Snape In Love: Chasing Darkness Away

Chapter 22

Experimentation

The family returned to the school just in time to prevent its youngest member from launching into a vociferous complaint against her neglectful parents, whose leisurely stroll home had forced her to be awake for all of ten minutes without being fed. Once safely ensconced in her nursery with both her parents in attendance, Persephone condescended to a late lunch followed by a brisk change into more comfortable clothing. Thus mollified, Ella played with her for a time while her husband fetched some scrolls from his office into the nursery, sitting in the turret's rocking chair so that he could enjoy the company of his family while he worked.

However, he soon tired of lesson plans and the scrolls were put to one side. He barely changed the curriculum year on year anyway, while his daughter altered with every passing day and he wanted to commit each change to memory. He stood and deftly began to unbutton his frock coat, removing it and folding it across the back of the chair before crossing his long legs and joining them on the floor in a graceful, fluid movement. Ella looked across at him and smiled, and he held her gaze, conveying more in a few seconds than he could hope to impart in a lifetime of words.

He reached out to his daughter, small and gurgling on the white fur rug, and placed his large hand over her belly so that his thumb and forefinger rested against her armpits. He grinned at Ella quickly as Persephone's arms and legs began to pump in excitement, and he tickled her until her gurgles became crows of delight. Ella laughed and rose to her knees, leaning across to kiss his cheek tenderly before getting to her feet.

"Make sure you tire her out," she said, running her hand over his hair as she passed behind him. "You said you had plans for me this afternoon, remember?"

He grabbed her wrist and raised a mocking gaze to hers.

"As I recall, it was you who made your intentions for this afternoon crystal clear! But I'm sure I can accommodate you."

She leaned down to whisper against his cheek,

"I'll be waiting for you..." and then she was stepping lightly from the room, singing to herself. He looked after her until she had half closed the door to their bedroom behind her, and then turned his attention back to the baby in front of him.

"I think it's time for your nap, Persephone!" he announced firmly, cradling her in his hands and resting her in the crook of his left arm. Her deep blue eyes looked up at him and she frowned, then waved her tiny fists and yawned. "That's right, little one, you are sleepy, aren't you?" he murmured. "Ten points to Slytherin! Oh, and Ravenclaw too, I suppose."

He stood up awkwardly, bracing himself with one arm against the seat of the chair, then tossed his hair from his eyes and watched Persephone's face as she succumbed to his gentle rocking. Before long her eyelids were drooping, and he placed her in her cot with satisfaction. Once he was assured that she had indeed gone to sleep he closed the nursery door quietly behind him and smirked as he made his way across to the bedroom.

He pushed open the bedroom door and stopped in his tracks, almost moaning out loud as he saw her. She was sitting in the armchair beside the fire and all she wore was the glow of its flames as the shadows they cast flickered over her naked body. His own reacted immediately, of course, and he tugged at his shirt buttons impatiently as he strode over to her.

"That was quick!" she said, surprised.

"I was highly motivated," he replied as he unfastened his trousers.

"Here, allow me..." Ella slid to her knees before him and fastened her hungry gaze on his torso as she slipped her hands around his .

"Ella! Gods, woman, what are you doing to me?"

Ella was too busy to reply to what had been, after all, a rhetorical question, so he simply groaned and tightened his grip on her hair. She was amazing, he thought hazily as her hands slid up underneath his underpants to cup his buttocks and pull him to her.

"Let me sit down," he croaked.

He took her place in the armchair which creaked as he settled into position and she stood before him, her chest rising and falling in excitement. He stared hungrily at her dusky pink nipples and contoured areolae, full and ripe, and she saw the expression on his face and straddled him, leaning over him so that the pendulous fullness of her breasts swung inches from his mouth. He licked his lips and ducked his head, capturing one of the nubs in his mouth and licking the sweet white pearl from its tip. She moaned and braced her arms on each side of the chair while he reached underneath her and found her inner thighs and mound. He sighed with pleasure, and she reacted at once, rocking forward and pressing her mons into his palm. He pressed up against her and smiled as he took more of her breast into his mouth, and his free hand squeezed and pinched her other nipple until it began to leak freely over his fingers.

"Oh, Severus, stop!" she moaned feverishly before sitting down across his knees, making Severus hiss sharply.

She glanced up at him swiftly and his eyes bored into her, willing her to do his will, and she raised herself up slightly and moved closer. He took her hips and positioned her and she stayed over him, holding his head in her hands and pressing her forehead to his. He could feel her and his breathing grew shallow.

