Professora Brasileira

Professora Brasileira

She had hoped for a job at Hogwarts all her life-struggled and studied and sweated her way to the top, where she would be visible to Albus Dumbledore. And he'd seen her, too. Albus was most definitely the keenest wizard she'd ever known.

Packing her trunk, she looked around her chamber. Professora Trabalhadora would soon be taking over the vast office as the new Headmistress of Escola Magia de Brasil. She herself had enjoyed four years of being Headmistress, and would miss the school and the students. But Hogwarts called, and she gladly would leave Brazil for England. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was one of the best educational institutions around, and she wanted to teach there badly. Of course, this meant becoming a regular professor again, but she missed teaching Wizard Anthropology and Ancient Lore anyway.

She smiled, remembering the letter requesting her to teach in England. She had sent an owl immediately to accept the offer.

She finished packing her last few articles of forgotten days (a badge declaring her perfection in Artistry, and a deflated Quaffle) and then closed her trunk and locked the third of the key holes with a flick of her wand.

"Headmistress?" An old witch hovered in the open doorway. "Are you coming down for your dinner?"

"Of course," she glanced about the empty room once again, and then followed Professora Babá down several twisted hallways to the cavernous Hall, where her entire school had assembled.

She put a hand to her mouth. A huge good luck banner hung over the hall, stating boldly,

Boa Sorte, Professora Salvação!

It twinkled in alternating colors of green, yellow, and red.

The school had gotten to its feet when she'd appeared, and as she walked to her chair, they broke into wild applause.

She got to her seat, and raised a hand to quiet them. Tears in her eyes, she said thickly, "Thank you all, muito! I'll not forget a single one of you, and I shall keep half an eye on this place. I warned Headmistress Trabalhadora to send me owls on your behavior regularly. But just the same, I'll dearly miss all of you!"

At this, cheering erupted again, and then the food was paraded in by the numerous house elves, and sentimentality was gone.

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Riding in an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express, Graça Zelososa de Salvação closed her eyes and remembered those last fine hours at Escola Magia de Brasil. How she would miss her children!

However, Hogwarts presented even more excitement.

"Excuse me, have you got room?" drawled a voice.

She looked into the peaked, unpleasant face of a very young looking boy, flanked by two other rather ugly youngsters.

Still, she smiled. "Sim, of course. Come in."

The three ambled in and sat across from her. She looked them over, as they did the same. The two bigger boys seemed slightly dazed, and they kept their eyes trained on her, but the other in the middle was highly alert, observing everything. She was interested immediately.

As to her, she knew what they saw. Black straight hair kept back in a net and combs. It wasn't severe, as she never yanked her hair back entirely, and she thought it feminine. She was a petite witch, with a tiny waist, capable hands and graceful movements. She had large, chocolate eyes, dark skin, elegant features, and a mouth surrounded by wrinkles.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," said the blonde smaller boy pompously, breaking the silence. "This is Crabbe and Goyle."

"And I'm guessing you want to be in the Slytherin House," she said, noting them straighten. She was glad she had read Hogwarts, A History before embarking on this journey!

"Yeah, all three of us," Draco said importantly, including the other two with his affirmation. "You're not British, are you?"

"Não. I'm afraid not. I am from Brasil...or as you say in English: Brazil."

"Why are you coming?"

"Because I want to. Sadly, I doubt I will have you in my classes. You are first years, aren't you?" she smiled again.

Unwittingly, they all smiled back, then regained themselves. Draco asked, "Why, what do you teach, then?"

She told them, then Draco leaned forward, ready to divulge a secret with the new acquaintance.

"Harry Potter's on this train. I've seen him. Making friends with the wrong kind already."

"Hm," she put, frowning at them. "Perhaps you ought not to judge."

"I say, you don't favor Mudbloods, do you?"

She looked up. "Watch your mouth, young Senhor Malfoy! That vocabulary is not acceptable."

The youngster smirked, and Goyle and Crabbe scowled.

"I suppose you're an admirer of Dumbledore's."

"Perhaps, but I am very open-minded," she grinned, her eyes crinkling at them.

The conversation went onward to school subjects, and soon the train was pulling up at the station.

She took one of the horseless carriages at the back of the line, which jerked when pulled along in a most amusing way. Her face was pulled into a half-smile, thinking of the three boys she had entertained. By the end of the train ride, she had become well fond of the uppity Draco, even though he had a most undesirable cruel streak. She could even feel her kindness cracking the 'tough guy' exteriors of Crabbe and Goyle. She had a weakness for young, misguided children.

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The door on her carriage swung open. She had been so lost in thought, she didn't realize how they had arrived so quickly. Yet, she saw her carriage was completely isolated, and the only thing in front of her was a thick private door on the side of the castle.

Entering somberly, she closed the door behind her heavily and climbed the stairs upward.

As she entered a richly decorated office, she came face to face with a waiting Albus Dumbledore. He grinned from behind his beard, his brilliant eyes twinkling.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Graça Zelososa de Salvação," he greeted.

"Obrigado!" she returned heartily, kissing him three times, alternating cheeks.

Dumbledore laughed jovially. "How refreshing that was after cooler British greetings, my dear! Come, let me take you to meet the staff in the Great Hall before any of the students arrive."

They traveled around twisted banisters and stairs, down to a huge, immense cathedral room. Candles hung in mid air, and the long tables were empty. Their footsteps echoed up to where the head table was stationed and several witches and wizards were milling.

