Four Nights

Four Nights

The Start of Term

Severus Snape stood at the main entrance of Hogwarts, a grimmer than usual look on his face. Even with the rain continuing to pour, they were still there. No weather seemed to bother them whatsoever.

"You will have to cross their paths eventually, Severus," a quiet voice said behind him.

Snape shook his head, just slightly. "Not if I can help it," he answered, bristling at the direct statement from the Headmaster. "I am willing to stay in the castle until they're gone."

"It might be some time before Sirius Black is captured, Severus," said Professor Dumbledore. "Are you willing to become a prisoner?"

Snape's gaze settled on the largest group of Dementors. The Headmaster always knew exactly what words would rankle him the most. And to suggest that he was afraid of the Dementors...

There was nothing in this world that Snape was afraid. Nothing. That being said, Dementors brought back some very unpleasant memories from his time in Azkaban, right after the war and before the Headmaster used his political leverage and was able to get Snape released.

"The other professors are on their way to the Three Broomsticks," mused Professor Dumbledore. "Seems a shame to end thirteen years of tradition because of the Dementors."

"Don't let me keep you, Headmaster," Snape said curtly.

"Unfortunately, this year I will have to forgo the Three Broomsticks. Business with the Ministry. I was hoping that perhaps you could pass along my regrets to Rosmerta," said Professor Dumbledore lightly.

Snape turned his head and looked at the Headmaster. "I see what you're trying to do," the younger man said gruffly.

"I suppose I am being rather obvious," said the Headmaster with a chuckle. "I do not want you to feel confined to the castle, Severus, and that's the truth."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Snape replied, "I suppose a few minutes in the company of Dementors won't be the end of the world." Damnit, he would have to go now. The last thing he wanted was to look weak in front of Professor Dumbledore.

"And do give my regrets to Rosmerta," said the Headmaster. "I was looking forward to some of her mulled mead."

"Of course," said Snape, nodding his head. He waited until he heard the footsteps of Professor Dumbledore fade. At once, he cast a water repelling charm on himself and conjured an umbrella as not to get damp on the walk to Hogsmeade.

Then he started the journey. What a bloody horrible start to the year. Dementors and the Werewolf. Two things he could sorely do without. As he walked closer to the Dementors, he was careful to make sure that his steps were steady and even. The last thing to do would be to pick up his pace and attract their attention.

He forced himself to remain calm and ignore the memories that were beginning to swell inside his head. Snape's fingers curled around his wand as he walked, ready to perform a Curse that would repel the Dementors if needed.

Once past the Dementors, Snape let out a slow breath. He would have to walk back to the castle alone tonight. It was out of the question to let any of his colleagues see him tense up as he walked through the swarm. At the moment, he wasn't sure of how to accomplish that, but something would come to him.

The Three Broomsticks was crowded, like it was most nights. His eyes scanned the room, as was his instinct whenever he walked into a new space. Even though the war ended twelve years ago, Snape never stopped being constantly aware of his surroundings, not to mention every exit.

He stalked up to the bar, where Rosmerta was entertaining what looked to be a group of Auror trainees, wearing their bright orange training robes. Absolutely ridiculous colour for robes, making the trainees even more of a target than they already were. "Professor Snape!" she said politely. "The usual?"

Snape nodded as the group of three Auror trainees all turned to look at him. He recognized them all as former students. "Hello, Towler, Entwhistle, Quirke," he said briskly, not wanting to encourage conversation. Former Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, the lot of them, so they all looked at him slightly warily.

Once Rosmerta placed his dry sherry in front of him, Snape turned to leave, and a pink haired witch ran right into him, tumbling to the ground. His drink spilled all over his robes, though fortunately, the water repelling charm was still in affect, so it bounced off easily.

"I'm so sorry, Professor Snape!" the young witch cried.

Snape looked down and saw Nymphadora Tonks, her pink hair clashing violently with her orange robe. He held out his hand, wanting to be slightly more amiable to a former member of his House. Nymphadora might only be a few years out of school, but he hadn't forgotten her yet. Brilliant, certainly, but the social skills and coordination of an eleven year old.

