What Connected Us All

Mr. and Mrs. Impenitrable

Her relationship with Sirius continues to grow well into winter. There is much flirtation and suggestion that Farren could have done well without (why can't people just get to the point?) But this slight frustration is often forgotten whenever Farren catches Sirius watching her from the corner of his eye. His gaze sparks something that she had long since thought to be dead and buried. It is something like warmth or serenity.

And Snape... well she doesn't quite know what to make of him. During Potions class they would do their assignments silently, only speaking when necessary. But her slap seems to have humbled him a little. Though he has by no means warmed, the open hostility has dissipated. A determination for his approval has Farren practicing subtle lures. She'll let her fingers linger when she passes him ingredients and she'll touch her lips distractedly whenever he attempts to explain something to her. The feel of his name, Severus, upon her tongue is strange and delicious. But she assures herself that sensation would cease once she'd won him.

Farren often sees him writing in the margins of his Potions book and wonders what it could possibly be. He prefers to work alone (something, she would like to point out, which seriously undermines the entire purpose of Potions partners). And though Farren tries to help, Snape can be quite intimidating when he wants to. So she sits and writes poems or plots other manners in which to charm him.

"Excellent work," Slughorn says on such an occasion, beaming down at the pair of them. "I think you two make an excellent tag-team."

Farren almost smiles. You must at least appreciate people like Slughorn. They are so real, so very blunt about their shallow intentions. Many problems in the world exist due to this inability people have of being honest with themselves. It's so silly. No one can or will ever succeed in hiding from themselves. Farren should know.

"I'm having a small party this week," Slughorn whispers, pulling her aside and away from the rest of the class. "With a brain like yours, one could go very high up in the Ministry."

Farren bites back a nasty retort. It is obvious that the Professor is under the delusion that she is the one doing all the work. This is probably wishful thinking on the old man's part. Because the fact is that Severus, no matter how brilliant, could never be mistaken as someone destined for a high paying and influential job. But Farren sure looks the part.

"Forgive me, Professor," she says, unable to keep slight frostiness from her voice, "but I suspect I'll have too much to be getting on with. Your class does keep me working quite diligently. But I manage, thanks to the kindness and patience of Severus."

A fit of the giggles fights to take Farren at the mere thought of a kind and patient Severus Snape.

Slughorn appears almost crest fallen. "Yes I understand. Next time, then."

You're homework," he says, turning back to the class abroad. "Is to finish the potion. You are free to go."

"So when should we finish?" Farren asks Snape, gathering books into her arms.

He raises an eyebrow. "Finish?"

"Professor said--"

"I am quite capable of finishing the potion myself."

"But," she tries to find an excuse. "But I have to take notes."

He sneers. "Are we pretending that you actually take notes now?"

"I do take notes!" Farren defends. "...Sometimes--Well I did on this one anyway." She hasn't and they both know it.

"Very well." And before she can stop him, Snape snatches the notebook right out from under her hands. "I will finish the notes for you."

Farren cannot stand to lie again. She generally doesn't mind doing it, but it was always so bloody obvious with Snape.

So she watches helplessly as he strides past her with the notebook full of useless doodles and writing wholly unrelated to potion making or ingredients. It is only much later--as she and Celia walk into the Great Hall for supper--that Farren remembers precisely what those doodles and poems are about : Snape. They are all about Snape.

And just as this horrific realization hits her, the boy is there in the flesh, in all his hook-nosed and looming glory.

Is it Farren's imagination or does he look more pleased with himself than usually? Had he seen the poem where she described how a kiss might feel with his permanently sarcastic lips? Or the rather explicit one about his--

"We can finish the potion in a room near the singing suit of armor," Snape says in that indifferent tone of his, thrusting the notebook forward.

"Where?" She is the epitome of casualty, aware of Celia standing awkwardly beside them.

There is a definite smirk now. "The dungeons."

Of course, Farren thinks, you want it to be on your territory, don't you Sev?

"Very well. What time?"