"Minerva, I'd like you to meet Professor Graça Salvação. She'll be teaching Wizard Anthropology and Ancient Lore to our fourth through seventh years," Dumbledore said benevolently as he introduced her to a severe looking witch in green.

"How do you do," the witch nodded.

"Professor McGonagall doesn't often let her hair down," Dumbledore whispered teasingly, but Professor McGonagall didn't hear this, as she was helping a tiny wizard hoist the last candles in the air. The tiny man was Professor Flitwick. Soon, several teachers were crowding about.

"P-pleased to m-meet you," a young wizard nodded.

"Professor Quirrel," stated Dumbledore, and she smiled at him, where he kept his distance. Slowly the teachers drifted off, and she heard a steady bubble of voices getting louder. She looked to take her place towards the middle of the table. When she reached her seat, she saw a man who hadn't bothered to greet her. He had deep, dark fathomless eyes, pale skin, and black hair that hung to his shoulders untidily. His lips twitched-not narrow, nor full, but very expressive, it seemed to her.

"Oi, I don't believe we've met," she said, deciding to approach him differently. She stuck out her hand. He looked at it, his mouth tightening, then he slowly disdainfully rose to his feet. She held back a gasp-he was rather tall-not alarmingly so, but enough to tower over her small height, and he had such a high poised demeanor she smiled.

He looked slightly taken aback at her genuine grin.

"I'm Professora-pardon-Professor Salvação," she said, her hand still outstretched.

"Yes, I know. I heard," he said. She felt something lurch at his voice. It was deep, so very very deep, rich and resonant.

He took her hand gingerly, and winced as she cheerily grasped it and vigorously shook it.

"You don't need to look so put out by it," she loosened her grip. "At least I didn't greet you as I normally would in my country."

"That would have been quite a...surprise," he dropped her hand quickly. "I am Severus Snape. I teach Potions, and am Head of Slytherin."

"Oh! Slytherin! I met some eager pupils of yours, then!" she told him as they sat. "Lucius Malfoy's son Draco hopes to become one of your House."

"So, Lucius Malfoy's son is of age, is he?" Professor Snape spoke harshly. "That would mean, of course, that James Potter's son would also be arriving this evening."

"So I've heard," she brushed it aside.

"You aren't fond of the boy?" he asked sharply, his black eyes flashing over her.

"Why! I'm fond of all children, Professor!" she said airily. "Young Senhor Malfoy and I were engaged in lovely conversation on the Express the entire afternoon, if that's any example."

"Were you now?" he appraised, giving her an odd twisted half smile.

They were cut from further exchanges when the student body arrived. Graça did not speak to Professor Snape until after dinner, when Dumbledore turned to him,

"Severus. Would you be so kind as to show Professor Salvação where her rooms are? They're nearest yours, you know."

Snape glowered, then shoved his chair in. She saw Dumbledore give her a bemused wink as she passed, following Snape out of the Great Hall.

She hurried behind him, as he strode ahead. He moved in with a very whisking striding gait. She watched him from behind, marveling, then wondering why she marveled when he was obviously not a favorite here at Hogwarts, judging by the manner that many of the other teachers treated him with.

"Por favor, could you slow down? A bit, please, is all. I'm afraid I'm a bit shorter than you," she laughed, struggling to keep up. Grudgingly, Snape slowed his sweeping pace.

"So. Teach Ancient Lore, do you?" he growled.

"Sim, it's so much fun. I never tire of it--Lore and Anthropology," she smiled yet again.

He stared at her, as seemingly not quite sure what to make of her, then looked ahead.

"Lore. What a repetitious task, it is so ancient and old."

"Professor!" she said, a firm hand on his forearm. He stopped dead, more perhaps because she'd touched him, not because of her tone. But to touch was Brazilian. It was in her very nature.

"Do not say such of what you don't know. Quite honestly, I find Potions a dreadful task. Yet I'd like to learn more. Don't shunt one thing off without a fair chance."

"Ha! You sound like someone who believes Potter is wonderful too!" he sneered, but his eyes did not meet hers. She knew, and he knew, that Ancient Lore was a difficult study intensive branch of magic, and that she had not been Headmistress in Brazil because she was stupid.

"You hold a grudge on that boy, Professor. You make it so obvious."

"You!" he snarled, moving ahead again. "You Brazilian witch. You think that by being kind and good, things turn well. That is an impossible belief."

"Professor Snape!" she half ran beside him. "How can you say such!"

"Your quarters, Professor Salvação," he paused. There was a door half hidden behind a tapestry, and was also bewitched to look like a wall. "And I wouldn't go around lecturing and preaching about things you don't know!"

He swept away, black cape swirling, to leave her in quiet.

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"Neville, perhaps you should try and remember this way." Graça showed the forgetful boy a visual short cut to remembering the few ingredients to a simple potion. The boy had that class next, and she had, in her good natured way, conceded to help him even though she wasn't good at the whole mess either.

A light went on in his head. "Oh-hey-thanks, Professor! I got it!"

"Excuse me," a deep, but annoyed voice interrupted.

Both teacher and pupil looked up. Snape stood in the doorway, straight and angry, his black eyes narrowed.

"Excuse me, Professor Salvação, but Neville is in dire need of getting to Potions. He cannot remember a thing as it is."

Graça smiled at Neville. "That will do for hoje, my boy. Go on, now, get to Potions."

The boy scurried from the office and out of sight, clearly petrified of Snape.

