Snape In Love: Chasing Darkness Away

Chapter 3

Agitation

Severus dressed slowly, and unwillingly. He craved the intimacy of their bed. It had been his, and his alone, for so many long, empty years, and now he could imagine nowhere less lonely and more comforting. Ella had changed Persephone into an all-in-one fuchsia contraption with a daisy on the front, and he frowned slightly. It was very gaudy. Still, he mused, he acceded to her better judgement in such matters. Black and dark green were not suitable colours for a small child, as she would laughingly remind him. Laying her daughter down on the white fur rug so that she could kick her tiny legs and feel the softness of the fur between her fingers and toes, Ella turned her attention back to her husband and slipped her arms around his neck.

"I never knew I upset you so much!" she smiled, lacing her fingers in his hair and brushing her lips against his.

"Well, you did. Right from the start, and not in a good way, either! I found your sudden presence very disturbing. And I do think you had some idea!"

"Maybe. I just couldn't stop thinking about you, from the moment I first saw you. I don't think there was ever a time where I didn't want you. All the time."

She pulled him to her more closely then, and he responded in kind, feeling her succumb to his strength, hearing the soft moan deep in her throat as their kiss deepened. His hand raked through the mass of curls at the back of her head and stroked the soft skin at the nape of her neck until he felt her shiver and mirror his actions with her own sure fingers. Ah, he could do this all day, and he toyed with the idea of taking a few steps backwards and pulling her onto the bed where they could enjoy a more intimate embrace, but it was too late, she began to pull free and they separated. Reluctantly, biting back a peevish complaint, he went to sit by the empty fireplace while Ella summoned a house elf to bring breakfast before coming to sit beside him, curling her legs underneath her. Reaching out to push back a stray lock of hair from his face in a habitual gesture he loved so well, she murmured,

"Tell me more?"

*********************************************************

Snape's encounters with Ella Redemte that day had left him irritable and strangely disconcerted, so when he received an owl from Lucius Malfoy late that evening he offered the Fates his bitter congratulations for the efficiency with which they had managed systematically to ruin his entire day.

Malfoy wanted to meet him on the morrow concerning 'the little matter of some artefacts for sale...' The Ministry of Magic had long had Malfoy Manor under close scrutiny, and Lucius Malfoy was concerned that certain items might associate him too closely with unlawful Death Eater activities. He insisted that Snape accompany him to Borgin and Burkes', 'to present a united front to Mr Borgin and, if necessary, apply a degree of...pressure.' Snape knew what that meant. Mr Borgin was an unsavoury character but he had not quite, as yet, pledged any sort of allegiance to the Dark Lord. Snape suspected that his primary loyalty was to his own neck, and he could sympathise with that.

However, to decline Malfoy's invitation would be tantamount to an expression of disloyalty, and he could not afford to jeopardise his carefully maintained cover. So it was that the following day, after a spartan lunch which was the bare minimum necessary to appease his grumbling stomach without making him physically sick, he set off reluctantly for Diagon Alley.

Malfoy was his usual malevolent self and the oleaginous Mr Borgin took everything off him, for 'a fair price', with trembling hands. Snape stood in the shadows as far as possible as driving rain battered the loose panes of the small shop windows, a silent, sombre darkness on whom to lay any blame should Mr Borgin prove too difficult, and as he stood, and waited, he thought of bright sunlight, and the way it played in golden green eyes.

He declined the offer of an evening 'on the town' with Malfoy, knowing too well the other man's predilection for violent encounters of a sexual nature. With a disdainful sneer, the blond man bade him a good evening and disappeared along a rain-soaked Knockturn Alley, the metallic tap-tap-tapping of the silver serpent-headed cane echoing back to Snape long after its owner had been swallowed up by the mist-making rain.

Snape hastened to the Leaky Cauldron, heading directly to the fireplace and emerging moments later, sodden and covered in grey ash to boot, in the warm, cosy snug of the Three Broomsticks. He needed a stiff drink, a malt whisky to wash away the nasty taste that he always found in his mouth following each encounter with the odious Malfoy. Amazing that he could ever have counted him as a friend.

