As The Falcon Hath Her Bells: Taking Flight

My undying love always; Your Secret Admirer

"Faintly creepy, isn't it?" Hermione frowned."I mean, that last verse makes him sound like he's practically stalking you."Not to mention the verse was terrible.Byron is rolling in his grave.It sounded like something those goons Crabbe or Goyle would come up with, losing many brain cells along the way to the mental exertion.

Lavender dreamily placed the envelope on her bedside table, giving a sigh and swooning dramatically onto her bed.She's been learning too much about dramatics from that airy-fairy Trelawny."He even knew how much I love Divination!" she gushed."'Look to the future', he said!"Then she realized what Hermione had said, and gave her an annoyed look telling Hermione to bugger off and get off her personal silver-lined cloud. "Hermione, really.I don't think you'd know a jot about romance unless it was on the test syllabus," she sniffed.

Hermione shut her mouth into a tight, thin line, trying not to make a snappish reply.Her mood was worsened when Parvati's owl Perseus swooped in, dropping a beautiful, perfect long-stemmed red rose on his owner's lap, and lighting gracefully upon her knee.Parvati simply grinned, giving Perseus a fond pat and getting misty-eyed over the flower.

She got dressed quickly and grabbed her schoolbooks, storming towards the Great Hall for a breakfast she really didn't feel like.She slid into her seat beside Harry and Ron, ready to scream when as usual, owls were dropping valentines into Harry's lap (and her cereal) in a steady stream.She should have gotten used to his celebrity by now as well as hero-worship it garnered him, but she was in a foul mood this morning.Harry, for his part, was turning as pink as the colored, heart-shaped pancakes sitting in the middle of the Gryffindor table.She chewed her food and swallowed, attacking her cereal viciously, eager for classes to start so she could get away from all this lunacy.

Severus Snape sat glumly at the staff table at breakfast, itching to grasp his wand and cast a Laryngius Charm over the entire hall to shut up the chirping of snotty-nosed brats reading sappy, purple-prosed valentines aloud to each other in delight.Perhaps the Despondus Potion in their pumpkin juice, he thought with glee.Two drops and there would be none of this foolishness for him to suffer through.

Professor Vector grinned and gave him a wink, giggling as Professor Sinistra made some joke or another to her."Aren't we festive!So are you wearing your boxer shorts with the little red hearts today, Severus?" she teased."Don't you ever tire of black?"

He tired of these efforts to draw him out of his silence.None of them understood that sometimes, he wanted to be brooding, silent, not chirping cheerfully!"If I had come to breakfast," he said shortly, eating a waffle and ignoring its heart shape, "in bright red robes, Mellisande, I would have begged you to be merciful and kill me.I would have to be under Imperio or some such foolish--" he clamped his mouth shut, seeing their horrified expressions at his mentioning one of the Unforgivable Curses.

Damn it, Severus, he thought wearily."Ex-Death Eater" does not make for a good resume enhancer, nor does it produce good social conversation. They may have made light of Imperio in Voldemort's (he refused to think of him as Lord Voldemort) ranks, but it was a taboo subject in the forces of the Light.Here is Light; they are Dark.I have been both, so does that make me a shade of grey? he thought archly. Well: drab, colorless, a shadow.Perfectly fitting.

He stared bleakly out at the happy students.From the first one to ask him for a love potion, he'd deduct a hundred house points, he swore.Students knew better than to annoy him on Valentine's; he was even harsh upon Slytherin upon this date.He heard Dumbledore ask Madame Pomfrey if she had her stocks of Unrequited Love Potion ready to take away the heartbreak of those suffering from that ailment this day.Snape had brewed the stuff himself, of course: a pinkish concoction, smelling sweetly of apple.Save some from their own hormones that way, he thought sourly.Pomfrey had best have stocks of Contraceptus Potion in the ready as well.One I never needed.

He eyed Dumbledore's décor of the day.Red and pink everywhere: a shudder worked its way down his spine.Red--Gryffindor red: their colors of red and gold were as bold and flashy as Gryffindors themselves; how he preferred the understated dignity of Slytherin silver and green!He shuddered again to think of Voldemort's glowing red eyes, like some daemon from the depths of Hell itself, or a creature of nightmares.Red had never had good association for him: the house color of his tormentors, the lifeblood of his victims as a Death Eater, his former master's cruel gaze, the burning red of the Dark Mark forever staining his forearm and his soul…

Was it any wonder he preferred black, to match the heart of darkness within him?He knew he was not liked, admired, or spoken of with anything but contempt for "that greasy-haired git."No woman ever had loved him, and none ever could.He truly had no friends: only those who would use him, so it had been back to his own Hogwarts days with his crowd.Avery, Lestrange, Wilkes…Dumbledore perhaps liked him, but even the old, kindly Headmaster had his uses for Snape.He had risked his life as a double agent, chasing redemption he knew he could truly never earn.Locked in a Hell of his own making, and unable to let himself free.

