What Else Is There?

_______



Overcome that I’m your temptation.

I’m flushed with just the thought

That I made you blush.

_______





The following two weeks would have been unbearable for Bridget had it not been for the many memories of classes she now had to venture into at her leisure. The first time she had dipped her head into the swirling smoke, she was shocked to realize that when he said she would experience the classes first hand, he indeed meant literally to experience. She had been expecting to just see the lesson through the eyes of who ever the memory had belonged to, but this was not the case.



Bowing her head into the silvery mist, her feet felt as though the ground had disappeared beneath her – or perhaps it was she who was dislodged from the ground? In any case, she found herself lodged into the strangest classroom she had ever laid eyes on.



Children wore robes and sat in long rows of eight, all looking scared out of their wits up at a thin-lipped, strict-looking woman with round spectacles and a tall witches hat.



It became clear that this was the first day of class for the children and there wasn’t much to remember when Bridget fell out of the pensieve and was back in the quiet of her living room. They had attempted to transfigure matches into needles. She had no matches around the house and decided to use a pencil. After an hour or so, she realized with a gleam that after pointing and thrusting her wand at it a few times, it seemed to go a bit metallic, but still looked like a pencil. It didn’t matter…



A piece of parchment had been in the bag that had already been written on. It was a list of her assignments, which were few. Transfiguration only asked of her to write a nine-inch essay on her opinions of what Transfiguration was and when learning the subject would come in handy in her adult life as a witch.



At first she thought such an essay would be easy, but she found herself using very ‘muggle’ explanations. Just as she was scratching out the sentence ‘In a situation where you’re being attacked by someone with a knife, you could simply transfigure it into a bouquet of flowers, not only disarming him or her, but also throwing him off guard, giving you a chance to escape or bring them down.’ But of course, being a witch she would have a wand and could disarm someone much faster that way.



Even though her experiences with classes and homework were making her feel somewhat less intelligent or clever than before, they were still a welcome distraction from what had happened Sunday night. What with no visitors and so very much time to herself, she needed to work.



It had only taken her three days before she’d finished the first week.



She ended up not finishing any of the Potion classes until the very end. When she realized who was teaching them, she had used all her willpower to escape the memory at once. It had taken her five grueling minutes of watching Professor Snape torturing his first year students with insults and intimidation before she was able to leave.



Upon returning, she began wondering to herself whether she might have been going insane to take a liking to such a horribly macabre sort of man. Anyone who would treat eleven-year-olds in such a way had some serious issues, ‘for sure’.



One thing that would prove positive about witnessing his cruelty was that she somehow felt less frightened of his return. Just envisioning him calling children ‘useless nitwits’ and ‘simple-minded dunderheads’ would make it far easier to forget what had transpired, and just look on him with dislike or even hate.



A small pile of her written assignments were stacked neatly on the edge of the coffee table and she had organized the vials of memories into their proper arrangement. It was indeed the third Sunday, and she had completed everything early. Her fingers were dotted with faded ink stains, having never used quills before in her life.



She was wearing her mother’s dress again. It was like she was addicted to it and after wearing it for three days in a row it became apparent that it didn’t need washing at all. Suspecting this must have been how her mother managed without a washer or dryer, the fireplace was now well clear of hanging laundry, making the room seem far more livable than before.



“So, like bullying little kids, huh?” Bridget was talking to herself in the mirror as she applied her quickly depleting eyeliner, practicing nasty looks in the reflection. The worst expression she could managed just looked like a bad imitation of how Snape had looked at her the other night, but she was still confident she would deflect and manage to beat him at his own game tonight.



“What, did mummy not love you enough or something?” But at this she frowned at herself, looking apologetic rather than nasty. “Aw that was mean, I’m sorry.” It was no use. She couldn’t be mean to her own mirror. How could she handle Snape?



If she couldn’t kill him with cruelty, she thought, maybe she could just annoy him to death instead. Grinning mischievously, she picked out a CD from her collection that was as abrasive as she could manage. It was an industrial artist that was sure to make the musically inexperienced Professor truly uncomfortable.



