Unexpected Desire

Thanks for the reviews donotmesswithsnape, sheherazade, and vampkestrel.
I think I know how I want this fic to go: Serious, all the way. When it comes to me, I'm one or the other kinda gal. :^/
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Chapter 8: The Tendency of Humanity is Toward the Forbidden


Severus was leaning against the wall furthest from the roaring band; bloody thing was giving him a splitting headache. The Great Hall was adorned with floating lit candles, some white, some black; both had beads of wax trickling down which gave them a sort of aged, eerie look. There were also carved pumpkins with rudimentary ghosts, bats, cats, and the occasional amazing graveyard scene done by Professor Flitwick; no one could out carve him.

Dumbledore had deemed the Halloween Dance to be a Masquerade Ball. He stared ahead of him and saw wave after wave of colorful masks. An ocean of a faces shimmered in the candlelight as they jumped to the beat of the music of this horrible banshee band. He grimaced at the singer’s blood-curdling scream. Music was much different in my day. At least I could understand what they were saying.

The bridge of his nose itched but it was obstructed from his reach. Constance gave him a mask to wear that was charmed not to come off until the dance was over; Minerva must have helped her. He growled thinking back when she skipped by and ambushed him by slapping it on his face, then skipped away leaving him with an expressionless, white mask muffling his ranting and raving. He decided after a long debate with himself to wear his dress robes, since Constance was so kind to grace him with a mask.

Even though he was leaning against the wall arms crossed with one foot propped up beneath him, Severus was poised with a particular breathtaking elegance, wearing his House colors proudly. His silk robes, the darkest black, were fitted to his frame and lined in silver. He left them open, all the excitement in the Great Hall seemed to heat him up. His shirt was a dark shade of green and adorned with silver buttons, a snake etched into each one; snake-shape cuff-links to match. His shirt was tucked neatly into his pants that clung to his legs, but were loose as it reached the hem, revealing his slick, polished boots. He thought, with or without the mask, he looked pretty damn good.

An hour and a half had passed and already he had to pull a few students to the side for coming dressed up as a Death Eater. Needless to say, they were from his House.

“Draco, I don’t care if it’s a joke,” Severus warned, “You are not allowed to wear anything like this to a school function, understood? The same goes for you Crabbe, Goyle.” The two blubbering idiots looked worriedly at Malfoy, who was staring down his Head of House. Severus knew what he was thinking, why should he be taking orders from someone who may as well be dead? Perhaps the boy knew something he didn’t? Or maybe he didn’t take him seriously with the ridiculous mask he had plastered to his face. To his relief, Malfoy curtly nodded and turned on his heel to join the festivities he was so rudely interrupted from.

Snape crossed his arms again and perched himself against the wall, peering into the dancing crowd. Well, they were dancing. Now they just stood idly, entranced by something in the middle. Severus pushed himself, propelling forward, wondering, aching to see the object that captured everyone’s attention. It was an unusual feeling, this aching. It seemed to be amplified as he made his way across the Great Hall; the music (the band at their best) reminded him of Sirens serenading sailors before they would crash into the Sirens' rocky Island. He reached the edge of the circle and was taken aback.

A petite figure was dancing solo to the music, which was unusually fast yet melancholy. Mostly the male students were circled around her looking at her hungrily and the girls staring at her in awe. Her movements were sensual and flowing yet precise and constricted. It looked as if it was a cross between ballet and batuque. As the song neared an end, Severus shook himself out of the trance. He saw that it was Constance on the floor staring up at him, whom he was sure, was blushing profusely. How could she breathe doing that while wearing a corset so tightly laced?

He went through a lot of trouble the past week for Constance as she shopped for an outfit for the Masquerade. And now, after seeing her in all her glory, it was well worth it. An over-bust corset of black and silver laces slimmed her figure. He smirked, she’s wearing Slytherin colors. The figure of snakes intertwined went up the busk of the corset, their heads meeting at her bust as a warning to those who dare try to disturb the supple skin that lay beneath them.

