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Love's Labours; Paradise Lost	By : Veresna Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 18700 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Chapter 10: And I am Your Rosalind

When she awoke, she was alone in the bed and the candles had been extinguished. But there was a small amount of light and some faint sounds coming from the direction of the kitchen. She tossed the covers aside and walked over to the wardrobe. She located her white chenille robe and threw it over her shoulders as she began to make her way down the short staircase.

Snape was standing in the middle of the kitchen, dressed once again in his black trousers and white shirt-although the latter was only half-buttoned and his feet were bare. He was methodically chopping something on the cutting board and his attention seemed to be so riveted upon what he was doing that she was surprised to hear him speak to her.

Without looking up from the counter, he observed: "I see you have finally finished your little nap."

“What time is it?“ she asked, climbing onto one of the stools and squinting at the clock that was located on the oven.

“It is almost midnight," he answered, using the blade of the knife to slide chunks of ham he had just prepared into a waiting dish. He paused and picked up a red bell pepper from the counter and washed it in the sink before beginning to slice it into thin pieces as well.

“And what are you doing?“

“I am making our dinner,“ he answered, drawing his brows together in concentration. She watched, fascinated, as his pale fingers worked rapidly and methodically.

“You know how to cook?“ she asked, surprised, as he dumped out a handful of mushrooms on the board and began to chop them up as well.

He paused to glare at her sardonically. “And might I inquire as to why you are so amazed? I assure you that cooking an omelet is quite easy for one who has mastered the meticulous instructions and precise preparation of ingredients required to brew The Wolfsbane Potion. Are you not hungry?“

Her stomach gave a loud gurgle as he returned his attention to the chopping board.

“I shall take that as a yes,“ he murmured. “Do you suppose you might be able to tear your eyes away from the mesmerizing sight of my hands long enough to grate some cheese?" he asked, waving the knife behind him in the general direction of the refrigerator.

"Do you think I'm capable of performing such an arduous task?" she countered.

He frowned and gestured in the direction of her bandage. "I admit it is risky, but at least I am certainly not foolhardy enough to put a knife into your hands," he drawled. "However, I shall remind you to take care, as I prefer not to have blood in my omelet," he added.

She stuck her tongue out at him as he returned his attention to the remainder of the vegetables and, sliding off of the stool, she walked around the counter to enter the tiled area. As she made her way, she noticed that he had finished cleaning up the rest of the mess that had previously been strewn about the floor, and that 'her' table was now standing, with its sides folded down, next to the wall.

By the time she had located the cheese and the grater, he had finished chopping up the vegetables and had retrieved the carton of eggs. She watched, slightly puzzled, as he placed two more bowls on the countertop.

Balancing an egg upon the upturned palm of his left hand, he tapped it gently with his wand. In the blink of an eye, the egg seemed to have disappeared. However, as Celia leaned forward she saw that one of the bowls now held the clear egg white and that other held the yolk. And, glancing down into trash bin that stood beside him, she saw the empty halves of the egg shell. He repeated the process five more times.

“Now what do you do?“ she asked, as he turned to place the egg carton back in the refrigerator.

In reply, he waved his wand at one of the bowls. Instantly, it was filled to the brim with moist, fluffy beaten egg whites.

“Well, that’s cheating a bit, isn’t it?“ she teased.

He drew back and regarded her with a scowl. “Just because you must learn to survive without magic does not mean I am required to do so,“ he replied. “Now please try to finish your task,“ he said, gesturing at her, “While I fold these together.“

She concentrated on grating the cheese while he attended to the eggs. By the time he had set a pan upon the stove and warmed it, she had finished her chore. While he cooked the omelet, she concentrated on setting places for them at the countertop. As she set the mats next to each other, she allowed herself to wonder just what he had ended up doing with the tablecloth and napkins that had been on the floor, but decided it was best not to inquire about it at the moment. She also refrained from asking him what he had done with the remnants of her dinner, as she was seeing no sign of them in the sink or even in the trash bin.

Instead, she busied herself opening up a bottle of white wine and pouring out a glass for him. He accepted it, sipping at the liquid appreciatively as he finished preparing the meal. She stood quietly beside him, watching as he carefully layered the ingredients on top of the eggs and cooked them to perfection. She held out the plates as he divided the omelet in half, and then carried them to the countertop. In the meantime, he refilled both their glasses and pulled out the chair to his right, indicating that she should sit there.

Not a word passed between them until she had taken her first forkful of the omelet. “This is wonderful!“ she enthused, as she ate slowly, allowing her tastebuds to rapture in the flavor and texture.

He took a bite of his own portion and chewed thoughtfully. “Yes, it is,“ he replied.

“You’re so humble,“ she remarked, as she reached for her glass of wine.