It was all very far from this stupid holiday that gave the false dream that one could be dear to someone, cherished, loved.He curled his lip in a self-deprecating sneer, tossing back his pumpkin juice and excusing himself.Nobody noticed the man of the shadows slip away from the merriment: they hardly ever did.For if they had, it would only be pity they would have for such a poor emotionally crippled creature, and pity was the last thing on Earth that Severus Snape wanted, or ever thought he deserved.

One of Hogwarts' Great Horned Owls swooped overhead, dropping a scroll upon the pile of Harry's valentines.It settled on Hermione's shoulder, nibbling her ear, until she gave it a bit of pancake.It then happily flew off, hooting.Ron snatched it up, ready to read it aloud and tease his friend, secretly pleased that he had gotten three this morning.Not on Harry's scale, but respectable indeed.It was with surprise that he noticed Hermione's name written on the scroll."Mione, for you," he announced, handing it over.She looked shocked.Ron gave Harry a quick gaze asking, Did you send it?It would be like Harry to do that out of kindness and send it anonymously, since they both knew Hermione had never gotten a valentine.Harry looked equally puzzled.

Hermione slit the seal on the scroll, hands trembling.No, it had to be her letter to the wizarding Lothlorien University with information on applying in the fall.Nobody would send her…but written in a careless, spidery hand, in peacock blue ink, was indeed a valentine, or rather, a love note.

Signed, An Admirer From Afar

Hermione smiled.No flowery prose: nothing turgidly maudlin.This was her sort of fellow.The blue ink, and "from afar"…could it have been from a Ravenclaw perhaps?Well, they, if anyone, would admire her mind.She tucked the letter in her schoolbag, smiling to herself.She'd meet this person, indeed.

Little did she notice Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy smirking at the Slytherin table as they saw the Head Girl blush and smile, stars in her eyes.

At noon, Hermione clambered up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower excitedly.She knew that people usually came here for romantic privacy: she blushed at the thought.Would he want that at the first meeting?Part of her was taken aback, part of her thrilled.She opened the trapdoor at the head of the staircase, peeking into the tower."Hallo?" she called quietly.

She climbed into the small stone room.There was nobody else there, but she settled herself down excitedly to wait.She had no class until three, so she could wait.Impatiently she began looking at her watch.Her heart started to plummet to her oxfords, as it became half past, and then quarter till.At one, an owl flew in the window, shaking snow off its wings.She recognized Draco Malfoy's eagle owl.The bird dropped a piece of parchment in her hands, gave her a haughty look positively reeking of its master, and swooped off.She unfolded the paper, almost afraid to read.What could Malfoy have to say?It was green ink this time, but the same handwriting, she recognized with a shock.

Happy Valentine's, ta.

Stupid.She had been so stupid to believe like a foolish little girl that the prince of her dreams could be out there to sweep her off her feet.All that was there were cruel bastards who enjoyed mocking her or "didn't like her like that".A hot, bitter tear trickled down her cheek, falling onto the moss-green ink and smearing it.Slowly she descended from the tower: numbly.She had Potions.Yes…her academics were the one thing she could always be certain of.

Snape shuddered as he passed Minerva McGonagall on the way to the dungeons, she teasingly calling, "Don't be in such a hurry, Severus!Are you off to see your ladylove that your feet are on fire, Lover-Boy?We still have next month's Gryffindor/Slytherin match to discuss!"

He slammed the door behind him, stalkingto his desk and turning just in time to see Pansy Parkinson sashaying in, that young lady in red robes that made her look like a scarlet harlot, quite frankly.She gave Malfoy cow-eyes and grinned."Miss Parkinson, take your seat," he said crisply."There will be none of this Valentine's Day foolishness in this class."He turned to the chalkboard, listing the day's potion and its ingredients.He heard a stifled cry of outrage as he was writing "Gryffon Tongue", and turned, immediately zeroing in on the offender."Mister Potter, would you care to share with the class?" he said in the tone of silken malevolence he had perfected over the years.