Nymphadora put her hand in his and stood up. "Let me buy you another drink," she said apologetically, walking quickly to the bar.

Rosmerta already had one ready. Nymphadora fumbled through a large shoulder bag, probably looking for her wallet. "No, worries, dear," said Rosmerta cheerfully. "Hogwarts professors always drink free the first night of term. Need to build up their strength for the rest of the year."

"Is it September first already?" Nymphadora asked somewhat absently.

"Of course it is, are you daft?" asked Quirke. "That's why we're here."

"Right," Nymphadora mumbled, her cheeks reddening. "I knew that."

Snape decided to extract himself from what was obviously an issue between fellow trainees. He nodded and headed towards the corner where half the faculty was sitting. The other half was back at the castle for patrol duty.

Sipping his sherry thoughtfully, Snape listened to his colleagues discuss their summer holidays or projects, but never offering any information about his own plans, terribly exciting as they had been. His summer consisted of reading and working on new Potions and spells in his family's home. Having more than two months of no distractions, of peace, was much better than a trip to Brazil like Sinistra or an evening class on the latest in Charms like Flitwick.

The evening passed by pleasantly enough, and the professors stood up, stretching and savoring their last bit of freedom. Snape thought quickly, trying to decide just how to avoid the walk back to Hogwarts with everyone. Across the room, he saw Nymphadora Tonks, sitting at a table by herself. No one would question him wanting to catch up with a former member of his House.

He told Minerva that he was going to say hello and she simply nodded and struggled with her traveling cloak. His eyes focused on Nymphadora for a moment. She looked completely dejected, leaning her elbow on the table and resting her head on her hand.

"May I?" he asked once she glanced up and saw him towering over her.

She nodded and Snape slipped silently into the chair across from her. Behind him, he could hear the patrons in the bar calling goodnight to his colleagues. It was always such a production.

"So how's the Bloody Baron?" Nymphadora asked, not looking at him.

"Bloody," replied Snape dryly. The last thing he wanted was to start an extended conversation with the young witch, but to get up now and leave would be incredibly rude. "Auror training? I believe it's your second year?"

"Third," sighed Nymphadora. "And I'm probably going to get kicked out of the program soon." Snape raised one inquiring eyebrow and she continued, "Probation."

"Deservedly?"

"Rotten timing and my blood," she said bitterly, taking a sip of butterbeer. "I was training at Azkaban when Black escaped."

Immediately, he understood why she was on probation. Nymphadora was barely accepted into the Auror program to begin with; Umbridge had fought tooth and nail to keep a Metamorphmagus out of the Ministry, citing their rumored untrustworthiness. She also had two other strikes against her, being a member of the Black family and though no one would ever say this out loud, a Slytherin. Frankly, if what she said was true, Snape was surprised they allowed her to stay in the program, even on a probationary status.

They sat in silence for a bit, both nursing their drinks. Then she looked up at him and demanded, "Why hasn't Slytherin won the House Cup since I've been gone?"

Placing his tumbler on the table with a bit too much force, he stared at her, his brow furrowing. He had to admit, he was pleased when she did not look away, but instead gazed back at him with the same intensity. "There were circumstances beyond my control," he told her in a low voice, thinking of Harry bloody Potter.

Nymphadora nodded, probably knowing all about the additional points to Gryffindor for her friends still in Slytherin. Snape always kept careful tabs of the friendships and relationships forged in his House, and he knew that she still had several friends that were now Seventh Years.

"I miss Hogwarts a lot," Nymphadora said suddenly, sounding wistful. "Everything made sense there."

Two years ago, Snape would have agreed with her. But ever since Lily's son had come to Hogwarts, it felt like his world had turned upside down. He missed the mundane routine that life used to be. Now everything was uncertain and uncertainty was something that Snape did not appreciate.

