Faerie Folly and Wizard Wands

Chapter Twenty-One

The very fibers of the cloth rang with Severus' essence. It spoke of the sorrows, of the suppression of anger he harbored every day to appease Dumbledore. Shame and pompous pride radiated from it, and soaked into her mind and her senses. There was the caustic, cynical demeanor, and the incredibly staunch stance on life. There was a deep remembrance of pain on all levels, and the walled reaction and shielded emotions.

She was ready to find the part of him he always held when near her, which was the disgrace of having been healed by her, and the debt he still felt existed between them.

She thought she could use all his negativity as a test. If she could feel all this pessimism from this dear wizard (yes, dear), and withstand her first reaction; to pity him, and wish to comfort him, as much as he would refuse her. If she could withstand this, she felt more confident about the battle speeding toward her.

But she did not expect what she got instead.

It was comfort.

Severus' cloak was a concealment from the evil. It gave her a security, as if she was being cradled by a soothing, smooth deepness. This was like the dark trying to swallow her, like it was trying to drown her in the fathoms of its essence. Yet this was not frightening. It was not cruel, nor evil.

It was Severus.

In all his thick, sometimes disgusting faults, it was Severus. Even in the Pensieve she had not been so tightly bound in what he was. Oh, she had seen his life, and knew entirely who he was, but this was him. Completely and utterly him.

It was security, solace, stability, steadiness. He would not change. He would not decide to leave. He would stand with the principles he chose. How could she resist this?

The test had been a different kind of test, something she had not accounted for, and she felt almost pathetic as she realized she was letting herself fall into the simple pleasure of being surrounded by Severus' essence.

And there was a bittersweet twist to this. She could not offer a lovely love to him. He would reject it. She could not throw herself in pleadings to him, for he would brush her off with a sneer. To be straightforward with him would be interesting. There really was no approach to him.

But then, she was too matter-of-fact to be lovely. She never threw herself at anything in life. She accepted things. She fought, and she was intelligent. There was no logical reason for Severus to laugh at her notions, except for one very broad and obvious one.

Severus did not fall in love.

Severus did not even fall in like.

But there was a war. And if she failed, nothing would matter anyway. Since she was now a proud faerie witch, there would be no magical words spoken to incense his heart, and there would be no romance. It was not her style. His darkness had permeated her life, and this caused her nature to reflect his.

There was a war, and with her heart now stirring in a new, fantastical way, she was sure that it would incite her even more to fight harder.

"Saquoya? My cloak. Are you preparing to keep it?"

His voice brought her from her musings. She wondered briefly what she looked like, standing near the window, with his black cape completely covering her body. It was almost ludicrous and she began to giggle, when suddenly her senses were nearly destroyed by a blast of evil that came swooping from the sky, out of sheer air, swooping by the window.

A violent pull on her arm and a haphazard scramble sent her spinning, then sailing through the air, her arms hanging limply.

"Severus, this is most unchivalrous. I demand you release me."

The evil became less, as they went deeper into the castle, a cool dampness coming even through the thickness of Severus' cloak. She felt rather as a captive might, with the cloak blocking her view from where she was going, her body slung roughly over the shoulder of her captor. For a split moment, she marveled at the feel of Severus' lean muscles taxing beneath the weight of her body. It must look silly, as she was almost as tall as he; perhaps her feet were only a mere few inches from the floor.

"Severus! This is folly. Put me down."

He finally stopped after a moment. The chilliness was definitely apparent now, and as he unceremoniously let her slide from his body into a heap she was glad for the cloak.

"We are in the dungeons," she stated as she took the cloak from her head, smoothed her hair, straightened her robes, and got up from the floor in as dignified a manner she could muster.

"Yes. How very clever of you, Miss Dumbledore."

"Should I be honored to have entered the quarters of the most important Potions Master in Hogwarts?"

"I am not amused at the sarcasm, Saquoya."

"Well, in that case, yours never seems to spark an interest with me, either."

The dark man, looking somewhat deflated without his billowing cape, turned away from her to begin to write on a piece of parchment.

"What are you doing? Writing a… what do you call them… detention for me?"

"I'll be sending a note to Dumbledore with the information of your whereabouts. You will be staying here for a while. Don't get too comfortable."

"How hospitable of you," she scoffed. "I feel welcome."

"You're not supposed to be," he glowered before throwing the parchment into the fire, where it disappeared with a snap.

"What did you write? Why do you bring me here?"

Severus gave her a withering look. "I should think you, pixie, ought to have felt the beast."

"What was it?"

He sighed, and moved to bend stiffly to stoke the fire. "A minion of Voldemort's. We do not know what follows him, but those beasts of the air are fearful, since they can enter Hogwarts without touching the grounds. The air is no one's and everyone's."

"What would it have done? I could have destroyed it! If it is merely a creature, I could have - "

Severus laughed, cutting her off, and she felt out of her element, surrounded by the black pool of his cloak, enveloped in his quarters, and being stabbed with his unapproachable nearness. He looked at her with an unreadable _expression. There was a small change in his countenance; he looked slightly more at peace here in the torch lit dome of a room.

"Voldemort has learned of our...ahem... 'secret weapon' and it is known that it is a woman. I can't think of a more opportune time for it to come spying at Hogwarts, when you were completely draped in my cloak."

"But then, you were seen taking me away."

"Hardly," he gave a short, hard laugh. "I was half hidden by draperies, and I merely yanked your arm first. If I was seen, my time with Voldemort is finished anyway. The war is upon us, and I fight on the side I have chosen. My part has been terminated, and I am now through with playing the part of the versatile pawn in the game of wizard's chess."

She was quiet for a moment at this assessment. He spoke with a conviction that she knew belonged with his fierce principles, and was glad she had been taken by him, and that her last hours would be spent with him. It was as if fate had decided to step in again. Fate never left. It had followed her from the miry wilds to Granna. From America, it came with her on the boat to England, and then to the wizarding world. She would not let Fate's invitation go unnoticed.

"And, since your annoyingly curious nature will be wondering, I brought you here because it is the only place in the castle that is buried beneath the ground, and the enemy cannot enter through any windows."

She nodded, and pulled the cloak around her tighter to fight the damp chill. There were words that needed to be said.

"Severus," she began, deciding she would say as much as her pride would let her, and as much as he would hear.