Unfurling of a Rose

Corielle emitted a shriek of rage.

<It's enjoyable to toy with you. I don't even tell you the truth half the time. You have to decided what is true and what is fabricated. Like this: I've noticed you've become particularly fond of the newest werewolf in your life. And did you know he smells Griffin on you? He gets excited, protective, sexually aroused...>

This time, Corielle's shrieks were filled with emotional pain.

<You're too easy. And Severus... Did I mention Severus, darling?>

Why can't you leave me alone?...

Flashes of silver. Sharp clangs.

Suddenly, Corielle fell to the floor, Lupin's foil pressed against her stomach.

He withdrew from her quickly, permitting her to stand and brush off the dust.

"What's wrong, Mouse?" asked Lupin, taking Corielle's foil from her hand and putting his and hers back in their cases. "Your heart didn't seem to be into it today."

Corielle shrugged. She did not feel like speaking.

Lupin surveyed her from the corner of his eye, then said, "Severus tells me you're doing admirably in his advanced classes."

"If you don't mind, Professor," Corielle articulated carefully, "I would rather not talk about him."

Lupin sighed and turned to face Corielle squarely. "Mouse, you can't avoid him forever. He's sorry. Sort of."

"No, he isn't. Don't try and convince me otherwise. He's nothing but an abusive, conniving, manipulative, typical man, and I want nothing to do with him outside of the tutorials and classes out of which I cannot escape." Corielle felt particular satisfaction at stating the facts.

"If you made up your mind to enjoy them, and him, you'd have a better time at Hogwarts, Corielle." The use of her real name made Corielle look up. "You don't have the time here that other students have. Only two years. Make the most out of them, Mouse."

Corielle examined her feet. She had memorized every single stitch on every pair of slippers she had by now and was slightly embarrassed at the fact. Sheepishly, she muttered, "I'm sorry, Professor, but I don't really remember the last time I had a wonderful year. I'm afraid I'd be out of practice. And I'm going to be late for Transfiguration. Good day."

Lupin set a hand on the top of Corielle's scarf affectionately. "Likewise, Corielle. And I sincerely hope you have a good day."

Corielle's dream surfaced on the edge of her mind. "he smells Griffin on you. He gets excited, protective, sexually aroused..." She shivered and ducked away.

"I apologize, Professor. I really need to go."

"Okay, Mouse, go on." Lupin was confused at her aversion. She usually did not mind his fatherly gestures.

Mouse told him a week ago she had been having bad dreams. Not really terrible enough to be coined nightmares, but they were bothering her more than she admitted. He worried about her reaction to them. She was not exactly a social butterfly, but this new melancholia closed her from almost everybody. Lupin did not believe such behavior was healthy.

Picking up his quill, he wrote on a spare piece of parchment: Dear Catharine and Nathaneal Griffin, I am writing about your daughter. I am afraid that she is very ill in her mind as you know and...

Hallowe'en was always the most festive time of the whole school year, save the awarding of the House Cup, and all the students participated in the new uplifting spirit in the air. Marcie and Vic had a particularly severe case of cheer, and to celebrate, they let loose an entire case of Dungbombs and Stink Pellets in the Entrance Hall, then escaped immediately to the invisible chamber near the marble staircase to watch the reactions of their fellow students and Filch, then to engage in a little snog session before lunch.

The teachers all sighed with relief that Hallowe'en was on a Saturday this year. With the wall-to-wall energy of their students, none of them believed they could convince the unwilling brains to learn anything. Poor Lupin was nearing his werewolf phase, and he was a bit more under the weather than usual, so he enjoyed the freedom of observing the excitement instead of participating, as he was usually cajoled into doing.

Snape was looking murderous. He preferred the quiet of his chambers when the students were this rowdy, and he had no patience for festivities. Dumbledore's fanciful notions for the Hallowe'en banquet were dull and half-witted to his intellectual mind. However, his lips curled upward as he thought of one of the events of the evening.

It was time for the Mouse to show her mettle.

Snape would have been irritated to know that Corielle agreed with him on the subject of celebration. Crowds and noise were never exciting in Corielle's eyes, and the frequency of her new dreams haunted what little cheeriness Corielle had ever possessed. For the day, she wore all black, but that was all. Marcie and Vic were wearing black as well, but they had strewn about their persons orange crepe paper, and they tried to convince the rest of the table to join them. Some Slytherins, a little tipsy from too much butterbeer, succumbed to the Catastrophous Couple's goading, but Corielle felt like she would threaten to curse them if they asked her. Marcie and Vic, after observing Corielle's talent in curses, avoided her gaze. Surprisingly, they had a rare perceptiveness that allowed them to read Corielle enough to know when she was not in the mood.

At the end of the Hallowe'en feast, Dumbledore stood. He coughed slightly, but nothing like the convulsions he had at the beginning of the year.