“Speak of the devil…”



There was a sharp rapping knock at the door, and Bridget slipped on her best ‘ball-breaker boots’ as her mother had called them. Approaching the door, she managed a very cold, bored look and opened it.



“Miss Evans.”



“Professor.”



He was in her living room again, placing another heavy bag upon the couch. The bastard didn’t even look at her! Folding her arms, she followed him to the middle of the room, but kept some distance between them. With a silent roar of victory, she saw him glaring up the stairs at the source of noise.



“How interesting, what some people consider art.” He drawled slightly and turned to glare down at her. “Please lower the volume of your… music down, Evans. If that’s what you call it.”



“Oh, ok.” She said and started prancing up the stairs, but then stopped halfway, wincing at her blunder. Trudging into the room, she touched the knob that controlled the volume and turned it down – but just a little bit, keeping it from being a total loss.



When she saw him again, her assignments had been removed from the table and were tucked under his arm. He was now covering its surface with odds and ends. She saw a cauldron, different types of knives, and then she noticed with a jerk that there was an entirely new and huge cabinet standing against the wall that had come from nowhere. Before asking anything, he had turned to face her, ready to explain.



“These are your potions supplies. I’m sure it’s all very self-explanatory once you’ve finished your classes. Now I shall review your assignments and grade you accordingly. Could you possibly point me to desk of some kind?”



“Yeah, right up here.” She was staring at her feet. His obvious display of apathy was making her feel worse and worse. And now he was going to grade her. He hadn’t called her worthless or an idiot yet so she didn’t have any ammo. Leading him to her computer room, she wished she had eyes in the back of her head so she could look at him without his knowing.



He gave the room a quick glance of dislike at all the electronics and motioned for her to leave him there. She did so and went downstairs, biting on her nails. More than anything else she was worried about her first set of grades. How bad would she look if she did worse than eleven-year-olds? What if she was so bad he just threw the lot of the papers at her and decided it was all a waste of time?



Instead of fretting any longer she took it upon herself to busy her mind with the strange assortment of ingredients stacked inside the cabinet, pulling a jar out every once in a while just to examine the contents. She didn’t have to wait long, for only a few minutes later, she heard his footfalls upon the stairs, the swishing of his cloak coming closer.



She turned to look at him, and his face was unreadable. She retrieved the stack and glanced down at the papers. The one on top was her charm’s essay and it had a ‘93%’ scribbled across the top, so she decided it the rest couldn’t have been too terrible.



“We typically use a different kind of grading system, but I’ve taken the liberty of researching muggle forms for your convenience.” He waved his wand around casually, and the case of classes she had finished rolled up into the first bag he had brought to her, which had been hanging on the back of a chair before it levitated into his hand.



“Th… thanks.”



“I shall return in a fortnight. Good evening.”



Speechlessly she nodded and he turned to exit. Rolling her eyes a little, she decided to examine the rest of her grades and her jaw dropped when she saw what he had given her for Transfiguration. Sure she had some trouble with it but a thirty? This was just cruel.



Dropping the papers, she ran out the door he had left not a second before and caught up with him at the end of the sidewalk.



“Hey, wait!” She cried, running in front of him, pouting.



The man’s face went from slacken to something that very much resembled being punched in the kidney. “Miss Evans! Get your misbegotten, foolish and unreasonable arse inside this instant!”



Before she had a chance to say anything, he was dragging her inside by the scruff of her neck, her legs having trouble keeping up with his long strides.



“Ow!” He had thrown her onto the couch once they had returned inside and he slammed the door behind him, sneering at her, possibly more cruelly than he ever had before. Letting the bag of memories he had been clutching fall to the ground beside him, he squeezed his fists at his side in rage.





