The Sybil's Oracle Book Two

Chapter 5

By Pigwidgeon37

It was difficult to establish, almost impossible, where reality ended and the dreams began. Everything Severus had witnessed in the McNairs’ dungeon had been repeated in his dreams, with only slight moderations—unknown faces being replaced with those familiar from school, so that, for example, Dumbledore had been one of those lining up to welcome him amongst their ranks with a kiss. In a way, the dreams were preferable to reality, for he was allowed to speak, to tell Voldemort, over and over again, how much he admired the cunning, the sheer cleverness and strategic brilliance of his tactics, and Voldemort gave him those enigmatic smiles, told him that he was a good son, the son he loved above any other of his children, and he allowed Severus to sit down at his feet. From time to time, the master let a hand glide lovingly, soothingly, over his hair, but suddenly, he gave him a violent push, Severus keeled over, fell, fell—and woke up.

“Wake up, sleepyhead!” Clarissa said. She did not look too rested.

“Clarissa! What the hell are you doing here? This is my bedroom!”

“Good morning to you, too. I need someone to talk to, and to end up in Lucius’s or Owen’s bedroom wouldn’t have been such a good idea, would it? Come on, let’s have breakfast.”

Severus, who had sat up in an instinctive gesture of half self-defence, half modesty, fell back into the cushions, groaning. “First tell me what time it is.”

“Half past nine, time to get up.”

“That means that I’ve slept four and a half hours. I’m tired, for Merlin’s sake. And whereas you are free to sleep as long as you want tonight, I have to be at the Malfoys’ at two a.m.”

“I know, I know. But you can’t stay in bed all day long. You’ve got neighbours, Severus, and neighbours are always curious. It would give them suspicions if you didn’t poke that big nose of yours out of the door at least once.”

Severus had to admit that this was, in fact, a very reasonable argument. “Okay,” he said gruffly, “But at least give me five minutes to get ready and go downstairs. You can tell Peggy to prepare breakfast in the meantime.”

“Fine,” she snapped, “But unless I see you sitting opposite me at the table in five minutes, I’ll come to wake you up again, and this time I won’t be gentle.”

She rose and left the room. Severus resisted the urge to simply put a body bind on her and turn round to get some more hours of sleep, pushed back the covers and, determined to feel neither the crick in his neck nor the protesting jolts of pain his head sent through his whole body, went to have a short shower. When he arrived downstairs, hair still wet, he felt a little better already.

“I has set the table out on the terrace, Master Severus, I hopes that is fine with you, but Miss Clarissa says—”

“Yes, Peggy, it’s fine,” he said, “But please, don’t talk so much, I’ve got one hell of a headache…”

“I cures your headache if you want, Master Severus!” The elf was hopping up and down, obviously thrilled at the thought that she was able to alleviate her master’s condition.

“You cure… “ Severus was not too sure of his elf’s abilities, but then, he had no analgesic potion at home, so that he might just as well let her have a try. “Fine,” he said, “Go on, show me if you really can take it away.”

“You comes into the kitchen for a moment, Master Severus, please?”

He followed the still-bouncing creature into the kitchen and, being motioned to a chair, sat down at the table. Peggy jumped up to stand in front of him.

“If you comes just a bit nearer, so I reaches your head…”

He scooted closer to the table. He had never yet been actually touched by a House Elf and found that it was quite a strange sensation, for the touch was neither warm nor cold. It seemed almost immaterial. Long, spindly fingers found their way through his hair to his scalp. A slight pressure, sending a new wave of pain through his skull.

“This is where it hurts most, isn’t it, Master Severus?”

“Yes,” he ground out through clenched teeth. Then, he felt a slight tingling, as if somebody were tickling his brain with a feather, and suddenly the pain was gone without a trace. The look he gave Peggy must have been even more grateful than astonished because she treated him to a big, toothy grin.

“You is feeling better now, Master Severus?”

“This was amazing! Yes, lots better, thank you. You’ll have to do that again—it’s way preferable to the potion I usually take.”

Still dumbfounded by his sudden well-being, he went through the living room and outside on the terrace where Clarissa was already stuffing herself with buttered toast and ham.