The Three Broomsticks was busy, but the crowds parted to let him through, and a stool at the bar was vacated with gratifying alacrity. Having a fearsome reputation did have its advantages. Rosmerta fetched him a single malt without even being asked, and he raised it to his lips eagerly, his nostrils flaring on the heady scent of the whisky. His drink finished, he scanned the room. All the usual suspects were there, he noted wryly, including - oh, joy! - Lupin and Black. And unless he was very much mistaken, there was a third member of their party. A third glass was on the table, tall, filled with ice and a clear liquid of some sort, half empty. He froze, and did not even acknowledge the promptness with which Rosmerta refilled his glass. He was too aware of being under intense scrutiny once more. Long moments passed, and the hairs at the nape of his neck began to prickle as he sensed her approach.

His back straightened as his scrutiniser drew near and he turned his head to fix her with a hard stare, saying derisively,

"I have been able to form two opinions about you so far, Miss Redemte."

She tossed her hair defiantly, but he heard a telling note of uncertainty in her voice as she replied,

"Only two?"

He swung round on his stool so that he could more easily intimidate her, and his lip curled disdainfully as he continued,

"One, you make a habit of staring at people when you believe yourself to be unobserved and two, I see you're not fussy about the type of company you keep."

Her eyes widened fractionally and a light flush spread over her cheeks, but if he had hoped to send her scuttling off back to her two bodyguards, then he had severely underestimated her. Straight away she countered,

"No, not at all, and that's why I'd like to ask you to join us, Professor Snape!"

Touché, he thought. He noticed that she was wearing faded blue denim jeans. Very tight ones. And her black sweater was far too revealing. He could see the curve of her breasts in his peripheral vision. He did not dare look down. The effect of his well-practised glare would be nullified if he did, and besides, she would surely notice and believe - erroneously - that he was susceptible to her charms, and that his weakness would therefore give her the upper hand. He sneered and turned back to his drink, sending a clear signal that their conversation was over, before his eyes could force themselves southwards and betray him.

He watched her walk around the corner of the bar and back to her seat beside Black, in a corner booth. Her jeans really were very, very tight, he mused, allowing himself the luxury of looking her up and down now that he could do so unobserved. Her figure was pleasing, he observed analytically, trying to ignore the tingle in the pit of his stomach which, in days long gone, had always been the precursor of pleasant physical arousal. She was - voluptuous. Ample. Curvy in all the places a woman should be. Perfect.

He emptied his glass with a jerky, impatient haste. She was a new member of staff, that was all. He was irritated at her directness, that was all. He had no other interest in her. He glared and tensed as Sirius Black leaned in to her to punctuate whatever facile joke he was trying to tell. She laughed, and he noticed the way she tossed her hair, the blush of her cheeks, the glow that spread down her neck to her - no, he would not think about them. That, he corrected himself, gesticulating impatiently for another drink. He wouldn't think about her at all.

After his third whisky he gave up trying not to stare at her. All three of them were far too annoying simply to be ignored. He sat at the bar, hunched over his drink like a huge black raven, glowering at the small party in the corner booth. He was not surprised in the least to find her still stealing glances at him. He began to count the number of times she did so, and estimate their frequency. It was easily accomplished, since he found he could not take his eyes off her.

Eventually she got up and walked slowly back around the bar. He wondered whether it was really necessary for her hips to swing quite so provocatively. He stared at a point in the middle distance and she deliberately came to stand beside him, propping her elbows up on the bar and leaning over them, so that her forearms framed her breasts. Damn the woman. He had not been cursed with the discomfort of an unrelievable erection for longer than he cared to remember, and he did not see why he had to be forced into having one now.

"The invitation still stands, Professor." Her low voice sent a shiver down his spine and he began to feel uncomfortably hot. "You do seem to find our conversation of interest."

"You're mistaken. I would prefer to drink alone."

"Then why are you staring? Are you trying to make me feel uncomfortable?"

Enough was enough. He was a reasonable man, but she had provoked him quite enough. He drained his fourth whisky and looked her up and down, slowly and deliberately, and he saw her body shiver almost imperceptibly. He knew he was fuelling the fire of his own erection rather than trying to damp it down, but he did not care. His cloak would, he hoped, conceal any hot, throbbing embarrassment. He did not want her to have the last word, and he spoke volumes with just one burning, lingering look.

Outside in the relative peace and quiet of the street, he took several gulps of fresh, clean-smelling air and silently thanked the rain that soaked his face and plastered his hair to his scalp. Since a cold shower would have to wait until later, this, for now, was the next best thing.

