Miss Sarajevo

Airelle could hear the silvery music drifting up from downstairs as she twisted her fair hair into a loose knot at the nape of her neck. She smoothed her dress and was startled by how soon she felt bare skin beneath her fingers. Her stomach knotted but she kept a straight face for the old, elaborate mirror in front of her. She would need not to flinch tonight.

Airelle looked at herself critically. She hardly ever wore this much or this kind of makeup, all smoky grays and liner around her eyes. What if she hadn't done it right... did she look like a clown? She stepped back and looked her entire reflection up and down. The black, swishy dress was as short and low as it could be without looking (too) tasteless, and the color made her exposed skin look lily-white. Her dark, satiny sandals wound delicately around her ankles, and her sheer, inky tights made her legs look long and slim. Airelle had always been a slight girl. The dress hugged smoothly wherever her body curved and made her seem more--gifted in that area. It slipped off her shoulders gracefully and the fragile curve of her collarbone led the eye to the escaping wisps of her hair and her dramatic eyes.

She definitely didn't look like a clown.

Airelle felt suddenly and violently ill. She closed her eyes to her own sultry reflection and took a few shaky breaths as rain poured down her window. She did not want to go down there. More than anything else, she did not want to go downstairs.

"You have to," she thought. "You have to."

She was right. This was for the baby. She would start to show soon, and then it would be too late. She was already going to have to say the baby was awfully early. Airelle was glad that she had implied that she and Severus had been apart for a few weeks, instead of the truth--perhaps one and a half. And if her child actually was early... Airelle would have some fast thinking to do.

After she steadied herself, she tried to give her reflection coy looks and tilt her body flirtatiously. This time she did look ridiculous. Well--men were supposed to like to dominate, right? Certainly that type of men were there tonight. She could certainly pull of the delicate, vulnerable look... combined with the dress and the very alcoholic atmosphere, she could probably get someone upstairs. Lord, she hoped she wouldn't end up locked in her room wit a sex maniac...

Airelle shut her eyes again. She was not going to be locked in her room with a sex maniac. And even if she was, she could just scream and Evan would come running, knock down the door and kill the man.

No! No matter what, she had to--find someone--tonight, it was her last chance... Airelle shoved herself out her door, after quickly setting a bottle of Balvenie Founder's Reserve Dragon's Brew on her bedside table.

Airelle prayed she wouldn't make a big entrance; she wanted to slip around and choose someone in safety. With this in mind, she walked down to the wrong end of the hall and went down toward the kitchen instead of the parlour where the music was coming from. Her parents' old manor was huge; she passed the less often trodden passages and could smile a bit when she thought of her child playing hide-and-seek in the alcoves and hidden rooms like she and Evan once had. This image of her and her brother as children contrasted rather sharply with the present as she entered the kitchen and found herself standing next to him. Evan was refilling a glass of whisky awfully high, with his top shirt buttons undone and his hair mussed, as she nervously adjusted her dress.

"Well hey," Evan said, not turning to her quite yet as he continued to pour drinks. The crooked, senseless smile he had whenever there were women, or drinks, or both present was firmly in place by now, of course. "You came down after all--"

Evan's voice failed as he glanced at his sister, then executed a double-take.

"You look hot!" he said, sounding shocked and almost insulted.

"Thanks..." Airelle replied, looking covetously at his glass.

"But... you're not... supposed to..." Evan said weakly. Then the smile came back.

"Getting over Severus, eh?" he said in a pompously knowledgeable voice, but with a surprisingly gentle smile. Airelle gladly took this ready-made excuse.

"I--yes."

Evan looked at her a bit harder.

"But--with them?" He jerked his head toward the parlour and the drinks almost spilled. "I don't know; I don't think I want any of those blokes with you, Airelle... they're creeps... and, come to think of it, I don't want one of my best friends bragging about what they did with my baby sister, either..."

Airelle was suddenly positive, by the way he was looking at her, that he was going to stop her. She spoke quickly.

"Come on, Evan, it's one of your parties. Are you really that close with every man in that room? Or even on a first-name basis with them all?"

Evan's eyebrows raised as he saw the truth in this.

"Actually, there are a couple of chaps I don't think I've ever seen before..."

"Exactly," Airelle said.

"But..." a protesting look came over his face as he, surely, imagined a man doing to Airelle the kinds of things he himself usually did to women.

"Evan, I'm the smart one," Airelle sighed. "C'mon, I'm not going to do anything stupid..."

Evan looked relieved.

'That's true... well, then... matelote, I guess..." he said, although shuddering slightly. "I've got to get back to--oh, damn... Alanna? Maybe?"