“You’re looking loads better,” she observed, scrutinizing him over the rim of her tea mug. “So, what about last night?”

“Er…” Severus said, searching his mind for something to say. He did not find anything and instead poured himself a coup of coffee.

“Thank you, that was very informative.” She scowled at him. “Who was there, then?”

“What do you mean by ‘who was there’?” Severus asked irritably. “You saw them all, like I did. So what’s the point of asking?”

“The point is exactly that I did not see them like you did, stupid,” she retorted, “For you saw them without masks. Whom did you recognize?”

Severus put down his knife and fork to glare at her. “Not even you can be so obtuse not to understand that this is exactly what I can’t tell you. They are wearing those hoods and masks, and using the Dissimulovox spell for a reason, for Merlin’s sake. You are not supposed to know their names.” He continued eating his scrambled eggs.

Clarissa looked offended, but then seemed to comprehend that it was of absolutely no use to try and badger him anymore on this subject.

“How did you get there, by the way?” he asked, “I was taken by Lestrange, but who was accompanying you?”

“I Apparated to the Malfoys, and Lucius’s father took both of us.”

Of course, he thought, she had already turned eighteen and thus was allowed to Apparate.

“Imagine my luck,” he said gloomily, “I got to go to the Malfoys by broomstick tonight. Considering how much I love that mode of transportation…”

“Do you still have that rickety old thing?”

“Well, yes, I didn’t see the necessity of buying another one, but I think I might consider it now. It would take me ages to arrive there. And although it may be more or less reliable for short distances, I wouldn’t trust it for flying all the way up to Malfoy Manor.”

“In that case, take a Zephyr Millenium,” Clarissa said knowledgeably. “They’re not racing brooms, but quite fast, and very smooth. No temperament, but no surprises, so to speak.—That Cruciatus show was incredible, wasn’t it?”

Only Clarissa was capable of calling the punishment the six Death Eaters had been subjected to a show. Severus could imagine how much she had liked it, for her eyes were glittering at the mere recollection. That would certainly be an aspect of her new vocation she was going to like immensely.

“Yes,” he replied, “It was quite… impressive. Although I would hesitate to use the term ‘show’. To each his own, though.”

Completely unfazed by his rebuke, she continued, “And did you realize how powerful Lord Voldemort’s curse must have been? The one he cast on the last of them? He didn’t resist more than three seconds. I checked on my watch,” she added, “Number one was the longest, thirty-five seconds. I think that’s very short, for a human being, I mean.”

“Wait until someone chooses you as their target,” Severus said, “Then we’ll see how long you last. And don’t forget that it causes irreparable damage to the nerves if applied for too long. He wanted to punish them, not fry their brains.”

Peggy popped up. “Master Severus, the gentleman who was with you when you buys the house is calling by Floo and he asks if he can pays you a short visit.”

“His name is Lestrange, Peggy, you better remember that for you’ll see him quite often. And yes, tell him it would be a pleasure. And, Peggy,” he called after her, “bring one more setting!”

Half and half, he had expected Lestrange to arrive by Floo, and thus he jumped slightly when their former teacher materialized at his side with a faint ‘plop’. But then, who would go by Floo if they could Apparate, he thought with a twinge of envy.

“Good morning, Professor,” Clarissa said, holding out her hand.

Lestrange took it and said “It’s St. John for you too now, Clarissa. How are you?”

“Fine, thank you,” Severus replied, “Sit down, please. Would you like some breakfast?”

“Actually, yes, that would be great. I woke up only twenty minutes ago, but when I entered the dining room, Heloïse, Narcissa and Yelena were there, discussing Hecate knows which details of the wedding, and so I thought it better to escape.”

Peggy, delighted at having one more guest to serve, brought fresh tea and coffee, and an extra large portion of scrambled eggs and bacon. Obviously, Severus thought amusedly, not even House Elves were immune to Lestrange’s good looks, at least the females among them.

“Uh, St. John,” he said, pouring him a cup of coffee, “can I ask you a question about last night?”

“Of course. That was the main reason for me to come here. Considering that I didn’t know I would get such an excellent breakfast,” he added with a smile. “But I thought that you would like to discuss the events you witnessed. It must be quite puzzling the first few times.”