"Professor, you would do well not to hold that boy too dear. He's a blundering fool in my class...and several others as well."

Her eyes flashed. "Professor Snape, you would do well to care for your pupils. Since he cannot come to you with questions, it is I who must do your job for you!"

Snape seemed to jerk at her words, then continued to sneer, "Popularity is not as important to me as it may be for you."

"Popularidade! Is that why you think I care for the boy's well-being? Ah! Não-I remember Frank and his wife before the Death Eaters-I remember the trials, and in memory of them do I watch for Neville."

Snape's lip curled, and he moved as if to leave, when she stopped him with a hand on his arm. This time he shifted away from her touch.

She could not help but leave him with something that would drive him mad, and put perkily,

"I say, Professor Snape. We must shop in the same places!"

It was true: they both wore black robes at all times. But instead of seeing the humor in the matter, Snape glanced at her scathingly before disappearing from the room.

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Graça always told the truth. She always had thought Potions to be dull, but she had never learned much, always barely passing that class in her years of schooling. One day, she found her way into the dungeons, where Snape was snarling at Ron Weasley, and sweeping around the room like doom itself.

She paused in the entrance, her eyes light and laughing, her arms full of books as she surveyed the dank rom. Sunlight filtered through the far window, so the area looked gold and black in the late afternoon.

"I say, its Professor Salvação!" Draco Malfoy whispered to Crabbe, and the two plus Goyle turned and waved.

She waved back and smiled, as Snape whirled to the boys, but spoke as kind as he ever could, "Who are you grinning at?"

He followed their eyes to her, but made a face and turned away.

"Clean up your tables!" he barked, then went to where she stood.

"You may come up to my desk, Professor," he said, and his voice was cold.

She followed him, smiled at several students. Before he could open his mouth at her, she said lowly,

"Professor, you do show biased favor to your House."

He growled back, "Sticking up for Potter again?"

"No. For justice, Professor Snape," she grinned at him, and waited as he dismissed his class.

When the room was silent, he turned to her. "What do you want, Professor Salvação?"

"Why, I'd like to learn Potions. Remember, I told you that I never was any good? Could you, well, give me some lessons?"

Snape stared at her, then said calmly,

"Do you enjoy breaking the mold, Professor?"

"Oh sim! Yes," she put firmly but cheerfully.

The tiniest flicker of a grin flitted at the corners of his mouth, and she was again reminded how much his mouth and lips betrayed him.

"Very well. Seven o'clock on Friday," he snapped.

"Obrigado, Professor. If there's any favor I can do for you-?"

He paused. "I'll think of something."

She turned and walked away, looking forward to Friday.

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Dumbledore called Graça to him on Thursday. She entered the office by jerking open the heavy door, to find him again waiting expectantly. He began without ado.

"As you know, I have taken the task of my friend Nick-er, Nicolas to you-and I must press upon you the responsibility this ensues. It is necessary for all Professors to help guard the Sorcerer's Stone. Hagrid, our groundskeeper, has provided-erm-Fluffy. Now, however, I would like you to fix some sort of test or charm to block the way to the Stone. Something with Runes, perhaps. Please let me know what it is within the week. That is all."

He smiled at her, and nodded, and went back to something that looked like a Pensieve on his desk.

Graça left quietly, ideas spinning in her head.

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Friday at five to seven, Graça found her way down to the Dungeons, where Snape was half hidden behind a large set of cauldrons.

"Excuse me, Professor?"

His head jerked up, but he continued to stir the largest cauldron.

"You're early, Professor Salvação."

"Sim. Sorry. Can I help?" she set down her books and wand.

He glanced sharply at her. "I thought you didn't know anything about Potions."

"I don't, really. But if you wanted me to bottle anything..." she gestured to many different sized bottles that were lined up off to the side.

He sneered at her slightly. "Quite the helpful little witch, aren't we?"

She was unabashed. "I like to be useful. It's not a sin."

"No, it's not. But it could be." He gave a crooked jerk of a shoulder. "Take the two medium sized ones in the middle."

She grasped them gently and brought them over to him. She stood a few inches away and watched as he lovingly poured the contents of the cauldron inside each one.

Stopping the tops with corks, he moved to the next cauldron.

"Do you know what this is?"

She leaned forward, smelling the acrid tang to the mixture.

"Perhaps some sort of poison?"

He gave her a sardonic look. "Good. It is Morte Instantãneo in your language."

"Instant Death," she breathed, staring at the potion. In answer, he began stirring carefully.

"Well, Professor," she paused, mesmerized by the stirring. "Teach me."

He appraised her kindly expression, then pointed a finger at an empty cauldron on the floor.

"I need to make one last potion for my stores. You may...assist me," her looked her up and down. Self-consciously, she put a hand to her hair. Her thick bangs seemed to be in place, while none of the long, heavy mass seemed to have slipped from the heavy black net.

Finding nothing amiss, she bent to retrieve the cauldron and put it next to the full one.

"I await your instructions, Senhor!" she laughed teasingly. It felt odd to be the pupil again.

"I find it peculiar that you were a Headmistress-yet had no notion of Potion-making."

"We are limited in our recipes in Brazil. Most are remedies still from Muggle tribes. We know enough, but we spend most of our time on Transfiguration and Charms."

He humphed, then began giving her instructions.

"Cut the tuberous maxi in identical strips. Add a pinch--a pinch, mind you--of dentes. Mix five times five."