"I hope you all have enjoyed the house-elves' generous contribution to the Hallowe'en holiday."

Immediately, the Hall burst into cheers and whistles of approval.

Dumbledore smiled and continued, "And as is customary for the feast, I have provided entertainment for you all."

More cheers.

"First, however, we must touch on a serious note. Not all of you will remember the Hogwarts tradition of the Hallowe'en Challenge. We have not had one for many years. But this year, we are returning the tradition, for reasons which will soon be clear to everyone. Severus, if you will..."

"With pleasure," Snape murmured.

No one, not even the Slytherin table, was very comfortable as Snape vacated his chair and swept into the Hallowe'en throng. Disconcerting though his very presence among them was, it was the subtle, cruel smile touching his lips which really discomfited all the students. Anyone in his right mind would run from that look, but everyone was petrified in their seats. Even the Bloody Baron, who had stayed in the Great Hall for the feast, was watching the Slytherin Head warily.

Unlike most of the students present in the Great Hall, Corielle did not even know that Snape had moved from his seat at the High Table until a black leather glove was thrown on her empty plate and a sword tip was pressing against the skin of her cheek.

"Challenge," Snape announced. "Bring honor to your teacher, Mouse."

Corielle turned slowly.

"What... are... you... doing?" she asked slowly, and Snape was delighted to see a spark of fury edging her gray eyes.

"I asked Lupin to teach you. Now show me what you have learned." His dangerous smile grew wider.

The Bloody Baron rose from his place at the head of the Slytherin table and set an icy cold hand on Corielle's shoulder. "What do you hope to accomplish from this, Snape?" the Baron inquired under his breath so only Snape and Corielle could hear.

"Mouse and I will have our chance to vent our enmity, and we'll each give the other what they deserve. Does that satisfy your scruples, Baron?" Snape asked sarcastically. Why a Slytherin ghost with such a horrific past as the Baron would defend a mouse like Corielle was a source of amazement to Snape, and the Potions Master took a moment to reflect on the absurdity as he looked down at Corielle. He had more than once caught them sitting in silence at two-o'-clock in the morning when Corielle could not sleep, and it was frustrating to his analytical mind that he failed to understand how there could be any connection between two people of such different temperaments.

The Baron shook his head. "Why?"

But it seemed that Corielle herself held no qualms about accepting a challenge from her Head of House. The fury Snape had seen in her eyes moments before was now banked, but her gaze glittered dangerously at him, and she nodded slowly.

Abrubtly, Corielle stood and shouted, "Accio sword!" She pointed her wand in the general direction of the trophy room where Lupin and she conducted their lessons. The said sword whooshed through the air and straight into Corielle's hand.

"If that's what you want, Professor," Corielle stated clearly, moving away from the table, "I accept your challenge." She set her sword against his and waited.

Snape found himself in a strange position. He had not expected Corielle to assent so quickly. He had counted on humiliating her, goading her, before the actual duel. He stole a glance at Lupin, who was smiling behind a hand. His message was clear: You underestimated her, Severus. Well, so what? He was better than she; he would win. Nonetheless, Snape did not like to be caught off-guard.

He swallowed slightly, collecting himself, then said, "Begin."

Corielle had obviously learned more in the course of two weeks than he had originally divined. From her proper positions and technique to her desire to succeed, Snape realized that she had attacked the task of fencing like she attacked the rest of her classes: with an inexplicable talent that very rarely ever appeared in a broken child like Corielle.

Snape was good- he knew that, had known it for years. Beating most of the other wizards he fenced with on a regular basis had proven the fact to him time and time again. However, as their blades struck, parried, whirred faster and faster, he understood that Corielle was better, if only because she desperately wanted to get her own back at her baleful Potions Master more than he wanted to vent his frustration with her.

It took fifteen minutes before the distinction between the two's abilities began to surface, but when the facts exhibited themselves, Snape was almost frightened. Corielle kept coming at him, and once, with a well-placed thrust, she made his shoulder bleed while she herself had not one hair out of place. She smiled at the glint of desperation in his black eyes. It pleased her to see his fear of her abilities when he had inspired fear in her heart for so long.

In response to the well-placed wound, Snape whipped around and maneuvered his sword underneath the edge of Corielle's black head scarf, then swiftly levered the sword up, tearing the scarf in half. The sword had also caught onto the comb that was holding her hair in place that day. The comb flew in an arch into a bowl of candy corn at the Ravenclaw table and Corielle's dark red hair fell out of its place, a few pins clattering to the floor. Corielle, Snape, and the entire Hall froze.

Few Hogwarts students had failed to notice Corielle's head scarf, so out of place among the peaked witchs' hats or plaited hair, and many of them desired as much as Snape to see what we under the scarf. However, Corielle had always protected her scarf almost religiously, and when Snape revealed Corielle's hair, most of the students and all of the teachers peered at her with Pandora's curiosity.

