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Love's Labours; Paradise Lost	By : Veresna Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 18697 -:- 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
- 11
- 12
- 13
Author note: I want to once again thank my wonderful editor, "lablanche". Without her support, suggestions and shrewd guidance, this piece of writing would be a mere shadow of its present form. Many a random, lifeless sentence of mine has been transformed into something much more powerful because she has encouraged me to explore my ideas and the emotional life of the characters in more depth. And if my Severus seems to be the "quintessential" Snape, it is due to her constant insistence that I describe him in exquisite detail, and to her demand that his vocabulary at all times be exceedingly proper, decidedly British, snobbishly arcane and devastatingly acerbic. If anyone is interested in seeing the painting (and the dress) that "scandalized Europe", here are the links to Sargent's completed painting and to an unfinished study of the subject: www.jssgallery.org Search for Paintings, and Madame X

Chapter 11: The Worst Fault You Have is to Be in Love

The woman making her way through the crowded, bustling street was the kind that made more than one casual observer turn momentarily from his or her own thoughts and watch her as she strode past. Not that she was an extraordinary beauty, although her features were quite pleasing and her pale, smooth complexion was a delightful contrast to the shimmering mass of curly black hair that was tied up into a ponytail. No, the attention she aroused might have had more to do with her confident, determined manner as she strode through the lane, complemented by the hint of a pleased, assured smile. More than one of the bystanders allowed a small grin to flit momentarily across their own lips as the thought occurred to them that she might be on her way to an assignation with a lover.

She continued on her way, oblivious to the looks of the people she passed, her footsteps quickening ever so slightly as she drew nearer to her flat. She raced up the stone stairs that led to the large front door and transferred the packages she was carrying to her left hand while she juggled her keys in her right. She paused to check the post first, frowning at the assortment of bills and advertisement for only a moment before tossing them into her bag and using a different key to open up the door at the back of the vestibule.

It was three flights up to her floor, but the pace of her footsteps racing up the stairs never seemed to slacken, and within a few moments she had unlocked this door as well and was striding into her flat. Pausing to nudge the door closed with her hip, she wet her lips and blew out a soft whistle. Immediately, a blurry spot of gray came flying out of the bedroom area and alit on her shoulder.

"Hi, Jaques!" she cooed, as she walked on into the kitchen area to set down her bag. "How was my boy today?"

"Hello, hello!" squawked the bird, excitedly. He remained perched upon her shoulder as she opened the refrigerator and distributed the items onto the shelves. Folding up the bag and placing it under the sink, she grabbed a handful of grapes from a bowl sitting upon the counter and headed back to the living room area. The bird hopped down onto the table and deftly caught a grape in its beak as she tossed one towards him. As he concentrated on eating the treat, Celia turned her attention to the mail, throwing out most of it while putting the bills to one side.

She couldn't help but smile as she looked down at the table. She never had ended up using it as a dining table, and Snape had never made a single remark or gesture indicating that he was aware of its presence after the first disastrous night. But, as her schooling had progressed, she had found that she used it more and more as a combination desk and work space, the upshot being that it had gradually moved to the center of the room and the sofa and chairs had moved back to hug the walls.

Not that it was the only change to the flat that had occurred over the years, she thought, as her gaze drifted over the rest of the room. In addition to the original bookcases, there were a number of new shelves, one of which held her speakers and CD player. Snape had willingly approved her purchase of those once she had explained that it would enable them to listen to music, and had finally convinced him to visit a music store so that he could see for himself the wealth of recorded material available.

She had known of his fondness for music, of course, ever since the time he had shown up unexpectedly at the flat on the night of her birthday.

******

She had arrived back home after a busy day, feeling somewhat sorry for herself that no one was even aware of the significance of the day, much less inclined to celebrate with her. Although, she had sighed, she supposed it was just as well that she hadn't mentioned it to anybody, since the date of birth listed on the papers that Snape had provided was in an entirely different month, though he had managed to get the year correct. And then, he had appeared at the door, dressed in formal attire and bearing gifts.