“Were you dropped on the head in your infancy? That seems to be the only explanation for such irrational behavior, doesn’t it? How many times must you be told to stay indoors? You are seventeen and should not have to be babysat every damn minute. Now,” he took a breath, leaning forward to meet her eyes. “What, pray tell, was so terribly important that you had to run after me in such a thoughtless, immature fashion?”



“You gave me a thirty.” She sat up straight, ready to fight.



He seemed like he would have laughed if he had been less angry. “Well yes, Miss Evans. You failed. I graded accordingly. And you lost points for messiness. Half of it was just scratched out. Perhaps you should take a gander at your basic spells book for an erasing charm? And before you start defending yourself, let me say that though you missed the point of the assignment entirely, your basic thought process was not completely off the mark. I’m sure you will improve.” His eyes looked up to the ceiling as if begging for help in dealing with her. “There. Happy?” He smirked down at her again.



She just kept glaring at him. “Not in the least.”



“This is ridiculous. I’ve never allowed a student to question my way of grading their papers. I have been more than patient with you and you will be content with it or just keep pouting at me to no avail. Either way, your mark changes not. I’m afraid I can’t entertain you any longer, for there are pressing matters at hand, far more important than some snot-nosed whining little brat who doesn’t approve of her due score. If you desire it to raise, then apply yourself as such.”



“Well I think you were just hard on me because of – of what… happened.” Finishing her sentence with a huff, she looked away from him to the window, fighting back tears of frustration. He didn’t respond. He just stood there and she refused to look at him, giving her no hint as to what he might be thinking.



“And what happened, exactly?”



She turned to look now, as his voice broke the silence. The anger had vanished, now replaced with a more unreadable emotion. This was the face that had hypnotized and fascinated her once before. It was an expression hanging in the ambivalence of feeling. It was something floating in limbo; betwixt pain, fear, compassion, tragedy, and so many things in between, all written in some language she could not decipher, hiding just behind those glittering onyx seas that were his eyes.



“I don’t know.” Bridget finally breathed, her own eyes gathering more moisture. Her face got hot and her chest tightened. She sat up straighter and knew what she had to do. She had to know once and for all if he felt anything for her. After everything she still wanted to be close to him for reasons she could never conjure. Unable to put words to how she really felt for him, she acted purely on instinct.



With all that she had inside of her, she tried using her eyes to send the message into his, knowing saying anything wouldn’t have done what she felt – what she wanted – justice.



As if communicating on another level not yet understood by humankind, she felt him comprehend speechlessly, his body turning lax as if to drop all pretenses. She could almost see a transparent veil of complication drop from between them as he approached her, his throat quivering slightly.



She took a deep swallow and never broke contact with him as he joined her on the couch, one hand rising to touch her cheek, his face twisting into sadness and bliss all at once. Bridget leaned into his touch, unable to look away from him as he gathered a bit of hair behind her head, each lengthy finger tracing down the base of her neck, causing her to tilt it back with the intensity of sensations.



Severus’ hand guided her head just below his, resting it on his shoulder and he locked into her eyes again, his mouth hovering over hers in anticipation.



“You know not what you ask for.” He whispered, his lips almost touching, his eyes shutting tightly.



“You’re probably right.” Bridget meekly responded, one arm hooking under his, snatching a handful of robes in her palm as if to encourage him.



At this he dipped down and, at long last, took her mouth with his, making her throat squeak in surprise. Bridget would have kissed back, but the passionate and masterful way in which he tasted her caused her to simply let him hold the power, afraid she might disrupt the moment with her own novice techniques.



All too soon, he pushed away and she pulled at him in protest, crying out as he held her back.



“You’re a child, Bridget!” It was the first time he’d ever called her by her first name.



“I don’t care!” She gritted her teeth, gazing up at him with rising intensity, breathing hard against him.



“I would be a monster to take this any further, can’t you see that?” He pressed his forehead to hers, keeping their lips at a distance to her dismay.



“But I’m an adult in your world, aren’t I?” She was grasping at any reasoning she could find to get him to kiss her again, to hold her against him. Never in her life had she felt this before, and even if she was scared of it, she didn’t want it to stop.