He stalked back to Potter's seat and grabbed the note he clutched before he could hide it."So you have a secret admirer, Miss Granger.Congratulations."He stopped: suddenly recognizing Draco Malfoy's handwriting.God, how many times had he labored through that careless scrawl in equally careless reports?"Oh, so Mister Malfoy had taken a liking to you?"

"You--" she looked at him, brown eyes full of malice, hating his ugly looks, his bitter nature."Hateful old bat!" she spat, getting to her feet, and nearly running for the door.

He grabbed another note she had dropped, before Potter or Weasley could.He read it, trying to keep his composure."Twenty points from Slytherin, Mister Malfoy," he said sharply.Was this school nurturing a new Sirius Black, who would take the risk of killing someone as part of a joke?Malfoy was headed well down that road.

"Sir!"Draco protested angrily.Harry was equally shocked.He knew Valentine's Day was open season for Snape on any house, but twenty in one go from Slytherin?Snape must really be in a rotten mood this year.

"I said none of this Valentine's foolishness in my class, and that includes passing love notes to Miss Granger!Shall we make it thirty?"One of the Gryffindors made a crack about Malfoy, and Miss Granger, for which he happily took ten points.The Slytherins looked shocked at the very idea of Malfoy liking Granger.Considering Parkinson was practically surgically attached to Malfoy, it was no wonder they were dubious.Potter's outcry must have been at the very thought.But he spared Miss Granger the humiliation of exposing the prank Malfoy had pulled on her.God knew he knew the sting of it.He had fallen for the same bloody exact thing his sixth year, and been cut to the quick to hear Sirius Black laughing about it later in the corridors.He had hexed Black before he hardly knew what he was doing, furthering his reputation as a nasty bastard not to be crossed.

It was probably the first time he had ever sympathized with Hermione Granger.He had always seen her as Potter's adoring fan, but he recognized in her, as he thought about it, the same alienation resulting from intellectual brilliance.She was probably crying to Minerva McGonagall about Slytherins, including himself, right now.He sighed and turned back to the lesson.He would apologize (how he ground his teeth at the thought) afterwards.He may have been a nasty, dark-hearted bastard, but there was the faintest twinge at her experiencing the same thing he had.He kept the notes and stalked back to the front of the room, disgusted for going soft.

Hermione huddled beside the suit of armor in one of Hogwarts' many corridors, snuffling into the sleeve of her robe.She wouldn't let them have the satisfaction of seeing how much it had hurt.By tomorrow, she'd be able to cover up the hurt of it.Perhaps even by dinner.

There came a quiet, tentative voice, echoing through the ancient hallway."Miss Granger?"

She made a muffled reply before she realized the owner of that silky voice she had heard ringing with contempt for six years.It was too late now.He was upon her."Are you all right?"

"Why Professor Snape, I didn't know you cared," she lashed out.He sighed and crouched down in front of her.

"I came to offer you my apologies."

She stared at him, stupefied.She expected points off or detention for insulting him and running from his class, but not this."An apology?"

"Yes, Miss Granger.An apology: whereby a party that has caused offense admits to it and pleads that the aggrieved shall see fit to forgive."The same biting wit she was used to; that relieved her a bit.The thought of him being suddenly all cooing and soft would have quite frankly made her flesh crawl.

"What for?" she asked suspiciously.

"My response to your…note.I did not see the second one until afterwards."

"Of course, you didn't do anything about it," she snapped."Malfoy has you wrapped around his little finger!"

"How I treat my students is my business," he said coldly."Now, I'd advise you to not question me, else you'll lose for Gryffindor what Malfoy lost for Slytherin in points.I took twenty points for passing love-notes in class."

"Damned wretched holiday," she muttered, realizing he hadn't revealed the truth and a surge of gratitude going through her.

"Quite.Now, listen closely, for I will only say this once, Miss Granger.I will also deny I ever said it.You are worth much, much more than those lace-trimmed fripperies and candy hearts would have you believe."He said it before he hardly realized it."Now, will you please get up?"

She looked at him uncertainly, hardly daring to believe what he had just said."Why did you say that?"She got to her feet, knees water-weak and unsteady."Why?"Is my professor coming on to me?She stifled the hysteria rising within her at the sheer ridiculous nature of the thought.

He smiled wryly."Is it so unbelievable that I can discern a woman of value?Yes, of course it is."She looked at him: dark hair hanging lank to his shoulders, sallow skin, and black eyes.Not handsome, but cleaned up, he'd probably be quite distinguished.Was it possible that there was more to him than the heartless bastard she had always thought?Unconsciously she reached out a hand and touched his, the hand of the only man who had ever said she was of value as a woman.He flinched as if burned, and the eyes changed to that of a hunted animal."Good evening, Miss Granger," he said quietly, and turned to go, black robes billowing around him as he strode down the corridor.

