Snape In Love: Chasing Darkness Away

Chapter 2

Irritation

Ella was the strong one, now. As they sat together in their bed, Persephone on her knee, he rested his head on her chest and supposed that she always had been. She had always been so certain and so single-minded, even during the dark days of her early pregnancy, whereas he had been undecided and too frightened of his own past to surrender his sense of self, and his heart, to another.

Ella's arms were wrapped around his shoulders and her gently stroking hands caressed his cheek, the back of his neck, and his hair. She soothed and calmed him, she was a balm to his soul, and he sank into her willingly and succumbed to her power.

His voice, at times muffled in the in the deep, soft valley of her breasts, had not faltered as he spoke, but she could hear the fear and the loathing in his tone and more than anything in the world she wanted to take his pain away. She had healed him, she knew; her removal of his Dark Mark had been a redemptive experience for them both and had freed him in a deep, spiritual way that even their shared love had only partially managed to do.

Now, confiding in her, trusting her not to reject him whatever he told her even when it concerned herself, knowing he was secure in her love, he began to open the floodgates that events on their wedding night had unlocked, and his long-suppressed memories began to flood out, to be absorbed in the earth of her quiet strength.

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He needed routine, he decided as he straightened his frock coat and brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his shoulder. The sooner he settled back into his regular habits, the sooner the nightmares would lessen in intensity. He had long since given up hope that they would ever go away. Satisfied at last with his appearance and greatly looking forward to his breakfast, he glowered at his reflection and made for the door that connected his comfortably appointed bedroom to the organised chaos that was his private office. He closed and warded the door behind him, and took in the room slowly and methodically, ensuring that nothing had been changed in his absence. He did grudgingly allow Black access to his office while he was away, but knew that the other man actually respected his privacy and used it only when absolutely necessary. It was unusual for Black to show such finer feeling, and Snape was, naturally, suspicious as to why he should be any different in this instance. He suspected Dumbledore to have had some part in it, however, unwilling to concede that Sirius Black might simply be a tad more sensitive than he wanted to give him credit for.

His classroom and private stores, however, were a different matter, and he scowled as he entered the large empty classroom. Items had been moved, only to be replaced at the wrong side of the room; cauldrons were heaped on a workbench in the corner, and not neatly stacked the way he always insisted they were, and nor had they been cleaned to his own personal level of satisfaction; unmarked parchments littered the usually pristine expanse that was his desk.

Muttering under his breath, he made determinedly for his storeroom, not daring to let himself be any more distracted by the state of the classroom, saving his ire for the storeroom instead. He flung open the door and with a sharp intake of breath surveyed the chaos before him. How could one man destroy such a perfectly foolproof system of cataloguing and storage in so short a time? Clenching his fists, he was about to set himself to the task of restoring a desperately needed order when the gnawing ache in his stomach reminded him that he had not eaten in several days. Cursing in exasperation, he turned on his heels and headed for the Great Hall.

As he strode along the dimly lit dungeon corridors he began slowly to calm down. There was something very comforting about Hogwarts. Serene, unchanging routine seemed to breathe from the very bedrock of the castle, rising upwards as it permeated through its walls, strengthening as he rose higher into the castle until by the time he reached the Entrance Hall he was soothed and reassured. Even the clatter of hundreds of footsteps echoing off the stone floors, signalling the hordes of nauseatingly excited students heading for porridge, bacon and eggs, was welcome to his ears, as it was one more constant in a world for whose continuity he feared. For now, though, all was well, now that he was home.

All he had to do for now was run the gamut of stares and whispers as he entered the Great Hall, glare at all the first years, bar the Slytherins, of course, to whom he would have to introduce himself later on, and ignore Lupin and Black as best he could. Black, he hoped, would have the good sense not to try to bring him up to speed while he ate; he did not trust himself to be civil so early in the morning, and tomorrow was soon enough for him to officially give Snape his job back. And as for Lupin, all Snape could do was to pray to the Fates that the werewolf would be too ravenous to try, in his sickeningly well-meaning way, to make conversation. He took a deep breath, glared menacingly at some straggling Hufflepuff third years on their way into the Hall, and made his entrance.