"Now, Severus!" she begged, and his erection leapt at the passion in her voice. "Please!"

One hand moved to the small of her back and the other stayed at her hip, pushing her down and against him in one swift movement. Ella threw back her head, pushing her breasts against his chest, and then her hands were on his shoulders and she was kissing his hair and his cheeks and his neck and all that he could do was wrap his arms around her and try to hold her still, for her abandon would cause in him too early a release.

He forced himself to think about the idiot in the coffee shop that afternoon to try and forestall his orgasm, and his breathing slowed even as the frown line between his eyes deepened when he remembered the ridiculously inappropriate behaviour of Lockhart's cousin. Soon he was fully in control again and as Ella pulled back to kiss his eager lips, he placed his hands on her hips.

"Ella, you feel so good," he murmured against her lips. "And you're mine."

She moaned into his mouth and soon began to whisper his name then, over and over, and he smiled as he sensed her climax near.

Her cries grew loud, and he felt the familiar tightening in his balls. He let the tension build this time, for he knew that her crisis would come quickly now, and he repeated,

"Mine!" which was all the trigger she needed, and sure enough she came, shouting out her love for him and convulsing against him. He wrapped his free arm around her back and held her as still as he could, slowing her down in order to deepen and prolong her orgasm for as long as possible, and her sobs triggered his own so that he came too, and it went on and on until he felt he could endure the bliss no longer.

She lay in his arms, trembling, and he felt the aftershocks of her orgasm as her muscles contracted spasmodically, sending needle sharp twinges of sensation through him.

"I'm yours!" she whispered against his collarbone, and he felt warm tears on his neck. He stroked her hair from her face, and kept on stroking until she was still.

Eventually she lifted her head a little and their lips met once more, tenderly now. He lifted her from his lap so that they could dress, and as he looked down at his lap where she had been he saw the dark green of his shorts was black where they had soaked up all her passion for him. The sodden fabric clung to his skin now, and as he watched her walk unsteadily to the bathroom he smirked triumphantly. He did not think he would ever tire of the elation he felt at his effect on her.

By the time she had finished in the bathroom he had donned a robe and summoned a house elf to bring them some refreshments, so as she emerged, glowing and thoroughly sated, he was able to greet her with a kiss and a goblet of ice cold milk.

She peered into the goblet.

"Milk? I would have expected champagne, after what we just did!"

"I'll have yours as well as mine," he grinned, flourishing his champagne flute. "You need to think of Persephone, and after what we just did, you need to keep your strength up!"

Ella glared at him but took the goblet and drained it.

"Happy now?"

"Ecstatic, thank you!" he said superciliously. "Now come to bed with me. The house elf brought strawberries and chocolate, but no plates...so I'll simply have to eat them off you!"

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

When Ella had discovered Gruber's secret library in their new apartments he had been disappointed at first. It had appeared that Gruber had simply been too lazy to go to the school's main library, preferring to duplicate the small section in which his main interests lay within his own private rooms. However, on closer examination he found that the eccentric Potions master's long forgotten collection contained several personally annotated volumes that could potentially help him to remove his Dark Mark. He and Ella spent some hours poring over the relevant volumes and as they discussed their findings a small seed of hope began to germinate deep inside him.

Over the years he had tried countless ways to excise the unsightly blemish from his arm. Potions, poultices, spells, even the searing pain of the self-wielded surgical scalpel had failed utterly. It had faded during the years of Voldemort's weakness, dulled to a pale pink against the white skin of his inner forearm, but he had still been reminded of its baleful presence every day. At best, it was a constant itch that he could not scratch, while when he was summoned its maleficence grew until it seemed that every pain receptor in his body had rushed to coil around the serpent and leap into the mouth of the skull, until the agony was so overwhelming that he would have severed his own arm had the Mark allowed it.

It both channelled and contained the darkest magic he had ever encountered, and despite years of study and of effort, he had never even come close to discovering how its poisoned legacy could be denied. Now, with the discovery of these books, he had felt the unmistakeable paradigm shift and so once more he allowed himself to hope.

Ella knew he wanted few things more than to be rid of it, but he had spared her from any lurid accounts of self-mutilation and the after-effects of deliberate ingestion of various poisons. There was little to be gained from it, and she would be perceptive enough to realise the importance of her discovery without asking him to detail his past efforts.