For a moment, she looked at him, an expression on her face he couldn't quite understand. That troubled him, as Snape always prided himself to know what people were thinking simply by looking at their face. He contemplated using Legilimency, but then she looked at her watch and said, "I'm about to turn into a pumpkin." Standing up, she added, "It was nice to see you, Professor Snape."

Snape nodded slowly, watching as Nymphadora walked past him, yelling, "Ta!" to Rosmerta at the bar and then stumbling slightly as she tripped on the floor mat in front of the door.

With a deep breath, Snape gathered his thoughts and prepared himself for a second walk past the Dementors.

Halloween

Snape stormed out of the Great Hall after his disagreement with the Headmaster. Why couldn't he see the truth? The werewolf was the only one that could possibly be letting Black into the castle! Even after all these years, Professor Dumbledore still couldn't accept that one of his precious Gryffindors actually betrayed him.

Oh, there were times he wished that he knew Black was the traitor back during the first war. How he would have loved to inform the Headmaster of the ultimate betrayal. And if he knew, he might have been able to save Lily...

Snape pushed that thought out of his mind as he stepped outside, desperate for some fresh air. He knew that he should be patrolling the castle, looking for Black. Looking up, the waxing moon, so close to being full, taunted him.

The only good thing with having Lupin being the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was that Snape would never have to deal with him again after this year was over. As the Headmaster's list of DADA candidates became shorter, Snape had known that eventually Lupin would get the call. And to the Headmaster, this was the perfect year for Lupin to be here. Who better to help try to catch Black than his old, faithful companion?

In the distance, he saw a group of Aurors, both seniors and trainees, discussing things with some Dementors. Discussing things certainly wasn't the right term as Dementors could not speak nor hear. In order to communicate with a Dementor, one had to open their mind and let the Dementor inside, trusting that their soul would remain in tact. Not many were willing to display that level of trust.

He recognized Nymphadora Tonks instantly from her ridiculous pink hair. Part of him was pleased to see that she was still in the training program and hadn't been kicked out. She seemed to be protesting something; her hands were on her hips and she stamped her foot.

Then he understood. Someone placed her in front of the lead Dementor. Even from fifty meters away, he could see her entire body tense up. Idiot girl! Tensing her body like that would only encourage the Dementor, excite it. The Dementor would want more than just a quick pass through her mind if she kept up that body language.

After almost five minutes, her shoulders slumped and the Dementors floated away from the Aurors. Snape couldn't make out what one of the senior Aurors was saying, but whatever was said, broke the group up and Nymphadora was left standing there, alone.

He watched as she shook her head and hugged herself. Snape empathized with the girl; he could remember having to communicate with the Dementors himself as an Azkaban prisoner. Nymphadora would have quite the headache at the moment, if he remember correctly, which he was sure he had.

She turned and started walked towards him. Snape was fairly confident that he couldn't be seen in the shadows of the castle. He debated walking back inside, but she would easily detect the movement, so he stayed where he was.

"Wotcher, Professor," Nymphadora said unenthusiastically when she finally saw him.

"Nymphadora," said Snape back gravely.

"Did you see...I had to..."

"I saw you communicate with the Dementor," he told her.

Her whole body shuddered. "I hate them," she said bitterly. "I hate them so much."

A thought burrowed itself into Snape's mind. "Nymphadora, what were you doing this evening?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

She looked up at him sharply. "Don't you start, Professor," she said venomously. "I've already been asked that by my superiors. I don't need it from you as well."

"You can understand why I ask, though?" asked Snape, surprised at her reaction. He expected her to simply tell him, not get all heated up about the question. Anger looked good on her.

"I didn't let Sirius Black into the castle," she spat. "I didn't morph into a student or a professor or a House-elf and sneak past the Dementors to let Black in."

"Are you still on probation?" he asked silkily.

She sighed as she went to lean against the same wall Snape was leaning against. Her body was far too close to his for comfort's sake, but if he moved, he was sure she'd take that as a weakness.

"I was off, but I'm back on as of tonight," she said softly. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

"When did you pick up that filthy habit?" he asked coolly.