He swept along the long tables, filled now with inanely chattering students, staring resolutely ahead, avoiding all eye contact and thus the risk of accidentally using his power as a Legilimens and discovering what the little brats were up to. He would rather not know, at least not until his hunger had been assuaged, and he often feared that his weakened physical state would have a deleterious effect on his mental stamina, too. He grimaced as he saw Lupin and Black already in their places. Acknowledging their greetings with a curt nod, he scraped back his chair and took his place at the high table, sighing inwardly as a large bowl of steaming porridge liberally sprinkled with salt and syrup materialised in front of him, the smell wafting up and curling into his flaring nostrils. He picked up his spoon and began to eat. Every spoonful he took felt like a wave washing over him, soothing and comforting him, reducing his inner tension by degrees, the trembling in his hands subsiding as the porridge warmed him through. This was normal, this was his routine, and everything was as it should be. "All is well, all is well," he repeated in his head, like a mantra.

All, however, was not well, and by the time he had emptied his bowl and it had been magicked away, he had begun to feel distinctly uneasy. He lifted bible black eyes from the table in front of him for the first time since sitting down that morning, and frowned around the room until his eyes rested on a stranger, the probable cause of his consternation, sitting almost directly opposite him on the other wing of the staff table.

A beautiful young woman - no, not young at all, although younger than him - and not particularly beautiful either, he told himself as her eyes dropped from his. She had been staring at him, he realised, berating himself for not noticing immediately that a stranger was in their midst. He had been so busy trying to immerse himself once more into the blessed mundanity that was his life at Hogwarts, trying to forget the horrors of the previous few weeks, that he had let slip his guard. So much for all his training, he thought, angry with himself but even angrier that nobody had seen fit to tell him of her appointment.

He had no idea who she was, how long she had been there, or what was her position in the faculty, since she must now be on the staff to be sitting at the staff table. She certainly appeared to be right at home, because Madam Pince was chatting to her in quite an animated fashion. He surmised that she must have been there for quite some time, since Irma Pince was hardly known for her extroversion. He would find out later on, no doubt. He would make sure of it. He would go to the library and ask Pince. He certainly had no intention of asking either Lupin or Black who the woman was. He would not give them the satisfaction, and they would only surmise that she had unsettled him.

And unsettle him she had...What did she think she was doing, staring at him like that? She was doing it again now, and his eyes locked with hers once more. This time hers did not drop. She held his gaze, and hers was clear and puzzling. Why didn't she look away? All he could see was her eyes. Irritated beyond all rational thought, he forgot that his stomach was still aching for more sustenance, and he pushed back his chair and stalked from the Great Hall, back to the solitary sanctuary of the dungeons.

He sat by the fire in his bedroom with a large cup of coffee brought to him by a nervous house elf, brooding into the flames. She must be in her thirties, he thought. He had no idea of her height, since she had been sitting down, but her build was...voluptuous. Her robes had been unfastened, and the tee-shirt underneath appeared, to his admittedly untrained eye, to be far too tight. Her hair was long, wavy, and dark brown. Chestnut, he supposed. Her face had been tolerably attractive, with clear skin, full rosebud lips, generously sized, slightly arched eyebrows framing wide, expressive eyes. Eyes that seemed to have little sense of decorum, he scoffed, uncomfortably aware that he had noticed far more about her than he cared to admit. Eyes that had stared at him far too curiously for his peace of mind, damn her! What gave her the right to look at him like that? Had she any idea who, and what, he was? He drained his coffee cup and turned his attention to the large plate of full Scottish breakfast that had materialised on the table beside him. At least the house elves were their usual efficient selves, he thought grimly. Some things could be relied upon not to change.

Some time later, sitting back in his winged leather armchair, he nursed his third cup of coffee and mused on the delightful sensation of feeling replete. Then his eyes narrowed once more as he remembered the reason for his hasty exit from the Great Hall.

He ought to have been shown the courtesy of being informed. As Head of Slytherin House it was his right to be made aware of all staffing changes and additions, even if he was denied the power of veto, as had happened in the cases of Lupin and Black. He had half a mind to call the Headmaster immediately and demand an explanation, but one of his favourite reference books, on permanent loan from the library, had gone missing from the desk in his office and since he already intended to tackle Madam Pince as to its whereabouts, his original idea of a little light interrogation about the mysterious woman would serve to add an extra fillip to his morning.

