Soul Searching

Soul Searching Soul Searching   By Quillusion       Chapter 31   I settle my napkin demurely across my lap, studying my dining companions from beneath my lashes. This is going to be interesting.   There are only a handful of us at the table; given that we are the most recent additions to the list of Witches And Wizards Of Legend, it's no surprise. The aura of our actions has not yet worn off enough to let our peers and colleagues- or, as the case may be, our students- see our faces through the glow. Ginny sits between Harry and Ron, with me to Harry's right and Severus beside me. There are several empty seats across the table, but I'd be willing to bet that with the exception of Remus, Sirius, and possibly Neville, few people tonight will feel up to taking them.   We chat blandly for a few moments, exchanging pleasantries and news, and then the Hall is full and Albus is rising from his seat at the staff table.   "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he calls, and attention is instantly riveted on the sparkling blue eyes behind their half-moon glasses.   "I am pleased to welcome you to the first Yule Feast at Hogwarts in over seventy years. Some of you will recall the Yule Ball which was held during the Triwizard Tournament; this is not intended to be a recreation of that tradition, but a resumption of an older one that, alas, had faded with time. Until now.   "In the early days of the school, the four Founders encouraged celebration at times such as holidays and special occasions, and they believed very strongly that such celebrations are even more important in dark times. We have recently emerged from just such a time- much as the Founders emerged from the long dark of an ancient wizard's war to found this school as a place where witches and wizards could learn both their arts and the wisdom to wield them. It is only fitting, I think, that we honor our own heritage, and our own achievements, with the resurrection of the Yule feast." He twinkled at the crows again.   "It is said that Rowena Ravenclaw, who was a great vintner, had a grapevine that grew in the northernmost greenhouse in soil specially brought from some secret location whose identity she would never divulge. Every year, the fruit of that vine was pressed and used to make a special wine which she would only serve at Yule. The wine is said to have made whole the hearts of all who drank it- and as she was the first Potions mistress at Hogwarts, I am inclined to believe it.   "One bottle of Rowena Ravenclaw's Yuletide Reserve remains, having lain hidden in a vault in the cellars these thousand years. If it were a Muggle wine, certainly it would be long since gone by. But it is a witch's creation, with powerful charms on it, and I have no doubt that the cork is as fresh as the day it was put in."   He raises his hand and gestures to the table before him, where our reverent eyes fall on a dusty bottle whose glass is inky black, and I briefly wonder if the bottle is made of volcanic glass.   "This is Rowena Ravenclaw's last bottle, and I intend to share it with you tonight."   Whispers fill the hall, and almost instinctively I turn to look at the Ravenclaw table. Professor Flitwick, at his usual spot at the staff table, looks unperturbed, but the students are all putting their heads together and casting furtive looks at their Head of House with raised eyebrows. Albus studies the whispering Ravenclaws before he goes on.   "Some of you may wonder if it would not be better to save the wine for posterity, as if it were an artifact in a museum. But magic is not something that can- or should- be caged forever, put on display like a painting or an antique chair. It is a living thing; it is intention made manifest. It must interact with people, or it becomes nothing more than the unrealized possibilities that lie in our imaginations." He pauses for a moment, as if weighing his next words.   "I feel completely confident that the founder of Ravenclaw would have wanted this bottle shared tonight, because when it was found in a previously caved-in part of the Hogwarts cellars four years ago, it had my name written on the label in the great sorceress's own handwriting. I do not fully understand what that means, but I suspect that her inclusion of our current calendar year after my name means that she would like us to drink it this year. At Yule, as it was her habit to do in her lifetime. Perhaps she knew we would have need of it, after all we have seen and done this year. Perhaps she wanted to offer us a fresh start, or a renewed heart."   Did I just see the Headmaster wink at Severus? No, it must have been my imagination.   "But I believe, in my deepest heart, that this is what she would have wanted. So before we sit for dinner, I would like to offer a toast."   With a wave of his wand, Albus conjures fine crystal wineglasses for everyone, and then solemnly proceeds to pour wine for each of us, a solemn sommelier in pointed hat and stars, offering us the hope of our futures from a crystal cup.   I study Severus for a long moment over the rim of my glass as I study the wine; he is inhaling its scent, studying the deep pink of the meniscus as he tilts his wine glass. I study my own glass, fascinated by the play of candlelight on the wine's surface. It seems to me that possibilities swirl in its depths, glimmer-bright in the reflected brilliance of the cut crystal goblet, dark with mystery as the flashing liquid folds on itself with each graceful turn of the crystal. This is an old, old red wine. Ancient. Powerful. Heady- and I already know from the tingle of it, even though I clasp only the stem of the glass in my fingers, that it will do everything Albus has said it will. There is more than a little magic in this wine; the bottle, too, is charmed, for Albus has poured enough wine to empty two magnums and change, stilstill the small bottle pours forth its bounty.   Soon the Headmaster is standing at his place again, lifting his own glass in tribute to the many faces turned up to his.   "To friends and family near and far, their health, their hearts, and their hopes."   "Hear, hear," says a quiet voice to my left. I hope that when Harry drinks the wine, he will sip his parents' love from its rim.   Glasses flicker in the dancing lights as we raise our glasses and sip. For the first time, I can imagine what pure magic tastes like; there can hardly be anything but a trace of alcohol and grapes holding this bit of sorcery in the corporeal world.   When I lower my glass, my gaze finds Severus, and when his eyes meet mine, I can feel it.   God bless Rowena Ravenclaw and her mystery vine.   Relief sighs through the Great Hall like a summer wind, bringing with it a sense of well-being that I, at least, have not felt since I was small enough to believe in Muggle fairies with a fondness for things like teeth or Christmas cookies. It may not last long, but it is a greatly needed reminder of what peace feels like- for most of us had forgotten.   I suspect we all needed something different from that wine. From the look in Severus's eyes, I think he has found the ability to forgiveselfself for his past. I'm not sure what I received, and it may take me years to figure it out- but that really doesn't matter just now. I can't help but think that it's things like this wine, whose secrets are most likely lost to us now, that make people refer to 'the good old days' and complain that we are somehow less than we were. That things were better 'back then'. This wine undoubtedly makes things better, in the most maternal of senses, which adds a new kind of force to the older generation's argument. However Rowena Ravenclaw did it,workworked- and the wisdom of a Ravenclaw will never again be considered 'largely theoretical' in these halls again. Not while any of us live.   Relief and contentment soon give way to joy and merriment, and the soft bubble of voices begins to rise around me. Spontaneous toasts are being offered at various tables, and everyone is finding that the second sip brings more merriment even as the gladness settles into something strong and resilient at the wellsprings of our souls. Laughter begins to flutter through the classroom, and I find myself on my feet, raising my glass to Albus.   "May the roof above us never fall in," I say, "and may the friends below it never fall out."   "Cheers!" cries Ron, and we tip our glasses again as the chime of crystal rings in the air.   It is several moments before we realize that the level of the wine in our glasses hot dot dropped, despite several toasts.   "Goodness," murmurs Ginny, setting her glass down, her face bright with a smile. For the first time in seven years, I cannot see the shadow of Tom Riddle in her eyes. "That's strong stuff."   "Rather," remarks Severus with a nod. "I think I'll nurse the rest of this."   I feel his hand slip into mine below the table, and I grin at him. Whatever flirtatious intentions I had when I came downstairs have been rinsed away in a single sip, leaving behind only the essence of the emotions that motivated me. Love, fondness, friendship, loyalty. Perhaps a hint of humor.   