“I am not one to hide in the shadow of false modesty,“ he rejoined. “Although I will say that it is even more superb when it is cooked slowly in the oven. But, we are eating late enough as it is. Next time, perhaps, I shall prepare it that way.“

“I suppose this means you’ll be doing all the cooking, then?“ she asked.

He cleared his throat before taking another sip of wine. “No.“

There was a brief silence as they both attended to their plates. “I am sure that your dinner tonight would have been edible, if a bit overdone,“ he allowed, finally.

She ran her finger around the rim of her wineglass before daring to raise her eyes to his face. “You know, if you didn’t care for what I made, you could just told me that instead of creating a scene and throwing everything on the floor.“ She had tried to make her tone light and teasing, but there was still the barest hint of reprimand in her voice.

He finished two more mouthfuls of the omelet before setting his fork down and using the napkin to wipe his lips. “The last three days have been exceedingly difficult for me, and my encounter with Malfoy was especially distressing.“

“So you took it out on me?“ she asked, quietly.

He stared down at his fork, twirling it in his hand for several minutes, his face expressionless. “I have never pretended that I am in possession of either an easy temper or a forgiving nature. I think you, of all people, should realize that and not expect me to be in the best of moods every time I visit you. I am providing you with shelter, food, clothing and an education, in addition to saving your life. If, at the end of a week dealing with incompetent teachers, dunderheaded students and treacherous colleagues I appear at your door in immediate need of the sexual gratification you have agreed to provide for me, I hardly feel I am being overdemanding.“ He brought the utensil down forcefully against the plate, a sharp clink resounding through the air as he cut through the omelet. Spearing the chunk with his fork, he brought it to his mouth and chewed slowly and thoroughly before swallowing. “I repeat, if you are unhappy with the arrangements of this relationship, you are free to leave it, and my protection at any time,“ he said, so softly that she could barely hear him.

“No, I didn’t say that,“ she began.

He abruptly stood up and turned towards her, reaching out to grasp her chin. “Then may I suggest, my Rosalind," he said, drawing his thumb along her jaw and carefully enunciating each syllable, "That you cease this annoying harping upon the issue."

She was so startled by the use of the name that she forgot her previous distress. “Are you really going to call me that?“ she asked, her surprise evident as he released his hold and strode past her.

“It is your name now,“ he said, scowling as he picked up the wine bottle and bent over the counter to refill both of their glasses.

“Even between the two of us, when we are alone?“

He shook his head and threw her a contemptuous look. “I suggest that you get used to your new appellation very quickly,“ he growled, moving back to his chair. “And forget about your old one,“ he added, picking up his fork. “I expect that, within a few weeks time, that if someone were to call out the name of Celia that you would not even turn your head.“

“That’s easy for you to say,“ she answered, taking another sip of wine. “You’ve never had to answer to another name.“

He snorted loudly.

“Have you?“ she asked, suddenly intrigued.

He turned and regarded her with a particularly condescending gaze. “If I have, I would hardly admit it to you,“ he replied, witheringly.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, well, I suppose I’ll get used to it.“ She looked down and smiled faintly as she fingered a strand of her hair. “Along with my new appearance.“

She heard the fork clatter against the plate again.

“I assure you, Mademoiselle, that your new hairstyle is very attractive,“ he growled, pushing his napkin and plate away from him and rising from his chair.

“Yes, it is,“ she assured him, hurriedly hopping off of her stool and placing a hand upon his arm. "It is," she repeated, as she felt him begin to pull away from her. She put her other hand on top of his arm as well, her fingertips stroking in a conciliatory manner. "I know I've been an awful pest this evening, it's just that-" She paused for a moment and considered what to say next. She wanted to tell him how much she had missed him and that she had been rather heartbroken that her plans for the evening had gone so awry. But she knew, instinctively, that he would not believe that she had been that anxious to see him. But to simply say she had been upset at his earlier conduct and attitude, while truthful, would hardly appease him or diffuse the situation. He was staring down at her, his lips set in a grimly thin line. She drew in a breath and opted for a slightly white lie.

"It's just been so difficult, trying to sort things out, to live like a Muggle. I'm sorry that I'm being so childish and complaining about everything. I promise to stop." She smiled up at him again, and was gratified to see that his mouth had softened perceptibly. "So please sit down and finish the rest of this wonderful dinner you made for us," she asked, quietly.

He drew his arm away from her, rather stiffly. But, to her relief, he did sit down and begin eating again. Although they did not speak to each other for the remainder of the meal, it seemed to be a companionable silence now. And this time, when he pushed his plate away, it was empty.

She jumped off of her chair and began to gather the plates up to take them to the sink. She heard him behind her, putting the glasses on the counter, replacing the cork in the bottle of wine and returning it to the refrigerator. She stared down, rather absentmindedly, as the hot, soapy water began to cover the dirty dishes.