She had simply radiated delight upon seeing him, her amazement at the fact that he had remembered her "real" birthday combined with the knowledge that it was quite rare for him to visit her in the middle of the week making her feel quite honored. She had giggled as expectantly as a child as she sat down and began to tear the paper off of the boxes.

The first gift had been an exquisite set of white sapphire earrings with a matching necklace. Her eyes had widened at the sight of the magnificent jewels, though she had dared to tease him, as he stood behind her to do the clasp, that white sapphires weren't her birthstones.

"Indeed not," he had replied coolly, bending down to kiss her shoulder before brushing her hair back so that he could view the earrings. "But, I confess that I have never found amethyst to be an attractive stone. Besides which," he had noted, as he handed her another package, "From now on your birthday is supposed to be in April, not February."

"Yes, Sir," she had muttered, as she sat down and began to unwrap the next present. "Does this mean I will be celebrating two birthdays this year?" she asked, smiling up at him.

"Perhaps, if you continue to please me," he had replied, languidly, stretching out his long legs in front of him. "Of course, at the rate at which you are opening these presents, we may still be here in April," he added, reprovingly.

She had hurriedly tore through the wrapping and uncovered a large book, studying the cover intently for several seconds, before opening up the pages. "Utamaro?" she murmured, curiously, as she began to turn the pages.

"Yes, a Japanese master of the art of Shunga," he had replied, smiling with anticipation as he watched her eyes grow larger as she perused the images. "A distinctively stylized form of erotic art," he added.

"So I see," she had answered, feeling the slightest of blushes come over her face as she perused a particular image. "Courtesan and Client Preparing to Make Love," she read, aloud.

"Ah, yes, that one is rather more explicit than most," he replied, laughing softly.

She had peeked shyly at him over the edge of the book. "Such a touching gift to bestow upon your own courtesan," she noted.

"Yes," he agreed. "And if you find them to your liking, I shall be happy to obtain some prints for you."

"Well,-" she had begun, but at that moment a small envelope had fallen out of the pages of the book, and she bent down to pick it up. Opening it, she pulled out two tickets and an expression of surprise mixed with the slightest bit of apprehension had crossed her face.

"Madam Butterfly." She paused for several seconds. "I've never been to an opera," she admitted, finally.

Snape sighed. "Well, you needn't look quite so worried. And, please cease that infernal chewing upon your lip," he commanded.

Lifting her hand to her mouth, she gave her own sigh of exasperation as she realized that she was, indeed, indulging in her favorite nervous habit. Releasing her hold upon her bottom lip, she raised her head to look at him, and shrugged her shoulders apologetically.

He tilted his head to the side and held up his hands as he continued: "I assure you that I would not have chosen this particular opus unless I thought that you would find it entertaining, perhaps even moving." He suddenly rose to his feet. "But, if you absolutely refuse-"

"No sir, of course I don't refuse," she exclaimed. "I was just surprised and-" She gave a small shriek and got to her feet as well.

His eyebrows rose upward, registering his distinct unhappiness with the shrillness of her tone. "Is there something wrong?" he inquired impatiently, as he crossed his arms and stared down at her.

"These tickets are for tonight-in less than an hour!" she cried.

"And?"

"Well-" She held out her arms helplessly. "I have to change, and do my hair and-"

"Be quiet, woman!" he bellowed. Celia immediately clamped her mouth shut and froze where she stood, gazing in horror as he reached into his pocket and removed his wand, pointing it in her direction.

"What?" she had cried, her arms moving up in front of her face in an involuntary gesture of protection before a flash of blinding white light had enveloped her. When she dared to open her eyes, she saw that she was now wearing a pair of long, elbow-length white gloves, studded with tiny buttons. Looking down, she also discovered that her casual skirt and jumper had been replaced by a floor-length black satin gown. Raising her hands tentatively to her head, she patted her hair and smiled as she detected the presence of the pearl ornaments secured to her upswept coiffure. Snape in the meantime was scrutinizing her carefully, the frown upon his face indicating he was either not yet satisfied, or not yet finished, with his labors.