For a moment, Corielle and Snape stared at each other. The first thought that ran through Corielle's mind went something like this:

It's going to start all over again (and Severus, did I mention Severus?), I tried so hard, couldn't he have stayed away?, what was so difficult about respecting my wishes?

Snape's thoughts startled even himself:

It's so beautiful.

Under her scarf, Corielle's face had looked unnaturally pale and shadowed and severe. With her unusually wine-colored hair framing her angelface, she looked every bit of her sixteen years, young, fresh, and free. Her slightly slanted gray eyes seemed larger, her lips seemed fuller, and there was a sense of greater softness about her. The effect was one of startling beauty; not anything as gaudy as 'gorgeous,' but almost like Beauty in the tale of her love for a beast.

The second thought that crossed Snape's mind was:

No wonder Griffin wanted her.

Almost as if she sensed his thoughts, Corielle choked out a ragged cry, tossed her hair behind her shoulders, and plunged her sword into his other shoulder, balancing her previous blow. The pain yanked Snape back into reality, and he crossed swords with her again. They dueled with renewed fervor.

After thirty minutes of fencing, both began to tire. Snape had never dueled with an opponent for so long; usually, his enemy had been flat on the floor within sixteen minutes and forty-three seconds, and that had been when he had fought against Lupin, who was actually rather good himself. Corielle's anger was finally playing itself out, even the fury from the newest violation. One of them would have to defeat the other and soon.

At thirty-eight minutes and six seconds, Corielle feinted to the left, then adroitly flipped her blade to disarm Snape. His sword clattered to the floor, and Corielle quickly stepped forward to block it. With a grin on her face, she pinned Snape against the wall with the tip of her sword against his neck, standing far enough away that Snape could not lash out at her in a final defense.

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down and his face dripped with sweat. Corielle revelled in victory, and what made the win even more delicious was that she finally defeated someone that she wanted to hurt. She had not been given such a luxury with her previous advesary, and this new freedom was sweet.

Snape was shocked. She had beaten him. And with her hair draping over her shoulders down to her knees, and with the face-transforming smile of victory gracing her face, Corielle looked like an enchantress to him. From his previous experiences with enchantresses in his past, the connotations of such a congruency were mostly negative.

Then, he observed a change in her countenance as horror at the deed dawned on her.

Though Snape did not know it, Corielle had just seen the potential within herself to be something which disgusted her - to be Willem. She saw herself in the position of her uncle, wallowing in power and lording it over someone who could not resist. The new power was now vile to her, and she loathed herself for becoming what she hated most, even to such a horrible person as Professor Snape.

She quickly pulled away and hastened to her seat, her cheeks flushed a brilliant red. Her torn head scarf lay forgotten on the floor, and she had to deal with her ridiculously long, odd-colored hair before sitting down. She wanted to leave, but she felt like her knees were shaking too much from embarrassment. But her embarrassment was nothing like Severus Snape's.

At Corielle's victory, the entire Hall burst into raucous cheers. Like seeing Draco knocked unconscious, seeing their Potions Master, the same Potions Master who tormented and taunted them, pinned against the wall, helpless, gave Hogwarts a nasty satisfaction. Corielle's embarrassment was only to herself. Snape's humiliation was open for the whole school to see.

He's Slytherin through-and-through, and none of us like to be embarrassed.

After Corielle withdrew her blade, Snape fell to the ground in weariness, but when he heard the cheers, he stood, and without a word, left the Great Hall.

Stalking through the corridors and down several flights of stairs, Snape managed to maintain his wavering self-control, teeth clenched and jaw tensed against the flood of defeat. He could still hear the cheers and laughter of the students in the Great Hall; long after the Hall was out of hearing range, the sounds of celebrating students and gloating professors rang in his ears, eerily magnified by humiliation.

Reaching the privacy of his own room, he slammed his fist against the wall, unable to hold back any longer. Though his wounds ached, and he knew he should visit Madam Pomfrey, or at least retrieve some healing salves from his private cupboard.

But he could not.

Once the dam of his control had broken, Snape could not resurrect it, and so he fell to his knees, slamming his fist into the wall of his chamber, the stones ripping his hands, cursing Corielle and Lupin and Dumbledore and every teacher and student at Hogwarts and himself and his own stupid lack of control and weak fascination.

So intent was he on cursing and demolishing his room, Severus Snape failed to notice the stream of tears - tears of frustration, anger, humiliation, and self-disgust - which coursed down his cheeks, mixing with the rivulets of blood which flowed from his arms, and pooled in his feet by the floor.

This is not a sentimental weeping. I'm not showing my readers a vulnerability because Snape, I believe, does not have any. This is a cry of humiliation and hatred and is not to be confused with sentiment.

In regards to Corielle's beauty, I'm not a fan of making my characters breath-taking, but Corielle just is. There's nothing else to say about it.