They had been poring over the volumes together and arguing heatedly about the efficacy of various compounds in healing balms when Snape had made the discovery that intrigued him so. He had been examining a volume called "Magickal Mandragora" which contained rare botanical references, and also a detailed handwritten recipe for a variant of a known healing balm. He had shown it to Ella at once, trying to sound impassive, but suspected she had not been fooled. He could not concentrate afterwards, and eventually he sat back and threw down the volume and ran his hand over his eyes.

"That's it, I've had enough!" he announced tiredly. "Tomorrow we'll try some of these potions. And I'll prove you wrong about the Healing one! The notes suggest it may be effective in the removal of - well, this." He thrust out his left arm carelessly.

"We'll see," Ella replied, "but I think you'll find my translation makes more sense."

"But it isn't absolutely correct!"

"I know, but the sense is there. I have a feel for it."
"A feel for something isn't the same as being right! Potions making is a subtle science - "

" - And an exact art, yes, I know, you've told me," she said dryly. He raised an eyebrow and continued,

" - And instructions must be followed to the letter!"

"Depending on how the letter is translated!" she insisted.

She really was most gratifyingly tenacious, he thought, and his tension ebbed away as she continued to amuse him. Sometimes she seemed to forget that he had many more years' experience in the field than she, and although he admired her intellect and her quickness to learn, he despaired of her wilfulness and, indeed, of her outright refusal to do everything his way. He wondered whether she would mellow once they were married, and become more malleable, but he decided fondly that her stubbornness did have its advantages, was in fact rather attractive, and after all, he did love her. He escalated their already heated discussion with enthusiasm, steering her towards their bed and systematically working to remove her clothing.

"Severus," she panted as he lay over her, "Why is it that we always end up in bed?"

He stopped his exploration of her hairline for a moment and said huskily,

"Can you think of anywhere better to be?"

That seemed to put an end to their discussion in a mutually satisfactory way.

Over the next few days there was nothing to be done except wait. Certain vital ingredients were in Professor Sprout's hothouses and were not ready, plant extracts including pressed root of arnica, among others. He tried to put the matter out of his mind as far as possible and indeed it was easily done, for the students had left and he and Ella were free to wander the school at will without the risk of being happened upon in dark corners and sun-filled quadrangles by voyeuristic slack-jawed morons. And as for Sirius Black, he was spending a good deal of his time down in Hogsmeade, which was not sufficiently far away as far as Snape was concerned, but which would do.

At last Professor Sprout announced that the plant extracts were ready and handed him several small vials at breakfast one morning. He held them up to the light and examined them closely before concealing them in an inner pocket of his robes.

"We'll start at once," he said hoarsely. Ella put her hand on his shoulder.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm eager to start, that's all," he replied with a small, tight-lipped smile. She nodded her acquiescence and said no more, leaving him to nurse his mug of coffee and try to damp down the insistent flames of hope that had begun to burn deep within him.

Soon afterwards, once Snape's coffee had gone cold in his hands and he had marshalled his thoughts and quelled his eagerness, knowing that in the precise area of potions making unbridled enthusiasm could very well hamper his performance, they returned to the dungeons. Rather than use the small private laboratory area in his private office, Snape had decided that since the classroom would be unused all summer they would be more comfortable using the large work bench at one end, where they could work side by side. He set up two small cauldrons nearby, and they spent the morning chopping and grinding the necessary ingredients.

They each prepared their own ingredients. Potions making was an exact art, it was true, but it was his firm belief that there was room for a modicum of individuality in the process where those brews involving the healing arts were concerned. Their level of efficacy could so often depend on not only the skill but also the innate talent of the maker, and so it was important that the entire process, from start to finish, was carried out by the same person.

He watched Ella while she worked and was beguiled by the concentration set on her face. Her technique was not by any means polished, but he put his hands over hers and instructed her, and was gratified to note that she learned quickly. She frowned while she worked, and her lips were set into a thin line, twitching at one corner now and then. He watched surreptitiously through downcast eyes, his own skills so well honed that he was able to carry out his own preparations by touch alone. He finished chopping the various plants and dried animal by-products long before Ella and moved over to the cauldrons, filling each one with water and then supervising Ella as she added the correct amount of essence of arnica to hers. Once both cauldrons were bubbling away they set about grinding the various dried ingredients with mortars and pestles, and once that was done they began to add their prepared items one at a time. Before long, they had prepared two batches of the basic burns healing potion so commonly used in the wizarding world.