Setting down his cup on the small tray next to his chair with deliberate care, he smirked grimly to himself and brushed some stray crumbs from the front of his frock coat. Arranging his teaching robes so that they hung from his shoulders in neat folds, he walked briskly from his bedroom out into the Potions corridor, and locked and warded the door before setting off in the direction of the library.

The library was quiet, and its librarian was not at her usual station, a desk just inside its entrance. Never one to stand on ceremony, least of all when he was in a bad mood, Snape marched down one of the main aisles calling out imperiously,

"Madam Pince! Where is the Encyclopaedia of Muggle Potente Potions? It is not in its usual place, I need it now! If not sooner!"

Instead of Madam Pince's calm Scottish brogue lilting a reply, he heard a low, hesitant voice that he did not recognise offer,

"Er... Professor Snape, it's here, I was using it."

He stopped in his tracks and stood for a moment, clenching his fists as he realised to whom the unfamiliar voice must belong. He spun on his heels, walking slowly back along the corridor made by the high bookshelves with a deliberate tread that was designed to intimidate, and which had never been known to fail.

She turned slowly as he approached her, and he saw that she had the book open on the desk at which she had been working. He had evidently walked right past her. Meeting her direct gaze once more, closer now, he wondered fleetingly how on earth he had not noticed her. She smelled of jasmine and honey, and his nostrils flared in subconscious appreciation. He decided the scathing approach would be the most effective.

"And who might you be, to be looking at such an arcane text? You are aware of what it contains, aren't you?"

"I am using it to cross-reference entries in these Muggle books, and it isn't entirely accurate, Muggles have developed -"

She sounded almost apologetic, he thought. Oh, this was going to be too easy.

"Pah! A waste of time, and it's a poor excuse for keeping me from my work! Give it to me, woman, I have matters of great importance to attend to."

He reached for the volume, but she shifted position slightly so that she blocked his path and, to his surprise, drew herself up to her full height and jutted out her chin in a subtle gesture of defiance. If he were to stoop a little, he noticed, her head would fit just underneath his chin when they embraced. Hurriedly, he put the ridiculous and inappropriate notion out of his mind.

"Certainly, Professor, I should have finished amending it by lunchtime," she bristled. "I'll bring it to your dungeon."

His eyes widened in surprise at the alacrity of her retort, but he recovered himself quickly, and with a snarl in his voice and a glower on his face, he replied,

"Be sure that you do", before turning on his heel and striding off.

He was most disconcerted by their encounter, and still he knew very little about her. He did not even know her name, and she still had his book. She obviously seemed to think she had more right than he to scribble all over it. It simply was not good enough, he thought, cursing under his breath as he swept into the wide, airy corridor that led to the stone phoenix guarding the staircase to Dumbledore's office.

"Peanut brittle!" he growled, and the staircase began to grind into life. He stepped on and began to spiral upwards, a tight knot of tension in his chest making him clench his teeth almost as hard as his fists.

"Enter, Severus!" was the mildly voiced answer to his peremptory knock at the door to the Headmaster's office. The door swung open, and Snape marched in, ready to launch into a long list of reasons why it was imperative that he should at all times be kept up to date with any staffing changes Dumbledore saw fit to introduce. His words died in his throat, however, as he noticed Lupin sitting in an armchair by the fireside.

"Morning again, Severus! Feeling better?" he asked cheerfully.

"Oh, it's you," was his surly reply, Lupin's presence deflating him as surely as the sudden drop in wind would slow a ship previously billowing in full sail.

"Ah, Severus, I take it you are here to enquire after Miss Redemte?" the Headmaster twinkled knowingly.

Scowling first at Dumbledore and then at an ingenuously smiling Lupin, and then back again, Snape began peevishly,

"If by 'Miss Redemte' you mean the new - woman - at breakfast this morning, then yes, I had been wondering why no-one had seen fit to inform me!"

"Pretty, isn't she, Snape?" remarked Lupin, trying to hide a smile. Snape glared at him icily.

"I hadn't noticed, Lupin!"