She gasped in shock as she felt his arm sneak around her waist. She hadn’t even realized that he was standing directly behind her. He brushed the hair away from her neck with one hand and bent down to kiss it as his other hand loosened the belt of her robe. She moaned softly and leaned back against him, feeling him push the sides of the robe away and his hands rise up to begin caressing her exposed breasts. She closed her eyes and heard him reach over and turn the water off and then smiled as she felt him place a small dab of suds over her sharp, pointed nipples. Opening her lids slightly, she managed to see a hazy view of the window that stood over the sink, and noted that their reflected images were barely visible in the steamed glass.

"We might be giving the neighbors an eyeful," she warned, arching her back as his fingertips began to move downward past her navel.

"Let them look," he whispered back. "Anyone who is awake at this hour of the night and peering through windows deserves to see what they are missing," he added.

She laughed and turned suddenly so that she was facing him. She reached up and put her hands around his neck, standing up on tiptoe so that she could reach his lips to kiss him. She felt his hands moving in between their bodies, undoing the rest of his buttons and pushing the shirt aside so that her bare flesh could be pressed against his. After a long, passionate kiss, she shifted her weight so that she was standing back on her heels again, and then she balanced on her right leg, lifting her other to stroke lightly against the bare skin of his foot and ankle with her toes. Eventually, she even managed to work her way underneath the hem of his pant leg and to begin stroking up and down his calf. At the same time, she brought her left hand down and began to undo the buttons of his fly, suppressing a chuckle upon feeling the evidence that he was hardening again.

"I suppose I should wash the dishes first," she said, looking up at him innocently.

He sighed. "Must I remind you again?"

She stared up at him, puzzled.

"You are my concubine," he whispered, running his hands along her smooth, bare skin again. "Not my cook or my scullery wench," he added, this time lifting her off her feet and turning to carry her into the bedroom.

She laughed quietly, hugging herself against him. "I suppose, just for tonight, I could allow them to soak until morning," she teased.

"Indeed," he retorted, pausing at the top of the stairs to turn back and intone, "Nox!" The lights immediately extinguished themselves. She felt him turn back towards the bedroom and whisper, "Lumos," and the small lamp upon the bedside table suddenly lit up.

"I didn't think those spell worked with Muggle electricity!" she exclaimed, as he paced towards the bed. "Oof!" The latter exclamation was the result of being unexpectedly dumped upon the bed.

"They do when you take the time to charm them," he muttered, impatiently tossing his shirt to the floor before pouncing onto the bed beside her.

She smiled and reached out to him, throwing her arms and legs around him as he moved to lie on top of her. He grunted in satisfaction and pressed his mouth against hers, his hands moving slowly up and down her back. As before, he seemed content to kiss her for the moment, his lips and tongue exploring her mouth eagerly and yet without a sense of urgency, as he raised his fingers and began to lace them through her hair. Drawing back, he brushed her hair over her shoulders so that the thick, dark tresses were covering her chest. And then he bent down and sniffed approvingly.

"Your hair is beautiful," he whispered, "And it has a divine fragrance," he added, as he leaned over to kiss her upon the neck.

" 'Tis my black silk hair that entames your spirits to my worship?" she murmured, her own fingers pressing gently against his lower back.

He laughed and when she glanced over at him, she could see his upraised eyebrow. "Now, who is deliberately misquoting the Bard?" he asked.

She smiled and brought her hand up to caress his cheek. "All right, I'm taking liberties with the text. And, I admit that it's pretty," she said. "But," she added, sighing melodramatically, "It also manages to work itself into horrible tangles while I'm sleeping."

"Ah," he murmured, suddenly moving away from her and rising from the bed.

"What's wrong?" she asked, anxiously, as she saw him run his hands over the sheets, apparently looking for something.

"Nothing, my dear Rosalind," he replied. She heard him chuckle and she peered over at his hand, finally realizing that he had been searching for the hair ribbons that had been scattered over the bed before. "But, you are quite right. I think we should tame those curls into a sedate braid before we lie down again," he said. Standing upright again, he leered at her. "For I assure you that I intend to keep you otherwise occupied the rest of the evening. Come," he ordered, gesturing for her to sit by the edge of the mattress.

She hesitated.

"I am going to tie this around your hair, not around your hands," he assured, his voice tinged with mockery.

"Oh, that's right," she said, as she moved onto her knees. "You know how to braid hair. I seem to recall that you did it for me before," she commented, as she glanced behind her. He was removing his trousers, and a moment later she felt him climb back onto the bed and kneel behind her.

"Indeed," he replied. "But you shall not be a schoolgirl this evening."

"No Hogwarts costume this time?" she asked.

She felt him drape the ribbon across her bum, and then the soft, feathery sensation was replaced by the feel of his hot, hard erection pressing against her cheeks.