"Seventh year," she replied, taking out a packet of cigarettes from her pocket. "Do you want one?"

"I believe I gave a lecture to the House about the danger of ingesting toxic fumes from cigarettes, pipes and cigars?" Snape asked.

"I must have skived off," she said, lighting the cigarette. "Or else your speech was truly uninspiring."

He could honestly care less if the girl smoked or not, but it did give him a needed respite from standing so close to her. Snape faked a light cough and took two steps to the right.

"Sorry," Nymphadora mumbled under her breath. After a moment she asked, "How's the Bloody Baron?"

"Nymphadora, you asked the same question the last time I saw you," he scolded. "The answer is the same. Bloody."

"My mind's still a little wobbly," she admitted. "Have you ever communicated with a Dementor?"

"Yes." He waited for the inevitable question of 'when, where, why and how' but thankfully it never came.

"You know how we're supposed to think happy thoughts, like we're bloody Peter Pan?" she asked. Snape nodded, recognizing the literary reference from his childhood. "I couldn't think of any. I couldn't think of a single happy thought. Not a single one."

Nymphadora shifted so that she was leaning on side, her weight on her arm, looking right at him. Her level gaze made him slightly uncomfortable. "Do you have any happy thoughts?" she asked quietly.

Merlin, she was being crass enough to flirt with him. A former member of his House was flirting with him. Completely unacceptable. But perhaps it was her mind, as she put it, still being a bit wobbly. He would detain from chastising her for now.

She looked at him expectantly and Snape had to turn away, feeling like he had been hit with an unexpected Crucio. He recognized the look in her eyes; it was the same look he bestowed upon Lily Evans a lifetime ago.

How was this possible? He hadn't seen the girl for two years and then only spoke a few sentences to her when they shared a drink at the Three Broomsticks. Snape was reminded that he never spoke to Lily Evans before his feelings for her blossomed. But they were the same age, they had common interests.

He had no desire to be craved. By anyone. Especially not a girl almost young enough to be his daughter. The thought was almost laughable.

Snape turned to look at her again and her face was neutral. Any hint that betrayed a partiality towards him was removed. But then she leaned forward and gently brushed her lips against his.

She must have a freezing charm on him. How else could he explain why he hadn't moved? Or perhaps he was under the Imperius Curse, he thought lazily as his hands moved to settle on her hips.

Her lips became more insistent and Snape found himself powerless to stop her. Nymphadora took his reluctance as acceptance and closed the distance between them so that their bodies where flush together.

Feeling her tongue against his lips, he opened his mouth slightly and battled her for supremacy. A wave of triumphant washed over him as she acquiesced and he couldn't help but wonder what she would feel like beneath him.

That was the thought that finally brought Snape back to his senses. "What in the world were you thinking?" he demanded, taking a step backwards to increase the distance between them.

He expected her to look confused or embarrassed or even pleased. He certainly didn't expect her to look so lost. "I suppose I was thinking that I wanted to kiss you," she said softly. She moved so that she was leaning against the castle again. Pointedly, she added, "You did kiss me back."

There was no point in denying that fact. "Yes," Snape told her impatiently.

"What were you thinking?" she asked simply. There was no sarcasm or disdain in her voice; she sounded like she truly wanted to know.

"I wasn't," Snape answered immediately. "When I started up again, I stepped away."

Nymphadora continued to stare at him and Snape had to admit, he was becoming uncomfortable. But he would not look away first. He would not.

She took one step forward and Snape was convinced that she was going to kiss him again. He had to stop himself from flinching. Her breath was warm on his neck as she said, "I've got to get back on patrol."

Not another word was spoken as she turned and walked away from him, towards the Forbidden Forest. Snape watched her leave, taking her in the further she was away from him. At one point, she tripped, barely catching herself before she fell to the ground.