A full, circle skirt flowed beneath the corset; the first layer black with dark emerald green layers puffed out, some layers lined with silver or black ruffles, her black-clad hands fiddling with the skirt. She sat in awkward position, her legs, covered in black hose, poked out underneath her skirt. Her knees were bent, but her legs rested in opposite each other, nearly touching their adjoining thighs; her slender feet enclosed in soft leather shoes.

Her mask was ingenious. It looked as if a Black butterfly was laid across her eyes; whenever she closed them the butterfly softly flapped its wings. A vivid green stripe shot down the side of the wings, followed by a mixture of flickering green, violet, and blue tail of the hindwing. The skin below the mask was painted with black, a rich violet, and an emerald green powder which shimmered in the candlelight, against her pale skin. Her tousled black hair flowed around her like it usually does, but with an air of elegance, which fitted her attire; there was a strand or two caught on her lower pink lip.

Severus noticed that no one had moved since the song had finished and an awkward silence followed. The boys were still staring with a hungry look, while the girls who were no longer looking at Constance in awe, but jealousy. The band had left the stage to take a break as one of Albus’ few, planned waltzes had started. Before giving any of his students the chance to act, he entered the circle and approached Constance, who was still gazing at him in a questioning manner. He bent down low enough to let his index finger graze up her exposed chest starting from her cleft. She curved under his touch as he made his way along her neck and over her chin, stopping at her lips. He brushed away the stray locks before grabbing a hold of her chin lightly.

“Would you like to dance, preferably not alone?” Severus asked as he removed his hand from her chin and offered it out to her as he stood to his full height. Constance nodded and took his hand.

The students gaped in shock at their Professor’s display of – well, not exactly affection, but his display of anything that showed he was human. Even the other Professors were bemused by the sight. Severus scowled at the circle of students, but none could see behind his mask; nevertheless, they could feel his eyes peering down at them and moved to be away from it.

His white expressionless mask was a huge contrast to her dark, lively one. His straight, clear-cut figure loomed over Constance’s petite curved one. The two moved gracefully, movements fluid and exact.

Enjoying her company, Constance beamed, “Your dress robes are very sharp looking, Severus.” She eyed them as they billowed in a natural turn.

“Thank you,” he muttered. “Your outfit – suits – you.” Constance snorted, knowing full well she looked drop dead gorgeous, whether he admitted it or not. Severus cleared his throat and attempted to change the subject, “Where did you learn to dance, Constance?”

She beamed again, “Back home. I took ballet, Mom forced me to. Then I sort of branched out to other styles that weren’t so constricting. It was the one thing my mom did right for me, got me involved with dance. The only type of art she supported me in.”

“You learned to Waltz,” he paused as they did a reverse turn, “in Texas?” The thought seemed amusing to him. He imagined farmers in overalls and boots gliding gracefully across a field, twirling around cows.

“No, I learned that here from Minerva; didn’t take too long to pick up on the steps.” She pinched his shoulder as he nearly stepped on her foot.

“Why were you dancing alone?” He arched in eyebrow, albeit she couldn’t see it. Blasted mask.

“I – I missed home. The people, the place, everything. The somber mood of the song reminded me of the music I used to dance to when I felt lonely. It was nice feeling human again, even if it was slightly excruciating.”

“Feeling human?” He asked quickly while doing a natural turn.

“When was the last time I cried in front of you Severus?” He stared at her. “When you told me to stop; I haven’t cried since. I’m just a Guardian, with human tendencies.”

Severus looked around him impatiently, worried that others (specifically, his Slytherin students) might hear, he dragged her off the dance floor and muttered, “Let’s go for a walk, shall we?”

After being dragged hastily from the Great Hall to the Gardens, Constance wrenched her arm from Severus’ grip. “You could’ve asked me nicely, you know,” she spat, rubbing her arm. He shrugged.

“If you were going to talk about yourself, I would prefer you to do so without so many people near. What’s the problem, Constance?”