"Do not tempt me," he warned, moving his hands so that they were gripping her hips gently. "Or are you eager for another spanking?" he hissed into her ear.

She shivered slightly, and she wasn't quite sure if it was because she was apprehensive or excited about the thought of him carrying through on his threat. But before she could reply he backed away from her slightly and, holding out his hand, he called out "Accio brush!" He began to draw the stiff bristles through her hair.

"Ow!" she cried, as he encountered a large tangle.

"Silence!" he admonished, as he dropped the brush and began to work at the knot with his fingers. She was just about to suggest that he use his wand instead, when he finally managed to loosen the strands. Holding it carefully in his hand so that he was not pulling upon her scalp, he picked up the brush again and began to work the bristles through it. The process was repeated numerous times until, at last, he was able to draw the hairbrush all the way from her the crown of her head through the ends of the roots. Then she felt him divide up the strands and begin braiding it, moving down slowly and methodically, gathering up more hair from the sides as he continued. Finally, she felt him tie the ends with a ribbon and she smiled as he tossed the braid over her shoulder. She began to turn towards him when she felt his hands upon her shoulder.

"I am not finished yet," he warned. She hugged her arms around herself, feeling slightly chilled again, as she heard him bend over and search for something else in the wrapping. "You didn't even see these, did you?" he asked, holding out his hand. His palm appeared to be filled with tiny, white buds and she frowned down at them for a moment, wondering what they were. Then he raised his hand and she felt him begin to fasten them to the hair on the top of her head. After he finished, he wrapped his arms around her, warming her and she snuggled back against him.

"Quite beautiful," he whispered.

She felt his fingers running along the cleft of her buttocks again and she took in a deep breath, fearing that she knew what he intended to do. She slowly brought her arms down in front of her and began to sink down upon the mattress, spreading her legs and trying to relax. Closing her eyes, she lay still as his hands slowly swept down from her upper back down to her thighs and he bent over to kiss her upon the her shoulder blade, feeling his arousal jar softly against her as he moved.

"No," he murmured, drawing away. "I want to watch your face when I am in you." The bed creaked softly as he moved to lie down upon his back.

She glanced over at him and smiled. Rising back to her knees, she shifted so that she was straddling him, reaching down with her right hand to tease back his foreskin. Moving her hand down, she held him steady as she raised up and prepared to mount him. He reached out his hands to support her shoulders as she lowered herself and she gasped quietly as he slipped into her, her body wet and ready for him. Steadying herself with her hands against his chest, she began to move up and down slowly, sometimes pausing in between strokes to tighten and squeeze around him.

"Look at me!" he ordered, and she felt his hands move down to her breasts, clutching at them almost painfully.

She hadn't even realized that she had closed her eyes again, and she hurriedly obeyed him, staring down into his dark eyes as she continued to rock back and forth. Her own breath coming in little gasps and pants now as she inched nearer to fulfillment. Her dark braid was hanging down in between them, the curly tip grazing his chest as she thrust against him, while the bow glided softly over her own torso. Her strokes began to grow faster and more frenzied, and she moved her hands down on either side of his body, her fingers beginning to clench at the sheet. She bit her lip and found herself unable to keep her head still, tossing it from side to side. As she did so, one of the decorative pins worked themselves out and fell onto the sheet. As she paused to take in a breath, she found her eyes drawn to it again.

It was a delicate little white flower, the porcelain lace appearing intricate and fragile, and in the midst was a large, pearl-like ornament. Suddenly, her eyes widened and she bent down to study it even more closely.

"Yes," he said, his tone full of amusement. "It is a pearl."

Her mouth opened and her eyes drifted down to look at the green chips glinting at the end of the ribbon. "And those green beads?" she began to ask. But she groaned in a mixture of pain and pleasure as he suddenly thrust his hips upward, grinding into her.

"Emeralds," he said, his countenance dissolving into a pleased smirk as his hips continued to buck against her.

She moaned again, but this time in disappointment as she felt him stop and draw away from her.

"Shh," he whispered, moving onto his side and putting his hands between her thighs. With his help, she managed to wrap her legs around his waist and threw her head back as his fingers began to rub against her clitoris.

"You didn't think I would be content to give you rhinestones and paste jewels, did you?" he asked, as she began to claw at his back. She was close, so very close to her release.

"But, you will wear them only when you are with me," he added, suddenly backing away from her.

"Ah!" she exclaimed, and this time she was so frustrated it was nearly a scream.

"Really, my dear, what will the neighbors think?" he asked, as he drew himself onto his knees.

"Severus, please!" she gasped as her fingertips gripped around his stiff manhood, still slick from her own wetness.

"On your back now," he cooed, delighting in her frenzy.