But he allowed her to move past him to the mirror that hung by the door and in the brief time that it took her to reach it, she found that he had performed a charm to extend the glass so that she was able to study the full length of her body. She stared at the image in front of her, at a woman dressed in a glorious dress: a low-cut, heart-shaped bodice above a tightly-cinched waist, below which the fabric hugged tightly against the hips before falling to the floor. The color of the adornments in her hair and the long gloves seemed to gleam in sharp contrast to the ebony of her hair and of the dress. She looked down at her feet and examined the black, high-heeled shoes that she was wearing.

"No glass slippers?" she asked, smiling as she turned and walked back towards him.

Snape snorted in reply. "I am somewhat dubious that Perrault had me in mind when he wrote of 'fairy godmothers', " he replied. "And," he continued, shaking his head, "The gloves are not right at all." He raised his wand and aimed at her once more.

"I'll take them off!" she cried, her fingers fumbling to undo the buttons. But before she could remove them, she saw the bright light flowing over her again and she felt the kid leather disappear from her flesh. She turned to look at the mirror and peeked at her reflection. Even though he had not changed the neckline of the dress, she felt somehow more exposed and vulnerable. And, as she continued to stare at herself, she felt that her own skin was beginning to glow with an unworldly paleness, as if the somber darkness of the dress were imparting a magical glow to her naturally pale complexion. She found herself shivering involuntarily, and took in a quick, panicked breath.

"I can't wear this!" she exclaimed, suddenly hugging her arms around her.

"And why ever not?" he demanded in a clipped voice, placing his hands upon his hips and glaring at her in irritation.

"It's much too tight in the waistline," she complained, her fingers moving down to her hips as her lungs struggled to take in a deeper breath. "And I'm going to fall out of it!" she squeaked, as her hands abruptly moved to pull the bodice up.

"Nonsense, you silly girl" he replied, waving his wand again.

She felt the waistline expand ever so slightly, and before she had a chance to speak again he continued:

"After all, you will be sitting in a theatre, not running up and down a Quidditch field," he reprimanded her, coolly. "As for the possibility that you will reveal more than is intended, I assure you that you are in possession of two remarkable assets that are more than ample enough to keep this garment properly in place. However, if you insist-"

There was another beam of light, and this time when she examined her reflection she saw that there were now delicate straps of white rhinestones rising from the top of the bodice and fastening onto the back of the dress-the thin, sparkling chains providing an additional, if seductively provocative, support to the garment.

"Oh!" she cried, raising a hand to her throat as she belatedly realized that the white sapphire necklace had disappeared.

"Do not fret," he chided, shaking his head. "It is sitting safely within your jewelry box at the moment. But it would be decidedly excessive for you to wear it tonight." He crossed his arms, "Since you are being so obstinate about needing those," he continued, gesturing at the glittering straps.

"I suppose not," she whispered, the disappointment in her voice quite evident.

"Do not pout," he admonished, reaching out to take her hands in his and lifting them to her ears so that she could tell that the earrings were still there. "You are still wearing my sapphires," he noted, releasing her hands.

She nodded in approval and then put her arms out in front of her before turning to him and smiling apologetically. "But, I still feel rather naked," she admitted.

He tilted his head to the side and regarded her with an air of long-suffering martyrdom. "You are," he began, allowing his left eyebrow to rise, "And always will be," he continued, as he crossed the room to stand before her.

"A Hopeless Hufflepuff," she finished for him.

"Indeed," he answered, bending down to kiss her lightly upon the forehead. Then he stepped back and scowled at her again, making a circling motion with his finger to indicate that she should turn around for him.

She spun around slowly, holding her arms out as she rotated.

"You insist upon gloves?" he muttered, shaking his head.

"Please?" she asked, quietly.

With a sigh, he tilted his head to the side and pointed his wand again, although this time he was aiming it at his own hand. In an instant, another pair of gloves, this time fashioned from black satin, appeared upon his open palm. Putting his wand back into his pocket, he nodded in satisfaction, and started back towards her. As he came near, however, a small frown suddenly creased his forehead, and to her surprise he walked past her and picked up her handbag which she had tossed upon the couch. Continuing to hold the gloves in one hand, he impatiently snapped open the clasp and began to rummage through the contents of the purse. It took all of her self-control for Celia to remain silent and she found her hands balling into fists as she forced herself not to step forward and intervene. She had gotten used to his preemptory manner, but she still thought he might at least go through the pretense of asking her permission before picking through her handbag.