“You can say that again,” Clarissa muttered.

“What was the matter with Barty Crouch?” Severus asked, “He has never been what you’d call relaxed, but he looked as taut as a bow string.”

Lestrange nodded grimly. “Oh, yes, and he had every reason to be tense. He had been the one in command of the failed operation. And fail it did, royally. They were meant to have those Palestinians kill the hostages, one by one, in as gruesome a way as possible, not let them be freed by a bunch of Aurors. Of course, they destroyed most of the airport and brought down some warplanes, but Barty certainly knew that our Lord could not care less about the state of preservation of an obscure airport somewhere in Africa. He wanted to stir things a bit, get the Muggles to start another war in the Middle East. So you can imagine that Barty didn’t exactly feel comfortable.”

Clarissa stared at him, open-mouthed. “But… but nothing happened to him,” she said.

“Lord Voldemort would never chastise one of his lieutenants in the presence of their inferiors. Except for major offences, of course. If one of us betrayed him, he would suffer the most severe punishment and then death, publicly. But in this case, Barty simply had to stay behind. Be sure, though, that he got what was coming to him.”

Severus nodded slowly and said “I suppose I should start reading Muggle newspapers as well, shouldn’t I?”

“That would doubtlessly be very useful,” Lestrange agreed. “You haven’t forgotten your appointment for tonight, have you?”