“Why?” He whispered, piercing into her eyes looking for logic in her actions.



“I couldn’t tell you, really! I just… You do something… Some things don’t need a reason.”



“Wrong.” He pulled her away from him by her shoulders. “Everything needs a reason, Miss Evans.”



“You’re the one that’s wrong!” She tried to release herself from his grasp, gripping the arm of the couch behind her for support, her black hair falling into her face as she cried out. “It’s not like I’m asking for you to sleep with me! I just want to be close to you, is that so horrible? Does that need reason?”



“Ah, fuck.” He growled at this, pulling her close to him again, now smashing his mouth into hers, and possessively enveloping her in his arms, making it impossible to move. Yet what could she want for moving? This was wonderful – the only word she could muster for it.



That absolute last thing either wished to happen, happened all at once, as such things usually do.



The knocking at the door stopped both their hearts and they looked at each other in urgency.



“Do not, under any circumstance, speak of this.” He commanded harshly.



Bridget frowned at this. “Yeah… of course.” She couldn’t help but feel offended.



He sighed and managed a grin. “You know what I mean.” A small but lovely kiss on her forehead sent all bitterness down the drain, as if the one act of affection brought the bliss from their embrace back to her at once.



“We can just ignore it… I’ll tell them I was asleep. Drank too much or something.”



“You’ll have to answer… Pretending you were asleep seems rather illogical considering your past behavior. You’re quite a night owl, yes?” He glanced at the door as someone knocked on it yet again, this time harder and more impatiently than before.



But she kept his arms around her, not letting him go. She couldn’t believe the something as simple as him remembering her sleeping schedule could fill her with such delight. “They told me they charmed it not to open from the outside if anyone’s inside.” She implored. “I’m sure they’d believe me.”



“No… I must insist.” Snape raised his eyebrows at her, almost in awe of her consistent want for his affections. “Anyway, it might be urgent. I was told your Godfather wasn’t meant to visit you until March and Lupin is supposed to be in New Zealand still.” There was another series of knocks, growing louder as they came, and a voice bled through into the room.



“Hey, Bridge! Open up already! It’s bloody freezing out here.” It was undoubtedly Sirius.



Severus winced and stood, guiding Bridget to her feet. “Just tell him I’m here to tutor you.”



“Well that’s the truth, isn’t it?” She grinned up at him, a little bit of wickedness showing through.



It took him a moment to register what she had meant, and he gave the smallest of smiles before motioning at the door. “Come along now.”



She obeyed and skipped to the door, but as she reached for the handle, he stopped her.



“Try to look more miserable.” He offered, sneering apparently at the thought of Sirius not believing any one could be happy after being alone in the company of Severus Snape.



Bridget nodded and stopped smiling as she opened the door.



“About time, little miss.” Sirius galloped in, giving her hair a playful toss. “Fall in the lou, did you?” He dropped a basket of what looked like groceries on the floor and gave her a tight, friendly hug.



“No.” She responded, trying to not seem nervous. Her eyes darted over to Snape to see him putting on his best performance she had seen yet. All the passion and vulnerability evaporated from every inch of him, right from his black boots, to his crossed arms and fiercely unpleasant face. It frightened her to see how quickly he had been able to transform.



Sirius followed her eyes and seemed to tense up at the sight of him, a violent air now filling the room, making Bridget tighten up as well, hoping she wasn’t about to witness any kind of fight. Severus glared in response, tilting his head in amusement as Black strode up to meet him. For a moment they simply stared each other down, as if trying to provoke the other to strike. Sirius was the first to speak.



“I heard you’d been sent here to teach her…” He lifted his finger up to Snape’s face and gave him a threatening look. “If I hear you’ve given her a hard time – and I mean even the slightest bit of misery, I’m calling it off. As her legal guardian I have that power, Snape,”



“That’s all well and good, Black.” He retorted, slowly pushing Sirius’ finger away from him. “I assure you, there is no need to worry. I have treated you goddaughter accordingly.”



