whispered to him, "We have to get out of this…"

"Oh, look at the happy couple whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears," Bertha sneered.

Severus aggressively pushed Florence away with a yell. "Get away from me!"

"Looks like Snivelly's having trouble with his bint," Pettigrew said. "Maybe he should stick to wanking,"

"SHE IS NOT MY ANYTHING!" Severus shouted.

Florence shuddered at those words. It was like getting slapped in the face. He didn't really mean it, did he? She tried to catch his eye, to see what the truth was, but he wouldn't turn to look at her.

"Liar! We saw you snogging her," Bertha teased.

"SO?! That was a joke! She's nothing but a joke to me!" he spat back.

"I'm nothing but a joke… he can't mean it…" Florence thought.

"Oh, this is great! He denies it, but he's blushing!" Bertha smiled.

"Wait 'til I tell Padfoot and Prongs! They're going to love this!" Pettigrew said, his eyes alight with joy.

Severus drew his wand as soon as the statement left Pettigrew's chubby lips. "Shut up or I'll hex you." At this, both of their tormentors went white with fear.

"Y-You w-wouldn't, y-y-you'd get in trouble. We'll tell the Headmaster on you!" Bertha stammered.

"I'm warning you…" Severus growled.

Florence decided to help him and took out her wand. As she did, she saw Pettigrew's pudgy hand reach into his robes. "Don't even think about it," she hissed.

Bertha and Pettigrew looked over at each other, then started running.

"Locomotor Mortis!" Severus and Florence called out simultaneously.

Bertha and Pettigrew fell flat on their faces. Severus and Florence approached, turning their tormentors over and pointing their wands inches from their faces.

"Y-you can't do this!" Pettigrew squeaked.

"I know what you've been doing, you can't stop me…," Bertha said. "I'll tell everything. The dark magic, the snogging…you'll never be able to show your face here again."

"Not if you don't want more of this." Severus hissed, and his wand sent off a few menacing sparks.

"You can't t-threaten me, you cretin," Bertha said, her voice trembling.

"Fine. If that's the way you want to be," Severus sneered. "Furnunculus!" Boils sprang up on Bertha's fat face.

"How dare you do that to my Bertha! I'll…" Pettigrew stuttered.

"Pungus Celera!" Florence hissed and Pettigrew's face contorted with an expression of pain. "Shut your yap, you quakebuttock." Then she kicked him in the shins.

"This is just the merest taste of what you'll get if you tell anyone what you saw," Severus said in his most sinister whisper. "We're going to let you go now."

They undid the curse. Bertha and Pettigrew got to their feet.

"Run, now," Florence snarled, brandishing her wand.

Pettigrew and Bertha took off like they were on fire, their stubby legs stumbling in the darkness. Florence laughed.

"Look at them go!" she said. "Oh, I can't believe we did that! You were brilliant. Merlin's Beard--I was brilliant."

He wasn't speaking. She put a hand on his shoulder, and it felt amazingly tense.

"Don't touch me!" he barked and sprung away, turning his back to her.

"Severus, are you all right?" she asked tentatively, brushing the back of his robes with her hands.

"DON'T TALK TO ME!" he exploded. He had turned around, his face white and twisted with rage. "This is all your fault, you UGLY CUNT! You started this! You made me WEAK! I would never have let my guard down if it weren't for YOU! DON'T COME NEAR ME again!"

And he left, his robes billowing behind him, making him seem like some great bat.

Her legs felt suddenly weak. She found her rumpled witch's hat and used it to soak up the tears that poured from her eyes. She collapsed on the ground and sat there, crying into her rumpled hat until it seemed like there wasn't a drop of moisture left in her body.