"Good night, Professor," she murmured, watching him, smiling a little, playing his words over in her head.You are worth much, much more than those lace-trimmed fripperies and candy hearts would have you believe…is it so unbelievable that I can discern a woman of value?She headed for the Gryffindor dormitory; unable to understand precisely why he had done what he had, but knowing she would work to find out.

Chapter Two

Severus sat in his dungeon, staring miserably at the obscure Celtic grimoire Hud Cymreig, barely noticing the section on the Draig Galon potion that he had been trying to study--one of the few potions using ingredients from a dragon.Dragon was a very potent ingredient, as the creatures themselves were fraught with magic from head to toe, inside and out.The Draig Galon potion conferred "the stowt hart and hyde of a draygen" poetically, or more plainly, courage and a temporary shielding to most common curses and hexes, and therefore had been very popular during wizard battles.Since it required scales and heartstring from the Welsh Red, cousin to the Common Welsh Green, the species had been hunted almost to extinction during the Anglo-Celt Magician's Wars of the thirteenth century.Due to the rarity of the ingredients and its effects bordering upon the Dark Arts, the potion was of course highly regulated by the Ministry of Magic.

This was his role now in the war against Voldemort: working always behind the front lines.Ever since the disaster at the Tri-Wizard tournament and Voldemort's return, he had been cooped up in Hogwarts like a broken-winged bird.

Harry Potter had returned from seeing the Dark Lord rise anew, telling of a Death Eater who had left Voldemort's service forever, and of whom Voldemort had said casually, "He will be killed."Dumbledore had given him a warning look across the Potter boy's bed, both of them frozen to the core to realize the implications of that statement.

The jig was up.He was exposed.He had tried to go that night disguised as Barty Crouch, Jr., aided by Polyjuice Potion, and he had indeed heard his own death warrant authorized.But he had forgotten how long-winded Voldemort could be at these gatherings.He had felt the first stirrings of himself returning as he had hastily Apparated to the edge of the Forbidden Forest once the Death Eaters were released.Only an hour the potion gave him, and Voldemort would suspect "Crouch" taking nips from a flask at Death Eater meetings.He may have had a soul black as ink, but he was nobody's fool and knew a Polyjuice Potion as well as any other: he hadn't been Head Boy in his day for nothing.Burning with sick frustration, Snape had reported to Dumbledore with a heavy heart that he could not return as a spy: not as himself, nor as Crouch.

Almost two years.Two years of never venturing beyond the protection of Hogwarts' grounds, since Dumbledore insisted upon his retaining his value because of his Potions knowledge and that he could not be risked.Two years of the Dark Mark burning on his forearm as Voldemort called him, toyed with him, dulled to the barest edge of tolerance by the strongest potions he possessed.Two years of dancing on the brink of madness.Two years of enclosing himself in his dungeons, determined to lend some aid to the cause, feverishly researching, experimenting, smoldering in helpless rage.Uselessness frightened him--all he ever knew was being useful.If he had no use, what purpose did he have?He was not liked at all for himself; so usefulness was the last shred of dignity he had to cling to.

Truthfully, he wasn't that convinced Voldemort would risk a loyal Death Eater to kill him: he could pass no more Dark secrets to Dumbledore, after all.He was in effect a toothless wolf, and sending a Death Eater to Azkaban for killing him would be foolish.The Dark Lord would have lost a follower to eliminate a very minor threat.Very minor indeed: in two years he had come up with several slightly helpful potions, but not the big breakthrough that was truly needed.But if he were wrong, to sacrifice himself and whatever small assistance he could render would be a betrayal of the second chance Dumbledore had given him.That he could not permit--he had his own sense of honor, and a debt still to work off for the sins of his younger years.

The Ministry had reluctantly granted him carte blanche to work on any potions he felt helpful without censure, at Dumbledore's urging.They were naturally reluctant to trust a Death Eater whose only salvation had been the old wizard's word.He pondered for a moment.Perhaps a hybrid of the Draig Galon and a simple Strengthening Potion to prolong the duration of the shield would be of use?

No--it was Avada Kedavra that he would truly need to find prevention for.Any shielding potion he could come up with would repel the curses that Death Eaters used when they had time to toy with their victims before the coup de grace.But wizards more powerful than he had tried and failed in eons of wizardry to counteract the Killing Curse.The only known cause for backfire, which he certainly could not work with, was an innocent life willingly given in prevention of another person's death--as Lily Evans Potter had done for her son.