Severus seems different, too. I had expected to enjoy a wicked battle of words and wit with this man tonight, but suddenly that's one layer of varnish too many on the truth. Tonight I want the bare wood, smooth and clean and natural. There will be time for innuendoes and double entendres later. It is plain to me that Severus feels the same; I can only imagine what he will be like without the sharpness. I could finythiything from formality to playfulness to downright wickedness. It's like a Christmas present, unwrapping itself before my eyes. I will have to pay close attention.   Dinner follows, and our wine-charmed senses take in the flavors and the aromas with a completeness that makes me wonder how I ever appreciated food before. Conversation generally focuses on Quidditch, which for once interests me. Perhaps the wine has renewed my attention span as well as my spirits. I can also admit that it brings me a small amount of smug satisfaction to see Ron and Severus disagree with Harry on a point and prove the error of his ways to him. Harry's a good Seeker, but Ron and Severus have the benefit of many more years in the wizarding world and a lot more matches watched.   For myself, I am content to watch Severus. My eyes follow the grace of his hands as he manages the contents of his plate, as he illustrates his point while he argues with Harry, as he passes Ginny the basket of rolls. My friend takes another roll, studying Severus for a long moment. Her eyes then slide to meet my gaze, and one ginger eyebrow arches in question. The blue gaze flicks to the dark-haired man beside me, and I know she's got me figured out.   I nod, smiling, and to my pleased surprise, she winks.   Well, at least one of my friends will take this without screaming. That's a huge relief. Come to think of it, tonight is probably a good night for letting this out, after all; Rowena Ravenclaw's Yuletide Reserve has paved the way for us rather nicely.   Dinner is quickly finished; the wine has dampened our appetites for tangible sustenance, and we're obviously more in the mood for an emotional feast of sorts. I think this crowd tonight is the closest thing to a true anti-Dementor one could ever find.   Music starts, coming from who knows where, and couples begin to leave the tables to dance. There's a small cleared space at the center of the Hall, and the swirling lights bouncing off an old-fashioned Muggle disco ball make it feel like the world is spinning. Harry stands up suddenly, his face pink, and turns to Ginny.   "Would you dance with me, Ginny?" he asks, and she flushes a little herself.   "I'd love to, Harry," she accepts gracefully, and then he has her hand in his and he's leading her eagerly to the dance floor.   Ron is staring after his best friend suspiciously, and I chuckle.   "Relax, Mr. Weasley," says Severus easily. "It's obvious you care about those close to you. Perhaps you ought to trust them as much as you love them. I've never known any of your friends to show poor judgment."   That little statement rings in my ears with double meaning, but Ron hears only the obvious message.   "You're right," he agrees, visibly relaxing himself. "But it's hard to stop being protective of either of them. After all they've been through-" he pauses.   "I know," says Severus quietly. "And yet that is probably the very thing that protects them most. They are neither of them strangers to danger, or to sadness. What they can bring each other may be the greatest gift they could either of them receive."   Ron turns to study Severus closely, and I feel a glimmer of pride as Ron once again proves that I give him too little credit.   "They're not the only ones," he says softly, and I am surprised to see him clap Severus on the shoulder as he rises from his seat.   When he squeezes my own shoulder in turn as he leaves the table to ask a young dark-haired Hufflepuff to dance, I know he understands.   Two down, one to go.   Severus smiles at me, then stands and holds his hand out in an elegantly formal fashion.   "Would my lady care to dance?" he asks, and I accept eagerly. Memories of the slow dance last night are fresh in my mind, and I'm only too keen to repeat the experience.   The music is slow, and Severus is deliciously warm; he's wearing cologne tonight, something I'm sure he made himself, and it's a soft, woodsy scent with herbs and a little bit of something spicy. It's completely him, and it's sucking me in. A little of my earlier, earthier feeling returns, and I smile as I admit to myself that that is also part of thvarnvarnished truth. I want this man, in every way I can have him. I snuggle closer, the slightly suggestive tilt to my pelvis the only real indication of what I'm thinking. He lets out a low, wicked laugh and teases me with a single thrust of his own. Tacitly agreeing that we need a distraction, we slowly make our way across the dance floor to peer at Ginny and Harry.   