One wish alone have I

Chapter 3
When great minds meet

Ivantie kept me behind, after everybody had left. He encircled my waist with his strong arms and held me close to him, in a warm and protective embrace. We stayed like that for a few minutes, our foreheads leaning against each other. Taking my chin between his long fingers, he made me look at him.

“So… it seems the boastful and foolish Brit had a couple of interesting points to make, after all.”

“So it seems…”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What did you think of what he had to say?”

“Most of it did not come as a surprise. I had felt it coming since years by the rivers, just like he said I had! I mean… just like he explained, with the warning signs, the old allies.… We are not totally blind; we did see it coming. What did you think?”

“I don’t know. He is right when he says the Dark Lord is powerful and can get out of control. On the other hand, our contribution in the seventies was not that extended, after all, and they seem to have managed very well with that little help. Their request is bigger this time, with the threat looking all the same to me. What if we all go there for nothing?”

“I do not think that is the point we want to make, Ivan. A helping hand is always useful, no matter how needs may evolve with time. Their need for our help seems obvious… but exactly what help, that is a different story. The wizard came here with a formal request; it might not be the only one, or the real one, who knows? That part has to do with trust and, given… given what happened in the seventies, I will not give it that easily.”

“About that… are you ok, Antanasia? You were holding my hand pretty tight at times.”

“Yeah… a few things happened under everybody’s nose during the meeting. Snape let me in his mind quite a few times. Sometimes willingly, sometimes inadvertently. And he came in mine too…”

“And? Anything interesting come out of it?”

“Honestly, I cannot tell. I still need time to figure that out. My initial feeling is that he does not tell us everything. Whether concealment is a habit of his or a protection mechanism intentionally used for this visit, I do not know. But he does have a few things to hide. From the little I saw, I wish I could figure him out more.”

“And for the rest… will you be all right?”

“Do not worry about that, Ivan. I am just fine. Sometimes, you get so used to being invaded by the same old feelings and memories that you learn to live with them at your side. They become more like… a kind of travelling companion.”

He looked at me for several seconds, his large, warm hand pressed gently against my face, covering its left half from my chin to my temple. Poor Ivantie! He probably wished he had some Legilimency skills at the moment, so he could reassure himself that I was telling the truth. I put an end to his worried scrutiny by slowly wrapping my fingers around his wrist. I kissed the palm of his hand softly, removing it delicately from my face.

“You should get some sleep, Ivan, the day has been long for you and it will not be so long before the sun is up again. We should both take some time to think about all of this and I am sure it will be clearer tomorrow evening.”

“You’re right. See you tomorrow, then,” he said, softly.

With a last hug of his arms around my hips and a kiss on the tip of my nose, he left the room. A part of me felt warm and safe, because of Ivantie’s attentions. The other part felt relieved that he was gone. Quite a few indefinite things haunted my thoughts, yet I could not put my finger on any of them. I needed to be alone in order to sort them out.

I did not feel like going to my laboratory yet; my mind would not have been disposed towards potion brewing anyway. I went back into the garden instead. The night was still hot and humid, which made the garden smells even more intense around me. Almost everything was silent. The turtledove had stopped singing. In its place, I heard what seemed like an army of crickets and frogs make their never ending, repetitive noises. I smiled. These sounds had rocked countless meditations over the years.

I sat on a wooden bench, next to a small fountain. In front of me, bushes of roses, in various shades of white, pink and red were still under Horatiu’s numerous spells. All the roses were open wide, as if they were ready to welcome the sun. Nature’s forces were sometimes in complete opposition with magic in that garden, yet its beauty remained untouched by these silent fights. That atmosphere, made of such harmonious contradictions, gave me the impression that I could just hide there for ages, free of all responsibilities, that I would never have to think and take a position again.… It did not take long before I gave in to the garden’s spiritual temptations. Like so many times before, I chased away all worries and laid down on the bench.

The night was still very dark and cloudy. I could not see any stars and the moon was hidden, too. Nevertheless, I kept looking at the dark immensity and soon drifted back to a place I had been ripped away from earlier that night. First, everything was blurred. Dark shapes moved slowly all around me, as if they were looking for something in the middle of some commotion. I felt exhausted, yet totally submerged by a rush of adrenaline. The voices I heard around me were cacophonic; some were angry, others seemed panicked. I could not understand anything they said. Their voices came to me as if I were listening to them from underwater.

I felt the imminence of an attack… I had to defend myself, but it was more than that. Something was more important… yes… I had to defend something; I had to protect something precious… something as precious as it was dangerous… was the battle ahead or behind? I was too confused to tell… I felt sad and guilty… I had failed… I had failed! I tried to open my eyes, but everything still appeared in vague, dark shapes that made me so dizzy… so weak… I sank in indescribable sadness…

And then… a voice! A familiar voice in the chaos! A brutal wave of hope hit my heart in that instant, so suddenly that it felt like all my insides were twisted at once…. My mind grasped that sound as if it were the only thing that could ever save me... the only thing that seemed closer to the surface of the water... I moaned… no, I begged… I begged, but what was I saying? I could not hear my own words… think, Antanasia… think harder! Where had the voice gone? I could not find it anymore!

I begged louder… was I calling for something? For someone? I saw it… yes… the same humanoid face I had seen on the mountain… it seemed to come closer to me… I desperately wanted to see it, that time… and that other voice telling me it would be wrong to listen to these urges… and then I felt it... something touched my cheeks, my forehead… something black, soft and smooth… a raven’s wings, caressing my face... and then, pain... strokes of pain on my cheeks... what had I done to make that raven so angry? Why was it scratching my face with its claws? And at once, I understood what I had to do… I just had to stay very still and everything would be all right.

Indeed, seconds later, I felt submerged by sensual pleasure… I arched my back and let yet another long, liberating moan escape from my lips... and that warmth… that delightful warmth that burned from my throat, down my chest, contracted my abdominal muscles to then spread everywhere between my thighs…

At that precise moment, everything changed… something tangible had touched me. A hand. A warm hand was pressed, timidly, against my right thigh. I had felt so lonely, so lost in that blurred commotion that I was desperate for some warmth, for a caress… and a caress I got. Merely a pressure at first, then, with the silent but oh, so eloquent approval of my hips rocking slowly back and forth, the hand became bolder. It started stroking the skin on the outside of my thigh first, but soon reached smoother, warmer skin on the inside.