Bridget saw the slightest flicker of life rise in Severus’ façade at this word and she couldn’t help but let out a little giggle.



Sirius turned and looked at her suspiciously.



She acted quickly as Snape gave her a dangerous look over her godfather’s shoulder, knowing such a reaction was far from prudent.



“He failed me in Transfiguration.” She spoke quickly, feeling a little ashamed at her poor attempts at acting. Severus was doing so well… Bridget knew if it was Remus in the room, and not Sirius, their little act wouldn’t have been so easy to pull off.



She had to be thankful for Sirius’ extreme dislike for Snape, as at these words, he immediately turned on him. Bridget took the chance to gaze apologetically at the man she had just been kissing, wishing she could do a better job at protecting him.



“Of course he failed you. Don’t you pay him any mind, Bridget.” He was glaring at Severus as he said this. “I’m sure he’ll use his filthy little grudges against me to effect his judgment.”



“I believe it is I who am entrusted with the luxury of deciding what marks her schoolwork may merit.” Snape rolled his eyes and swerved around Sirius, heading for the door. He stared down at Bridget, looking for too convincingly cruel for her to have to pretend to look frightened. “I expect better from you in March, Miss Evans. And I almost forgot. Don’t damage the pensieve. It does not belong to you.”



She nodded, biting down on her lip as he towered over her.



“Oh just get out of here already, Snivellus! I need a drink.” Sirius marched to the kitchen, looking as if his head might implode with annoyance.



Snape called out after him. “See you next week, Black. Hope you don’t just tuck your tail between your legs and back out…”



“Go away!” Sirius called back, his voice accompanied by the ringing of empty cups and the pouring of liquid. “I think if anyone backs out it’ll be you, you greasy old coward.” He had mumbled, but at a tone loud enough that it was obvious he meant it to be heard.



Bridget sighed, wondering if Severus might still pretend to hate her as she bent down to pick up the bag of used memories he had thrown down earlier. She lifted it up to him with a questioning smile to see that his face had transformed, yet again into a passionate but sad gaze of admiration.



He reached his hand out to take the bag from her, but throwing a cautionary look towards the kitchen, instead of grasping the handle, he took hold of her entire hand, pulling her close to him. She stumbled forward in surprise and beamed as he bent low to touch her lips with his.



Before she even had the chance to open her eyes again, he had slipped away from her and out the door, leaving her to grasp at empty space. Realizing he was gone, she hugged herself instead and turned to see Sirius had just appeared from the hallway, two glasses clutched in either hand.



Replacing the her smile with another grim frown, she attempted to make it look like she had been holding herself in fear rather than the pleasure that was buzzing all over her skin.



“Oh don’t let him get to you!” Sirius barked at the door, offering Bridget a drink. “He must have really been nasty, your face is all flushed… Don’t let him make you feel embarrassed for not doing perfect on one of your first papers.”



“Yeah that was… that was really awful.” She brought her free hand to her cheek to feel the warmth in it. No doubt he was referring to the soft blush that lingered there.



“He’s a prat!” Sirius exclaimed, motioning to clink their glasses together in mutual dislike.



“Mhm.” She mumbled, raising her glass along with his, nodding as angrily as she could.



“Once a miserable bastard, always a miserable bastard, I say.” He spat, obviously not finished with releasing his anger at the man who was no longer in the room.



She hesitated. “Totally. A bastard. A miserable one.” They rose their glasses in another toast and both took a drink. “Whoa, what was that?” Bridget couldn’t help but spit up a little bit of it, the sharpness hitting her throat painfully.



“Firewhiskey, the sweet nectar of the gods! Your old man and used to say that. He loved the stuff. Might wanna take it easy though. Your rum isn’t much of a match for it.”



“Can I mix it with something?”



“I don’t think I’ll ever understand the way muggles drink. I mean if you want less alcohol, then just sip at it or something.”



“But it’s burning my mouth something awful!” Indeed, her eyes were watering and she had the look of utter torture on her face.