"Two o'clock. Oh, and Farren," Snape adds, using her name for the first time. "I pray you will not be delayed this time around. I do not tolerate lateness."

It seems to take an eternity until she can finally be alone. But when Farren is tucked inside her four poster bed, she extracts the notebook from her school bag; glad to have an excuse to postpone sleep (her nightmares are becoming steadily more frequent and violent).

She winces at each poem she rereads. There can be no mistake of whom Farren speaks of. These retched words have deceived her. But then she spots something odd on the last page. There is different writing there, written by a hand that is not her own. It is scrawled beneath Farren's last poem.

She reads her own words first:

You experience a moment of triumph

As you trust that your eyes see all and everything

But even you, Mr. Impenetrable, cannot unravel my every riddle

And--funny thing--to them your knowing eyes are black

But to me they are an unknown to be realized

And then the fresh writing:

I may not be able to unriddle you, my willful temptress,

But I may certainly undress you

Someone stirs in her bed and Farren immediately shoves the book out of sight. Lily Evans sits up, the red covers sliding off her in the motion. She looks about wildly. Then, spotting the blonde also evidently awake, she furrows her eyebrows in confusion.

"Something wrong?" Farren asks.

"No, no. I'm just... cold. You?"

"Thirsty," she gets out of bed and walks to the window, pouring a glass of water. Farren offers it to Lily, but the girl shakes her head.

Lily had not woken with such a start because she'd been cold, and Farren had not remained awake due to thirst. These facts are unspoken but very plain to them both. It is perhaps this that possesses Lily to blurt out her next question.

"Why do you have so many nightmares? I mean--" she catches herself and adds, "It's quite a curious thing. Does it run in your family or something?"

With her back still turned, Farren bares her teeth in a bitter smile. "No, it doesn't run in my family." And in a sudden burst of carelessness she turns to ask, "Do you really want to know why? Very well. I have nightmares because my muggle family used to tell me stories when I was little that I've never been quite able to get over. Pathetic, I know. But a truth, none-the-less.

"And I have them because my Uncle was a tad too liberal with his hands when it came to me. But it was generally understood that my uncle was a man of vices, and no one thought much of it." For once Farren is very grateful for the dark as a threatening wetness swells in her eyes. She cannot be sure which emotion has brought it on: anger, relief, misery, self-pity, or revulsion. They are all reasonable candidates.

"And by now I understand that it wasn't my fault. I understand that he was just a sick bastard and I won't allow his weaknesses to affect me. I simply won't. Because I'm sure other people can tell other, more horrible childhood memories--Hell, I'm sure you can," she gestures at Lily dismissively. "And isn't that horrible? The way we all believe we're special because we've had these awful things happen to us and, as it turns out, it just makes us the same? The smallest, most insubstantial thing can scar someone for life... My uncle used to carry this big pocket watch around with him and it grazed my leg once. Just a slight graze. But have you ever had cold metal pressed against your bare skin? Out of everything, I think that is what will haunt me most. That cold feeling and the clicking of his clock. That clicking sometimes sounds louder in my head than the sound of my own heartbeat.

"I have nightmares because I don't think I'll ever love someone and I'm scared I'll always remain this temporary thing... And the worst part is having to silence it all. Because we're not allowed to talk about what's hurt us, are we? No. We're supposed to sit down, shut up, listen, and do our schoolwork. We can't even admit that we've been affected--damaged--by the most ordinary things."

There is a long pause after Farren finishes. She studies Lily's face carefully, but cannot see the expression clearly. But what she can discern is astonishing. The girl's stare is not, as Farren had expected, horrified or pitying or even confused. Instead, it's a strange sort of understanding. Lily's vivid green eyes appear piercing. They are a perfect balance of serenity and fervor. "It's horrible, isn't it?" she says softly. "To have to silence everything."

Farren nods. "Yes, it is." Then, reaching discreetly for something on the side table, Farren points her wand and says, "Obliviate."