I took a deep breath of fresh air and closed my eyes. That hand was familiar, but belonged to a distant, distant past. Still, my memory seemed to betray me, because I could not quite put my finger on the elements that would tie the hand to the rest of a body, and to a name. I smiled, my eyes still closed. I was willing to play the game this time. There did not seem to be any rush, any danger. All that had vanished the moment I had felt that hand on my skin.

I concentrated all my attention on that hand, as if it were the only thing that existed in the world. It massaged my thigh slowly, but firmly, working its way up. I gasped as it suddenly moved up but, teasingly, changed its course to caress my hip, ending on my stomach. I moaned a little to show my disappointment, but it did not answer my silent prayer. It resumed its circular caresses, its massaging caresses, all over my stomach, my hips. I swayed under its moves, increasing its pressure at times, directing it where I wanted it to go. My body slowly awoke under these caresses, emerging from a sleep that had turned to lethargy, an eternity ago...

I soon became hungrier for touch. This slow but intense tease was starting to get frustrating. Why wasn’t that hand giving me more? I wanted it to grab my breasts, to knead them until they became sensitive and responsive!

“Wait! Wait... I can do that,” I thought.

I eagerly pressed my hands against my breasts, but was surprised to find my own moves quite clumsy. It was as if the lethargy had not quite left my arms yet. I did my best to massage them, rubbing the palms of my hands against my nipples that were already fully erect.

Their touch was strange, though... I felt numb, as if I did touch myself, but there was something shielding a full contact between my hands and my skin. How could that be? It took me a moment to understand that I was still fully dressed. Quickly, eagerly, I slid my hand into my neckline, right under my bra... I moaned again. The hand’s movements became more feverish, as if their owner were observing me and approved of my gestures. I felt these wonderfully agile fingers accelerate their caresses, and then suddenly, almost brutally, they pushed and kept my legs open. I did not need much persuasion anyway, at that point.

But the suddenness of the push startled me a little and I opened my eyes. To my surprise, my vision still seemed blurred. That time, however, the blur was different. I could see colours... but the garden was gone. If I was able to see it, I did not bother, for what I actually saw was only what was at very close distance from my body. In the same way, even if I could identify shapes very clearly at times, I could never see wide enough to constitute a whole image. Everything had some kind of misty aura.

From what I saw, a man was bent towards me. He was totally naked. In a flash, I got a view of his chest. He had firm muscles, but they were not particularly salient: just what I loved. His skin was neither pale nor tanned; from the glimpses I saw, it only seemed delicious to taste. I tried to sit up and press my mouth against his chest, but his hand pushed me firmly back. I moaned my disapproval, but quickly stopped when his hand moved down to grab my right breast.

I had both of these wonderful hands on me at that point. The second hand grabbed my butt when I arched my back once again as he pinched my nipple between his fingers. I looked for his face, but simply could not see it. Something prevented me from seeing him. The flashes I got were mostly of his sturdy shoulders; at other times, of his long neck and delightfully virile throat. Sometimes, I saw his chest, his stomach, down to the very edge of his pubic hair, but I was never allowed to see more. His hands kept playing with my butt and breasts for a while, as if nothing in the world, nothing I did would make him give me more until he decided to. Accordingly, the idea never occurred to me that I should bother pleasing him. All I cared about was to let him please my hungry senses.

At long last, his fingers made their way inside of my panties, stroking, in furtive and ticklish moves, everything but what I really wanted him to touch. He really started to drive me more than angry; I was getting mad. I wanted more and I wanted it now!

“Please...” was all that came out of my mouth.

This time, my wish was granted. He slid two fingers down between my outer lips, giving my clitoris just a light, discreet massage, keeping me right on the top of my eagerness. He kept doing this slowly, lazily, as if he was not sure if I deserved his attentions or not. But I was not at all sure that I would be able to remain on the tip of my toes like this for long. I moved my hips in hopes of guiding his fingers where I wanted them to go. His hand left my breast, but did not come back elsewhere on my skin.

This is the moment that I realized that what I felt going down my slit was not his fingers anymore. With a hoarse sigh, I understood that he was then pressing the tip of his swollen penis against my labia, working his way between them, getting all soaked with my pleasure, my impatience. As he stroked my clitoris with his hard shaft, pressing firmly against my pussy, I began to lose all sense of self-control and started breathing short and fast, panting like an animal, in rhythm with each of his strokes.

If only he would take me... push it inside, hard and deep, instead of teasing me like that... In my excitement, I desperately searched my memory to find the way to make him understand what I wanted... there was surely a way, there was... I knew those hands... I knew that touch...

“Je t’en supplie... prends-moi...”

These words had painfully made their way from the depths of my heart to my lips, torn away from memories that had been buried very, very far in blissful oblivion. French... I was speaking French... the long lost, forbidden language.… And they were the right words, for seconds later I felt him slide his glans once more between my moistened labia to thrust into me. I heard him groan with pleasure as he finally gave in to his own impatience and kept pushing in and out, in fast, sharp and short moves. As the sound of his shortened breath joined mine, my memory seemed to come back, little by little. With it, a wave of long lost joy and hope submerged my whole being. I knew who he was!

“Arnaud... Arnaud!”

His name... his lovely name, in my mouth again! First as a moan, then, a plea, then, a call!

“Arnaud... let me see your face... I want to look at your face, Arnaud... please! S’il-te-plaît! Laisse-moi voir ton visage! Answer me, at least! Tell me it is you! Give me some sign that it is really you, Arnaud!”

But his face remained desperately blurred. My heart sank abruptly into despair. He was gone! He had disappeared! I did not feel his touch anymore! I started to panic. I felt this terrible pressure against my sternum, yet I did not feel any other thing. Was I floating in midair? Was I falling down? The answer came quickly enough. First, I felt a few drops of water falling on my face. They multiplied, falling faster, as cold as ice, stinging my skin with hundreds of little drops. The water was accumulating under me, I soon started to float, but in a lugubrious, too motionless way. It was not normal. Not normal at all. The surface of the water was too calm; I should have been rocked by some waves, at least.

“Arnaud…?” I called again, my voice rendered almost completely dead with fear.