A memory recalled itself, of her second year. Nymphadora had somehow managed to trip and fall down about three sets of stairs, leading to an overnight stay in the Hospital Wing. When he had gone to check up on her, he found her in tears, upset that she couldn't stay on her own two feet because of her Metamorphic ability.

His eyes continued to follow her as she walked. For just a brief moment, he wondered why he had stopped. It was obvious that he could have her if he wanted. And it had been longer than he would like to admit since he had been with a woman.

However, a one night stand wasn't an option with Nymphadora. He wouldn't even consider that with a former member of his House. It would be a completely different story if she had been in Ravenclaw.

He had no desire to entangle himself in a romantic relationship. Especially with someone as difficult as he knew Nymphadora could be. Date Nymphadora? She was practically a child. Snape stopped himself before when went down that road of thought. This wasn't about her at all. This was about him.

It wouldn't be fair to Nymphadora to be in a relationship with her unless he was willing to put some effort into it. Which he was not. Relationships took too much time away from his work. The last time he tried, several years ago with Kay Dobbins, the Muggle Studies teacher, it had been a complete disaster. She was only just beginning to speak to him again.

Snape felt his body constricting and saw that the Dementors were gathering again at the entrance of Hogwarts. Snape had no desire to be near that swarm. Pushing Nymphadora ought if his mind, he went back into the castle to try to get some sleep.

Christmas

Snape crisply flipped open his pocket watch to check the time. He was due to meet Argus Filch at the Three Broomsticks for a drink soon. They had this tradition for several years. Every year, after lunch, they both went to visit their respected families. Filch, his various nieces and nephews and Snape, his mother in her long-term care residence.

Then at night, they met for a drink, to complain about their families, the running of Hogwarts and life in general. It wouldn't be good to be late.

He wrapped his scarf around his neck one more time and headed out into the bitter cold. The Dementors were still surrounding Hogwarts, not even the freezing temperatures would ward them off. As had happened in the past, Snape shuddered as he passed them.

However, today was different. Perhaps it was seeing his mother on his yearly visit, but memories, unpleasant memories from his childhood kept floating to the surface, demanding his attention. Snape swatted them away, not wanting to give the Dementors any more fuel than they already had.

He would have to get Filch drunk tonight, so when they walked back to the castle, the caretaker wouldn't notice Snape's reaction to the Dementors. Luckily, it was not difficult to get Filch drunk.

It seemed like ages passed before he was finally in the warmth of the Three Broomsticks, hanging up his traveling cloak. Christmas was one of the only nights of the year where The Three Broomsticks wasn't busy. Tonight, there were only a few locals and a group of Auror trainees, Nymphadora Tonks among them. He stiffened inwardly as their eyes met, hers betraying the look of wanting he had seen on Halloween.

Purposely ignoring the group, he walked up to the bar to get his drink. "Happy Christmas, Professor," Rosmerta said brightly as she poured him a sherry.

Snape lifted his drink to her in a silent toast. "Happy Christmas," he said, taking a sip.

"Argus sent a quick note by floo, Professor," Rosmerta said suddenly. "The niece he was visiting went into labor. He wants to stay there until the baby is born."

"Understandable," Severus said a bit moodily. He didn't want to leave quite yet; he wasn't ready to go back to his bedchambers and face the reality of just how empty they were on holidays. Standing up, he grabbed a left-over edition of today's Daily Prophet and brought it to an empty table. He hadn't had a chance to read his copy this morning.

He ignored the stares of Nymphadora, wondering if his being there was encouraging her. Instead, he focused on the article he was reading, where the Ministry was displaying their incompetence on the handling of Black's search. Snape only briefly let his thought linger on what he would do if he was the one to find his old school nemesis.

Her footsteps could be heard as she walked towards him. He would have to be harsh with her, get her to end this schoolgirl crush.

"May I sit down?" Nymphadora asked.

He barely glanced up from the paper and invited her to sit with a jerk of his head. As she sat, her foot brushed his calf. Snape decided to ignore it.

"So how's the Bloody Baron?"