Airelle raised her eyes to the ceiling and waited a few moments before following Evan through the door. As soon as she entered the dim room, the relatively safer feeling she'd had with her older brother evaporated. The music twirled and undulated like a brazen lounge singer. The smell of alcohol was everywhere and a group of men laughed loudly in a corner. Airelle tried not to wonder what they were laughing at--she was sure everyone in the room was a Death Eater. She was, too, technically, but she had managed to dodge doing anything horrible; she was exceptionally glad to be a nameless grunt. Still, she wished she hadn't let Evan bully her into it...

But this wasn't the time. Airelle glanced around the room and her eyes fell on another group of men, no as loud as the first but not pleasant-looking. Igor Karkaroff--no, she couldn't. He was--no. Lucius Malfoy--he was... he was evil; he had a particular fondness for Muggle-torture. And anyway, he was married; Airelle wouldn't have been able to live with herself. Avery--she didn't even know his first name; he wouldn't do. Airelle kept close to the wall and moved on, ignoring the occasional stare but taking it as a good sign. She was starting to have a faint, morbid fascination with what she was doing, but pushed it away. Rookwood--Airelle shuddered but labeled him a possibility. Mulciber--he was a savage bloodlust-er; she wouldn't let him near her child, let alone lead him to believe he was his father. Rodolphous Lestrage--same problems as Malfoy. His brother, Rabastan--he was too fond of the Cruciatus Curse for Airelle's comfort. Josef Nott--perhaps, but it would be horrible. Airelle realized she was repulsed, even frightened, to think of some of these men even touching her. She was definitely going to go with someone cowardly enough to want to stay away from the baby after he was born. She saw another group of five men near the fireplace. One had a great gash across his face and spoke with permanent snarl, one had a chesty redhead hanging off his arm, and two she didn't recognize at all, but the fifth a man called Damien Jugson, was about as human as you could find in a Death Eater. Airelle paused and considered him. He had spoken to her civilly enough when she had met him at a different dinner. He carried out Voldemort's order, but was never particularly outspoken about violent anti-Muggle views. Which, Airelle reminded herself, didn't necessarily mean anything. He was still a high-level Death Eater, which meant--well, there was no way around that. Whoever she ended up with tonight would be a murderer, or about to become one, and a torturer and a terrorist. Airelle had to reassure herself, again, that after the baby was born she wouldn't need to have any contact with him. She took a breath and looked at Jugson. He didn't look as--boisterous--as the men around him, but the question was was he drunk enough...

As Airelle stood considering all this, she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder. Pockmarked Antonin Dolohov said her name slowly, circling around to face her.

"Well, now--out to raise a little hell tonight, are we?" His eyes almost glowed, looking at her. He was certainly drunk. Airelle didn't know exactly what to say, so she smiled and said, "I suppose..." hoping she sounded at least a little clever.

Her eyes automatically dropped when they met his. She had always been shy, too.

"I heard about you and Severus... pity," Dolohov shook his head but didn't look pitying. He looked rather pleased at what he saw.

"Thanks..." Airelle said softly, wishing she had a drink to sip or something to do with her hands.

"Although I have to say..." his tight, toothy smile was almost a leer. The hand on her shoulder slipped sleekly to her waist. "...tonight I'm actually a bit grateful."

She still couldn't think of anything to say. His touch was making her want to turn away, and the way his unfocused eyes locked onto her didn't help. This was a good thing, she told herself firmly, him coming after her. Saved her trouble, and Antonin Dolohov would certainly keep far away from a baby that needed care and attention. But he was one of the men Airelle shrunk from earlier because they were--frightening. Dolohov definitely liked the fragile, vulnerable look; his eyes were absolutely hungry. Airelle shivered. He'd gotten a hold of a little boy in Wales once, when his powerful father was threatening Death Eaters' reputations, and... Airelle didn't want to think about it. The boy hadn't survived. And Dolohov would be holding her against him, stroking her skin, kissing her, gripping her... the same hands that tortured a four-year-old to death would be sliding down her back...

With a wave of repulsed fear, Airelle stepped back at his next question.

"So, have you got a place to stay?"

"Yes," she said, a bit too quickly. "I'm sleeping here, in an old room next to Evan's."

As she said his name, Airelle was glad to spot Evan, meeting her eyes from across the room. He was asking if he should step in. Thankfully, though, Dolohov heard the implication in Airelle's voice, even through his drunkenness, and then he caught sight of Evan's face. With a quick grin and a few more words, he slunk off. Airelle shivered and moved on.