"Twenty-five," she muttered to herself as she stirred. He was making her nervous, watching her with the air of a hawk.

"Are you mocking me, Salvação?" he asked angrily.

"Er...no. A joke, Professor. Five times five is..." she trailed off at his nasty scowl. She definitely felt like a student again!

"I say, Professor Snape, do you always hound over your pupils?" she put. He was peering intensely over her shoulder at every move she made; his broad chest just touching her shoulder blades. He stepped back and part of her wished she'd held her tongue.

"This is not merely a class, Professor. May I remind you, this is for my stores, which are highly valuable to others in this school besides myself. You should be grateful I'm allowing you to help."

"Well, thank you then, Professor!" she said snappily. He jerked away from her and began cleaning his other cauldrons with a flick of his wand.

After long moments, she finally asked, "Is it finished?" Her arm felt as though it would fall off.

He approached her again, and peered in. "Hmmm. Looks right."

He took the last large empty bottle and filled it. After locking all bottles away, he came back to her as she was cleaning up.

"What is your enchantment for Dumbledore? He told me you were going to help."

"Hm?" she looked up, amazed he had started a conversation with her. "Well, it's a form of...decoding a message in runes. One must say the message out loud in order to unlock the door..." she described the task in minimal detail, then looked at him. "What's yours?"

He gestured. "Logic."

She smiled. "Why, that's brilliant. Loads of wizards haven't a stroke of lógica. You-you're an intelligent wizard, aren't you? I mean--more intelligent than most."

His face pulled into a horrible smirk.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Professor Salvação."

"I wasn't flattering you," she said stoutly. "I'm blatant about things, and it just seems--oh porcaria!"

She'd dropped a tube of Bubotuber pus.

"Don't touch it!" Snape said loudly, letting his arm fly out to stop her.

But she did not halt so fast for his words, merely because his robe had moved to reveal the underside of his forearm, where, pale and glimmering, as the unmistakable Dark Mark.

"Bubotuber pus is--," he was saying roughly, when he stopped and saw what had made her stare.

Quickly fixing his robes, he pointed to the door. "I'll clean it. Go."

She shook her head and began to clean up the pus on the table with a rag, careful not to touch it.

He jerked her arm away. "I said leave!" he hissed, pushing his face near hers.

"Não. I'll help clean up, Severus."

He paused at her use of his first name, and glowered.

"Listen to me, Salvação, no use in playing the brave heroine--."

"But I'm not," she told him truthfully. "One can leave the past behind. Dumbledore trusts you, Professor Snape, and so do I."

Her voice fell into silence.

"Ha!" he finally sneered, his eyes wild. "You can forget I was a Death Eater?"

"Yes," she said simply, her eyes meeting his. "That matters little to me."

He looked her over again, then they finished the work in quiet.

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"P-professor Salvação, c-could I have a-a w-word?"

Quirrel was standing in the entrance of her office. She nodded, frowning, and stood to greet him.

"Yes? What is it?"

"I was w-wondering what y-you used f-for your ch-charm on the S-stone. It is s-so interesting t-to hear what everyone h-has ch-chosen."

He entered near, and a four smell sank into her nose.

"Why, I...still haven't gotten it completely figured out, you know," she walked to the windows. "I have to talk to Dumbledore more, it's quite a surprise to have this to figure out what with a new school environment." She looked at him keenly over her shoulder. "Why?"

"Oh-no particular reason...t-thanks," he scurried away, and she was left to wonder what on earth he was trying to do.

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Halloween night had glorious decorations in the Great Hall. Graça took her place beside Snape and smiled excitedly at him. He rewarded her with a bland indifferent gaze, which meant he was cracking...at least he didn't scowl.

"Happy Hallows Eve!" she greeted him, touching his fingers slightly as she sat. He moved away and gave her the tiniest acknowledge.

"To you, too."

The feast had just begun when Quirrel came screeching in, screaming about a troll, then promptly fainting.

In the chaos of ordering the students out of the Hall and safely into their dorms, Graça lost track of most of her fellow teachers.

By the time she heard the roars echoing through the building, followed them, and arrived, three Gryffindor students had already knocked it out cold.

Snape was there, as was McGonagall and Quirrel. She made sure she stayed out of the way as the story came out, and McGonagall barked out a few commands, sending Potter, Weasley, and Granger back to their Common Room.

"Well, Quirrel. This is your area of expertise," Snape scathingly retorted to the stuttering man, as he swept away after McGonagall and the scurrying first years.

Graça followed Snape, and noticed him limping. Then she saw, through the swirling cape, how his right leg was torn and bloody.

"Professor Snape!" she caught up with him. "Por favor-a word?"

"What, another question on Potions?" he scowled, clearly in a bad mood. But he followed her in an empty classroom, where they were bathed in shadow and moonlight. She shut the door, then knelt.

"Salvação, what are you doing?"

She waved her wand. "Lumos" and bent to examine his leg, which was mangled badly.

He jerked away almost immediately.

"Meddling again? I warn you-keep out of this!"

"It's a bite...you weren't near Fluffy, were you?" she looked up.

"Don't even start-."

"Stop moving!" she commanded, grasping the top of his foot and his thigh. He froze. She wondered if a woman had ever touched so far up his leg before. She relaxed her grip slightly, then held up her wand. "Mind sitting and holding the light?"

He stood, imperious, until she sighed.

"Severus, don't be so impossível."

Finally he Summoned a chair and sat gingerly, his leg sticking out, and snatched her wand and lit his own.