“Of course not. And I daresay it would be better to go there by broomstick, wouldn’t it? For somehow I don’t really like the idea of stepping into Julius Malfoy’s living room without an explicit invitation.”

~~~~*~~~~

He had allowed himself a little nap after Clarissa and Lestrange had left, and set out for Diagon Alley in the early afternoon. Considering that during the next days he was maybe going to be too tired—at least until he had become used to this entirely new rhythm of life, which would take some time—he had decided that he would acquire not only the broomstick, but the robes he needed and the working equipment as well. Usually, he left the most pleasant tasks to be carried out last, but then, he was not sure about the duration of his momentary state of wakefulness, so that it was better to visit the Alchemist’s Vault first.

Very pleased with the potions-making equipment he had bought –it was going to be delivered to his house in the late afternoon—he proceeded to Flying High where, according to Clarissa’s instructions, he purchased a Zephyr Millennium, which he shrunk and put into his pocket. To own the truth, he really did not feel like purchasing new robes at Madam Malkin’s now, for tiredness was taking over again. He admonished himself, though, that he was probably going to be a lot more tired tomorrow, after another almost sleepless night, and thus directed his steps towards the shop where he had used to buy his school robes. What he needed now was working attire, simple robes on which he would then put a series of charms to make them resistant—not completely, but to a certain degree—to heat, liquids and corrosion.

His tiredness was gone instantly when he opened the door and heard a well-known, raucous contralto pronounce the words “But Monica, don’t you think that this fabric would look better?”

Nathalie. Suddenly he felt more awake than ever before in his life, at least so it seemed to him at this moment.

“Forgive me if I differ, but that gold kills your complexion. Heed my advice and take this silvery one. Really. You won’t regret it.”

Then, both women turned round to look at the newcomer. A rather baffled newcomer, for he had never yet seen Nathalie wearing robes. Almost nobody wore them at home, at least not the younger generation. But of course they were de rigeur when moving in public. She looked better in them than he would have thought. On the other hand, he dimly thought, the woman would look exceptionally handsome in whatever piece of fabric she chose to wrap her body in. Or without any fabric, but that thought ought to be banished immediately.

“Severus!” she exclaimed, “Just the man we need.”

Madame Malkin looked from one to the other in wonderment but remained silent.

“If it’s for advice regarding fashion, I’m not sure—”

“Nonsense,” she said, “Come here and have a look.”

Feeling very insecure and, above all, anxious he might make a fool of himself—he always felt like this when he had to move on unknown territory—Severus followed her summoning gesture.

“Now look here,” Nathalie said as if he were her very own private fashion counsellor, “I’m a bit insecure about which of these two to choose. It’s for dress robes,” she explained, “I’ll have to wear them at the Malfoy wedding.”

“You mean Lucius’s wedding?” he asked, taken aback, “But that’s in September! I mean, we’re in July now, why—”

“I know what day is today as well as you do,” she interrupted him, “But towards the end of the summer holidays, this place will be crawling with Hogwarts students and wedding guests. So it’s far more comfortable both for Monica and myself to have this business sorted out now. Anyway, I need your opinion. Oh, sorry, how rude of me! I forgot to introduce you. Monica, this is Severus Snape, brilliant wizard and friend of my niece Clarissa.”

“I’ve seen you here many times,” Madam Malkin said, squeezing his hand and smiling at him, “So you’ve already graduated, haven’t you?”

Severus nodded and opened his mouth to answer, but Nathalie was quicker. “Graduated, you say? To say that Severus has graduated would be the same as calling a Hungarian Horntail a lizard. This guy took seventeen N.E.W.T.s! Seventeen! I don’t know about you, but my shameful score was thirteen.”

“I would prefer not to mention it,” Madam Malkin said, “And certainly not in the presence of such a genius. Why, you outdid your father!”

“Not really. He got eighteen. In fact, that was what I wanted but advanced Transfiguration was… er, denied.”

The fabrics lay forgotten. “What exactly do you mean by ‘denied’?” Nathalie asked, obviously unable to resist her journalist’s curiosity.

It still hurt just to think of it. Not only had he studied extremely hard for this particular N.E.W.T., knowing that McGonagall was going to be merciless, he had also written a flawless paper and done a more than convincing practical exam. But McGonagall had muttered something about ‘incorrect positioning of the wand’ and ‘not quite perfect transmutation of the magical field’, and she was the expert, after all. Nobody had contradicted her, and Severus knew that even if he had transfigured the castle into a peppermill and back, she would not have given him the vote he needed to be tied with his father for the highest scores in the last two hundred or so years. McGonagall had never forgotten the scene in Dumbledore’s office, when he had refused to swear that ridiculous oath; in fact, her behaviour towards him had changed a lot from that moment on. Not that he minded. He did not even mind the N.E.W.T. she had denied him. What had made, and still was making, him so very angry was the injustice of it all.

“I… would rather not speak about it, please,” he answered therefore. Of course, it only served to pique her curiosity even more, he could see that in her eyes, but she was polite—or prudent—enough not to push the subject any further. Instead, she returned to the question of dress robes.

“You see,” she said, holding up two pieces of tissue, “after a lengthy elimination process, these two have remained. Monica here claims that the gold would be bad for my complexion, and advises me to take this silvery blue. Now it all depends on you. If I follow your advice and somebody tells me that I’m looking awful at the wedding, I will hold you personally responsible.”

The thought of being punished by her did not seem too repulsive, and Severus briefly wondered whether he should not suggest that she take the one that Madam Malkin had obviously discarded. But then he imagined her in dress robes made of that stunning, silvery-blue fabric and came to the conclusion that it was worth sacrificing the punishment, alluring as it might seem.

“This one,” he said, pointing at the folds of ice cascading from her left hand. “Definitely. It brings out the colour of your eyes to perfection. Not to mention the tone of… uh, your… er, skin.”

It was difficult to be absolutely sure in the dim half-light of the shop, but he could have sworn that she blushed. The look he got from Madam Malkin was part appreciative, part knowing.

“You see?” she addressed Nathalie, “Just what I said. Bow to our wisdom. Now, Severus, what can I do for you? Except for hiring you as my personal assistant?”

Nathalie chuckled.

“I need three sets of robes, simple ones, for work. Potions,” he added helpfully, for the working robes of a flying instructor, for example, were quite diverse. The feature that made Potions robes different from most of the other types was the sleeves: They had to be rather narrow to avoid the risk of brushing vials, ingredients or tools off the worktable, or of getting into contact with the cauldron’s contents while stirring.

“Of course. Just let me take some measures—” she summoned a tape-measure that started working on its own “—and you can come and get them tomorrow afternoon. Or anytime you want.”

A little confused, because Nathalie did not show any intentions of leaving but stood there patiently, obviously waiting for him, Severus paid and bid Madam Malkin farewell. When they stepped out of the shop and into the bright sunlight, he had to acknowledge once again Peggy’s outstanding skills at freeing him of his migraine.

“Do you have any special plans for the afternoon?” Natahlie asked him, tilting her head and shadowing her eyes with her right hand.

“I… no, not really. Why do you ask?”

“I thought you might be curious to take a stroll through Muggle London. You don’t seem the adventurous type, at least not as far as leaving our little world is concerned. Or did I guess wrong?”

Severus, who would have jumped right into the face of anybody calling him an adventurous type, was irrationally angry for having been put, without further ado, into the category of ‘non-adventurous’. “I don’t know,” he retorted, a little more sharply than he had intended, “Considering how important a position you occupy, I doubt that you really haven’t anything better to do than induct a boring guy like me to the mysteries of Muggle London.”

Nathalie gave him a genuinely surprised look. “Quite the little viper, aren’t you? Well, then, it was merely a suggestion. Good b—”

“No, wait!” he cut her off, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so venomous. Really, if you’d like to go, I don’t have any objections.”

For a moment, she merely looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Fine then,” she said finally, “I suppose you don’t have Muggle money, so we have to pay a visit to Gringott’s first.”