The next step was to add the other ingredients so meticulously listed by Professor Gruber. Following their exhilarating discussion about the semantics of Professor Gruber's annotations, they had decided that Snape would follow the literal translations while overseeing Ella's work, which would follow her rather more florid interpretation of the arcane words. He did not expect her potion to be a success, but he humoured her because he was deeply touched by her enthusiasm, and her determination to help him. Once he had proved himself to be on the right track he felt sure that she would overcome any feelings of inadequacy and devote herself to helping him perfect his own brew.

His conviction that he had succeeded in correctly carrying out Gruber's instructions was strengthened when his potion turned clear green, as Gruber had predicted in one of his many handwritten entries. Ella's, on the other hand, was a similar shade but almost opaque, and he felt a pang of disappointment on her behalf. To her credit, she did not seem unduly upset and he took heart from that. She was so strong, and he wondered whether in fact she was stronger and more determined even than he.

The incantations took some considerable time to perform, and for a while he became so completely absorbed in the mystical process that he forgot that he was not alone. He was a scientist, first and foremost, an adventurer for knowledge and an expert in its application; but he sometimes felt that he had the soul of an artist, and while he loved the predictability of his science, he could, when appropriate to the task in hand, appreciate its artistry equally well. He murmured the words and sparks guttered from the tip of his wand, making the cauldron bubble and hiss and blurring his vision with steam. That did not matter, for he knew without doubt the condition of the potion within the burnished copper walls of the cauldron and he was confident that all was going according to plan.

Satisfied with his progress, he crossed swiftly over to the workbench where one of Gruber's books lay open. He had two more spells to cast, and then his brew had to be left alone for a time before the lacewings were added.

That done, he turned his attention back to Ella. She moved around her cauldron with such sensual grace that he wondered how he could ever have blinded himself to her presence. The steam from her cauldron had dampened her hair and loose tendrils clung to her cheek as she worked. As he watched her she grew impatient with it and clamped her long cherry wood wand between her teeth as she took her hair and wound it into a rough twist at the nape of her neck. Sparks still gutted from its tip and he wanted to castigate her for her carelessness. Did she not know that her magic could resonate in her wand for minutes after casting a spell? Wands were weapons more dangerous than any sword, and she of all people should pay more heed to basic safety. However, he could say nothing to her since now she was in the middle of reciting a vital incantation and he had no intention of interrupting the flow of her concentration. She looked wild, primal, powerful and more womanly than ever, and he found his body in vigorous agreement with his mind as he watched her almost dance around the cauldron. Once she had been still for a while, he realised that she had reached the same point in the procedure as he. "How's yours doing?" he asked her, dropping the last lacewing into his cauldron.

"It's fine!" she replied as hers fell. He smiled briefly and bent his head to his work once more, stirring the simmering mixture with the tip of his wand. Soon he would know the worth of Gruber's addenda, and he was filled with apprehension. It did not do, to hope so desperately, and he felt that he needed to keep his tension well hidden from Ella. She would worry about him far too much if she knew the strength of his feeling about the ugly disfigurement he wore, and he did not want her pity.

He sauntered over to Ella's cauldron a short while later, and peered into it suspiciously.

"I don't like the look of yours!" he observed, forcing a casual note into his voice.

"Doesn't matter what it looks like," she shrugged. "You'll see, I'm right."

He huffed, unconvinced. She smiled reassuringly, and he frowned down at her, seeing understanding in her eyes. Blast the woman, she could read him like a book.

"I've finished," she announced. "I have to wait two hours and twelve minutes, then strain it through linen."

"...While I have to wait two hours and twenty minutes, and strain mine through muslin!"

"Which means we have over two hours for lunch and...recreation!" she smiled, reaching up to stroke his cheek. He sighed and closed his eyes, then turned to take a last look in the two cauldrons. He made minute adjustments to the burners underneath each, and then the couple left the classroom for the Great Hall, Snape wondering anxiously how on earth he would be able to keep up his casual façade in front of this woman for over two hours. He could not, of course. She knew him too well and her understanding and the love that blazed from her every time he neared her had always, and would always, disarm him completely, destroying all his defences.

