Weft of Power, Warp of Blood: A Tapestry of Desire

Chapter Three
Weaving Fantasies and Fabric

Jasmine watched as they walked away toward the village hand in hand; Severus not seeming to loom as he bent low to hear his daughter's witterings. She smiled wistfully for what might have been. She didn't miss Severus, per se; she missed the family they could have been; the couple they should have been. Perhaps he was never the man she thought he was – a heroic Prince Charming, home from the wars, or maybe, the kind and generous man she thought he should be. Severus didn’t want to be a hero; he wasn’t kind, he wasn’t generous. He was just a man – with very clear ideas of honor, right and wrong and a very strong survival instinct. He knew exactly what he wanted: his grandfather’s house and money and everything that came with it, a comfortable laboratory where he could putter with potions and spells, and pretty trophy woman that didn’t irritate him. An obedient golden retriever would be good, too. He hadn’t needed a wife with silly, girlish fantasies of a wounded warrior. Of course, it could be that their own lives, priorities, goals and aspirations had drifted over the years and circumstance didn't give the opportunity to work on a coupled life together. Adding an infant to their daily lives had taken away even more couple time, though neither of them resented Ari. The healer in Jasmine had nurtured the wounds in him. The need to give comfort and replace pain with love had blinded her to the discontent that simmered deep inside of him. The need for control over their relationship, coupled with the ... unusual activities he prevered in bed sent her tiptoeing away emotionally and physically. Over time, a comfortable companionship had set in though it was sparked by raging rows that they never quite got over. It became apparent that friendship was more beneficial than physical and emotional intimacy. With a final sigh, Jasmine turned back into the house to tidy up.

As she was washing up the breakfast dishes and putting away some of Ari's things, her eye fell upon The Daily Prophet and the picture of Sirius Black. The thought fluttered across her mind that had Severus been a few minutes later she may have found herself quite embarrassed. She sighed heavily. It had been too long. Too long since a man had touched her. Too long since a man had held her, caressed her, loved her. She looked again at the picture of Sirius, trying to reconcile the half beast in the picture with the boy she knew. The beautiful boy with broad shoulders and brilliant smile. The boy she spent days staring at, dreaming about. She sat in the rocking chair, "Just for a moment," she promised her sense of duty. "I have got to get some work done while Ari is out with her father. Sirius Black,” she mused, “he's the last person I would thought would go to the Dark Arts. Such a pity." She closed her eyes remembering the boy he had been. So tall and handsome. With the chair's rhythmic rocking she felt a long forgotten sensation start to form in the pit of her stomach.

As she continued with the steady pushing of her toes, her mind flipped through dozens of snapshots of Sirius. She giggled, though it sounded like a groan, she slowly moved her hand over her body, feeling the heat rise between her legs. She let her legs slowly part, hiking her skirt up to her thighs. She visualized Sirius kneeling before her, his head between her legs, as she manipulated her wand so that a light shower of sparks would tickle her clit. She couldn't imagine how Muggle women managed without them. The rocking quickened as she became more aroused with visions of Sirius's tongue caressing her clit. She let her free hand massage her breasts and groaned as she felt the dampness between her legs. She manipulated the wand faster, feeling her climax rising. With a loud groan she came, releasing herself to the ecstasy. She slowed the wand's sparks as her breathing returned to normal…gently bringing herself back down from her high.

She sighed, physically satisfied, but feeling empty nonetheless. Glancing at the clock she decided a quick shower was in order before she started working. There was no rush on her current project since the Ministry's ball wasn't until August but she did want to get it done so she could start the next. All of her regular customers knew to get commissions in to her several months in advance so she wasn't rushed, or worse, didn't have time for them.