Snape looked up, quite annoyed, until he saw the smile on her face. She really did have a lovely smile. Her elbows were on the table and she was resting her chin on her hands. "Still bloody," Snape said with an air of irritation.

"Good," she said. "Have you thought about kissing me again at all?"

"Muffliato," Snape said at once. "Have you lost your mind?"

Nymphadora sat up and leaned forward a bit. "You have, haven't you?"

Very much so, not that he would ever tell her that. He certainly didn't want to encourage this fascination she had with him. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he told her, "Nymphadora, I am flattered, but you mistake my response to your kiss the last time I saw you as an interest in your person."

"Perfect," she said cheekily. "I've always wanted to be liked for my mind and not my body."

Snape stood up abruptly, not willing to put up with the obvious change in tactics. "Good night, Miss Tonks."

Nymphadora stood up and followed him to the cloak rack. Snape debated whether to leave his cloak and fetch it later, but decided that it was far too cold to walk back to Hogwarts without it. She stood right next to him, putting her cloak on as well.

He left the bar first, but Nymphadora was close on his heels. "Professor, wait," she called from behind.

Snape didn't stop walking. A crack was heard and suddenly Nymphadora was in front of him. Putting her hands on his chest, she asked, "Why won't you just talk to me?"

He looked into her eyes for a second too long. "I can't," he told her. This was the worst possible time to get into a relationship, even if he was considering it. Which he was not. Just a few days ago the Headmaster had asked if he would be willing to go back to his old life as Death Eater if indeed Black was trying to gather everyone up again. Snape would only be putting her in danger. "Whatever it is you're thinking, stop."

She dropped her hands and stared at him hard. "Do you think I want this?" she asked bitterly. "Do you really think that I want you in my head all the time?"

He grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her to a side street, where they might be able to have this conversation with an illusion of privacy. "Then stop it," he ordered.

"I can't."

"Nymphadora, you are young and are simply letting your imagination run away with you," he scolded, turning away. "Go find a Weasley to play with."

As a response, Nymphadora grabbed him by his cloak and violently pulled him to her, pressing her lips against his. He shouldn't respond, he shouldn't, he shouldn't, he shouldn't, but his body betrayed him, and he pushed her against the wall they were standing in front of.

A soft moan escaped her lips as he cupped her buttocks, bringing her closer to him. Merlin, it felt so good to hold someone like this, like their lives depended on it. They kissed for some time and just when Snape didn't think he could handle anymore unless he found out just how her skin felt underneath his hands, some Three Broomsticks patrons could be heard, singing Christmas carols loudly in the streets.

Snape backed off immediately, understanding coursing through him. "This is a joke, a set up, isn't it?" he hissed.

Nymphadora's eyes went wide. "No," she said at once. "Why would you think that?"

"Your trainee friends are going to conveniently stumble upon us, aren't they?" Snape asked bitterly. "Let's all laugh at the professor's expense."

She reached out and grabbed him by the back of his cloak as he started to stalk away. "Professor, please," she begged.

"Good night, Nymphadora," he sneered.

"Listen to me, damnit!" she cried. The pain in her voice was evident. Snape decided to humour her for just a moment. "My life is shit right now, Professor. I'm being investigated at work and my mother is convinced that Black escaped to finish her off," she said, looking up at him. "And the three times I've seen you this year, I've felt at peace. It's laughable, really."

That he would agree with. "You're just a child," he said dismissively.

"Then why are you the one acting like one?" she shot back.

"I don't have time for this," Snape said, walking away. He knew now, that Nymphadora wasn't part of any set up. But it gave him the needed excuse to back away, before he let himself get swept up in something that could only end badly.

"Severus, wait!" she yelled.

Snape flinched at the casual use of his first name. He turned and started walking backwards, facing her. "You don't fancy me, Nymphadora," he called back. "You have no idea what you want."

"Don't you dare assume you know me well enough to know what I want." Her voice cut through the wind easily.

It was time to end this. He turned and walked faster, away from her. "Good night, Nymphadora."

He wouldn't think of her again.