~~~~*~~~~

If he had ever hated the crowds populating London’s magical district at the end of the holidays, he was now aware that, compared to Oxford Street, Diagon Alley at its worst was still an oasis of peace and quiet. They had left the wizarding part of London through the door of the Leaky Cauldron, and slowly strolled up Charing Cross Road. Severus had stared at the theatres, shops and cafés in wonderment, thus causing Nathalie irresistible fits of hilarity. Fortunately, his fascination with what he saw was too overwhelming for him to be anything but excited at all the miracles, so that he did not even feel a minimal urge to start bickering. She had dragged him past two bookstores, but at the third declared herself defeated.

“Okay,” she said, laughing, “Let’s enter. But I warn you: you’ve got half an hour, so use your time well.”

The problem was that he really did have no idea where to begin. Literature? Science? Art? There was so much that Nathalie’s restriction, tedious as it was, almost relieved him. Without the deadline she had set him, he would probably have lingered among the shelves until the shop closed. Not to mention that, without her, he would have forgotten to take off and shrink his robes, and ventured out into the Muggle world in his usual attire, which might have been accepted without too much curiosity in winter, but certainly not on a blazing hot day like today. Deciding that he would have to come back more than once, he only chose a world history in two handy paperback volumes, and one of Great Britain. On second thought, he added a biography of Albert Einstein, Professor Kettleburn’s nephew, out of simple curiosity as to what the Muggles might have to say on the subject. Happily cradling his paper bag, he returned to Nathalie, who eyed him incredulously.

“What!” she exclaimed, “Only so few books? I thought you were going to buy half the store and I’d have to wrestle you away from a stack taller than yourself!”

“You see? I’m not all predictable and boring,” he countered. “Where are we going now?”

“Beginning to enjoy yourself, aren’t you? Well, I thought that we might expose ourselves to the temptations of Oxford Street for a while—it’s really quite impressive. Considering how incredibly patient I have been with you during your extended stay in the bookstore, I think it would not be overly demanding to ask you to keep me company while I purchase some small things for myself. And maybe, as a side effect, so to speak, we might find something for you, too.”

“Like what?” he asked, immediately wary.

“We-ell,” she drawled, “I’d really like to see how you look in jeans, for example. I don’t even dare to suggest black leather—”

“You’d better not!” he replied menacingly. “And what, pray, are jeans?”

Jeans, as he had soon afterwards found out, were not so bad after all. They would never become one of his favourite items of clothing, but they gave him… difficult to define… a certain awareness of his body he did not feel in his usual clothes. The fabric was thick, yes, and also a bit stiff, which in itself would have caused more uneasiness than sensual feelings. But then, they fitted far more closely than the trousers he was used to, and rubbed pleasantly at his skin. He was honest enough, though, to admit to himself that he would gladly have worn trousers of hedgehog hide, spikes turned inside, if only they had made Nathalie’s eyes narrow and her tongue dart over her lips when she looked at him. To his and—unless he had drastically misinterpreted her—also her regret, he could not simply leave them on, because she intended to take him to Fortnum & Mason’s for tea, where entrance would have been politely but firmly denied to a young man clad in jeans.