He had had some difficulty in sleeping that night, despite the whisky. He had deliberately chosen not to use any sort of rain repelling charm, preferring to let the cool drizzle wash over him and douse his misplaced ardour, so by the time he had arrived back at the castle he was even more thoroughly drenched than he had been in Diagon Alley. He shivered at the memory of his visit there that afternoon. If ever there was a reason for him to eschew that infernal woman's company, it was Lucius Malfoy. If he were ever to suspect that Snape could still feel...But no. He felt nothing for Ella Redemte. His body had reacted to the provocation of her clothes, and her walk, that was all. And her eyes.

***

He decided to breakfast in his room the following morning, and told himself that far from being afraid to face her sober after the way he suspected he had looked at her while slightly inebriated, it would enable him to begin sooner the mammoth task that was returning his classroom to some sense of order before the weekend was over. The task was accomplished quickly and after a hearty lunch of beef stew accompanied by freshly baked bread he was ready to return to the Forbidden Forest, for fresh supplies of fungi.

If anything, the day was even hotter than the one before, so he ventured deeper into the forest where the trees shaded all beneath them so comprehensively that it was impossible to determine, with any certainty, whereabouts the sun lay in the sky. Having shrugged off his coat earlier, Snape had since donned it once more, and rebuttoned it. He had found nearly everything he had set out to, and began slowly to pick his way through the mosses and broken tree branches, roots and tangled undergrowth. At length, late afternoon sunlight began to dapple through the sussurating canopy of leaves high above his head, the deciduous trees on the outskirts of this part of the forest being less densely packed than the firs further in.

As an afterthought, he decided to harvest a few more Michaelmas toadstools on his way out of the forest, and he stooped to remove their purplish heads. It was at that moment he heard a loud snap, and a startled cry. He straightened, annoyed at the intrusion into his solitude, not to mention the flagrant breach of school rules.

"What're you doing in here?" he barked as he crossed swiftly to the place from which the sound had come. "Don't you know the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds to stu-....oh, it's you!"

It was a woman, lying sprawled half on her side, one arm outstretched above her head where she had tried unsuccessfully to break her fall. Her foot was half trapped under a tree root and her face was white with pain. He leaned over her and cloudy green eyes stared into his as she moaned in distress, and then rolled back in her head as she swooned away.

It would have to be her, wouldn't it, he thought bitterly as he scanned her body looking for any other signs of injury before he attempted to move her. He noticed the small red bite mark on her forearm at the same time as he saw the small brown snake slither off into the undergrowth. His eyes widened in alarm, and he cursed loudly, stooping to slip his arms underneath her. She was quite insensible and her head lolled back as he scooped her up, pulling her to him firmly.

Lurching with some difficulty across the uneven forest floor he toyed with the idea of using the Mobilicorpus charm, or of conjuring a stretcher. Either would certainly make his life much easier, in many ways, he thought grimly as his treacherous body began to react to her closeness. However, the snake which had bitten her was highly poisonous and her fever would worsen rapidly. Holding her close to him, he would be better attuned to any changes in her physical symptoms. He was not carrying a heavy weight on an uncomfortably sticky summer afternoon out of any sense of romantic idealism. He was no heroic stereotype, not he, however much she might enjoy thinking herself a damsel in distress.

One of his arms was under her shoulders, and his long fingers curled round her side until their tips touched the outer swell of one of her full breasts. He moved them back slightly, uncomfortably aware of the way the thin silky fabric of her dress slipped through his fingers. That was not as bad as what was happening to his right hand, however. It was holding her legs, but the dress she wore, a decorous mid-calf length under normal circumstances, he had noted, had ridden up as he had lifted her, and now the palm of his hand was cupping her bare thigh.

His breathing became ragged and he realised that he was undergoing a somewhat extreme, and entirely inappropriate, reaction to her nearness. Her hip was pressed to his waist and with each step he took it rubbed against him. By the time he was half way back to the school his erection was so hard that her right buttock rubbed across its head with an excruciatingly regular, suggestive rhythm and it was all that he could do not to whimper with need. He thanked the Fates that she was unconscious and therefore unaware of the effect she was having on him, but then to his horror her hand snaked around his neck and she opened her eyes.

"What's happening?" she asked weakly.

"I'm in the process of saving your life, you silly girl!" he snapped. "You've been bitten by a snake and it needs immediate attention. I have a remedy in my office. You're very fortunate that I was nearby!"