Moses could not have looked more surprised at the sight of the burning bush than Harry looks as he stares at the woman in his arms. He is as hypnotized as the patriarch was by the vision of flames dancing before his eyes, flames n fon form in the soft fall of Ginny Weasley's hair, let down from her cool twist to swirl about her shoulders in a sheet of fire. Her eyes are smoldering, her mouth red, cheeks alight- and Harry looks like a man who has just been shown his future. Like a man who's just been given the secret to dancing with fire without being singed.   Severus and I share a knowing look, and with the newfound compassion of a fellow Man In The Throes Of A New Love, the Potions master slowly dances us away from Harry and Ginny, giving the pair their privacy.   "I doubt we'll have to worry about Harry coming looking for you tonight," he murmurs in my ear, and I laugh. It seems I am not the only one with earthy thoughts tonight. The music picks up speed as the night moves on and contentment builds into enthusiasm, then into energy. People are continually returning to their tables for another toast and sip of Rowena's bottomless glass of heaven, and I find myself wondering exactly what we will find in the bottom of the glass if we manage to drink our way there. Severus and I are still basking in the first two sips, determined as we are to enjoy the wine- and its effects- slowly, even if the glass does refill as we drink it. I know the ebullience that awaits us with the third sip, and I am as reluctant to break this mood as I am excited by the prospect of all that joyful gy. gy. I wonder to myself how soon we can decently leave; I want very much to be alone with Severus right now. I also wonder if anyone besides Harry and I have found a dose of aphrodisiac in Sip #2; then I glance at Severus again and have my answer. We settle for returning to the table to recover for a few moments.   "I see you two have discovered the unique features of Rowena's vintage," says the Headmaster suddenly from behind us, startling me and causing Severus to arch an eyebrow in gentle reproof.   "Are you referring to the progressive effects," he asks calmly, "or the Bottomless Glass effect?" He sounds like Professor Snape again, and the cool voice and clipped tones give me shivers.   "Oh, both- and more." Albus winks at us, pats our backs, and then is gone, weaving through the crowd in search of Minerva McGonagall, whom he finds and tows onto the dance floor. Perhaps he, too, has felt an aphroac aac at work in the wine….   "What 'more'?" I ask, turning to look at Severus.   "I don't know," he says, sighing. "I love Albus dearly, but the Egyptians have nothing on him when it comes to being cryptic."   "Good point," I agree, and with a shrug I lift my glass to my lips.   My exclamation of surprise catches Severus's attention again almost immediately. "Is something wrong?" he asks, and I nod at my glass.   "I've only got half a glass left!" Ilaimlaim. With a quick glance, I confirm that the level of wine in my lover's glass has also dropped.   "Hmm," he says, and takes a sip. I follow suit- and we discover that the level of our glasses is lower still. And that the level of desire simmering under our skins is rising rapidly.   "I think," says Severus slowly after a nt, nt, "that the wine is telling us what we already know."   "And that is?" I prompt.   "That we've had our fill of the evening, and that we should take our leave soon."   I frown at him playfully. "We're being kicked out of a party by a glass of wine?"   He smiles, tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "I think the wine is telling us to follow our instincts," he amends.   "Ah. I am inclined to agree." He stands, holds a hand out to me, and I take it.   I know this man has never been the 'public hand-holding' sort, and so the fact that he is willing to so openly declare our relationship touches me deeply. He tucks my arm under his, still clasping my fingers, and leads me toward the large double doors out of the Great Hall.   Whispers begin to follow us, and heads turn to watch our progress. I can hear what some of them are saying: "Is it true then?" "But I thought it was just a heat-of-the-moment thing." "Don't they look good together?" "He looks so much better- I think she's good for him." "I never would have thought that Professor Snape had feelings like that!"   None of them matter- even though some of them are quite positive. We make it nearly all the way to the doors, when Sevesuddsuddenly pauses, as if on a hunch, to look up- and laughs. He stops walking, holding me back with his grasp on my hand, and I look up at him in puzzlement. He points over our heads.   "It's Yuletide, Hermione."   And sure enough, there's a giant ball of live mistletoe over our heads.   