“What a pity,” she said, “But then, they’ll take you for some brooding, left-wing intellectual anyway, what with your long hair and all clad in black. Don’t kill me, but do you think you could pull it back in a ponytail?”

“I’m neither a girl nor Alastor-bleeding-Moody,” he replied indignantly, “And, first and foremost, I’m not gay. So don’t you—”

“It would look quite sexy, though,” she cooed, “Just give it a try, will you?”

This was the final straw. This and the certainty that none of his schoolmates were likely to see him in these surroundings.

There were not too many things he was willing to credit the Muggles with, but he had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that they knew how to prepare tea. And finger sandwiches. And, yes, muffins as well. The clotted cream and strawberry jam were not too bad, either. Severus had skipped lunch because of the rather generous breakfast and was feeling very hungry now. Ravenous, to be exact. Nathalie eyed him approvingly.

“It seems that you’ve recovered from the taxi ride quite well,” she observed dryly.

“Don’t remind me! You could have told me though. How it was going to be, I mean.”

“What was I supposed to tell you? Going by car can’t be compared to any wizarding mode of transportation, which is what makes it so frightening the first time. You’ll see that you’ll like it a lot more when we return to Charing Cross Road. I thought that you had already used the Underground, though. Where’s the big difference?”

Unable to speak, for his mouth was full of cucumber sandwich, Severus merely rolled his eyes. Having swallowed the bite, he said “I think that’s fairly obvious, isn’t it? In more than one way, and I won’t deny that there are positive aspects as well. But the difference between the Underground and the car is like… well, I suppose you could compare it to the dissimilarity between riding a broomstick or travelling on a magical carpet. The car is a lot more immediate. You feel the speed, you feel the vibrations of the engine… But now you tell me something, Nathalie. How come you’re so well acquainted with the Muggle world? You were a Slytherin, weren’t you?”

She laughed. “Oh, yes, I was. And the ridiculous prejudice against anything to do with Muggles was the same in my times. But I took Muggle Studies all the same, causing great scandal, as you can imagine.”

“I certainly can,” he said. “Although I don’t quite understand why you were so interested in the first place.”

“Interested… I don’t know if I was interested. I suppose I simply disliked the thought of being confined to the wizarding world only because I didn’t know how to move in Muggle surroundings. It’s a question of liberty, you know? Not to mention that for a reporter, it’s always better to be more versatile than the others. If somebody tried to escape my… um, curiosity simply by stepping out of the Leaky Cauldron and I couldn’t follow because I was afraid, that would have greatly limited my possibilities. You can’t follow your prey out here on a broomstick or a carpet, you know?”

That was a line of thought Severus could entirely sympathize with, and he promised to himself that he would gather at least some minimum knowledge about Muggles and their way of living. Not to mention that it would give him a big advantage over less open-minded Death Eaters.

“Speaking of carpets,” Nathalie interrupted his thoughts, “Do you know Omar Al Faruk’s daughter? She’s your age, more or less, I believe.”

“Yes, she was in the same year as I.”

“What does she do now? Her father was ruined, how did she cope?”

From there on, the conversation drifted to his school days and, in spite of having to watch his words—after all, to learn that Tabitha had been Lestrange’s mistress for nearly three years would certainly have driven her into journalistic ecstasy—he spent a very pleasurable afternoon.

“You know what?” she said when they had exchanged the dignified silence of the tearoom for the noisy bustle of Picadilly, “We walk down the street into Green Park and Apparate from there.”

“I… er, can’t… I mean, I can but I’m not yet allowed to Apparate,” Severus said, feeling suddenly very young.

“No problem, I can Apparate he two of us. So you don’t have to endure another taxi ride.”

This was certainly an irrefutable argument, and so he concurred. They walked down Piccadilly, past the Ritz which reminded Severus of the Ministry of Magic by its gloomy grandeur, and entered the park where they soon found a quiet corner. And now came the part he had equally dreaded and anticipated: to perform a joint Apparition together with another person, it was absolutely necessary to keep body contact. Real contact, though; merely holding hands was not enough. With a very ambiguous smile indeed, Nathalie motioned for him to put his right arm round her shoulders. Her left hand slipped round his waist, holding him firmly against her, then she grabbed his left hand with her right, and before he could even savour the feeling of her slim form pressing against his body, they were standing in his living room.