"Thank you," she murmured, and as he looked into her eyes she began to sweat. To his alarm, he noticed droplets of perspiration begin to form on her brow, and her teeth began to chatter as the fever worsened. His hand under her thigh became slick with sweat, although he suspected that some of it was his own. He tried to look straight ahead and hefted her up in his arms slightly so that she could not feel his hardness as it stood proud against his lower abdomen. Gods, it was a long time since he'd been so aroused. Unfortunately his action meant that instead of letting her head loll back, she buried it instead in his neck where he could feel her sweat intermingle with his own. Trying to withhold a low growl that threatened to rumble from deep in his throat, he turned his attention to a small group of sixth year students who had been in the process of spilling out of the great oak doors on to the lawn, but who had become transfixed by the surreal vision of their fearsome Potions master striding across the lawn with a woman insensible in his arms, and who were blocking his way on the steps.

"Get out of the way, you imbeciles!" he snarled, cutting a swathe through them as he hastened up the steps. "And send for Pomfrey!"

For a few delirious moments he exulted in the painful pleasure of his incredible erection. Any less aroused and it would have been obvious, but since it was pressed firmly against his belly, the casual observer would never know that it was there. He suppressed the urge to giggle insanely, and breathed in the cool air of the entrance hall, heading determinedly to the dungeons.

Ella's body was trembling uncontrollably with the effects of the poison, and mercifully his ardour cooled as his concern for her wellbeing intensified. By the time they had reached his quarters she was unconscious again, and his arms and back were under so much strain that he was sure she must have doubled in weight between the forest and his rooms. He lay her down on his bed and hurried through to his private store, where he took two vials, one large, one small, and a large goblet. Mixing the two potions he re-entered the bedroom at a run and sat beside her, lifting up her limp body and cradling her in his arms as he put the goblet to her lips. A few drops were all that was needed to revive her, and then she was able to raise a shaking hand to the goblet and cover his fingers with hers, and drain its contents.

Closing his eyes with relief, he laid her back on the pillows and carefully removed his arm from under her. Her eyes were closed again, but he was not concerned. He knew that the immediate danger had passed. He fetched a cloth dampened with cold water from the bathroom and bathed her face and neck, then brushed her hair back from her face. All that he could do now was wait. Madam Pomfrey would be able to tend to her ankle. His arms trembling uncontrollably and his legs unsteady, he sank into his old leather armchair and wished he was a younger, stronger man.

Poppy Pomfrey arrived in a flurry of starched skirts and disapproval.

"Really, Severus, what have you been doing?" she muttered, heading for the woman lying prone on his bed.

"Well, obviously not what you think!" he snarled defensively, turning to glare at her in disbelief.

"And when did your bedroom become Hogwarts' Infirmary?"

"Oh, let me see - that would have been as soon as I realised that I had the antidote here and could save her life!"

"Hmph. So, what happened to her?"

"Snake bite. The deadly kind. And she's twisted her ankle, I think. I haven't treated that yet."

"Oh, so there is something I'm still useful for, then?"

Snape noticed Ella stir and went to her side quickly, leaning over her and peering at her face. He reached out a cool hand and pressed it to her forehead.

"You see, Poppy, she's much better. Her fever has broken and her eyes seem clear now."

"Well, I would still have preferred it if you'd brought her directly to me, Severus. She'd be far better off in the hospital wing under my care."

"There was no time, Poppy!" he retorted, exasperated beyond belief at the woman's refusal to accept that he had acted in Ella's best interests. "You can see that, surely?"

"But Severus, this is your bedroom..."

"What, do you expect that I will take advantage of her fragile state and seduce her?"

The instant the words were out of his mouth he regretted that he had let that insidious notion into his head.

"People will talk!" Madam Pomfrey countered.

"As if I care!" he replied.

"Oh, very well, Severus. I'll leave her in your capable hands. Do let me know if I can be of any assistance!"

Madam Pomfrey had been waving her wand over Ella's foot while murmuring some powerful healing charms at the foot of the bed, but this had not prevented her from speaking her mind, and she continued to infuriate Snape by saying,

"And you look dreadful!"

"Well, I did carry her all the way from the Forbidden Forest!"

"Whatever for? You're in no fit state to go doing that sort of thing, Severus. Not so soon after -"

"Yes, yes, I know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I had to be sure she was - I had to keep an eye on her physiological responses."