"You're always impossible," he muttered darkly.

"Yes, but I am a woman. Aren't I allowed to be so?"

He sniffed, then winced as she gently touched the bruised skin.

"I'm terribly sorry...oh Severus, why did you go near that terrible cachorro?"

He maintained silence. She took back her wand and conjured water and a basin. He watched, incredulous. She noted this and smiled.

"We are best at Charms in Brazil."

He said no more as she washed and bathed the wounds, then bound them with a magical gauze that shot out of her wand. With another flick, she made the basin and bloody rags and water disappear; another wave mended his clothes.

Before he could stand, she placed a hand on his knee.

"Porque, Severus? Why did you go there?"

He stood, shaking off her hand. "Thank you for...healing me," he said gruffly, then swept quickly from the room, leaving with only a slight limp.

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She saw him three days later in his dungeons for her private Potions tutoring.

"How are you, Professor Snape?" she asked, kneeling at once to inspect his leg, her hand going again to his thigh and foot. She felt him shudder very slightly at her touch, and thought guiltily of her ever-chilly hands. She stayed where she was, however, and looked up at him when he remained silent.

"Severus? How are you?"

He gave her a piercing look. "I'm not all evil, you know."

"I know. I don't see any evil in you," she told him, standing.

"Some do. Some cannot forget my...past."

"Oh, everyone has a past, Severus."

She didn't know when she'd started calling him by his first name, but now it was habit already.

"But mine..." he paused as there was a step at the door. She turned swiftly as Quirrel appeared. Snape glowered.

"You again!"

Suddenly she realized how dark the dungeons were, now that Quirrel had stepped in.

Yet, Snape didn't seem to notice, and snarled, "Outside!" He swept gracefully after the stuttering man, but she heard Snape's low melodious voice carry over to her through the echoing stones.

"Listen to me, Quirrel. You don't want me as your enemy, I've told you than a hundred times! You're pushing me with your...questions..."

A short, fearful reply from Quirrel was silenced by Snape's magical, but angry voice,

"Don't ask again! It won't change!"

He came flying on his cape back into the dungeon and looked sharply at Graça, as if challenging her to ask questions. But she didn't.

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Towards the end of the school year, Graça had become well used to her Friday nights with Severus, and never missed one. And finally, one night, she got to partake in more advanced potions, when Severus said suddenly;

"Well, as you are advancing quickly, we shall make a slight Veritaserum tonight. I will test it to see if it works. On you."

This was when she sympathized with his students. Between threats and intent watching, she was at her wits end most of the evening.

Finally the potion sizzled white and crystal clear. He took a dropper and a glass of wine. Putting one drop in the goblet, he handed it to her.

"Drink." Was that the glimmer of an amused grin on his face? She raised the glass.

"It's only fair if you do the same."

She was oblivious to what she had just made. This branch of Potions was entirely foreign to her country and to her.

"You are the student," he reminded sardonically. "Drink."

Her nostrils flaring, her lips touched the wine and she sipped it, never breaking eye contact with the wizard.

His lip curled.

"You look terribly mean when you do that, Severus!" she retorted.

He looked surprised. "The Potion shouldn't have worked so soon! It's hardly in you!"

"Why-what was it?"

He frowned. "You didn't know?"

"This is advanced Potions! Of course I didn't!"

"It's a Truth Potion, Professor."

She smiled. "Do you really think that would work on me?"

"Why wouldn't it?" he asked, disturbed.

"Bem-I always tell the verdade."

He smiled, very very slightly, but smiled just the same, and she was transfixed. "A Truth Potion, Professor, will make you tell the truth about anything I ask, no matter if you wish to disclose it or no."

She stared, a hand crept to her throat, and she felt a flush come to her cheeks.

"Oh. Right then," she paused, but suddenly squared her shoulders. "Ask away."

Snape walked away, then crossed his arms, black cape folded tightly around him.

"Do you favor Potter, Professor?"

"Of course. I favor all children."

He glowered. "You are not like the other teachers who cannot stand Slytherin House?"

"I don't single out a single House. They all have their own personalities and merit. I don't judge. Frankly, it is not the House, just the Master...that I observe...mainly."

"You observe Professor Sprout and McGonagall?"

She nodded.

"And me?"

"I watch for you. I look for you, and I love seating arrangements at the Head Table, where I sit beside you," she no longer blushed at anything.

Snape's white skin became blotched as two pink spots of color rose to his cheek bones, but she did not notice.

"Then, you do not care that the Potions Master once was a Death Eater?"

"Não. I believe he's left Voldemort forever," she intoned.

Snape exhaled, then put forth, "Why did you heal me?"

She shrugged. "You were hurt."

He eyed her warily. "Is that all?"

Her own eyes narrowed; the weak example of the potion had worn off. "Yes. I believe so."

Snape almost smiled again. "The Veritaserum was well mixed. You are good at these delicate art matters such as potion brewing."

She flushed now. "Thank you, Severus."

She found herself transfixed with his mouth, as it moved in slight smile, then frown-so subtle, so she had to almost guess his thoughts. But he knew she could read his mouth, and he was very pleased.

"Time to clean up. It grows late," he decided shortly.

They cleaned again in silence, then Snape cleared his throat.

"Going to bed, then, Professor?"

"Er...sim," she smiled at him quizzically.

He spoke gruffly, then. "I'll walk you to your room, or near it, anyway."

He let her pass out first, to her surprise, then followed her into the dusky corridors.