The only answer I got was a violent push, right where I had felt the pressure. I brutally drowned in the freezing water underneath me. I tried to move, fight, but my limbs did not obey me anymore. I was like a puppet without strings, pushed down in a deadly, icily silent immensity, only to be pulled back up a few seconds and down again.… Was this what dying felt like? Should I resist or let him continue? Was it really Arnaud, torturing me with these brutal assaults? It was so difficult to believe! Yet I felt so betrayed!

In the middle of the splashing sounds around my face, I heard something new. A voice! His voice? I listened carefully... no, not his voice. It was a woman! I summoned up all the forces that were left in me and I screamed, “I am drowning! Do not let him drown me!”

“Antanasia! Antanasia, it is me! You are not drowning, everything is all right!”

As these words made their way through my brain, some things around me started to make sense again. First, warmth. My body was wet, but I was not freezing anymore. And there was this pair of hands, clinging to my shoulders, shaking me gently, not with that rudeness I had felt minutes before. Sensations came back all over my body: the wooden bench underneath me, offering a reassuringly firm touch; the smell of the roses and a friendly presence next to me.

I opened my eyes and saw clearly this time. Cami was there, kneeled next to the bench, her lovely face bent towards me with such a distressed expression! She stopped shaking me when she saw the glitter of consciousness coming back into my eyes. Only then did I notice that it was raining. I quickly sat up, still somewhat worried about the vague mental remains of what had happened.

“Cami! What happened?” I asked, taking her hands in mine.

“I do not know… at first, I thought you were meditating, then that you were sleeping. And you became terribly agitated, as if something scary was happening to you. I thought it best to wake you up.”

She was all fidgety and nervous, almost as much as I was. As I observed her, I gradually realized why. Her hair was loose –that was not unusual- but when she shook it back, I noticed that the front of her dress was unbuttoned. The damp fabric was loosely open against her chest, revealing the pale skin of her cleavage. As I looked down, I saw that the bottom part of her dress was pulled up to the top of her thighs, showing the delicate lines of her legs, which were spread apart. I was intrigued more than irritated by what Cami might have been doing next to me before I had emerged from my visions. So it was in a sweet, but amused tone that I asked, “Tell me, Cami… you do not look like you came to me in a hurry… do you?”

“No, I did not come quickly. As I first thought you were meditating, I came discreetly to check on you but I was careful not to disturb your concentration,” she said, looking down.

“Oh, and how did you have the idea to come check on me in the first place?” I asked, still intrigued by her apparent embarrassment.

“I was weeding hellebores nearby when I heard you making noises… more like moans than specific words. You seemed distressed about something.”

“Right… go on.”

“I debated for a few minutes if I should wake you up or not, but then I saw you seemed to look for something in your vision, so I decided not to interrupt.”

“That still does not explain how you ended up shaking me out of it.”

“Right… well, I stayed near you, just in case you would really become too distressed. But as time passed, I saw the expression on your face change to… some kind of supplication, as if you really craved something,” she said, plucking grass from the ground.

I remained silent for a few minutes, looking at her as she still plucked grass very slowly. I knew she was not going to look me in the eye, but I was in no hurry. She was probably waiting for my reaction, not knowing what to expect between anger or gratitude. I let her dwell on whatever her thoughts were at the moment, and finally asked, “What did you figure I was craving for?”

“Well…” she hesitated, blushing slightly. “From the way you offered your throat and waved your hips, I figured… I figured you craved sensual pleasure.”

“That must have been embarrassing for you, to be next to me and realize such a thing,” I said, feeling a bit embarrassed myself.

“Not really… to be honest, I understood it very well. Because I have them, too. Those cravings, I mean,” she answered, softly.

“I see. So what did you do?”

“I helped you get what you wanted,” she simply replied.

“Really? And how did you do that?” I asked, hurriedly.

“At a certain point, you seemed to reach a certain level of pleasure, because you arched your back and moaned louder, longer. I started to caress your thigh. Not too strong at first; I did not want you to emerge from your visions too roughly.… But, as you seemed to approve of my attempts, I made my way higher… but after a few minutes, your arousal seemed to grow on me as well, especially when you put your hand into your cleavage and massaged your breast, so… so I started to caress myself too,” she explained, looking straight at my hands that were still holding one of hers.

“Cami… I hope you are not ashamed of what you did,” I said, calmly.

“No, not at all. I just hoped you would not be angry. We had never done that before, so I took a chance without knowing how you would react. I saw from the look on your face and the things you moaned, as I caressed you more intimately, that you had accessed a part of you that had not been cared for since a long time. That encouraged me to go further,” she explained, in a very sweet voice.

“Yes… that is exactly what was happening…” I said, feeling suddenly a bit more melancholic.

“Catalina and I… we often help each other that way. Being the youngest of the castle’s kindreds is not always easy, you know. Either we are not taken seriously by elders, like Marian or Vasile, or we get used like worthless little sex toys…”

“Let me guess. Niculaie?”

“Yes, Niculaie,” she acknowledged. “Marilena does not let us go out of the castle often, which is normal, in a way, as we are both very busy in here. But we do not often get to meet other kindreds in the clan and, at times, it becomes difficult to be lonely. Or simply painful to physically miss somebody, because his presence is still needed to such an extent that it becomes difficult to think of anything else. So looking at you, in that state, I thought it would make you feel better if… if I helped you get there, you see?”

I took her face between my hands and made her look at me.

“Sweet, caring Cami! You did well, my child, you did well and I thank you for the glimpses you helped me dig up from the past.”

I could not help it; tears started rolling down my cheeks.

“Still, I do not know what went wrong, Antanasia! One moment, you were panting with pleasure and the next minute, you seemed terrified and I did not know what to do!”

“Do not be troubled, Cami. I, too, do not know why everything suddenly changed. Maybe it was the rain that got me confused. I thought I was drowning and I was terrified indeed. But all this is behind me, now. It is over.”

I kissed her on her forehead. Her skin was very soft and freshened by the rain. My lips dwelled a bit against her skin, as I stroked her hair gently with my thumbs. She pulled back from my embrace and raised herself on her knees, levelling her face with mine. As she did, I saw the fabric of her dress, completely wet, shaping perfectly the curves of her small and firm breasts. Her nipples were hard and I made myself resist the urge to touch them. Cami did not resist, however.