She threw herself back on the pillow, her legs splayed widely apart and her hips rising up to meet him as he knelt over her and thrust in. He leaned over her, keeping his hand in between them so he could continue to caress her as he began to stroke. In less than a minute she had cried out again, but this time her exclamation was one of ecstaty and her hands clenched around his buttocks as she spasmed around him. It took her several seconds to realize that he was still hard, but when she did lie back down, she put her arms around his neck and began to sway slowly in rhythm with him, watching his face as she moved, watching for subtle clues as to what he wanted so that she could help bring him to climax as well. And it was many minutes before she felt him slam against her. His own cry of release was barely audible, but the expression on his face left no doubt that his joy was sublime.

He collapsed on top of her, and this time he made no attempt to move away when she began to stroke his hair. They lay there for several minutes, listening to the sound of their breathing slowly returning to normal, before he finally pushed off slightly to the side so that he was not lying directly on top of her.

She smiled and looked over at him. "I think that by the end of this weekend, we are both going to need a rest," she teased.

He snorted. "Oh, come now," he admonished, reaching back to plump the pillow behind his head. "Given your past profession I should think you would be used to a busy weekend filled with sexual activity."

He paused as he caught a glimpse of her face, her joy and contentment immediately vanishing behind a mask of studied indifference.

He grimaced and shook his head, deciding that his statement was rather brutally honest, even for him.

"I'll go wash up," she said, turning away from him.

For a moment he held out his hand, as if entreating her to stay. But she either did not see the gesture, or else she ignored it, for she was already out of the bed and fleeing towards the bathroom.

She slammed the door behind her, her fingers fumbling for the light as she continued to fight the stinging sensation in her eyes and the growing lump in her throat. She turned on both the hot and cold taps as far as she could, wanting the loud, splashing noise of the water to cover the sound of her sobbing.. She bit down on her finger as she felt the tears beginning to cascade over her cheeks.

She shook her head in self-reproach. Well, what else did she expect? She was still a whore, albeit now she catered to only one client. He had every right to say what he had, and she really should be used to his insults by now. And yet, even as she tried to reason with herself, the tears continued to flow.

She reached out blindly to find a washcloth and held it under the water, moistening it before bringing it up to her streaming eyes. Wiping away the tears, she took in a deep breath and raised her eyes to check her face in the mirror. And then she gasped in surprise, and the washcloth fell into the basin as she stood and gaped at her reflection.

The pearl ornaments in her hair were exquisite, shimmering and sparkling against the inky backdrop of her ebony hair. And they were also undoubtedly expensive. She turned her head slightly to the side, and then reached out to grab the small hand mirror that sat upon the vanity, twisting her torso and arms so that she could view her hair from every angle. He really had done a superb job with her hair, she had to admit, the tresses had been drawn up into the braid very carefully and precisely.

Setting the small mirror back onto the counter, she wound her hand around the end of the braid and examined the hair ribbon as well. He had given her emeralds, as well as pearls. And she had seen enough of her mother's collection of jewelry to know that these were of high quality as well.

Taking a step back from the counter, she lifted her chin and stared at herself again. Although she couldn't begin to believe that she understood this man who had rescued, protected and insulted her, she had to admit that he certainly seemed to like her well enough to spend a great deal of money on her. And, as much as she might chafe under his restrictions, she had to admit that a part of her gloried in the attention he paid to her.

She raised her hands and checked each of the ornaments to make sure that they were properly secured. And then she hurriedly pulled the washcloth out of the sink and set about cleaning herself. Finishing as quickly as she could, she shut off the taps and dried her face with one of the small, soft towels. Turning around she flicked off the lights and pulled open the door.

Snape was sitting up, watching her carefully as she approached. He held back the sheet for her and she could have sworn that he looked just a tiny bit relieved that she was smiling at him.

"I suppose," she whispered, as she cuddled next to him, her smile broadening as she felt his arms go around her, "I should take these ornaments out."

"Well, I think they would survive through the night," he replied. "However," he continued, reaching over and beginning to pluck them out of her hair, "They might not be particularly comfortable to lie on." He finished removing all of them and leaned over to place them upon the bed stand.

"And the hair ribbon?" she asked.

"Oh, that may remain," he replied. "Nox!"

The lamp upon the table obediently extinguished itself.

"Besides," he continued, as he lay down and pulled the covers around them, "How else will we keep your hair from becoming tangled?"

She laughed softly as she felt him kiss her upon the forehead.

"So," she said, snuggling down onto his chest and suppressing a sudden, unexpected yawn, "What do you have planned for tomorrow?"

He cleared his throat. "Unfortunately," he began, his voice sounding slightly strained, "I shall have to be leaving in the morning."

She was glad that he had turned off the lights, for she was sure that he would have seen the tears that had sprung into her eyes again. She forced herself to wait until several seconds had passed before daring to trust herself to speak. "Why?" she asked, very quietly.