Sirius let out a loud bark of laughter and pulled out his wand, summoning a glass of what she saw was more pumpkin juice into her hand. She gratefully took a long drink from in and began laughing along with him, her throat cooling off a little bit.



“Uhm, Sirius?” She caught her breath. “What did he mean, he’d see you next week?”



Her Godfather stopped laughing, but continued to smile. “Oh, it’s nothing. I mean… It’s not nothing. It’s actually the reason I came to see you. Hey, let’s sit down, eh?”



Bridget nodded, realizing this was probably important. She pushed her new cauldron to side of the table and set down both her drinks, taking a seat on the couch. Sirius took the floor, sprawling out on the rug to be closer to the fire.



“You see, Bridge… As I said before, Snape’s a double agent. He may be a total prick but he’s proved to be really useful by tipping us off on Vol… I mean ‘You-Know-Who’.” He corrected himself, looking annoyed that he couldn’t say his name due to the tracking charm in effect. “Tipping us off on his next moves, so we’re always one step ahead. I hate to admit it, but Snape might be the reason we’re still going. Then again… he might really be tipping slither-face off instead, and could be the reason we haven’t got him yet.” Sirius shook his head.



“But in any case, Dumbledore insists that Snape’s been helping us, so we kind of have to help keep him on You-Know-Who’s good side. Problem is… He’s just been given the order to kill me.”



Bridget gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth.



“We have a plan.” He got to his knees and moved towards her, taking her hand in his to console her. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head over it. We’ve done this sort of thing before.” Seeing that she was unconvinced he continued. “Old big-nose is going to tell You-Know-Who where I am, so he’ll send a brigade to come and catch me. We’ll be ready for them and we’ll win because they won’t expect our numbers. They’ll fail and all parties are hunky-dory, see?” He gave her a bright smile and a pat on the shoulder. “Come on, I thrive on this sort of thing, girly.”



“That’s because you’re mad. Seriously mad.” She frowned at him.



“Oh I’ve Seriously never heard that one.” He laughed that barking laugh yet again and reached out to help her to her feet. “Come on! Let’s have some fun. Where’s your broom?”



“Oh, I’m dying to get out of here!” She did a little jump in excitement. “I haven’t really left since freaking Christmas morning!” She moved towards the coat closet to get her broom, but he stopped her, grabbing her shoulder.







“Listen… Don’t waste your life following their stupid rules.” He frowned down at her, a little twinge of intoxication in his voice. “You’ve got to take advantage of your time in this world, cause it can get snatched from you any sodding second, and all that time you spent trying to save your own skin will have just been wasted. I’ve seen it happen too many times, Bridge. Don’t let it happen to you.”



It came to her all at once that he was referring to her parents. He had probably been right. Maybe they could have all enjoyed at least a little happiness together as a family rather than separated if they hadn’t split up for safety’s sake. Perhaps life would have been better that way.



A tear slipped down her cheek and she swatted it away, looking nervously up at her Godfather as these thoughts took hold. “You know, I am so sick of crying! It seems it’s all I’m good for lately.” She tried to laugh, but broke into a loud sob, bringing her wrist up to her forehead.



“Aw, come on.” He hugged her tighter than he ever had. “You’re alive, Bridget. You’re young and you’ve got all the time in the world. Spend some of it bawling your eyes out like a sissy if you want to.”



Laughing a little, she gave him a swift punch in the shoulder, pulling away to wipe away her tears.



“I tell you what.” He beamed. “When I get back from this Death Eater business, I’ll take some time away from the Order and be a decent parent to you. I’ll show you the world right and proper. We’ll be a force to be reckoned with, and to hell with any who disagree.”



“That sounds wonderful!” Bridget grinned. “You know, the way you were talking earlier, it sounded like you expected not to see me again.



“Don’t be stupid.” He poked her in the stomach making her double over in laughter. “Get your coat on. We’ll make a broom-rider out of you yet.”