She pressed her lips against mine, timidly at first. That was something I had long forgotten. Kissing… it had been so many years… I gave back her kiss, taking her lips avidly between mine, holding her tight against me, so the tip of our breasts gently pressed against each other. Her touch was so soft, so different, so deliciously fresh and innocent! We stayed like this for several minutes, carefree spirits in the rain, curled up in a passionate embrace that gave us access to our own personal, secret memories about old or young, but nevertheless much regretted, lovers.

~*~

As I went up the stairs leading to my resting room floor, I felt lighter than I had felt in a long time. My legs seemed as agile as an antelope’s and their quick leaps from step to step were at least as graceful. My heart felt just the same.

I quickly removed my wet dress and underwear. I put the dress on its hanger and let it dry by the window. That way, I hoped, it would get and keep the night smells... and memories. I paused in front of my closet for a moment. I wanted to put on something comfortable before heading for my lab, but I felt very sexy from my encounter with Cami. And there was the slight possibility that Professor Snape might come to meet me there...

“Do not be such a childe! You are not even sure he will come!” said a nasty voice in my head.

“But he had clearly said he would,” I argued.

I certainly did not want to look like a careless, lousy eccentric in front of Hogwarts’ Potions Master. Even if it had been a couple of decades since my last trip to England, I knew it was still a school of outstanding reputation. I had to look more professional than usual.

“Fine, but according to whom?” I asked myself.

I doubted that a Muggle lady suit would be appropriate. It would make him sneer in the totally unpleasant manner I was sure he used. Muggle scientists did not dress like that in their work places anyway. Ok, bad idea.

What else, then? There was no cainite dress code for a Potions Mistress like me! We were quite seldom in that practice. The only code I usually observed was to wear the first comfortable thing in my closet that looked clean... hardly elaborate enough. I finally chose a black skirt that fell to my knees; the discreet flounces along the opening on the front tumbled down to my ankles from behind. I completed the outfit with a tight black satin top with very thin straps. After hesitating for a few seconds, I took my black robe as well.

A bit late on my schedule, I hurried to my lab. I was very privileged and grateful for it. My lab was located on the north side of the castle, so I had a splendid view on the oak alley and the great fall. Moreover, as all the windows faced north, I could freely work past dawn if I needed to, because the sun never directly hit that side of the castle. With the nights being so short during summer, it was particularly useful. My resting room being on the south side, however, I had to literally cross half of the castle to get there.

As I unlocked the door with a snap of my fingers, I had the vague impression that something was wrong. The minute I entered, I had my answer. An acrid smell welcomed my arrival.

“No, please, not again!” I cried, waving both of my hands to open all windows at once.

It was the third time in the month that my Counter-Photodermatitis Potion burned. The first time, it was because Ivantie had insisted on taking me for a walk on Moldoveanu, the highest peak of Romania. Given the fact that it was 8,343 feet high, it had taken us most of the evening and night to fly there and come back. I had completely forgotten the potion when, sitting on a rock next to Ivantie, I had tasted the perfect bliss of being inaccessible to anybody except him for a few hours. The second time, my fire contention spell had failed, for no apparent reason other than my probable fatigue or inattention.

This time... it was difficult to tell. I looked at the ancient clock on the wall next to me. It was 2:15am. The potion had been boiling for barely twenty-seven hours. That was far less than necessary for the potion to reach the right texture. I went to the cauldron, which was emitting a thick yellow smoke.

“Finite Incantatum!” I said, wincing at the nasty smell. The fire vanished instantly.

“What could have gone wrong?” I asked myself, as I magically spilled the potion out of the cauldron in a long vertical column.

Other than the bottom part, which had turned to a brownish lumpy porridge-like mess, the rest seemed to be fine. I checked my ingredient list. Everything had been added in the right proportions and timing. I huffed in exasperation and put the potion back into the cauldron. I always hated to be in an intellectual dead end and that one was particularly difficult to figure out. I simply put the cauldron aside and turned my attention to the other tasks that had been planned for the night.

I must have worked for over an hour and a half before someone came knocking at the door. I was so absorbed in my work that I did not think it would be any different than the usual mid-night routine. I simply yelled, “Come in!”

And went right back to what I was doing. After a few minutes, I emerged from my train of thought, noticing that nobody had spoken yet. I guessed what it meant and, still looking at my book of formulas, I said, in a teasing tone, “Vasile... you had two refills this evening, do not go flattering yourself that I did not see you! It is useless to sneak around my cauldrons. I am afraid that I do not have anything ready for you to snack on, not this time! Sorry darling!”

“And I am afraid it is not Vasile who is here...” said a deep, mellow voice.

I quickly looked up. Professor Snape was standing between a long counter and the rectangular table on which many cauldrons were perfectly aligned. Most of them were simmering or boiling various potions, except of course for the cauldron containing my most recent scientific failure. That one was on the counter, in a corner of the room. At that moment, I half wished I had had the idea to hide it somewhere out of sight.

“Professor Snape! I was not expecting you at all, at this time of night! You must be exhausted!” I said, cheerily.

“Not that much, surprisingly. The time difference works for me. The night is two hours younger in England.”

“In any case, it is best for you to spend the whole night up if you want to stay with us for a while. You will adapt to our routine much faster that way,” I said, courteously.

“Indeed. Lady Marilena invited me to spend a whole week in Zaharia.”

“Oh, so she thinks she will be able to attract him that fast into her coffin! Now that will be a funny chase to watch,” I thought, repressing a faint smile.

“And? Will you?” I asked.

“Given the purpose of my visit, I intend to benefit from the Lady’s hospitality for as long as necessary... but not more.”

“And what is the purpose of your visit, Mister Snape?” I wondered. But I simply added, happily, “Then I must see that hippogriff of yours before you leave. It has been a while since I saw one like that.”

“Oh, it is not really my hippogriff. It belonged to a member of the Order; the one who died in the last battle. I merely borrowed it to get here quickly and conveniently,” he explained.

“Well, either way, the three of us should go for a ride one of these nights. He will need to spread his wings and you will surely be interested in a little tour!” I suggested, surprised at my own spontaneity.

He seemed surprised, too. He said nothing and narrowed his eyes, both of his hands tightly held behind his back.