He sighed and she felt him tilt his head back so that he was looking at the ceiling.

"Because Slytherin is playing in an important Quidditch match tomorrow," he answered.

"You could be back tomorrow night," she suggested, trying to make her tone as casual as possible.

"On most weekends that might be possible," he replied. He sighed again and turned slightly, looking down at her as he reached over with his hand to trace the outline of her lips. "But, I am afraid that, on top of previous disappearance, my absence this weekend could not possibly go unnoticed."

"By whom?"

He chuckled ruefully. "By most of the student population, unfortunately. Since I do have the well earned reputation of spending most of my time stalking about the grounds looking for miscreants."

He fell silent and she started at his profile, feeling that there was something he wasn't telling her. "And someone else?" she finally asked.

He nodded grimly. "Yes. The Headmaster was, of course, rather intrigued as to w hy I had to leave suddenly last week, though he is much too tactful to ask me about it directly. And Mr. Malfoy," he added, his mouth twisting into a frown.

"Malfoy?" she asked, her whole body starting in alarm as her heart suddenly began to race.

"Lucius has a son, by the name of Draco, who is attending Hogwarts at the moment," he explained, hugging her gently. "And, although I have taken great pains to treat him as my special "pet", I have no doubt that he would be eager to inform his father as to any change in my behavior."

"I see," she said, starting to calm down slightly but still feeling quite sad. "When do you think you might be back?"

"I had already planned upon coming to Diagon Alley in two weeks to pick up my monthly shipment of Potions supplies," he said. "And, I might be able to stay from Friday night until Sunday morning, but I can make no promises," he warned.

There was another long silence.

"I rather think," he said, finally, "That if I limit my visits to every fortnight or so, it will not engender too much notice."

She lay quietly, her eyes staring out, unseeing at the opposite wall. "Well, the Christmas break will be here before too long, I suppose?" she asked, wistfully.

He shook his head again. "I always spend the Holiday at Hogwarts. My absence at that time would be especially noted. Although, I will, of course, be able to make a few daytime visits during that period."

She slowly turned over, being careful not to move away from his encircling arm. She didn't want to leave his embrace, but she knew only too well that a few tears were going to end up spilling out over her cheeks despite her best efforts to blink them away. And she didn't want him to see that. "It seems rather a waste of the money you've spent on me to visit so rarely," she commented, rubbing her chin against his arm.

He turned over as well, spooning his body against hers. He reached over and grasped her braid again, bringing it back so that it fell across his face. "I suspect that the small amount of time I am able to spend here in our 'Forest of Arden' will only make our interludes all the more precious to me," he said, quietly.

"But, if something goes wrong, how will I reach you?" she asked, feeling suddenly alone and vulnerable. "I mean, I don't even have a fireplace here so that I could floo you."

"No," he answered.

"Could you conjure up one before you leave?" she asked, feeling herself blush at her impudence.

He snorted. "Do you really think that would go unnoticed by the landlord?" he asked, impatiently.

"Oh," she replied, suppressing a giggle. "I suppose not."

"Indeed," he replied. "Likewise, I doubt that he would be amenable to your keeping an owl. Although-" There was a speculative tone to his voice, as if he were debating something, but she waited in vain for him to continue.

After several minutes of silence, she sighed and spoke again. "And what am I supposed to do whenever you are not here?" she asked, plaintively.

"Well, you will soon be busy enough with studying, I expect," he replied, his voice light and cool. "And," he continued, running a hand up and down her arm, "I certainly do not forbid you to seek out women to have friendships with."

She laughed in disbelief. "Oh, yes. There must be tons of squibs exiled to this section of London."

"You've already shown an appreciation for Muggle literature," he said, a slight shade of reproof in his voice. "And for their art, as I recall you had a Picasso reproduction in your old flat. You could spend weeks in the museums alone: The National Gallery, The Tate, and the Victoria and Albert. I really do not think you will find it that difficult to acquaint yourself with other aspects of their existence. And to form cordial relationships."

"Speaking of which," she said, suddenly moving to face him. "How is it that you are so familiar with Shakespeare? I wouldn't think that a Death Eater would approve of such a famous Muggle."

He raised his eyebrow and glared down at her. "I admit I have rather a passion for the English language, and have to admire anyone who could use words as elegantly and melodiously as he did," he said. "To be absolutely truthful," he continued, his hand reaching down to pat her affectionately on the bum, "I think that the wizarding world as a whole does a dreadful disservice to themselves by ignoring the Muggle contributions to all aspects of art, whether they be visual, aural or verbal."

"And now," he said, moving unto his back again, "Would you possibly consider allowing me to get some rest?"

"Yes, sir," she murmured, rising up enough to allow him to remove his arm from underneath her. However, she stayed close beside him as he drifted off to sleep. And after she heard begin to snore, she dared to prop herself up on her elbow and look down at him while he slept.