He ate his lunch mechanically with unseeing eyes. His gaze was turned firmly inward as he remembered the chilling spring night that had seen the Dark Mark branded into his arm, when he had believed there to be no greater aspiration in life than the pursuit of knowledge. He had knelt at the Dark Lord's feet and presented his forearm to him, Lucius Malfoy the only witness, Snape's clenched fist the only outward sign of his agony as the tattoo bled from Voldemort's fingertips to wind its tendrils along his wrist and towards his inner elbow, stopping halfway to coalesce into the skull and serpent design that Lucius Malfoy had shown him with such pride the previous summer. The same summer he had saved Caius from the snake bite in the woods.

He pushed his plate away. The memory made his arm itch and he rubbed at it absently through the heavy cloth of his frock coat, heedless of Ella's concern until she placed a gentle hand on his arm.

"Severus, would you like to go back now?"

"I would, yes," he muttered distractedly. "I'm not hungry."

Back in the dungeons he checked the hourglass in his office and paced up and down the length of his office, raking his hair from his face impatiently at regular intervals. The time was dragging unbearably, and eventually they decided to wait in the classroom so that Snape could look into each cauldron in turn, muttering under his breath,

"It doesn't look right, it can't be right, it won't work, neither of them will work..."

"I understand, Severus," Ella said, cupping his cheek in her hand. "I know how much you want these to work. But if they don't, we just try again, that's all!"

He closed his eyes and drew her to him with a heavy sigh. He knew that she was trying to understand, and he loved her for it, but she could have no idea how important it was to him.

At last the time was up, and they each set about straining their creations into two glass bowls. To Snape's relief, his was still the same clear green that it had been two and a half hours before. Ella's, unfortunately, had turned a muddy brown.

The straining process was straightforward, and soon we had two glass bowls filled with liquid, He was too tightly wound to offer any words of consolation, however, as he took a folded piece of linen cloth and dipped it into his bowl. He rolled up his sleeve and applied the poultice to his arm so that the Dark Mark was covered completely, pressing down hard with his right hand and gritting his teeth in pain.

"Argh!"

"Severus, are you alright?" Ella asked, her hand fluttering to her mouth in concern.

"Yes!" he gasped, before removing the poultice and looking down at his forearm. The Mark was unchanged.

He wanted to scream and shout, to rail against the Fates for their cruelty. Taking the Dark Mark had been the worst mistake he had ever made in his miserable life and the discovery of Gruber's notes had offered him the first real hope in years that he could rid himself of it once and for all. He had lost count of the failed attempts to excise it, the fleeting fragile hopes always dashed. This time he had thought the Fates to be on his side for once. They had finally allowed him Ella and their child, and foolishly he had imagined that his luck had changed. He was so in love that it had seemed as if everything he touched could turn to gold. He had been fooling himself, he could see that now, and while he knew he still had his love and his family, and was thankful for them, he had been counting on even more good fortune.

What use had it been, to spend all those hours poring over Gruber's tiny, densely packed script, deciphering the annotations and cross-referencing the many different entries until his head swam and his eyes itched. All the discussions he had had with Ella, all the arguments, the time and the emotional exposure he had allowed. All of it had been for naught, and he still had to pretend that it was worth their while to try her concoction too.

"Now yours," he said grimly, taking the other piece of cloth. He knew that it would not work but he felt that he had to go through the motions, for her sake. She was bitterly disappointed for him and he wanted to throw the bowl across the classroom and go to his room to sulk, but he had Ella and her feelings to consider now.

"Let me," she offered, and he concurred. She saturated it with the muddy brown liquid and placed it over the Dark Mark, and with bated breath held it firmly in place.

"Gnnh!" It was agony, far worse than his had been, and he threw back his head in pain. Alarmed, Ella removed the linen and anxiously examined the scar.

Once Snape was able to open his eyes once more, after the searing agony had faded to a sharp ache, he glanced down at his arm. It was bright pink and blotchy, not surprising for twice-scalded tender flesh, but nevertheless it seemed that the darker pink of the ugly scar had faded a little in parts. He stared at it in disbelief, his brow knotted as he realised that Ella's potion had had some small effect. He could not believe his eyes and a small, bright light of hope flared deep within him as he realised that somehow, by some miracle, her efforts had succeeded where his had failed.

However, a few moments later the flame was extinguished as the Mark's outline reappeared, as firmly delineated as before and all the more repulsive now after his short reprieve. Bitter frustration engulfed him as he realised that whatever effect the potion had had was transitory. He wrenched his arm from Ella's grasp and paced across to the window, unable to look her in the eye and know that both potions had failed.