For the next few hours, the party continued much as it had been. Jugson left early, before Airelle had a chance to talk to him, and Nott was nowhere to be seen. It would still be a while before people left, assuming they weren't passed out on the couch, but things were definitely slowing down. Airelle became slightly panicky--if not tonight, then...

She spotted someone she knew alone by a window. Rueben Pyrites was a twenty-something, old-fashioned gentleman, or at least he thought himself so. His robes were always clean and neat and his handsome, square-jawed face clean-shaven. The white silk gloves he always wore were rumoured to be bloodstained often, but Airelle had thankfully never seen it. He as looking at a painting of the house done shortly after it was built, stroking his chin and sipping bourbon. He was probably drunk, too, but calmly so. Airelle hadn't heard of any particularly horrible things he'd done. She set herself and walked beside him.

"Evening, Miss--Miss Rosier," he said, giving Airelle a double-take that did flatter her very slightly, in spite of everything. "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you... having a good time?" she managed to say calmly.

"Oh yes; excellent celebrant, your brother, it's always a pleasure."

Airelle laughed softly.

"He always has been."

Pyrites chuckled through his teeth.

"Well, yes, I remember from school... he always had a way with dances, and ladies... but then, I think things like that must run in the family."

With this he took another long glance at Airelle. She made herself smile but couldn't meet his eye. Still, it felt like she was doing something right, finally. Pyrites brought his drink to his lips and said,

"Perhaps it's a bit out of line, but... is it true that you've, ah, ended things with Severus Snape?" before taking a sip.

"Yes... I moved out a little while ago," Airelle replied.

"Oh, that's a shame..." Pyrites said, setting his empty glass down on a table.

"For him," Airelle said, taking herself by surprise. Pyrites laughed.

"He certainly did the rest of us a favor."

Airelle made herself speak.

"When you've been with one man for so long, you forget how much fun there is... to be had."

She winced inside at how she'd sounded. Her stomach was twisting nervously again, but she wouldn't let it show. Pyrites looked at her again, almost hopefully, and this time Airelle made herself keep his gaze for a second.

"I know that feeling," he said, stumbling over his words a bit. "And Lord, yes... those first nights are fun." He sidled a few inches closer to her and picked up his empty glass.

"I'm going to go get a refill; would you like something?"

Airelle saw an opportunity and took it.

"Oh, I'm afraid Evan's out... shocking, I know, but I think he had more people than he expected."

Airelle doubted either of these statement were true, but she went on as Pyrites expressed his regret.

"But... I've got my own bottle of Balvenie's Dragon Brew... would you like to go somewhere--more private?"

Airelle lost her nerve in the middle of her sentence and knew she sounded foolish, and awkward, and out of place, there was no way--

"I would," Pyrites replied slowly, his grin widening.

Airelle led him upstairs, hiding her expression. She took a few breaths and collected herself for the third or fourth time that evening. They went into her room (actually down the hall and on the opposite side of Evan's). When they entered her room Airelle realized how the whiskey on her bedside table looked and her face colored, but Pyrites didn't seem to notice. She poured them both glassfuls and then walked to her window, looking out at the trees. Pyrites stood next to her and she pretended to take a sip.

"It's a nice night... the rain's stopped," she said giving herself an excuse to lower her voice as one often does, for some reason, when commenting on scenery.

"The stars are so bright..." he added, without looking up. His fingertips brushed her arm and came to rest on her shoulder, just where the fabric stopped. His hand was warm on her cool skin and barely shaking. He moved closer, and, when Airelle didn't back away, he turned so that they were facing each other and brushed his lips against hers, bringing his other hand deftly to her side.

Airelle expected it, needed it, and, for that reason, needed it, but the kiss still threw her off. For a moment she actually missed Severus--they weren't in love and she was perfectly aware of that, but at least he was familiar--safe. He was the only man she had ever been with, or even just kissed, in her entire life. The reality of Pyrites drawing her close and starting to kiss her more forcefully made Airelle dizzy and limp with worry and fear and dread and everything but desire. Pyrites thought that was him and held her even tighter, both his arms now wrapped tightly around her body and whiskey moving from his breath to hers.

For a moment Airelle wanted to pull away, apologize but just get Pyrites out. But she couldn't just act for herself now--she had a baby. Right with her, growing away safely inside her body, but if anybody ever found out that her baby was Severus Snape's, and then found out who he was, a spy--the spy--the traitor to Voldemort... then her baby would be tortured like Dolohov's boy, and suffer and scream and beg and then, die. Airelle took a shuddering breath and accepted her fist responsibility as a mother: to protect her child.

She closed her smoky eyes and kissed Pyrites back.