******

"Don't be daft. The erumpet horn is added after the runespoor!" he barks, making her start with the erumpet in hand.

"Sorry," Farren says, not sounding as though she were.

Snape pushes her aside, assuming the girl's previous task.

Suddenly it becomes all too much for her. Had he not written that suggestive message in her notebook? Would he not take responsibility for any of his actions?

Farren slams the knife she'd been using onto the counter, immediately succeeding in attaining Snape's attention. "You know what? I don't think this whole partnership is working out too well. We obviously do not get along--" She pauses, and when she speaks again her voice is strained with forced civility. "I will speak to Professor Slughorn. I'm sure he'll let us switch partners. So, it was lovely to have made your acquaintance, good luck with your life, and goodbye."

She takes one step toward the door, but something cold clamps around her wrist, forcing her to desist in her departure. Farren realizes, with a shock, that it is Snape's hand.

He releases it instantly, as though her skin had become unbearably hot. "Don't," is all he says in explanation.

"Give me one good reason."

"Changing partners would run the risk of landing me with Potter or Black or one of those--"

"Allow me to clarify: give me a reason that would interest me," she hisses coldly.

Snape continues as if Farren hadn't interrupted. "--And risks you being partnered with someone such as yourself. That is to say someone whose forte is not in the realm of potion making and academics as a whole."

"Didn't I warn you," Farren roars, hardly aware of the wand she's whipped out, "to never question my intelligence again?"

Snape, in contrast to her fury, appears quite unperturbed. "And have I?" he inquires. "I merely stated that you are not the type to be bothered with schoolwork. That is, unless you are suggesting that marks and grades measure an individual's intelligence..."

"Alright, alright," Farren snaps, returning the wand grudgingly into her back pocket. She would've liked to object, but knows that would be churlish. It is, in fact, precisely her opinion that intelligence is something more obscure than memorizing spells and potions. And despite what he had said, Snape's slight sneer tells Farren his opinion is otherwise.

"You know, I really dislike you," she says.

The sneer becomes more prominent. "No, you don't. You hate that I am capable of outsmarting you. It is something you are unaccustomed to."

Farren suddenly bursts into peels laughter.

"What?" Snape demands sharply.

"Do you realize that you just complimented me? It was the most bizarre, convoluted compliment I've ever gotten, but..."

And here he allows himself a very small smile. "It wasn't meant to--"

"Oh, shut it," she says, still laughing.

When the laughter dies down a few seconds later, it seems even after this slight playful banter they are destined to slip back into their distant relationship.

But then Snape grabs her hand once more. The chill of it is very strange, but pleasurable all the same. The touch seems to remind Farren of how uncomfortably warm her skin always is. The cold is welcoming, a relief.

"You are bleeding," he states.

"What?"

Farren is shocked to see a decent amount of blood dripping down the center of her palm. It leaves a dark trail on her otherwise unblemished flesh. "Oh... it must have been the knife."

"Yes," Severus says absently. He retrieves his wand lying beside their simmering cauldron and gestures wordlessly at the wound. The skin laces back together, the blood flow stopping accordingly.

"Thank you," Farren says, her voice a little breathier than usual.

She tries to retrieve her hand, but Snape does not relinquish it.

I should say something more. But what can she say? Many thoughts race through her mind, all incoherent and useless. Opening her mouth, Farren results to improvisation--

But suddenly his pale fingers are tracing the newly healed flesh on her palm, and the words catch in her throat, turning into a very soft sigh. His strokes begin to extend further and further up her arm, as though testing their boundaries carefully. The movement is so deliciously slight. Farren's body hums with an unbidden anticipation. Those fingers reach her collarbone. It seems as though they wish to drink in her every detail, every pore...

Her lids flutter closed.

But abruptly the sensation stops. Farren's eyes fly open and they are staring into a face that appears just as disconcerted as she feels.

You are so strange, she thinks wildly. And I want so much of you. But you won't ever give me it, will you?

"We are finished here. You... You are free to go," Snape says, turning curtly toward the door.