"Did the second one feel any different?" she asked.

"Yes, it hurt more!" he snarled, turning his back on her abruptly as she reached for his arm.

"We'll try again, love!"

"What's the point?" he said bitterly. "I'm stuck with it for the rest of my miserable life!"

"We'll find a way, love! Something happened just then!"

"Hah!"

"We will! I promise!"

His shoulders slumped and he turned to her then, his head bent so that she would not see the desperation in his eyes. He had so wanted to be rid of it. It was a constant reminder of what he had been, and therefore all too visible proof of how undeserving he was of happiness now. And then there was the baby. He did not want his child to grow up seeing its father's disfigurement. Eventually any child would have to know of their past, of course, but when the time was right. He did not want to hide his forearm from view every day until his child was of an age to understand.

Ella took him in her arms and he rested his head on her shoulder and let her stroke his hair. He took a deep, shuddering breath at last and straightened, taking her slowly back through the classroom to his office, locking the door behind them and continuing through to the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh, rubbing his eyes and going over Gruber's annotations in his mind. Perhaps they had missed something. He would have to study them again, perhaps paying more heed to Ella's interpretations the next time. Hers had seemed a little more effective than his, after all, so it was likely that a compromise would be more efficacious.

"Are you alright?" she asked gently.

"I will be. I shouldn't have had such unreasonable expectations at such an early stage."

He was about to suggest to her that they look again at Gruber's notes when they heard a loud crash followed by the tinkling sound of shattering glass. Something had happened in the adjacent room.

"Let's go and see what they've done," Ella said grimly and they hastened to their new quarters to find the house elves.

The house elves - or rather, Dobby, to be precise - had broken the huge antique crystal and brass chandelier that had hung from the ceiling in the middle of the large room. Evidently he had been swinging from it in an ill-advised attempt to clean it. Ella gritted her teeth and consoled the house elf, but Snape took little notice for as soon as he had entered the room he had felt the blemish on his arm prickle unmistakeably as it darkened and began to burn. Trying not to let Ella see his grimace of pain, a reaction he could not easily mask, he strode over to the window and folded his arms, clutching his blemished forearm to his chest instinctively.

It was Voldemort's signal; not a summons, exactly, more of a warning. The Dark Lord lived still, and he wanted Snape to know. He made hurried excuses to Ella, ensuring that he did not give her the opportunity to ask any awkward questions, and flooed immediately to the Headmaster's office.

"Dear boy, your place is here, at Ella's side," the Headmaster protested mildly as Snape paced his office.

"Do you think I don't know that?" he snapped bitterly, turning on his heel to glare at Dumbledore as he rose to his feet and planted his hands on the desk in front of him. The old man looked weary and resigned, and Snape knew that he had no real argument to make against his leaving. "Don't you think I want to stay? The idea that I might never come back - might never see my child - and how can I tell her of the risks?"

He ran his hand through his hair, brushing long strands of it back from his forehead only to have it flop back again unnoticed as he sank into one of Dumbledore's chintz armchairs.

"I won't let you go alone, Severus."

"So you won't stop me either?" he asked bitterly.

"I cannot deny that I would like to, but unfortunately I must admit that you are right. Your Dark Mark will be an invaluable aid in locating Tom and Cornelius, and I will rest far easier in my bed once young Draco has been returned to school." He took the armchair opposite Snape's and waved his hand, summoning a small occasional table on which stood a silver tray with a crystal decanter and two tumblers to match. As soon as he had passed one of the firewhisky-filled glasses to Snape he reached into his robes and withdrew a handful of Floo powder.

"Remus Lupin!" he called as he tossed a pinch into the fire.

"Oh, no!" Snape muttered as the werewolf's head span giddily in the flames, slowing to a halt as Snape drained his glass.

Snape knew that he was in no position to disagree. He had to admit, even if only to himself, that Lupin and Black were tolerably proficient at defending themselves and would, on balance, be more of a help than a hindrance. As travelling companions he tried to think of two worse, but there were none. He shook his head impatiently as he nursed his second firewhisky. Unfortunately, nor could he think of any better, either. He had sat silently while the Headmaster had apprised them both of the plan to go in search of Voldemort and his faithful servants, stifling his contempt in the futile, childish hope that by not acknowledging it, it would not happen, and now he sought the words he would need to break the news as gently as he could to Ella.