She sighed, “I don’t feel real. I don’t feel human. I can do things a girl my build shouldn’t be able to do.” She crossed her arms. “And it breaks my heart, that I haven’t properly mourned my loss. I mean, I know they're safe and sound, but... I steel myself and continue to do so, because I don’t want you to see me weak,” Constance stared into Severus’ eyes, wondering if the expression was the same beneath the mask.

She walked past him, her puffy skirt brushing against his side. He watched her sit on a stone bench, perched below a lantern; her mask flickering in the glow, her hands fiddling with her skirt again.

“I feel guilty, for enjoying my time here when I should feel broken up about all that’s happened. It just feels so unfair, that I have to go on with them embedded in my mind, they are blessed to live life with no recollection of me,” she said softly. Severus gritted his teeth and forced himself to her side. He doesn’t do well with providing solace. Trying to get to close enough where he felt comfortable, he leaned against the post behind the bench.

“I wish I hadn’t taken them for granted. Now I’ll never see them again.” All was still and silent, Constance watched a leaf fall to the ground. The sound of wings flapping had scared her into a straighter position. She gasped when she felt Severus wrap his robes around her shoulders. “Goodness, you – ”


“I’m sorry.” He picked a fallen leaf off her shoulder before letting his hand rest there.

“What?” She chanced a glance over her shoulder when Severus didn’t remove himself.

“I’m sorry,” He said a little louder. He jerked slightly, when she put her right hand over his left, burying her thumb beneath his.

“I know,” she squeezed softly, “I know. And I appreciate it. I know how hard it is for you to, well, you know.” He nodded, although she couldn’t see him.

“But you’re happy?”

“--the forbidden fruit
of finally feeling the happiness
you were afraid you didn't deserve--”


“Yes,” she whispered. She looked around her and wondered if anyone would stumble upon them, she was sure the two of them made an interesting pair.

The grip on her shoulder tightened, painfully. Constance heard him fall to the ground behind her as his knees met the gravel, his hand still attached to her shoulder.

“Severus?” Constance, still holding onto his hands, turned and faced him, “Severus, what’s wrong?”

Because it had been so long, he forgotten how painful it was to get called by the Dark Lord.
He steadied himself, “I must go.”

He tore his hand from Constance’s and walked away quickly. With his long strides, she had to run to catch up, “What do you mean ‘go’?”

“The less you know the better.”

“Uh-uh, I don’t think so. That may be a good enough answer for one of your students, but not your Guardian. You’re feeling anxious, petrified, pissed, and annoyed. I’m probably the thing annoying you right now. Now you better explain the other three.”

Severus forcefully pushed Constance into a niche of the corridor and covered her body with his own. He unfastened the cuff of his sleeve and pushed his left forearm into her face. The tattoo pulsed.

“I’m being called, Constance,” he hissed behind his mask. He groaned, the mask. He put his hands up to his face and pulled, “How the bloody hell do I get… this… off?!” He groaned again before pushing himself out of the niche, marching down the dungeons to his rooms.

“Severus, I’m going with you.”

“NO! No, Constance. I forbid you from going.” He lifted the wards from his room. He closed the door on Constance as she walked in.

“You can’t forbid me from protecting you! You did that once and you were thrown across the room. I will not allow that to happen again, especially when you’re going to face some insane wizard, who may be plan on killing you tonight!” She slammed the door. Severus had already conjured up his robes and was now trying to charm his expressionless mask to look like his Death Eater one.

“Constance, did you hear a word I said at the Order meeting? You need to stay away from the Dark Lord. Forget about me, he must not get a hold of you! Besides, if you went with me, he would think you were some tart, a present for him,” Severus spat. Constance slapped him. The impact hurt more than it should as his Death Eater mask dug into his skin.

He grabbed her by her hair and pulled her into him. He rested his hand on her hip as he pulled her head back more, so his lips hovered over hers.

“You cannot help me by doing this, Constance. You cannot protect me from my enemies when I serve them. You will wait here until I return, that is FINAL.” He threw her down on the couch. Before she could turn to look at him, he had already stepped out, closed the door, and began warding her in. He cast a silencing charm as her screams of protest echoed down the corridor. He walked away.