She was acutely aware of his sleeve brushing her arm, and her senses were high-she heard him breathe, and felt him move beside her.

"Severus, it would do you good to be joyful sometimes."

"A cunning fox never frolics."

"But they do!" she retorted, for once matching his wit. "A fox often cavorts in play!"

He continued in silence, then said angrily, "Graça, you disturb me."

It was the first time he had used her given name, and it struck her dumb for a moment, then she felt pleasure wake warm and golden inside of her.

"Well, Severus, perhaps that shouldn't upset you. Often I disturb people's fixed thoughts, especially here. The British culture is so different from my warm and touching Brazilian one."

"Ha!" he barked. "How could I forget that? Your accent alone-." He shook his head, then stopped dead. "This is the door to my room."

She looked around. "But mine is only over there!" She pointed to the far wall twenty paces away. "I never knew!"

"Now you do," he said shortly, then turned to give his password.

She moved to her wall, where deep shadows lurked. Pressing her hand to a stone, she heard something rustle, and suddenly Quirrel was there, his hand on her wrist, tight and agonizing.

"Ah!" she cried aloud, as pain shot through her arm, and then her shoulder as he wrenched her around. "O galinheiro! Socorro! Meu querido, Severus! Socorro!" She forgot English in her fright, and Portuguese flung out of her lungs.

"Shhh!" Quirrel hissed. "I j-just wanted t-to-."

"Por favor!" she writhed in his grip, which he tightened. Her head exploded with fear. Was he going to rape her? What was he trying to do?

Another noise made Quirrel release her and disappear. A second later, Severus stood before her. She could barely make out his form in the dark, but she could smell him-his wild, earthy scent.

"Graça? What is it?" there was actual concern in his voice.

"Severus...help me inside!" she was afraid Quirrel was lurking nearby, and indeed, she saw a shadow standing silently a few paces away.

Slowly, almost carefully gentle, she felt hands on her elbows, picking her up. She found his upper arms, felt their round muscle, as he drew her up so sweetly. She suddenly felt, through the aftershock of fear and pain, the romance in the loose embrace. Muttering lowly, she gave her password, and stumbled into her quarters, Severus still holding onto one arm.

She was still afraid Quirrel was standing at the wall behind them, she felt dizzy with paranoia, and almost sank to her knees. She had never been handled in such a way.

"Damn it, Graça! What's wrong?" he hissed, his arm snaking around her waist to bring her back up.

She clutched his shirt front. "Make him go away, Severus! Make him leave!"

Though fire and lanterns lit her rooms, her vision seemed black and red. She was so dazed she could not focus on his face.

"Who?" he almost pushed her on her bed. "Make who go away?"

"Quirrel!" she gasped. "I'm afraid-is he standing-?" she pointed limply at the door.

Severus straightened like a bolt, letting her hand, which still had gripped his shirt front, drop.

He strode to the door, opened it without pause, to find nothing. He frowned blackly, then shut it firmly, and the pain in Graça's head lessened as she felt the aftermath of the shock drain and diminish. All she was left with were questions.

Snape came to stand before her where she sat on her bed, his arms folded.

"What is this, Graça? How-Quirrel hurt you?" he was disbelieving.

"No! I mean, yes...he... Severus, let the last bit of fear drain out of me for a moment, first," she begged.

He stood, a tall shadow, candles playing on the planes of his features.

Finally she looked up. "He-he tried to...I don't know. I don't know if he was trying to molest me or just ask me that same question of what my trap was for the Stone. Something isn't right with him Severus. I'm so worried!"

She took his hand, and held it with both of hers as he gingerly sat next to her, his eyes blazing. But he looked at the joined fingers, then slightly squeezed hers.

"There is nothing to fear, Graça."

"But obviously, Quirrel isn't afraid of Dumbledore if he goes about acting so...it's highly suspicious!"

"Well, does he have much to loose?" He looked down, then his shoulders sagged. "If only I'd never become part of--the other teachers will laugh at this if I speak--they think I am more a threat than Quirrel."

She took his other hand and held them close to her breast. "The past, Severus. But we must warn Dumbledore."

He nodded, then said lowly, "I was intercepting Quirrel on Halloween. He used the troll as a diversion...he was going after the Stone..."

She flung her arms about his neck and buried her face in the collar of his robes.

"Severus! What if he's into something darker? What if Voldemort tries to return?"

He patted her arm slightly. "You're overreacting. We'll tell Dumbledore tomorrow morning. I'll wake you."

She nodded, and let him leave.

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

The rest of the year, as they say, is history. For that very night, Harry Potter thwarted Quirrel with the Sorcerer's Stone.

Summer stretched long and dull in Brazil, and Graça Zelososa de Salvação soon found herself back in England before she could say Hogwarts.

As she stood waiting for the new and old students to arrive at the Great Hall, a voice came behind her,

"Graça," the deep full melody filled tone rose and made her smile. "I see you and I still find our clothes at the same place."

She laughed delightedly. "And I see you've found some humor!"

"Only, perhaps, for you."

She blushed. Time had enhanced her thoughts of Severus Snape, and she breathed happily as they sat next to each other.

"I've been wondering, Graça, how was your summer?"

"Oh, frightfully dull," she shrugged, and he smiled at her, more widely than ever before.

"I'm glad it wasn't exciting enough that you wouldn't return to England, then."

"But Voldemort is not gone, Severus," she said quietly. "I cannot forget that. He's only waiting."