Valentine's Day

The best thing Snape could say about this Valentine's Day was at least Lockhart was safely locked away in St. Mungo's, so there were no singing trolls around. Merlin, Snape hated this day. All the dunderhead students getting worked up about who would get a Valentine, who wouldn't. It was enough to drive a man to drink.

Worse than that, it reminded him of his fifth year, back when he was a student at Hogwarts. That year he finally had worked up the courage to give Lily Evans a card to celebrate the day. He left it for her at her desk in Potions. But when a dozen red roses from James bloody Potter were delivered to her, his card lay on the desk, forgotten. Once the class was done, Snape pocketed the card and tore it up in his dorm.

Glancing at his pocket watch, Snape saw that that his patrol shift was finally over. He set a record for the number of couples he had broken up this year. Seventeen. Snape sincerely hoped he would never see a number that high again.

He needed some fresh air. He felt cooped up in the castle, especially knowing that Lupin was currently in his office, in his werewolf form. Snape wasn't afraid of werewolves, but having almost been killed by one, he was most certainly unsettled by them.

As he walked towards the lake, he noticed that the Dementors seemed more active than in the past. Snape supposed that was understandable. They were able to feel emotion, even through the castle walls. And Valentine's Day had its share of emotional and sexual activity. He wasn't ignorant enough to think that some of the older students weren't sexually active. As long as they kept themselves from breeding, they could do whatever they'd like as far as he was concerned.

Even some of the staff was engaging in the ridiculous romantic behavior. Filch, of all people, had asked the librarian, Irma Pince out for dinner. And she accepted! Lupin had attention from two professors, Sinistra and Vector. Snape overheard the conversation with Vector. It had been quite satisfying to hear Lupin squirm and explain that there was a full moon, when she wanted to spend the evening with him.

Nymphadora's face flashed in front of him. He hadn't kept his promise of not thinking about her that he made at Christmas. She was constantly in his thoughts, even when he had far more important things to deal with, like the fact that Black was in the castle again last week or trying to convince the Headmaster to give up the absurd idea of hosting the Tri-Wizard Tournament next year.

Snape hadn't seen her again, but it was not for lack of trying. He found himself in the Three Broomsticks more than ever before, looking around for the Auror trainees. The trainees were often there, but she never was. He had wondered if she had been finally kicked out of the program.

The Dementors were coming closer to him, so Snape quickly emptied his mind of emotion. He should head back to the castle, away from the Dementors, but he wasn't ready yet, so he kept walking.

One Dementor seemed determined to follow him and Snape could actually feel the Dementor reaching out, trying to invade his thoughts. Snape turned, his wand out instantly, ready to say the Curse when Lily appeared in his thoughts. He pushed her away and knew that the curse wouldn't be strong enough. However, Snape had never once in his life managed to cast a corporeal Patronus.

Desperately, he searched his thoughts, trying to think of one happy memory, something, anything that could make a half way decent Patronus. But his body was tensing; he could feel his shoulders shaking. He lifted his wand, anyway, ready to say the curse-

"Expecto Patronum!"

Some sort of lizard slithered towards the Dementor, repelling it. Snape looked behind him, still shuddering slightly, to see who had cast the spell. It was Nymphadora, in her Auror training robes.

"You should leave this area," she said in a business like manner. "The other Dementors will want to join in on the fun soon."

She looked different. Her hair wasn't some daft colour; it was brown, hanging around her shoulders. He vaguely recalled that the brown was her natural colour.

One thing that remained the same was the naked wanting written on her face. However, instead of the annoyance that he had felt before in her presence, Snape felt exhilarated.

Nymphadora looked down at her feet for a moment, then turned and walked away without another word. "Nymphadora!" he called out after her.

"I'm not going to bother you, Professor," she yelled back.

"Bloody hell," Snape muttered under her breath. He started walking back after her. How had this happened? How had she somehow managed to burrow her way under his skin? All he could think about was what it had been like to kiss her and how much he wanted to kiss her again.