Constance pounded and pounded on the door, begging for him to let her out. He meant this demand, she was not to leave. But her responsibility to him means so much more. If she could just get a hold of him… She groaned in frustration at the object standing in her way. Damn it to hell, he put wards up while I wasn’t paying attention.

Let’s try this… She focused all of her power on the heavy oak door to null the wards, she ran into it, again, and again, and again. She did it once more and found herself on the floor of the corridor, the door barely attached to its hinges. She got up and sprinted. Passing the Great Hall Entrance, she nearly ran over some 6th years. The students watched the Potions Apprentice with open mouths as she kicked open the doors to the main entrance disappearing into the night.

Albus whispered to Minerva, “She’s a determined one, isn’t she?”

Constance ran down the winding path to the Gates, so fast she was afraid she would tumble down the rest of the way. Despite the darkness, she could sense he was near. She saw a figure in the moonlight.

“SEVERUS!”

He turned for a split second to see Constance shimmering in the darkness running towards him.

“STOP, PLEASE!”

He took another step. She leapt for him and caught nothing, her ears were ringing. She fell to the ground, the air knocked out of her. She shot up and took hold of a nearby branch and yanked it from the tree and thrashed it across its trunk, while shouting obscenities. The branch fell from her limp hand as she became light headed. Damn corset, she thought.

She slid down the base, exhausted and out of breath.


Severus appeared in front of the Dark Lord and heard, “You’re late,” before he crashed to the floor, writhing in pain. The pain was unbearable as always, but he had endured worse.

Through clenched teeth, he rasped, “I’m sorry – My Lord.” He collapsed to the floor listless as the curse was lifted from him.

Voldemort stood before him with the help of Pettigrew. He was bald, his eyes a deep red which contrasted with his cold, grey skin, and a snake-like mouth and snout to boot. His figure was lean and long, but frail. Each day his body was withering away little by little. He was more powerful than he was 17 years ago, that is certain, but his body seemed as though it could not keep up. This was where Severus came in, at least where he was supposed to.

Voldemort was born anew in the body he left the world in when he was defeated by the one year old Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. As of now he was 71 years old. He trusted Severus to find a potion that would restore his body to full health, make him younger, something. But the little bastard always came up with an excuse and was providing him piss-poor information as of late. He watched his once prized Death Eater crawl to the hem of robes and kiss it.

“So, Severus, what have you for me today? Anything better than the last time you attended a Dark Revel? Surely, you must have something with all the time I have given you,” Voldemort hissed.

Severus stood as steady as he could, while still feeling the after effects of the Cruciatus curse. “Yes. Yes, I do, Master,” his voice was shaky from the pain and uncertainty.

“Well,” Voldemort started impatiently, “out with it!”

“Null Magic, my lord,” Severus looked down and braced himself for another curse.

Voldemort scrutinized Severus for a moment, before speaking again, “Could you explain it to me, Severus?”

“My lord?” Severus raised his eyebrows.

“How could ‘null magic’ help me in my state, Severus? Must I figure it out as well?” Pettigrew snorted at his Master’s retort.

Apparently, Severus had thought too highly of Voldemort to think of the life stealing spell. Perhaps, he could buy some time for the Light after all.

“If we could find you a wizard or witch that possesses null magic, then you could perform Valens ac Vita Furtim. Taking away their life force and adding their power to your own.”

Voldemort plopped down into his chair dismissing Pettigrew from the room. He rested his chin on his thumb, his index finger rubbing his lipless mouth. His red eyes thinned, “And how exactly are we to find someone with null magic?”

“I have studied the wizard warriors’ line and found a pattern. There is someone born every 150 years of Norman descent. From what I have deducted, we are looking for a wizard or witch born between the years of 1980 and 1990; they may be listed as a squib.” Severus spoke half-truths, since he technically knew the witch who was in that age gap with null magic. But he did indeed found a pattern, which he allowed Voldemort to see while he pried his brain open with Leglimens.