But a moment later he had finally found what he had been seeking and he tossed the purse back onto the sofa. As he approached her, she saw that he was taking the cap off of the small vial of perfume. He gestured towards her and she held her arms out towards him, grinning as he sprayed a small circle of the scent upon each of her wrists. He then dropped the perfume bottle into his pocket and she raised her right hand, expecting that he meant to assist her in putting on the gloves. To her astonishment, however, he kept the gloves gripped in his left hand as the long, slim fingers of his right hand wrapped around her right wrist and he lifted it to his mouth, placing a kiss upon it. She drew in a quick, startled breath and knew without a doubt that he had detected the sudden jolt and heightened tempo of her heartbeat as his lips brushed against her pulse. She felt a faint blush coming to her cheeks as she stared up into his dark eyes.

He chuckled softly and drew back just a bit and, returning his attention to the glove, began to work the soft fabric over her hand, taking care to smooth it over each finger. Then he repeated his actions with her left hand, and even though she was prepared for the kiss this time, she still felt herself trembling just a bit as his warm mouth grazed softly against her skin. After the second glove was properly in place, he stood back and with a wave of his hand indicated that she should go to the mirror and gaze upon her reflection.

"Oh," she murmured softly, her hand rising up to gently stroke against the bejeweled strap. She had already recognized the dress, of course, but it was still hard to believe that she was wearing it-or how sophisticated and enticing it made her look. It reminded her, suddenly, of all the times she had sat upon her mother's bed and watched her drape herself in fine fabrics and expensive jewelry as she prepared herself for an elegant night on the town.

A soft, spritzing sound and the sensation of cold droplets falling down upon her bosom abruptly brought her back to the present. She shifted her eyes to look at his reflection as he stood behind her, his lips drown into a smirk as he dipped his head to kiss her upon the neck.

"I believe a lady can always do with a touch of fragrance there as well," he noted, as the fingertips of his left hand brushed softly between her cleavage. Stepping back to the sofa, he tossed the bottle into her purse while simultaneously turning the unwieldy bag into a small, elegant black clutch of matching satin.

He aimed his wand into mid air and, with a soft, popping sound, a shawl of black lace, the points studded with onyx, appeared. "And a wrap, for when we are outside."

She watched, fascinated, as his face reappeared beside her in the mirror and his quick, nimble fingers fastened the wrap around her throat.

He bent down so that he could whisper into her ear: "It is a damp night, you should take care."

He drew away from her and her eyes sparkled with amusement as she regarded him. "Now, where on earth have I heard that before?" she teased, as she turned to face him. "Although-" She hesitated, and her smile faded. "You first spoke it to a bleached-blonde trollop in a tight red dress standing on the sidewalk of Knockturn Alley," she noted.

"Yes," he had replied, moving close to her again. "And she has now been transformed into a raven-haired beauty clad in glittering jewels and an elegant evening gown, who is about to rub elbows with the 'creme de la creme' of London society."

She had stood looking up at him for a moment, trying to find comfort in the fact that his words, though spoken in an offhand manner, were no doubt sincere. For his eyes were focused upon her face and his gaze was earnest, with not a hint of mockery in those dark irises. But a small voice inside her head whispered: "But, I am still a little squib, aren't I? And there's really nothing you can do to change that. You may be willing to be seen with me in front of Muggles, but you will never allow any witches or wizards to see us together-and not just because you need to protect me."

But she forced that unsettling thought out of her mind and reached up to kiss him, closing her eyes and leaning against him as his arms circled around her. After a moment, she felt his hands drop down to her waist and squeeze her gently. She glanced down and noted that, even though he had let the stays out slightly, they were still drawn tightly enough that he could almost circle her waist with his long, slim hands. And she wondered again how she would ever get through the evening.