“At least,” I thought merrily, “he does not look like he is clutching his wand to protect himself.”

“Working hard?” he asked, obviously eager to change the subject.

“Not really. I have already started most of these a few days ago. Some have even been sitting there for weeks. I only made these three today,” I explained, cooled by his indifferent attitude.

He walked along the different cauldrons, examining their content very carefully.

“You are very brave to wear a robe in the middle of July, with all these fires burning in the same room. I admit the thought would have never crossed my mind,” he said, in a deep voice.

I should have known better! I hated myself for having stupidly wasted so much time choosing an outfit that would impress him. He probably found me completely ridiculous! To be honest, I fully shared his opinion, even more when I realized that I had sweat all over my face. To make things worse, some of it fell into my eyes at that precise moment. I fumbled for a handkerchief in my pockets, being too civilized to use my sleeve.

“Here,” he said, with a touch of amusement in his voice, “you can have mine.”

He handed me a white handkerchief over the boiling cauldrons. As I stretched my arm to take it, I felt the tip of his fingers brush against my skin. I shuddered. They were as cold as ice.

“Thank you,” I replied.

With all the dignity I could possibly muster, I patted the handkerchief all over my forehead, cheeks and nose. It had a very soft touch; I recognized fine silk. Its smell was peculiar. I discerned a very faint smell of sweat; the man had been nervous. He was hiding it very well. I also smelled sandalwood... the mix was interestingly masculine. A nice change after Cami’s floral perfume...

After I was done wiping the sweat off my face, I saw his initials had been embroidered in green and silver threads. On the opposite corner, I saw a snake, teeth bare, shaped like an “S”, embroidered in the same colours.

“It is the armouries of Slytherin house,” he said.

“Oh, I know… one of the four houses in Hogwarts, if I am not mistaken?”

“Yes, you are right. I am Head of Slytherin house, that is how I got this, among other things.”

“In addition! Among other things! Impressive,” I said, pocketing his handkerchief in my robe.

“You boastful Brit!” said the voice in my head.

He walked closer to the table between us, his eyebrows drawn in an ominous frown.

“It seems we have a slight misunderstanding,” he said, slowly.

“About?” I asked, a bit startled.

Had he heard my thoughts again?

“My handkerchief... it was meant as a loan only.”

“Oh! But I cannot give it back to you in that state! Let me wash it and I will give it back very soon,” said I, in relief.

“I would like it back right now, if you do not mind,” he muttered, in a dangerously slow and contentious manner. “I do not like to be separated from my belongings for long, you see.”

“As you wish,” I answered, handing him the silk handkerchief back. “I heard, a few years ago in La Scala, that Muggles can quarrel pretty hard over handkerchiefs. I certainly do not want to start a fight tonight,” I added, in hope it would lighten the atmosphere.

It worked! He snorted, while carefully folding the silk handkerchief and putting it back in an inner pocket of his frock coat. He added, raising an eyebrow, “Not that strangulation would affect you much, I suppose?”

I smiled, feeling more relaxed. So! At least he possessed some culture! That was a beginning. But even if I had developed a better disposition towards him, I was still ignorant of the reason for his visit, in the middle of my work hours. I waited for him to tell me more, but he kept strolling along the edge of the table, surveying the contents of my cauldrons.

He stopped in front of the smallest one and seemed intrigued. He waved his hand above the potion, pulling the fumes towards him. He smelled it, with prudent little sniffs –very similar to a dog following a trail– and looked at me, even more intrigued.

“Hellebore potion?” he asked, incredulously.

“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”

“It seems like a very unusual potion to be found in a castle exclusively inhabited by... kindreds,” he argued, carefully choosing his words.

“Professor Snape, remember that, despite what urban legends might say, we are not really dead. Our bodies are quite alive, if you only knew! They are just animated with a different kind of life. Iulian suffers from heartburn. He was like that as a Muggle too, so he told me,” I explained.

He added nothing, though he seemed lost in his thoughts for a moment. I was about to seriously inquire about his motives ; his behaviour really began to look like a formal inspection of my workplace and he started to be annoying. But before I could speak, he saw the cauldron I had tossed in the corner of the counter, two hours before.

“Something went wrong with that one?” he asked haughtily.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, it did,” I said, rather dryly, feeling irritated by his I’m-only-asking-innocently attitude. “Look, Professor Snape, could you please tell me–”

“I apologize,” he interrupted, neutrally. “I have apparently disturbed your work schedule. I shall bother you no longer.”

And he quickly stepped towards the door. I was a bit startled by his brutal reply, so it is only when he had opened the door and made one step out that a furtive impulse of curiosity sparkled in my mind.

“Professor! Wait!”

He stopped dead on the doorstep. He turned back and only raised an eyebrow, his hand still on the doorknob, waiting for me to continue.

“You do not disturb me at all,” I assured him. “In fact, the thought just occurred to me that your opinion might help me a great deal with that particular potion, should you be kind enough to give it to me.”

He did not move back in, but simply crossed his arms against his chest and leaned against the doorframe.

“I am listening,” he said, in that same neutral tone.

What a difficult wizard he was... I still feel irritated as I write this, a long time after these events took place. He sent so many simultaneous messages with his attitude swinging from neutral indifference to silent reserve to arrogant superiority! He got me so confused at times! I had the impression that, even if I did see and feel important things coming from him, I could never quite seize the man. But on that particular occasion, I subdued my irritation and went on, making my explanation as interesting as I could.

“As you know, we have succeeded in brewing potions that prevent us from burning to death when we are hit by sunlight.”

“So I read in scientific literature.”

“Then you are aware that the compound is not perfect. It allows us only a few hours of direct sunlight; far less if our skin is directly exposed.

“Still very inconvenient for you, I suppose.”

“Merlin! He looks so bored!” I thought.

“Right. So a few months ago, I reviewed the known potions formulas, in hopes of improving the compound by finding a better active ingredient. And I believe I have.”

“Good for you. Please go on,” he said, as if he was addressing a student during an oral examination.

My smile became a little tense and my jaws a little tight, but I continued as professionally as I could.

“I have doubled the quantity of belladonna and replaced asphodel with devil’s snare roots.”

“I thought devil’s snare’s reaction to light was much similar to your own,” he argued, rising an eyebrow.