His legs being longer, it was only a moment before he caught up to her. They were beyond the wards of Hogwarts now, where they wouldn't be bothered by Dementors. He touched her shoulder and Nymphadora stopped and glared at him. It was that same steady gaze that had made him so uncomfortable before, but not now.

This is what he had secretly hoped for since Christmas, the chance to see her again, to see if he would be able to do something about these feelings that she mixed up inside him.

"Nymphadora-"

"What?" she demanded, placing her hands on her hips. "You made it very clear that you're not interested. I'm trying to leave you alone."

She looked so young, especially now, with the brown hair. But then Snape had to remind himself that she was young, not even being out of school for three years. Nymphadora was also a fighter. How else would she have survived in the Auror training program for so long, even with all the odds stacked against her?

All his arguments against being in a relationship with her, her age, time constraints, his own selfishness, seemed to dissolve before him.

Snape stepped forward and kissed her. He had expected her to kiss him back, not shove him away, which was exactly what she did.

"Don't make fun of me," she said angrily. She closed her eyes and Snape could tell she was about to Apparate, so he placed his hand on her forearm.

"If you Apparate, you're taking me with you," Snape warned.

"I'll Apparate you into a rock," she muttered, the look of concentration gone. She stared at him angrily. "Six weeks ago you pushed me away."

"Yes."

"And now you're not pushing me away?" she asked, sounding unsure.

"It's Valentine's Day, Nymphadora," he told her, which seemed to be the only thing he could think of to say.

"Don't you dare say this is all because of some worthless holiday," she told him warily.

"I thought most women liked Valentine's Day," Snape said dryly.

"All it does is make people realize what they don't have," she shot back. She shook off his arm. "I'm not dealing with this."

Snape took her arm again and her body tensed, trying to get him to let her go. A look of confusion passed her face. "Why aren't you letting me go?" she asked.

Snape wasn't sure if he could explain it. "Because I don't want to," he said softly.

She stopped and looked up at him. He could only explain the expression on her face as curiosity. The look of wanting was still there, but now it was mixed with hope.

Grabbing the front of his robes, Nymphadora pulled his head down to meet her lips. Unexpectedly, he pulled away. Snape realized he wanted to make sure that she knew exactly what she was getting into.

"I'm crap in relationships, Nymphadora," he told her.

She didn't let go of his robes. "Maybe I'm not asking for a relationship," she said in practically a whisper.

"I'm obsessive with my work; it will always come first," Snape said slowly. "If I'm clung to, I push away. I won't ever ask how your day's been or about your feelings. I have no desire for marriage, children, a happy home or anything else most women seem to want."

Nymphadora dropped his robes and crossed her arms over her chest. A slight smile was on her lips. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked.

"I want to make sure your eyes are open to the kind of man I am," he answered honestly.

"Do you really think I could be your student for seven years and not have any idea?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're one of the most disagreeable, bitter men I've ever met."

Snape held out his hands in front of him, wordlessly inquiring why then she had any desire to be with him.

"I've haven't the slightest idea," she answered. "Though it's not like I'm much better. There are days I want to be an Auror so badly I can't think of anything else. I'm moody and I hate not having time for myself."

Her words almost seemed like a challenge. "Has someone actually fallen for that line before?" Snape asked.

"Only a Weasley," Nymphadora said with a slight smirk.

Snape took a step forward and reached out, stroking her cheek. In the history of bad ideas, this one seemed to take the cake. Yet, here he was, with his arms around the bad idea's waist.

He already saw the end of the relationship down the road. It was this way with any relationship he tried. Some day, she wouldn't be content with what they had and would want more. Snape would be steadfast and stubborn and refuse to give in. And then he would be cruel to her and end it without her having any idea why.

Just before he lowered his head to kiss her, he murmured, "I will break your heart some day."

"I know," she whispered back. "I don't care."

As her arms wrapped around his neck, and their lips joined together, Snape realized that he hoped to delay the inevitable for as long as humanly possible.