She remembered how pale and agitated he had been when he arrived. And now he was resting peacefully beside her, the slightest hint of a smile upon his face as he dreamed. Even his lips seemed more relaxed and fuller, as if their usual thinness was an artificial contrivance wrought by his habitual scowl. Her gaze drifted over to the bedside table, where the pearls gleamed faintly in the moonlight, and then she lay down beside him and closed her eyes.

As much as he might hate to admit it, she thought, he was beginning to need her almost as much as she needed him.

******

Her slumber was was quite fitful and broken that night, and she was never quite able to fall into a deep sleep. But each time she awakened, she was relieved to hear the sound of his breathing or snoring beside her. Finally, just as the sun began to rise, she opened her eyes as she felt him stir beside her. She almost turned over to look at him, but she decided, instead, to lie still and keep her eyes closed as she heard him slip out of the bed and head towards the bathroom. She heard him turn on the water in the shower, and she dozed for several minutes until she heard his footsteps walking across the bedroom floor again. Still she lay quietly as he paused to pick up his clothing that was strewn about the floor.

If she had opened her eyes, she would have seen that he was smiling sadly, as if he was quite aware that she was merely feigning her slumber. But he turned without a word and walked down the stairs.

He dressed quickly and the only sound that came to her ears was the soft creak of the leather couch as he sat down to put on his shoes. A moment later, she heard the door open and close and then the locks clicked back into place. Only then did she open her eyes. Allowing a large sigh to escape from her lips, she turned onto her back and lay, gazing up at the ceiling for more than an hour before she finally drifted back to sleep.

******

The weather at Hogwarts was quite cold and crisp compared to the much more temperate climate of London, but Snape seemed oblivious to the temperature as he made his way up the front steps. He actually put out his hand to turn the doorknob before he suddenly remembered that it would be locked at this time of day. Shaking his head at his own preoccupation, he retrieved his wand and murmured the appropriate spell, causing the door to creak open. He had barely closed it behind him and started to move towards the direction of the dungeon stairs when he heard a voice behind him.

"Ah, Severus! You are up and about early this morning, I see."

He stiffened slightly and frowned before pivoting on his heel to face the speaker. "Yes, Albus, I am," he replied, blandly, even as his dark eyes searched the Headmaster's face for any sign that he knew he was just returning to the grounds. He had tried his best to ensure that there was no sign that he had spent the previous night in the company of a woman. In fact, his sole purpose in showering before leaving the flat had been to make sure that there was no trace of her perfume upon him, though he knew that few people had as keen a sense of smell as he possessed. It had actually taken quite a bit of scrubbing to remove every hint of the Chanel from his skin, and he had felt an almost palpable sense of loss as it was replaced by the impersonal, generic scent of the soap.

"Yes, I suspect most of the school is quite anxious to see the match today." He chuckled softly. "Whenever Gryffindor faces Slytherin emotions do tend to run high," he noted.

"Indeed," replied Snape, shortly. "And I do have some work to attend to before the game begins," he said, turning away.

"A moment of your time, Severus?" asked the older man, quietly.

"Of course, Headmaster," he answered, facing him again after just the slightest hesitation.

"That urgent problem, of a personal nature that called you to London last week-" he began.

Snape's posture stiffened visibly, his hands balled into tight fists. "I assure you, Albus, that you need not concern yourself. The matter is resolved," he said, in a tone of voice that few dared to use with the redoubtable wizard.

"I only wished to say, Severus," he replied, in a voice that held just a touch of rebuke, "That, as grateful as I am to your continued loyalty and fidelity, it does not mean that I require you to be chained to me, or to Hogwarts. And that you need not feel guilty when other responsibilities call you from my side." He stepped closer to the dark man and looked him steadily in the eye. "If other problems should arise in the future, I hope that you will know that you should feel free to attend to them. In fact," he admitted, holding out his hands, "I have long felt that perhaps it would be better for you to find something outside of the school to occupy your time."

Snape stood staring back at the other man, his expression carefully blank.

"After all, Severus," continued Dumbledore, smiling benignly, "Everyone needs a hobby."

Still the other man made no reply.

The Headmaster's smile faded slightly. "And I never meant to condemn you to a life of solitude, Severus. It is not good for man-nor woman-to be alone."

Other than a muscle twitching slightly in the cheek of the Potions Master's face, there was no response.

"You may go," said Dumbledore quietly, nodding his head.

He continued to watch sorrowfully as the dark form glided down the hallway and disappeared from view down the stairs.