After she showered and dressed in pretty green slacks, tunic and robes, silence took over the room, interrupted only by the soft snores of Faust, the brother of Professor Grandpa's phoenix, Fawkes. Picking up her latest project, Jasmine began crocheting the sleeves for Esmerelda Fudge's new formal robes. All thoughts of Sirius Black left her mind as she concentrated on her work. The Ministry of Magic held a formal ball every year and Mrs. Fudge was always determined to be the belle of the ball. Every year she commissioned Jasmine to make the most amazing creation she possibly could and every year The Daily Prophet mentioned how beautiful the Minister of Magic's wife looked in her Flowering Jasmine ensemble and how well the Three Flowers (the shop she shared with her mother and grandmother) had done this year. This year the lady would be wearing a hand dyed indigo silk sheath dress covered in a robe crocheted of golden-silk spider silk and fairy tears, which glistened like diamonds. Her golden-silk spider had happily spun five balls of real gold thread several years ago for Jasmine before Skeevers "accidentally" ate it.

Using a thin gold wire as a crochet hook, Jasmine created a shimmering net. The crystalline tears, shed by the melodramatic fairies in her meadow, were added as Jasmine went. They were still only a few days old, so were still malleable, but in a few days they would harden into faceted beads around the thread. As the hours past and shadows lengthened, the patient lady created both sleeves and pinned them on a line in her workroom so the beads would dry before attaching them to the front and back of the garment. When it was assembled, she'd fashion more fairy tears into buttons and plait some of the golden-silk spider thread into loops to keep the robe closed. The blue dress was finished already, having been woven on the loom in the corner of the room and hemmed last night. Her Flowering Jasmine trademark appeared at the hem of the left sleeve. The flowers of her logo were enchanted to gently radiate the smell of real jasmine flowers if stroked. The symbol appeared somewhere on every garment, wall hanging or blanket she made. Each one of the owners of the Three Flowers had a similar logo. Her grandmother, Iris, had a single royal purple iris flower inside a triangle of ivy. Rose, her mother, had three red rosebuds on a triangle of stylized vines. Jasmine’s logo was three very simple, tiny jasmine flowers in a pyramid.

Working until well after dark, Jasmine stopped only when Severus and Arielle returned. The little girl chattered sleepily about the day's activities while her father bathed her and read the little girl’s favorite book, Mary Muggle and the Monster until her eyes drooped. Jasmine listened indulgently then kissed Arielle goodnight, leaving the room. Severus followed after softly whispering, "Goodnight, little bit, I'll see you soon." He returned and added, "I'll be back next weekend - Saturday I think, unless I can find some free time during the week."

She replied, "Severus, if that mark…"

"I'll speak with the Headmaster and send an owl if I can't come," he murmured and bowed out of the house, robes swishing behind him. As Severus stepped through the doorway, Jasmine could see the three small flowers embroidered on the back yoke of his robes. They wouldn’t smell of jasmine – Severus always refused to wear any kind of scent. She was always happy to see that he enjoyed what she made for him, though would have preferred to put a bit of color into his clothing – it was always refused.

Since Mrs. Fudge's dress needed to dry and no magic could replace time in hardening fairy tears, Jasmine turned to her workroom to start her next project. It would be a quick one; she’d get it done that evening. Mr. Percival, across the High Road, had asked for a christening gown and blanket for his newborn granddaughter. Her grandmother, Iris, the children’s clothing specialist for The Three Flowers, didn’t have the time to make them so Jasmine volunteered to do them instead. She found the proper thread – unicorn hair that she’d spun on a whim and threaded the loom that dominated the room. The largest loom had passed through five generations of women and had rested in just that spot since Jasmine's great-grandmother had put it there, one hundred and five years ago. Of course, it could weave without a person working it but Jasmine preferred doing it herself. Only three times had she ever bewitched the shuttle and loom and left it to work. The last time had been when she was in labor with Arielle but had wedding party robes for ten people to finish so all three of her looms had worked around the clock. In and out, back and forth, then a lazy tug to push it all down and the soft unicorn hair yarn rubbing through her fingers soothed the memories of the day and the past away.