I laugh, and turn to face him.   "You know the whole school's watching," I caution, letting the smile on my face encourage him in the face of my restraining words.   "Oh, let them," he says cordially. "So a few of them have heart failure. I can't take the blame for all the world's problems. I've learned that now."   I chuckle.   "I don't think we covered mistletoe in Potions classes while you were a student," he murmurs, drawing me closer. "Potent reversal agent for glamours and concealment charms, frequently used in clarity potions. Favorite tool of witches and wizards seeking a glimpse into the true nature of a potential mate. It's a wise idea for those who have difficulty judging character. Most people are lovable, I think, when you peel off all the layers of insecurity and masks; it's just that some people can't bring themselves to put forth the effort to love someone without knowing that there's something good underneath all the armor and the thorns. But you took a chance on me, without knowing any of that. I cannot find the words to tell you how grateful I am for that."   I frame his face with my hands, my heart in my smile. "I could say the same to you," I say quietly. "But as you said to Ron- I think that the gift of ourselves is the greatest one we could receive." I pause for a beat.   "Do you know what Muggles do with mistletoe?" I ask, and he chuckles.   "I would assume it's the same thing wizards do," he replies, his soft baritone husky in my ear. "The berries are also an ingredient in a few love potions."   "They're poisonous," I object, even as I twine my arms around his neck. "We don't use the real berries at Christmas, because they could poison small children."   Severus laughs wickedly. "And when have I ever shrunk from poisoning small children?" he asks, and then his mouth settles on mine in a slow, incredibly romantic declaration of love.   &#loselose myself in his kiss, delighting in the soft, subtle movements of his lips and tongue. I thread my fingers into that delicious hair, feeling the soft warmth of it, caressing his scalp as I caress his tongue. The kiss mimics what I want to do to the rest of him, and I feel his soft groan vibrate through my lips and further down my body to light a fire in the soft places that crave his touch.   He pulls away reluctantly, and I realize only then that he's gently pressed me back over his arm. He helps me standin, in, and we smile at each other. The Great Hall is completely devoid of talking, only the music filling the silence, and I wink at him as I lean up to touch my nose to his in what my parents always called an Eskimo kiss. Then, turning to the multitude of eyes following our every move, I nod and wave.   "Goodnight," I call to the startled onlookers, some of whom are wearing expressions of revelation, and some of whom look vaguely ill. I see Harry in the back of the Hall, his arms laced around Ginny's waist, and he is smiling at me over her head. He jerks his head to one side slightly, clearly telling me, Go on. Get out of her&nbs  That's three for three. I smile back at him.   Severus turns me and puts one arm around my waist, hugging me to him in a subtle but undeniable assertion of our intimate relationship. I follow his example, and we saunter from the Hall as a couple.   The applause startles us, and we turn in puzzlement to see everyone waving at us. Some people are whistling, others wishing us well. Only a few of the students still look horrified at the notion of Professor Snape kissing a woman.   Wow, I think to myself in awe. That really is some wine. They may be a little less enthusiastic about us tomorrow- but that doesn't take away from the warmth I see in Severus's eyes as he looks down at me.   "That's about the most approval I think I'll ever get for anything in my life," he says with amusement. "I’m not surprised it's centered on you. And I'll take it- even if it evaporates with the alcoholic haze." He studies me for a moment.   "Well, why not?" he asks, almost to himself- and before I can move, he's swept me up into his arms in his best impersonation of a Hollywood romantic hero, and as he carries me down to the dungeons, I can hear the wolf whistles and suggestive shouts coming from the Great Hall.   I smile. It didn't happen quite as I had intended, but I have achieved my goal for the evening. The reputation of Severus Snape is as up in the air as the clouds.     A/N: Stay tuned for the epilogue! And yes, Rowena Ravenclaw's Yuletide Reserve is my creation. I could use a bit of it myself at the moment. It was a surprise, but a welcome one; I love it when my Muse does stuff like that. By the way- The Book is about to return.