“It shrinks away from fire and sunlight, but does not die from their contact. That is the detail that made me consider adding that particular characteristic to the potion. Its resistance to light despite its repulsive impact.”

“How did you do that?” he asked, in a more animated tone, stretching to his full height against the doorframe.

I was slowly triggering his interest.

“I first tried the tendrils, simply chopped raw. But it was not powerful enough.”

“Have you tried to powder them?”

“Yes, I have. The impact was stronger, but still... no different than that of the old potions. Last month, I had the idea to try the roots, powdered beforehand, in hope it would have a higher concentration of the devil’s snare properties, as it is usually the case with many plants.”

“It seems logical to me. So? What was the result?”

He was really getting interested this time.

“I do not know! I have not been able to brew one testable potion since I changed the tendrils for the roots. I had expected the roots to challenge the homogeneity of the potion, so I took care of that detail by adding one more step to the preparation, in order for the ingredients to have more time to fully mix together.”

“Simple, but effective.”

“Not in this case,” I said, shrugging my shoulders in disappointment and incomprehension, “unless the roots are not the source of the lumpy waste I keep making again and again, but so far, I have assumed they are. The compound being highly flammable, I put a fire protection spell at the end of the last step, just before the flames’ intensity has to be increased. But to make things worse, the potion keeps burning after twenty-four hours or so. I have explored many possibilities so far, but none of them seems to solve the problem.”

“Can I take a look?” he asked quite politely, I must say.

“Certainly! I really could use an expert’s advice on this one.”

He walked to the cauldron and I joined him. He pulled his wand out of his pocket and, like me, spilled the potion out of the cauldron to take a better look. He stared at the various layers of liquid; his face being so close that his prominent nose almost touched it. His eyes were narrowed in two horizontal slits in his effort to focus his eyes as sharply as he could. After a few minutes, he said triumphantly, “Ah, just there! I think I see a part of your problem. Come here.”

He took my right arm and pulled me towards him.

“I am afraid I only see the same familiar lumpy mess...”

“You are not looking carefully enough. Look right here, you will see it.”

He held out his left arm to let me come closer. I turned my face to the potion to see what he was pointing out with his wand. We were almost cheek-to-cheek at that moment. As I tried to concentrate, I felt his hand pressed very lightly between my shoulder blades. I gasped quietly.

“So, you see it now?” he urged impatiently, as if nothing had happened.

“Hum, wait a minute...”

My eyes moved wildly from lump to lump as I tried to find something intelligent to reply. Then it occurred to me that the lumps had slightly different colours. I straightened and took a step back, but nothing stopped my.

“When did he remove his hand?”

“I see it now,” I said, as naturally as possible. “The ingredients have separated!”

“So it seems,” he agreed, taking out a few lumps from the potion with quick moves of his wand. “This one is a part of your devil snare’s powdered roots... and that one is most certainly boiled asphodel... unless... well... thoroughly burned seems to be a more appropriate term...”

I could not help but be amazed at his self-confidence. My respect for his scientific knowledge, first given because of his professional position, was greatly increased by his practical demonstration. I did not know many potion experts who could name ingredients after such a quick glance.

“According to that, the problem could possibly be due to an incompatibility between some ingredients. Or to the absence of a stiffening element,” I concluded.

“I would personally test the second possibility first. Have you checked the microbial stability of your potion?”

“Not yet. I would have thought of checking that only after the compound was stable.”

“That is a common-sense approach, but the instability of your compound might just be found at a microbial level.”

“It is true... I had not thought about that one...”

“I would expect that, if you use roots instead of tendrils, the risk of microbial proliferation becomes higher.”

“Oh, but I always take the proper precautions when handling my ingredients. You probably noticed yourself that a potions maker just cannot survive a night’s work without a good cleansing spell.”

“I did not insinuate that your cleansing spell is not effective,” he said, courteously. “In fact, the impeccable state of your lab suggests that it is very effective indeed.”

I slightly bowed my head, accepting his compliment.

“However,” he continued, “if you have powdered the devil snare’s roots with the traditional method, you have also increased its bacterial flora exponentially.”

“How so?”

“The devil’s snare chemically changes the soil in which it grows, by secreting mucus through its roots. Though you clean the mucus with a good Scouring Charm, some does remain in the roots. Drying the roots and breaking them into powder increases the mucus’ activity because the roots will try to adapt their environment to survive, just like they modify the soil.”

“That wizard really knows what he is talking about,” I thought, my respect increasing even more.

“What do you suggest, then?” I asked.

“First of all, your powdering method has to be changed. You would need to separate the mucus from the roots even before you begin drying them. After that, I would suggest that you take an extra precaution and sterilize them. Either by boiling them, by letting them sit over live coals for a few hours or by using a classic sterilization spell. As a healer, I assume you know many of them.”

“Indeed, I do.”

“I cannot tell what method would preserve the roots’ properties the best, however. That would have to be tested in itself. When that is done, I would suggest powdering the roots as you are used to doing. And then, use a stiffening element right before you let the potion boil on its own. Common starch might just do the trick.”

Listening to all his suggestions, I suddenly felt quite overwhelmed by the task. I sighed, but smiled.

“Thank you Professor. Those are an awful lot of things to test, but your suggestions all seem very pertinent.” I closed my eyes. “Ah, and I have not even solved the burning problem!”

“I think that one is more a practical problem in nature. I should address it in time.”

“What do you mean?”

“You told me you are not really busy tonight. Can I offer my help for a new trial?”

I looked at him for a few seconds. His face was calm and his lips were relaxed. They did not seem to be about to break into a sneer. He appeared to be serious, to my surprise. I was a bit taken aback, but curious to see how he worked. After all, one of the ways to get to know people better is by observing them at work.

“Well, Professor Snape, this is unexpected! I did not mean to obligate you by asking your professional advice.”

“Not at all. I do not have much to do for the rest of the night anyway. And as you said, it is best if I adapt to your nocturnal routine during my stay.”

“As you wish, then! Your help is very welcome,” I exclaimed, feeling reassured.

“You will have to do me a favor, though, before we begin anything.”

“Go ahead,” I said, intrigued.

“Please remove that robe, will you? My handkerchief will not survive a second loan, I am afraid.”