“Thank you,” he muttered, now very aware of the soft curve of her hip against his thigh and of her hand in his, “That was really…” Try as he might, no adjective came to his rescue.

“It was indeed,” she said, letting her right hand glide up his arm, till it was resting on his shoulder. Their arms round each other’s waist and shoulder were still firmly in place.

She turned a little more, so that she was now standing very near, her chest almost touching his. As she was only three or four inches shorter than he, her face was confusingly close to his. From this, quasi non-existent, distance, the scent of her was overwhelming—not strong, but intense; Severus identified lemon, and rose, and a very faint underlying note of heated skin. Hesitatingly, half-fearing, half-hoping to be pushed back any moment, he circled her back with his left arm, pulling her closer, and a little closer, until he felt her breasts brushing at his chest. She did not push him back, though, on the contrary, she let out her breath in a hiss, almost a sigh, followed by another one when he rubbed a tentative circle at the small of her back. Did she want him to kiss her? Did he want to kiss her? Of the former he was more or less sure, whereas the latter was not as easy to answer by a simple yes. ‘Yes, but…’ was more like it. Yes, but he was afraid that she might not like it. Yes, but then maybe certain images would resurface. Yes, but what next? Yes, but what if he did not like it? To try or not to try?

He decided to try, whatever the consequences. Try as if this were his very first kiss, which in a sense it was. Closed his eyes and bent his head till his lips touched hers, slightly parted, moist and still holding the last traces of strawberry jam. Smiling at this intrusion of childhood into the erotic tension simmering between them, he flicked his tongue over the corner of her mouth. And then over her upper lip. Her lower lip. Between her lips, to meet hers. Whatever fuses there had still been intact in his brain, this contact blew them all up, in a searing jolt of pleasure racing through his whole body. Yes, he thought dimly, feeling her body melting against his, sensing her hands roaming over his back, yes, this was definitely his first kiss.

They did not break it for a rather long time. When they finally came apart, Nathalie gave him that lewd, dimpled smile, which would have annihilated all the fuses had there still been any.

“I think I’d better go home now,” she said, “But I hope I’ll see you soon?”

He nodded, still unable to speak, but smiling at her. A ‘plop’, and she was gone. Severus did not move for quite a long time, anxious to lose the sensation of her body that somehow seemed to have imprinted itself on his own. She had continued what Lord Voldemort had begun: exorcising the evil spirits of the past from his mind, not by breaking down the painstakingly constructed walls, and neither by walking through them, like Voldemort had done. Nathalie had evidently found a way round them, to an area of his self which had been untouched and unmapped, a hitherto blank space ready for being filled with new memories.

An owl came soaring in through the open French door and, after having circled him a few times, settled down on the back of an armchair.

Severus unwillingly pulled himself out of his thoughts, went towards the bird that was looking at him expectantly, and nearly stumbled over Esmeralda, who had cantered in from the garden, closely followed by Elias. They were obviously curious about the intruder, whom Severus recognized as Lucius’s eagle owl. There was, of course, a message attached to its leg.

Severus,

My father told me to inform you that you can use the Floo network to arrive at the Manor tonight, just in case you had any doubts. I won’t be present at the meeting itself but you might want to get here a little earlier. Owen belongs to the group as well, so this would be a nice occasion for a little chat—I suppose we won’t run out of topics. And I promise it won’t be bridal fashion, of which I’ve already had enough to last me a few lifetimes.

Till tonight, then.

Lucius

Severus checked his watch. It was some minutes past six. He decided that he would spend a nice quiet evening at home, with a bit of reading and maybe a tryout of his new potions equipment, go to bed around nine o’clock, and set the alarm for half past midnight. So he wrote Lucius a short answer announcing his arrival for one a.m., and retired to the terrace with a book, although he doubted he would be able to do much reading with a cat on his lap and a raven on his shoulder, who took it in turns to paw and snap at the pages.