“Severus, there is one flaw with this. There were many squibs born during that decade. It's like searching for a proverbial needle in the proverbial haystack.”

“And this is something worth pursuing. If you had their power, no wizard or witch could touch you. Not even Dumbledore.” Voldemort perked up at once. “Your power would be increased ten-fold. It is possible, that there is someone registered with null magic at the Ministry? We would need someone to leak that information to us.”

Voldemort nodded, “And if the information you seek is not in the Ministry?”

Severus continued, “Then we must search among the mudbloods. We would have to search the descendants of Rhydderch, the first wizard who denied his powers.”

Voldemort scoffed, “A wizard who denied his powers? Idiot.” He laughed shrilly at the concept.

“Yes, apparently he prayed to his God that he loved so dear to take away the ‘evil’ within him. His Lord granted him his prayers half-way; He made Rhydderch skilled in battle, but protected His loyal servant by using his magic as a self-defense. There were known witches and wizards that attempted to assassinate him, but none could touch him. He knew not of his condition and took it as his Lord blessing him, on and off the battlefield. However, he had no heirs, only an unknown illegitimate child named after him. He was a wizard and a fierce one at that.” Severus stopped himself, Voldemort seemed bored.

Voldemort stroked Nagini’s head, “I am pleased, Severus, with what you have given me. We shall pursue this plan and shall begin research immediately. I’ll have someone get the records to you as soon as I station someone in the Ministry.”

“You’re so kind, my Lord.” Severus bowed.

“I hear that you have a Potions Apprentice,” Voldemort said as he stared at Nagini. Severus stiffened slightly upon hearing this.

“Yes, yes I do.”

“I also hear she is very pretty, but shows no respect for Slytherin House,” he hissed.

“She is the same towards all Houses, my Lord. She did not go to Hogwarts.”

“Let me see her,” Voldemort whispered peering into Severus’ mind once more. He was graced with the vision of Constance looking up at him on the dance floor. “Hmm, very pretty indeed. I should like to meet the young girl.”

“She is a mudblood, sir.”

“All the more reason to meet her then,” he chuckled shrilly.

“I think Albus would notice her disappearance,” Severus slowly cautioned, trying to edge Voldemort from the topic, who was now furrowing his hairless brow at Severus.

“Fine, for now,” Voldemort replied. “But I will meet her, Severus.”

“Yes, my Lord. Thank you,” Severus bowed again. “Is there anything else, my Lord?”

“Yes. Crucio.” Voldemort smirked as Severus flipped over and landed on the floor.

Severus could feel a few of his ribs break as he thrashed on the floor violently. He gritted his teeth and held in his screams. His back arched as if there was a rope pulling him up by the sternum, his hand pounded the stone floor. He was certain he broke his pinkies when he heard a slosh-like noise each time his fists met the floor. Voldemort approached his writhing body and with a flick of his wand, he lifted the curse.

Voldemort bent low and hovered over Severus’ face, “Do not keep me waiting like that again, Severus.” He stood to full height and then kicked Severus in the chest, cracking a few more ribs. “You are dismissed.”

Without having to be told twice, Severus apparated back to the spot he left. He lay sprawled out in the dirt path, gasping for air in the twilight as a breeze blew over him. He had the sensation of floating, perhaps he was about to pass out. But jolts of pain prevented that. He realized then it was Constance picking him up, still dressed in her attire. She waited for him in the dark, in the cold, alone. You don’t deserve this, he thought.

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing,” Constance said softly. Apparently, he said it aloud.

There were no more words spoken as her petite figure carried Severus up the path, only the sound of her calm breathing and the steady rhythm of her heart were heard by him. He fell asleep in her unusually strong arms, finally feeling safe and content for the first time in his life.

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A/N:
Title is a proverb. Rhydderch was a real dude, wizard he was not. :^)
batuque is an african type style of dance where people circle around one person who jams.
described a Papilio Blumei butterfly up there.
part of poem, "forbidden fruit" by michael lally in there.