He turned his thoughts from the lively red-haired young woman he had been schoolmates with, allowing a small slip of grief at her death due to Potter's arrogant refusal to believe Snape's warning that Voldemort was coming for them that very evening.He had tried to discharge his debt to Potter that day so long ago, and Potter had prevented it (damn him!), and took his wife down with him.He saw the same arrogance in Potter's son, unfortunately.

Forcing himself back to the task at hand, he thought with a sigh, Any advance is better than none.He wrote furiously on a scroll, then rolling and sealing it so none but Lyanne Kierwood, in charge of distribution of restricted potions ingredients, could open and read it--it would burn to ashes for anyone else.He pulled on a black leather gauntlet, reached into the closet he had converted to a large mews by various charms and spells, and gently withdrew his messenger bird, Tosca.The white gyrfalcon tightened her talons slightly on Snape's wrist, sensing in excitement that her master wanted something, eager to stretch her wings after yesterday's hunting.

"Sorry to send you out in this weather," Snape muttered."But you know how it is--desperate times leave us all without our comforts."He removed the falcon's hood, and held up the scroll for Tosca to see."Ministry of Magic," he said."Lyanne Kierwood, do you hear me?"The falcon eyed him with bored black eyes.She had made the flight to Kierwood countless times for her master.She could find the way hooded, practically.She grabbed the scroll in one foot, hopping impatiently, waiting to be freed, and giving a soft squawk of acknowledgment.

Going to the window, Snape unhooked Tosca's jesses from her anklets, loosing the bird.Like a shot, she was out the window, flying with a gyrfalcon's rapid speed towards the Ministry of Magic to hand over Snape's request for a delivery of generally illegal ingredients for his research.Snape smiled grimly: she had never once been deterred.After all, who would suspect Severus Snape of having a white bird as a messenger?He had chosen Tosca for the innocuousness it afforded her, gyrfalcons also being native to northern Britain and thus hardly being noticed to Muggle and wizard alike.

His mind turned to Hermione Granger for a moment.She would be all right, he was certain. She was a truly bull-headed Gryffindor.Couldn't she have had one wizard parent, or even a grandparent?Then she might have been in Slytherin: she had the thirst to prove herself as a witch and the ambition to carry her far, so long as she could stop convincing herself she had to not rain on Harry Potter's glory.Then again, not all Slytherins were wizard-born--he knew that.Even the blood might not have been enough.It still rankled that the house of the most promising Potions student currently at Hogwarts was the house of those who had taken delight in tormenting him in his youth.He didn't know if he could ever forgive her that.He shook his head.He had discharged his duty to her, rectified his error made in class.He had no further concern with her.He turned back to his work.

Will the dragon ingredients negate the effects of the harpy feather in the Strengthening?, he wondered.He frowned thoughtfully.Dragon canceled out many effects by its sheer power.He headed back to his bookshelves, pulling out a slim black volume published in the sixteenth century discussing the various effects and counters of the more obscure potions ingredients, settled down into the armchair before the fire and began to study intently: a Potions Master in his element.

Hermione listened in the Gryffindor common room to Lavender giggle, "You told off old Snake but good today."She nodded idly, still confused as to why a man who had never shown the slightest bit of interest in her but to crush her ego underfoot, sneering at her as "Potter's little pet", would suddenly turn and say something as he had.

"Well, I mean, I'd react that way if Draco said he loved me too and Snape announced it in front of everybody," Ron said gleefully."Whew, Mione, I'm surprised you weren't screaming in terror."

She remembered the article Rita Skeeter had written about her as Harry's girlfriend back in fourth year, and how much malicious pleasure he had taken in reading it aloud to the class, with his own commentary.What had changed that he'd suddenly be so sympathetic?He didn't like her, did he?

The thought of it was faintly appalling.Still, not even Harry had ever said she was worth anything just as herself.He and Ron would have been her friend if she was a boy, girl, or Siamese cat.The only man who's ever told me I'm worth a damn as a woman I can't stand.Granger, your luck is going down.

She resolved to get to the bottom of things and discover what on Earth Snape's motives were.An action that odd had to be explored.But first, she wanted to bask in the warmth of the humiliation Draco Malfoy was suffering around the school for his "crush" on her.This was Hogwarts, after all: a secret lasted all of an hour before even the paintings knew it.She grinned at that, sipping at a mug of hot apple cider and actually enjoying Valentine's Day for once in her life.