I chuckled as he silently sneaked behind me and helped me remove my robe. As he grasped the fabric over my shoulders, I felt, once again, his fingers brush against my skin, as light and discreet as a soft breeze on the back of my neck. This time, however, I did not shudder. Instead, a delicious shiver instantly ran down my spine after he touched me. His fingers were still dead cold, but they offered a nice relief from the heat I suffered from.

On the other hand, his gesture was extremely bold and impertinent. Sliding a finger down a cainite’s neck, no matter how lightly, is the equivalent of caressing the soft skin between a human female’s breasts. Was he even aware of what he was doing?

I shivered all the same.

I think I must have held my breath until he left my side. It seemed to take him forever, but I did not even blink. He walked away from me and hung my robe on the coat rack that stood next to the door, which he closed on his way back. I still stood there, feeling a bit numb, but my mind was racing. Images that had invaded my thoughts during my previous meditation flashed before my eyes in quick succession. I regained my composure in a matter of seconds, but a certain playfulness remained. I asked him, teasingly, “But, Professor! If the temperature of the room requires me to remove my robe, surely it means you should also remove that coat of yours? Especially as we are about to start an new fire in addition to the existing ones.”

He aimed for the upper buttons of his coat, but stopped his gesture at the level of his chest and retrieved his wand instead.

“I will be just fine this way, but thanks nevertheless for your concern,” he said, waving his hand to make the wasted potion vanish.

We decided to try the magical sterilization first, as the dawn was drawing nearer and it was the quickest method. The birds had already started chirping merrily, flying around the windows and gripping to the vines to take a break and sing again. Snape began by peeling the roots and I had the occasion to take a closer look at his hands. He had long, pale hands, with fingers that agilely manipulated the roots and the knife he used. Nevertheless, his hands did not seem fragile despite their agility; a certain strength emanated from the steadiness of his moves and I felt quite sure, while looking at him, that these hands had the potential to be warm and reassuring... or strong and threatening.

We worked mostly in silence for the better part of an hour. Curiously, I found his presence soothing, as if he did not expect anything in particular from me, other than be present and quiet, just like he was. As we sterilized the roots one by one, to make sure the work was meticulous, I saw him suppress a yawn. I discreetly started another mixture, in a small cauldron on the side. As he looked at me with an expression of curiosity I told him, “You can come take a look, if you want.”

“What is it?” he asked, extending a hand to the cauldron.

“Be careful!” I warned quickly, which made him remove his hand at once and look at me suspiciously. “This is a highly volatile potion. It is just the way I need it to be now. You can help me move it to the counter, but very carefully.”

With a wave of his wand, he created an anti-explosion charm around the cauldron before he moved it to the counter, making it float slowly over the table and other cauldrons. While he removed the charm around the cauldron, he asked again, “So, what is in there?”

“Something I would not drink, even under threat! But certainly something I will offer you in a couple of seconds,” I breezily explained, turning towards the cupboard to summon a cup.

He took a few steps back and looked at me in an ominous way.

“I am just making tea, Professor Snape!” I exclaimed, chuckling lightly. “I saw you show a few classic signs of fatigue and I thought I would help you through them. The night must not be so young anymore in England, by now. Accio!”

A cup flew across the room to land in my right hand. An instant later, a small leather bag did the same. I retrieved the tea leaves from the bag, put some in the bottom of the cup and poured hot water from the cauldron over it. His eyes did not miss the smallest of my gestures.

“I have the habit of picking many varieties of plants when I go for a walk in the mountains,” I continued. “Transylvanian tea has a very delicate aroma; I guess its taste is just the same. Humans around here seem to appreciate it, along with its properties.”

“Which are?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest once more.

“Oh, the usual: longevity, protection against cancer and a couple of other illnesses, aphrodisiac properties...”

“Now what should that tell me about your intentions, Antanasia?” he commented, raising his eyebrows.

“I obviously count on its stimulant effect in your case, Professor Snape,” I explained, blushing slightly.

He kept looking at me for a few minutes, his lips so tense that they were reduced to a long horizontal line. He did not take the cup I handed him.

“Look, I wish I could taste it to demonstrate that it will not do you any harm, but even that would not convince you much, and we both know why. I do not have any reason to poison you, I just wanted to be polite, and you absolutely do not have to drink that if you do not want to.” I put the cup back on the counter. “If you do, however, you will find some honey in the cupboard, on the upper shelf.”

And I quickly walked back to the other side of the table, where we had started to mix a few of the Counter-Photodermatitis Potion ingredients. Maybe I was a bit fatigued myself, but his distrustful attitude hurt my feelings. I had thought he had developed a better attitude towards me by then, but it looked like I had been mistaken. Or maybe it was I whose disposition had changed once more. I tried to go through the first step of the potion with a detached indifference, but the few splashing sounds the ingredients made, as I threw them a bit brutally in the cauldron, fooled no one. Not even myself.

I reviewed the ingredients list one last time and was about to wave my hand to start a fire when his hand grabbed my wrist, stopping my move. I jumped at his sudden presence next to me, as much as at his chilly touch, and instinctively tried to free myself, but he did not let go. Instead, he slowly released his grip and slid his hand against my skin until his palm came against the back of my hand. Moving silently behind me, he did the same with his left hand. He barely touched me, standing at a reasonable distance from my body, yet I felt totally surrounded by his presence. My mind was telling me to kick him away and ask him to leave, but my body was still so hungry from Cami’s incomplete attentions! That part of my being surreptitiously whispered me to move back and curl up against him, losing myself in his embrace. Already at that point, I was totally lost in his manly smell. That was enough to confuse me and slow down my defensive reflexes.

Fortunately for me, and maybe fortunately for him also, he quickly put an end to my inner debate. He pressed his thumbs and little fingers against my hands and made them move along with his. I first recognized the classic wave for fire making and indeed, a few flames soon appeared under the cauldron, which had raised a few inches above the table. Right after, he made me do a couple more complicated waves, until the flames separated in four independent fires. A last move made two of these turn green and gradually, the fires started to rotate under the cauldron. Still remaining silent, he released my hands, backed away from me and returned to the table, where he picked his cup of tea.

“Why did you do that?” I asked, in a strangely emotional tone.

“I assumed you did not know that spell, for I have not seen it anywhere under your cauldrons. I just wanted to show you how to do it,” he explained, with a deep and calm voice.