"Did you indeed. Well, dose yourself with Pepper-Up Potion and get some rest, otherwise you'll be no use to anybody."

Snape glowered at her, but she was unperturbed.

"You know I'm right, dear. And we can have her moved to the Infirmary -"

"No!" he said quickly. "She can stay here."

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips but did not comment. After a few moments she said,

"Well, I shall go to Ella's rooms and find her a nightgown. Since she seems to be staying here she might as well be comfortable!"

Snape watched her go with an irritated frown, before getting up with a sigh and fetching a vial of Pepper-Up Potion from his store room. He dozed off in his chair after that, for a few moments, and when he awoke on Madam Pomfrey's return, the potion had taken effect and he felt invigorated once more and with the use of his arms and legs fully restored. He tried not to look too closely at the flimsy scrap of satin she held in her hands.

"This is all I could find in her room," she said dubiously, holding it up. "Well leave the room, Severus! I need to change her into it!"

"This is my room!" he snarled.

"Yes, and it's you that brought her here! Now be a gentleman and at least turn round!"

He scowled at her and strode to the other side of the room with his arms folded, taking up a position in front of a large antique armoire. An ornate gilt-framed mirror topped the dresser, and he soon realised that the angle at which he was standing afforded him a clear view of his bed. He looked away for a moment, not wanting to move in case Madam Pomfrey noticed and began to scold him once more, forcing him to say something to her that she might make him live to regret. He had sufficient self control to not take advantage of his situation, and besides, he had decided the day he first met her that he had no interest in Ella.

However, curiosity soon got the better of him and his eyes widened and his breathing quickened as he watched Madam Pomfrey slip his unconscious guest out of her clothes. He had to stifle a gasp as she removed Ella's brassiere and revealed her creamy breasts with their dark pink nipples and lighter areolae. His fingers had touched those breasts, carrying her. He wanted to touch them now, and he imagined his mouth closing over first one and then the other, his tongue laving them, suckling them, pebbling them.

His erection had sprung back. In those few short seconds, he had gone from being calm, and in full control of the situation, to being no more than a slave to his own physiological responses. It simply would not do. When she had finished he turned around and, adjusting his robes, told Madam Pomfrey to leave.

"I will be here, in case she needs another dose of the antivenin," he said, clearing his throat. With a "Hmph!" Madam Pomfrey left.

He stood at the foot of his bed and stared at Ella for a very long time after Madam Pomfrey had gone. She had kicked down the sheet so that it barely covered her waist, and instead tangled round her legs, outlining them as she lay spread-eagled. Now and then she would writhe and arch her back as the fever abated, and her nipples strained against the soft blue satin of her admittedly very fetching nightgown. Clenching his fists until his short nails dug painfully into his palms, he battled with his baser instincts, talking himself out of the almost irresistible urge to stretch out over her and consume her with his mouth, an inch at a time.

He was throbbing painfully now and he could not ignore his physical reaction any longer. Stripping off his clothes impatiently, he threw his frock coat on to a chair and disappeared into his bathroom. He removed the rest of his clothing and stepped into his large black marble shower.

"Aqua frigus vigoratus!" he muttered, then cried out "Ah!" as powerful jets of cold water assaulted him on three sides at once. He turned round and round under the pulsing jets, his eyes closed, and lifted his arms to run his hands through his hair. He worked methodically, concentrating on the act of cleansing himself, and this combined with the pounding of the water jets meant that by the time he had reached his more intimate areas his member was quiescent once more.

"Aqua cessate!" he said tiredly and stepped out of the shower, shivering. He began to towel himself dry with a large green bath sheet, rubbing his long dark hair vigorously before wrapping the towel around his waist. Back in his bedroom, he paused to check that Ella slept still, and then dressed as quickly as he could. Only after his frock coat was buttoned tightly from his neck to his knees did he force himself to look at her impassively, controlling and subduing any bodily reactions. Once he had satisfied himself that he was once more in full control of his faculties, he headed to his office for a few vials of restorative tonic to speed along her recovery. While part of him had no wish to relinquish her to Madam Pomfrey's care, even though there was no clinical reason why not, still the more rational part of him preferred that her sojourn in his sanctuary be as brief as possible.

He leaned over her once more and noticed that she was waking. As her eyes fluttered open, sensing his nearness, he thought, he said,

"You are much improved."