******

The rest of the weekend was rainy and dreary, matching her mood it seemed. After washing the dishes that were still sitting in the sink, she turned her attention to the rest of the flat, scrubbing and polishing and brushing every single inch of furniture, wall and flooring until it gleamed. She sat down several times to read, but found, to her distress, that Shakespeare's sonnets, instead of entrancing her, merely added to her glominess. She found herself depressed by the ones despairing of finding love and dubious of the ones which reveled in the emotion.

She went on several long walks on Sunday, heading in and out of several stores in the neighborhood, but studiously avoided returning to the antique shop where the dreaded table had been purchased. Instead, she spent hours inside of a musty, second-hand book store, searching out a wide selection of volumes ranging from poetry to cooking. She even ventured inside of a tea shop, but ended up turning on her heel and leaving, unable to stay in a place where so many people were laughing and chatting.

Arriving back at the flat, she sat down in front of the mirror and spent the better part of the evening arranging her hair into several elaborate hairstyles, twining the ribbons he had bought her through her tresses. Now that she had time to study them, she realized that some of them were decorated with diamonds and rubies as well. But, as she prepared for bed, she always ended up bringing her hair over her shoulder and plaiting the strands into a simple braid, using the silver ribbon to secure it into place.

On Monday afternoon, there was a knock at the door, and she kept the safety chain in place as she undid the rest of the locks, peering out suspiciously through the small opening.

"Delivery for a Miss Galatea," said the young boy, managing to work the clipboard through the crack between the jamb and the door so that she could sign.

She stared down at form, most of which was illegible, but she did make out what looked like Snape's signature on several of the pages. So she added her new autograph to the pages as well, and reluctantly opened the door. Along with the younger man, there was a burly middle-aged bloke, and within less than a minute there were three large crates sitting upon the rug in the living area. Afterwards, both men tipped their hats to her, and it took her several seconds to realize that they might be expecting a gratuity. She quickly fished two bills out of her purse, and decided, upon the surprised and happy looks on their faces, that she had underestimated the value of the Muggle currency she had handed them. However, at the moment she was just happy to get rid of them as she turned her attention to opening up the boxes.

She pried off the lid of the first crate and found that it contained books-most of them textbooks related to the subject of Muggle mathematics and bookkeeping, but several new volumes of poetry and literature as well.

Turning her attention to the second crate, she noticed that there were several round holes drilled into the top of the lid. As she struggled to open it up, there came a loud "Squawk" from inside of it. She nearly dropped the screwdriver she was holding in her hand and bent down to peer through one of the holes. It looked as though there was something staring back at her. Screwing up her courage, she returned to her task and within a few minutes she had pried enough of the slats of wood apart to see that inside of the box was a large bag of birdseed and a cage. And inside of the cage was a small, gray parrot. The bird nodded his head up and down sagely and furled out its plumage proudly.

And attached to the cage was an envelope addressed to 'Miss Galatea.' Tearing it open, she read the enclosed note:

Rosalind,

This little gentleman is an African Gray Parrot (Psittacus erithacus). I am assured that he is quite intelligent and eager to converse. There is a supply of birdseed provided, and I am told he will also eat berries, nuts and fruit.

Should there be an absolute emergency, he is also capable of carrying a note to me.

S. Snape

P.S. I have taken the liberty of naming him Jaques.

Laughing with delight, she bent down and smiled at the friendly creature.

"Hi there," she whispered. "Can you talk, Pretty Boy? Is your name Jaques? Did you come from Snape?" she asked.

The bird cocked his head to the side, regarding her with curiosity and opened its beak.

"Silence!"

For a few seconds, she stood there, stunned. And then she began to laugh, which only caused the bird to become excited once again and begin hopping from one side of its cage to the other, calling out "Silence!" several more times. Finally, tears streaming down her cheeks, she managed to collect herself.

"Yes, you definitely come from Snape," she said.

"Celia, is that you?"

She stood staring down at the bird. Now, that was the strangest thing, she thought. That time, he hadn't even moved his beak and his voice had taken on a decidedly female tone. And then she realized that the voice had come from behind her, and that it seemed very familiar, though rather muffled.

With shaking hands she turned and began to pry the lid off of the final carton. She reached down and impatiently thrust the packing material aside. Gingerly, she bent down and carefully raised the enclosed object out of the box. She tore off the paper that was wrapped around it and found her fingertips gliding over the surface as her cheeks were once again moistened with tears.

"It is you!" exclaimed the mirror, looking and sounding as wonderful as ever.

"Yes, yes," she whispered in return. "But you must call me Rosalind now," wondering how to begin explaining things to it. And then she noticed that there was a note hanging from the mirror as well. She opened it and read:

Rosalind,

I hope I do not have to emphasize how vitally important it is that the utmost discretion is used when using this device. Please do not make me regret my liberality.

I admit, it is rather against my better judgment to allow you to have this. But, as a very wise man once said, it is not good for a woman to be alone.

S. Snape
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Love's Labours; Paradise Lost