“Well... thank you... but I meant to ask about the purpose of creating four different fires...”

“The two green sets of flames are at a lower temperature than the two others. Their rotation makes the heating source less intense, but still very uniform under the cauldron which, in turn, increases your chances of obtaining a homogeneous potion at the end of the process.”

“How did you learn that? I have not seen that technique reported in any published work!”

“That is to be expected. It comes from a book that has never been published.”

“Which is?”

“Severus Snape’s best kept secrets for potion making.”

I burst out laughing. My nervousness had strangely vanished, but not his smell, which I noticed even more at the moment.

“Speaking of which, how come I have never seen your name in any scientific article or journal? I would have expected at least some publications from a Hogwarts teacher.”

“Let’s simply say that I have been pursuing other interests than those of improving the field of potion making.”

“Ah, let me guess. Wife and kids?”

“No, no, not at all,” he hurriedly said, looking away from me.

He remained silent for a few minutes. He seemed embarrassed, as if he were debating whether he should tell me something or not. He looked pensively at the spoon turning slowly in his cup of tea. When he really seemed lost in his thoughts, I decided to cut to his embarrassment.

“I apologize. I guess I have been very indiscreet. You do not owe me any disclosure about your personal life.”

He looked up, right into my eyes and said, with the silky voice I was slowly getting fond of, “Since my teenage years, or even before that, I have been interested in other forms of magic. Darker forms. The only explanation I can find to justify such an early interest is that, from a very young age, I have had to develop the art of... let’s call it self-defence.”

I frowned, in an empathetic and grave expression. I was curious about what events he was referring to, but I asked no questions; I knew better.

“So from a very young age, I started to develop and master skills in Defence Against the Dark Arts. My principal aim was for the teaching position in that field at Hogwarts, but for some reason, I have never been able to get it, so far. I had a great talent for potion making, however. Professor Dumbledore, who was headmaster during my studies at Hogwarts, noticed it. I got a job offer shortly after I graduated and I have been teaching Potions since. So to answer your question, I happen to have a certain talent and, I must say, a certain interest for potion making. But as it is absolutely not a passion for me, the thought never occurred to me that I should improve the field by doing formal research.”

I smiled, looking down at my notebook, thinking of what I could reply to his unexpected –yet very flattering– confidence.

“Well, Professor Snape, the only thing I could say is that the field does miss a very significant contribution. I will consider myself even more privileged that your political responsibilities have brought you here.”

“You are welcome, Antanasia,” he replied, in a tone that could have almost been described as authentic.

Gurgles started to be heard from the cauldron between us. My notebook informed me that it was time to add the shredded daffodils to the potion. I went to the cupboard to retrieve them and, back to the table, I measured the needed quantity. I had to add them little by little, stirring unceasingly the potion in a counter-clockwise vertical motion. That operation required the use of both of my hands, but as I hurried my measuring to start adding the daffodils as quickly as possible, I did not think of tying my hair, which fell loosely on my back.

I bent over the cauldron and started adding the daffodils, then struggled to keep my hair from falling either in my face or too dangerously close to the flames. Snape came to my rescue, but definitely not in the way I had expected.

“Let me help you with this,” he offered, rising from the stool he was sitting on.

“Yes, please!” I chuckled, blowing a lock of hair out of my eyes.

He did not take the daffodils I held in my hand, nor did he take my place to stir the potion with the help of his wand. He walked behind me, as silently as he had done previously. I saw the tip of his fingers next to my face for a split second before he gently took my hair in his hands and kept them out of my face... and out of the potion. He stood closer to me that time; I could tell by my hands that had started shaking a little. I allowed myself to close my eyes for an instant and inhaled his smell, like an animal on the hunt. He bent over my right shoulder to look at what I was doing, coming even closer. His forearms were touching my back.

“The asphodel seems to blend perfectly so far. It might be an early conclusion, but I do not think that they are the cause of the lumps you obtained in your last attempts. Especially if you took that same special care when adding them,” he murmured.

His baritone voice vibrated in my ears, in my throat. His breath, marvellously warmer than his fingers, caressed the exposed skin of my neck and shoulder as he spoke.

“Mmmh... I agree,” I finally articulated.

Just as I finished adding the daffodils, somebody knocked at the door. Snape stepped back once again and released my hair before I could say, “Come in!”

Floarea opened the door and looked at us. She did not seem surprised to see Snape in my lab, but her expression might have hidden her true feelings. She had seen too many things happen in Marilena’s apartments to let her inner thoughts be reflected on her face.

“Morning, Professor Snape, Antanasia,” she said, in her usual soft voice.

“Morning, Floarea,” I said.

Snape simply nodded.

“Antanasia, the Lady wishes to see you as soon as you are done with your work. If possible, not too long after the sun has fully risen.”

“No problem. I will be there shortly,” I replied.

Floarea disappeared behind the door. An instant later, Snape had reached the door as well.

“From what I have read in your notebook, the potion now only needs to simmer for twelve hours. I guess my presence is not necessary anymore.”

“I am about to leave anyway, it seems!” I replied.

“Then I shall wish you a good... day, I guess?”

“Indeed. Have a nice day too, Professor Snape.”

“Thank you for the cup of tea, by the way,” he added, over his shoulder.

“My pleasure,” I murmured, feeling... slightly disappointed, I must admit, and still very much on the edge.

Professor Snape left the lab, closing the door quietly behind him, taking with him the secret of the mysterious reason that had brought him there a couple of hours before.

~*~

AUTHOR’S NOTES
I hope you are enjoying the story so far! I would really appreciate some reviews. It does not take much of your time and it tells me if you like where the story is going or not! It’s in your best interest, in a way! Writing 25-30 pages every week represents a lot of work; your comments are a valuable reward! :o)

FOOTNOTES
\"Je t\'en supplie, prends-moi!\" means \"I am begging you, take me!\"

A childe is a young, irresponsible cainite.

Photodermatitis is commonly referred to as \"sun allergy.\"

The mention of an opera about Muggles fighting over a handkerchief refers to Otello by Giuseppe Verdi. Just in case you wonder! :o)

And as one of my two excellent editors told me, \"asphodel\" and \"daffodils\" are two words that are used for the same plant.