"Thank you," she replied softly, trying to sit up but never letting her eyes leave his. Almost hypnotised by her gaze and her scent, he allowed his hands to grasp her waist in order to lift her and make her more comfortable. The sensation of her smooth skin under his hands as they slipped on the satin was powerful, and when he heard her moan he was not sure at first whether or not the sound had come from his own lips, rather than hers. He withdrew saying,

"Are you in pain?"

Her eyelids had drooped and she breathed her reply as if she thought he ought to know the answer,

"No..."

He could not trust himself to look into her eyes any longer. His self control was nowhere near as stoic as he had come to expect in recent years. Instead, he crossed to a small table under the window on which stood a pewter goblet and a large jug of iced water. He poured some out, and added the contents of one of the small vials of tonic.

"What is that?" she asked softly. Her voice made him grip the goblet tightly as he steeled himself to meet her gaze once more and resist the temptation to plunge into her thoughts and lose himself in the swirling mass of her memories and emotions.

"It's a restorative tonic I have made. Drink it," he said shortly, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. She made him feel exposed, as if his soul had been laid bare. Despite the bitter taste of the potion, she did not flinch, nor did she question its necessity. He left her alone to rest then, thankfully escaping to the safety of his office, and as he left the room he was sure he heard her murmur his name as she sank into sleep,

"Severus..."

It sliced into his consciousness like a scalpel through flesh, prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. He must not let her get to him, he thought. He could not let her. He would not.

His hands were trembling so much that he could not even trust himself to prepare the simplest potion, so he sat at his desk and cast around for something to do, anything at all that would take his mind off her. His gaze fell on the book she had been annotating in the library. Rolling his eyes in exasperation and angry with himself, he pushed himself back from his desk, before striding back into his bedroom. If he could not get her out of his mind there seemed little point in not giving her his utmost care and attention instead, on a purely professional level. Perhaps if he spent some time in the same room as her he would be able to analyse the ridiculous attraction he had for her, and overcome it as he knew he must.

He watched over her for all of that night, and half the following morning, and still he had no answers.

He decided to take luncheon in the Great Hall, thinking that perhaps a change of scene might clear his head and enable him to put his interest in her into some sort of perspective. However, all that he could think about was that she was lying in his bed half undressed and that his place was beside her. When luncheon was over he scraped back his chair angrily, much to the confusion of Remus Lupin, who had not even dared disturb his colleague when he was obviously so deep in thought about something, and made his way back down into the bowels of the castle, his guts twisting as he strove not to break into a run.

When he regained his bedroom he was disarmed completely. She had dressed herself, and sat in his chair - his chair - for all the world as if this were her bedroom, as much as it was his. She was evidently much better, and would no longer need his care. Conflicting emotions wrestled within him, anger at her presumption vying with a sense of loss, and neither gaining precedence. Masking his feelings, he said impassively,

"Ah, you are up. And you can walk, evidently."

"Er...yes, with some difficulty" she smiled.

"You will want to go back to your own rooms now. Let me help you to your feet. I'll take you back." He could not resist the urge to add bitterly, "We wouldn't want you to have another accident on the way, now, would we?"

When she stood, it was with some difficulty because, too late, he had realised that he was standing very close to her, looming over her, in fact. He caught his breath as her hand rested on his chest as she gained her balance. She appeared still to be in some pain, but he was determined now that she should return to her rooms. Her breasts brushed against the thick fabric of his frock coat, and he was wildly grateful that so many layers separated their skin for he felt his self-control begin to dissipate more rapidly each and every time he saw her. He looked deep into her eyes, and tentatively allowed himself to read her. The desire he saw there terrified and excited him beyond all reason, and reflexively he took a step back, before she made him do something he would most assuredly regret, and he broke all bodily contact between them save for that of his left hand under her bare arm. Her skin was warm and soft and he almost recoiled from the scent of her, the womanly, jasmine- fragranced irresistible femininity of her that threatened to drive him to his knees.

He had to support her through to his office, where Madam Pomfrey had left a crutch in readiness for this eventuality. Still, however, she appeared to need his arm under hers, and so by the time they had reached her door ten minutes later, his head was spinning with the effort of keeping his physiological responses in check. Once he had deposited her at the end of the short corridor to her room he muttered,

"I have a lot to do. You've kept me from my work."

He strode away before she could answer, away from her beauty and her scent and his desire for her, and her incomprehensible desire for him. He resolved to avoid her as far as possible from that moment on.