He shrugged, and then they hardly spoke except for at mealtimes, until Mrs. Norris the cat was attacked and the teachers began to walk the halls at night.

"Graça, you'll watch with me?" he had asked, with a tone so quiet and firm that it brought her from the frightening tragedy.

"Yes, of course," she agreed.

And so, every night of her second year at Hogwarts, they walked, her arm tucked around his, watching for any signs of ill.

It was found, by the end of the year, what had been attacking students, and the term ended again with Harry Potter fighting a monstrosity.

Summer came without a thought, and left when Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban. After a long year of Dementors, Peter Pettigrew returned to Voldemort.

She had found her fellow Professor storming about his office after a few select teachers had been informed by Dumbledore what had occurred.

"Severus, I don't care if you don't believe that boy! I believe it! Pettigrew will revive Voldemort!" she had hissed, yanking him to sit down and cool off. He jumped up and paced angrily immediately.

"Sirius Black escaped! And Buckbeak! Graça-!"

"Severus! Sit! Your blood pressure will rise!"

He finally sat abruptly next to her, took her hand, and said earnestly and completely out of character and context, "Stay will me this summer."

"What?" she asked, completely bewildered, but uttered in the same breath, "I'd love to."

"You will?" he smiled at her.

"Yes, of course!" she flung her arms around him, and he embraced her loosely.

So she spent the summer in his guest house. The Triwizard Tournament would start that year at Hogwarts, and she and Severus prepared lesson plans around the events, some so that they would correspond.

And so the fourth year of her teaching in England came to pass.

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

The Triwizard's first task went by without a glitch, but suddenly, on Valentine's Day, Severus approached her.

She thought it would be about the students or the second task, but he pulled her into his office, and stared at her.

"Look!" he displayed a pale red Dark Mark. "It's growing brighter! Graça, forgive me."

"For what? You think I fear you because of this? That I shun you?" she grasped his arm, and kissed the Mark suddenly and starkly.

He jumped back. She'd never kissed him, and he looked at the mark, which had faded slightly from the kindness of her touch.

"Graça!" his voice was muddled and thick. "You-why did you?"

"You think that Mark makes a difference in how I feel about you?" she asked savagely. "Never! I see that Mark as your bravery; you turned spy of your own will-you could have been killed-you could still be killed!"

He looked very taken back at her outburst. He'd never seen her so vehement.

"I've never met the like of you," he said harshly.

"Yes, I know. So, will you please believe now? Voldemort is returning."

He turned ashen, and looked again at his arm. "I hope he is not. But he must be. Graça!" he looked at her wildly. "Dumbledore will want me to be a spy again!"

"But he can't! You'll be killed!"

Severus nodded slowly. "I could be."

She covered her face, a deep weight in her stomach. "Then, Severus, it is time to tell you that I care for you."

Silence greeted her, and she looked into his eyes, which were ever so startled.

"You needn't look so shocked! I love you, Severus. Couldn't you tell? All these years, I've sought you-your company, your lessons. I will always love you."

He sat across from her, and took one of her hands.

"No woman has ever cared in any remote way for me. How could a woman like you?"

"Why not?" she suddenly felt words pour from her. "You're witty-sometimes, and so very inteligente and actually quite fair when you must be-you are very cunning, down to earth. And your lips are the window to your feelings, so are you eyes, did you know that? You have deep, dark, handsome eyes." She watched his face flush, and her own eyes raked over his longer black hair, unruly as ever, and his chaffed red hands from working with Potions. "And you're very good-looking Severus-to me. I'm so attracted to you-you great, alto, barrel-chested man! I could drown in your voice-it stirs me past feeling, as well as your very presence. I won't deny you have faults, but then again, so do I, so we're even. And-I want to always be with you, I've waited so long for you."

She stopped abruptly, then watched him rise and move to her. "I can't help feeling happy you've told me, Graça. I admit I've never felt toward a woman the way I do you," he paused. "Happy-er-Valentine's Day."

She was dismissed, and she swept from the room, to stumble to her own.

She had class in an hour and had to prepare.

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

She made herself treat Severus as if he didn't know her feelings. She had no choice. He also remained indifferent unless they would accidentally touch hands during dinner; then he would jump as if electrocuted.

Mid-April, she had finally come to the understanding that Severus Snape would never come around, that he just didn't have it in him to love, that she'd just remain an old maid like Minerva McGonagall.

But as she was going to her room one Wednesday night, he waylaid her, and pulled her into a deserted classroom.

"Look, Graça!" there was panic in his voice, as he showed her a bright red Dark Mark.

"It's happening, then?" she took his arm gently and traced the brand. "You will be a spy if he comes back?"

"I must. Dumbledore-." He pulled away from her, and paced. She watched in agony until he turned abruptly to her.

"Graça Salvação--are you my girl?"

"What?" she put a hand to her neck. "Severus, I don't see."

He grasped her shoulders. "Damn it, Graça! Sometimes I do foolish things. Like becoming a Death Eater. I'm not going to do something foolish again. I spoke to Dumbledore, and told him--everything--and--Graça, my love, will you be my girl? My...wife?"

He choked and fell to his knees. He was acting very unlike himself, behaving in a way she had never dreamed possible. But she reached anyway, and ran her fingers through his hair, bringing his head up.

"Severus, darling-of course I will."

He stared at her, disbelieving, then searched in his robes for a tiny black box, and displayed a silver band with a square, twinkling diamond.