"Perhaps if you had remained in the Infirmary under Poppy's care until such time as she pronounced you fit to be discharged, I would have had the opportunity to bring you up to date on the matter?" replied Dumbledore pointedly. Snape frowned, tacitly conceding the point by going to sit in the chair opposite Lupin's, as the Headmaster's wave of the hand signified he should.

"More coffee, Severus? Or have you had enough of a stimulant for one morning?"

"Now look here, Lupin -" Snape barked, but was stopped in his tracks by Dumbledore's hurried interjection,

"Miss Redemte, Severus, Miss Ella Redemte, has come here on a short term contract, until Christmas, in order to carry out some long overdue cataloguing and amendment of the section of the library concerned with flora and fauna from the Muggle world, mostly, you will be interested to note, as it relates to their version of potions making. Pharmaceuticals, I believe, is the Muggle term for it... Anyway, she has lived a long time in the Muggle world and is an archivist by trade. I seem to recall that she was a fairly competent student when she was here, and Potions was a particular favourite, if memory serves me..."

"Wonderful!" Snape interrupted sarcastically, unable to simmer in silence any longer. "Just what I need. First she steals my books to scrawl all over, next I suppose she'll be pestering me for advice! As if I don't have enough to do!"

The Headmaster raised his eyebrows thoughtfully and turned away, tickling a sleepy Fawkes under the chin. For the next few moments the air was filled with the multi-tonal purr of contented phoenix, and Lupin sat back in his chair, closing his eyes and smiling as the mellifluous sounds vibrated through the room. Even Snape was mollified by the music, and he felt his irritation ebb by degrees until it had dissipated almost completely. Damnable bird. He was sure Dumbledore had done that deliberately. He rubbed the bridge of his nose absently with a long middle finger, and said tiredly and without rancour,

"So, Albus, where does she come from? What do you know about her?"

"Always so suspicious, Severus!" Lupin commented, yawning.

"Someone has to be on their guard, Lupin! These are dangerous times we live in, in case you hadn't noticed!" Snape snapped defensively.

"Her family was killed sixteen years ago," Dumbledore began. "She has lived a somewhat nomadic life since then, a little hard to pin down...she has lived all over the world."

"So, an ideal candidate for recruitment by the wrong side, wouldn't you say?" countered Snape coolly, beginning to feel vindicated and more than a little smug.

"Not at all, Severus, not at all, since it was a particularly gruesome Death Eater attack that killed her family, mere months before Voldemort fell!"

Snape froze, and then shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had been a Death Eater himself at that time.

"Does she know about me?" he asked abruptly, uncomfortably aware that the answer mattered to him and not knowing why.

"I have not spelled it out to her, but yes, I believe she knows you have been working covertly for me, and that particular circumstances of your past have made you invaluable in that regard."

Snape snorted bitterly and replied,

"And she can still look me in the eye and not flinch!"

He remembered the clarity of her gaze, and the way the sunlight through the library windows picked out the gold in her mossy green eyes. He shook his head, trying to shift the image from his mind, scowling at Remus Lupin again for want of something to look at, anything to take his mind off the feeling of unease, and upset routine, that she awoke in him.

For pity's sake, he had only set eyes on here scant hours before, and already he was agitated out of all proportion. He could not explain why, but he sensed that somehow she posed a serious threat to his comfortable, orderly routine.

He resolved there and then that he would not allow her to get away with it.

He spent the rest of the morning reorganising his store cupboard into some semblance of order. Stocks of certain vital ingredients had been allowed to run unforgivably low, so he would need to go into the Forbidden Forest for supplies. When the culpable Black sauntered in without so much as a by-your-leave to collect the unmarked parchments which he had left littering the classroom desk, Snape took great delight in telling him in no uncertain terms what he thought of his organisational skills, or lack thereof, and had stopped just a shade short of dismissing him summarily from his dungeons. Disappointingly, Black had shown an unusual degree of tact and had beaten a hasty retreat with only minimal help from Snape. Infuriated by the ease with which Black had been dispatched, Snape spent the next hour tidying his storeroom to work off his frustration before taking a quick luncheon in his rooms and making a mental list of plants and fungi to search for in the Forbidden Forest.