"Then--you and I--we're engaged...you'll marry me?"

"Sim, meu querido!" she bent to kiss his cheek. He stood at this, putting on her ring for her, and smiled widely, his eyes lighting. It was the first genuine smile she had ever seen. "I love you so much more than I will try to say, Graça."

"I'm glad we'll be married," she whispered joyfully. He pulled her flush near him, and kissed her hard; she felt wings in her heart as she finally kissed that expressive mouth back passionately, as his hands caressed her face, hair, and waist, his eyes closed. She finally had the chance to hold him as well, as they sealed their pact with a kiss.

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

Their small and quiet wedding was a week before the third and final task. It was a lovely, happy, incredible event, and Graça and Severus Snape became one in marriage.

She loved how the children came all the time-so joyfully-to examine her ring and exclaim.

"Professor Salvação-did Professor Snape really ask you? You actually love him?" Their happiness rebounded-the entire school had heard of the wedding-Gryffindor and Slytherin were united, their marriage had been the best thing for either of the Houses.

But such a thing could not last, for the night of the third task, Voldemort returned. Severus came to his new wife in the wee hours of the morning, where she waited for him, and he looked burned with frenzy.

"Graça! My love! It's back! I'll have to leave!"

She looked at that long face she loved dearly more than anything else in the world and put stoutly, "No, Severus. You cannot go. I won't lose you."

She suddenly hated Voldemort more than before, for here they were, still newlyweds, and he would take her husband away. She would not say good-bye.

"You could die, Severus. Don't leave me!"

Her eyes, usually so bright and happy with vitality, were filled with panicked tears.

"Graça, I have to." He came to pull her close. She clasped her arms around his middle, and held him very tightly.

"We're only just married."

"You knew before you married me that somehow, perhaps this might happen."

She drew away to wipe her eyes. "True, Severus, you are right." She sighed and released him.

"Then, go. Only, let me go with you."

He stopped dead. "No, Graça. Voldemort will kill you."

"No-not if I become a Death Eater."

"You will not become one!" he suddenly shouted. "You don't know the tortures!"

"Severus, if you die, I will die! There is no life but you! I want no life but one with you-Severus-don't make me stay behind!"

"Graça, I will not die."

"You might!"

"I could, yes."

She wiped her eyes again, and listened to his voice, explaining carefully how he would always do the right thing, that he knew how to act...

"Graça, forgive me for this," he finished, dropping again to his knees and hugging her, his head pressed to her stomach. She clutched his shoulders, and brushed his long, black hair with her fingers, caressing his face.

"There is nothing to forgive, Severus," she whispered.

He looked up at her, his eyes bright and she touched his face tenderly.

"How could I help-make this up to you, my love?" he spoke raggedly and harsh.

She gazed at him, then sank to the floor. He sat next to her, and pulled her near, kissing her hair.

As she watched his face, she began to smile a bit sadly, but with more of her vigor and joyful drive, and he was encouraged.

"Severus, you can make love to me-much-every night, if we can. Darling, get me pregnant! You see this body?" she pointed to herself. "It was made only to hold your babies! I want all your children-give them to me, if I cannot have you!"

He stared at her, then his smiled matched her in sorrow, love, and want.

"I will do this, Graça, my love."

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

Sometimes he'd be gone for weeks, and sometimes he'd be home for months. He kept her posted as promised, and she knew by his discreet owls he was alive and well.

Finally, when Voldemort was finally being taken over by sheer natural force of nature what with good over riding evil, did she at last conceive, only to know that Severus would not return until Voldemort was banished completely. She discovered this only from Dumbledore, when she went to find her husband.

"Albus!" she called as she entered his office.

"Yes?" he looked up from his worries. These years of Voldemort's return had deeply taxed the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

"Where's Severus?"

"Gone again, my dear. This will be the last-and longest, I'm afraid." His eyes were bright. "We are so close."

She looked down, and her hand went to her belly.

"But I-he's-I wanted to tell him that he's going to be a pai. We're ter um bebê!"

Dumbledore's face was kind. "He'll be back."

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

So she taught, each month and week dragging completely, her belly slowly swelling. Severus sent no owls. She grew tired with the weight in her stomach and her heart, until suddenly, one day, her husband burst quite unexpectedly into her class, grabbed her hand, and told the questioning students, "Have her right back, need to speak to my lovely wife for a moment!" as he whisked her out of class.

She was out of breath with exertion and surprise as he pulled her into an empty classroom, yanked her near, and pressed her lips with his.

"Graça! He's gone! We're safe forever, my love!"

At these words she began to weep, and he kissed her again, softly.

"What is it, Graça?"

"I'm so glad, Severus! So happy you're safe!"

He hugged her, and then she pulled away to say breathlessly,

"And Severus, look!" She put a hand to her rounded belly, and he stared. "I'm pregnant, Severus. You're going to be a father."

He came swiftly to her, and placed his strong muscled fingers on her bulge, caressing it. He said wondrously,

"Me-a father?"

She nodded, and then saw that there were tears in his eyes as well.

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

And so it was. She remembered in a blur the rest of their lives. They had a son: she would always remember Severus holding him in the light, saying,

"My son! How handsome-look, Graça, he'll have my eyes and your lovely nose. Thank you, my love!"

They had seven children in all.

Their love was not perfect, but it was wonderful in itself, and she grew old with him at Hogwarts, and lived, as they say,

"Felizmente para sempre afinal de contas"

THE END