He had always prided himself both on his stealth and on his excellent hearing. These combined talents had enabled him, over the years, to deduct innumerable house point on myriad occasions from countless errant students, who would pleasingly find themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. He put his skills to good use now as he heard a woman's footsteps approach along the Potions corridor and begin to cross the stone flagged floor of his classroom. He sprang from his chair, sidling catlike to the door from his office, and stood there for a second before throwing open the door and walking briskly through into the classroom. He had startled her, he realised with satisfaction. That had been his intention.

"At last!" he said, picking up the volume and deliberately turning back to his office without even acknowledging her presence.

"You're welcome!" he heard her mutter. She had obviously been angered by his rudeness. Suppressing a shark-like smile of triumph, he halted, turned around and looked at her as coldly as he could.

"Ah. Yes, thank you for keeping me from my work all morning. I do so appreciate your kind efforts. Now please leave." His eyes glittered black, and he was gratified to see anger and spirit in her flashing green eyes. He had needled her, that much was obvious, and he could barely hide his smirk at the knowledge that he had now unsettled her just as she had, albeit unwittingly, unsettled him. He swept back into his office and closed its concealed door behind him, shutting her out before she had a chance to find her tongue. Then he allowed himself a small, sharp, satisfied,

"Hmph!" as he tossed the unwanted book carelessly on to his desk and carried on through to his bedroom where he kicked off his shoes, loosened his collar and climbed on to his large antique four-poster bed.

He lay with his hands behind his head and stared up at the green velvet canopy with its satin trim, making a mental list of the items he would need to collect from the Forbidden Forest that afternoon. Green natterjacks, moss, jadeworts, peapod stalks, greenleaf ivies, goldencaps, grass-snake skins, green and gold toadstool...Damn the woman, must she invade his thoughts even when he was trying to compose a list of supplies? Damn her and her green eyes with the golden flecks that danced so entrancingly in the sunlight...

He must have dozed off, for when he awoke over an hour had passed. Cursing his physical weakness - each visit to Voldemort left him needing a longer period of recuperation than the one before - he sat up, admittedly refreshed and clearheaded, and refastened the top buttons of his frock coat. Selecting a cloak from his cavernous oak wardrobe, one of medium weight with many concealed pockets wherein all manner of plant cuttings, vials for sap, and small specimens of fungi could be stored, he fastened it, slipped on his stoutest shiny black boots, and set off for the Forbidden Forest.

As he reached the main doors on to the front lawn he heard the sound of animated chatter, and a woman's bubbling, carefree laughter. Setting his face into a fierce scowl he aimed it first at Black and then Lupin before turning it on the newcomer. The smile did not die on her face, as he had expected, but instead its brilliance was turned on him, full force, for an endless moment. He felt stunned, as if all the air had been knocked from his lungs, but he congratulated himself inwardly on never breaking his step, sweeping past the three of them and striding off down the lawn, his cloak billowing out behind him. He did not let himself look back, and tried to shrug off the impression that at least one pair of eyes was boring into the back of his head.

By the time he had reached the forest he was sweltering in the heat, and as soon as he was out of sight of the school and certain he would not be disturbed, he pulled off his cloak and unbuttoned and removed his frock coat. Underneath, he wore a flowing white linen shirt with almost as many buttons as on his jacket, and these he unfastened with a quickly muttered charm which served also to roll his sleeves past his elbows. More comfortable now, he picked up the discarded items of clothing and continued on into the forest. He soon became engrossed in the search for ingredients, his keen eye and years of experience coupled with his intimate knowledge of this part of the Forest making his task easy, almost mind numbingly so, after a while. And his mind was most definitely beginning to stray from the task in hand, he thought morosely as he absently pulled some greenleaf ivy from a gnarled old tree and beheaded a variety of toadstools.

What was she doing laughing and joking with those two lecherous buffoons? Surely someone of her supposed intelligence and experience would prefer more erudite company, like his? He banished the ridiculous notion from his head immediately. Where on earth had it come from? He had eschewed all company years ago, had made a point of avoiding it wherever possible. He had no interest in anything, or anyone, that would upset his carefully ordered routine. And as far as any physical response he might have had to her...she was a new face, and one that he would get used to eventually. She disturbed his equilibrium, that was all.

That was all.