"We don't want to be late," he reminded her, smiling.

"No, of course not," she answered. She smiled mischievously and tucked the evening bag under her arm. "Well, then, I'll just be a moment," she had said, walking towards the steps that led to the bedroom.

"I assure you that your makeup is quite satisfactory," he had muttered, sounding slightly annoyed as he thrust the wand back into his pocket and crossed his arms again.

"Yes, it is," she replied, calmly. He heard faint sounds coming from the bedroom as she rummaged through something. "I'm getting something for you, actually," she said, coming back down the stairs.

Snape glanced at her hands and his right eyebrow arched upward.

"Oh, come now," she cajoled, "I think it will look splendid."

For a moment, he stood staring down at her, looking rather mutinous.

"Please, for me?" she asked, quietly.

He shrugged and turned away from her, standing as still as a statue as she raised her hands and began to run the comb through his hair. And then she brought it back into a queue and tied a silver ribbon around it.

"Are you attempting to make me look as ridiculous as that impudent, untalented fop Gilderoy Lockhart?" he demanded.

"No, of course not, sir. You don't look foppish at all," she replied, patting him on the shoulder. "But you do look extremely smart," she assured him.

He threw a glance over his shoulder and looked unconvinced. "Well, perhaps-" he allowed, as he snapped his fingers. Immediately, the ribbon darkened into an inky black.

She sighed theatrically. "Don't you ever get tired of that color?' she teased.

"Never," he assured her, solemnly.

"By the way, professor" she added, grinning up at him mischievously. "Am I allowed to call you by your first name tonight? Or do you want the crowd to think that you are a faculty member who is having a torrid, illicit affair with one of his students?"

"Just for tonight, my Rosalind," he had muttered, chucking her affectionately under her chin, "You may call me Severus in front of others." He extended his arm out toward her.

She accepted it graciously, and a moment later they had disapparated into the alleyway that lay at the back of the theatre. She forced herself to keep the smile upon her face and her head held high as they made their way through the crowd, aware that their unusual but formal appearance was making an impression even upon that jaded set of society. As they entered the theatre, she glanced longingly at the bar where the waiters were busy serving up glasses of wine and champagne.

"No," he admonished, quietly, as he put his arm around her waist and gently angled her though the crowd.

She saw, to her surprise, that they were not headed for the general queue, but to a door located at the far left side of the lobby, above which there was a sign proclaiming, "Box Seats Only, Please!" As the approached the doorway, one of the tuxedoed ushers hurried forward.

"Ah, Professor Snape, " he began, only to stop and allow his eyes, momentarily, to widen in shock. "What a sur-" he said, only to stop himself again and widen his smile, "How delightful to see that you have company this evening," he finally settled upon, as he bowed at the wait. "This way please," he said, gesturing for them to follow him.

Celia concentrated upon keeping her head tilted upward, unconsciously mimicking the angle of Snape's own upturned nose, as they followed behind the usher. They ascended a series of short staircases, which she took at a particularly languid pace, still hampered by the pinching of the stays around her waist. With a flourish, the man produced a small key and bowed again as he unlocked the door of the box.

Snape gestured for her to proceed him through the portal, and she saw that there were two large, velvet-cushioned chairs sitting within in the box, which was situated very close to the left-hand side of the theatre, affording a spectacular view of both the stage and the orchestra. Upon a small table, there was a program, a bottle of cognac, and a single snifter.

"Shall I bring another glass?" inquired the usher, hovering behind them.

"No, Charles" replied Snape. "The lady prefers champagne."

Celia smiled as the usher hurriedly bent and retrieved the bottle and glass from the table. "Of course, sir, may I suggest-"

"Dom Perignon 1990," interjected Snape, idly.

For a few comical seconds, the usher's mouth hung open as his eyes widened in shock. But, he recovered himself admirably, nodding in approval and replying, in a most approving and convivial manner, "Oh, of course, sir."

In the meantime, Snape's hand had wandered to his pocket and retrieved a small stack of Muggle currency. "I trust this will suffice?" he asked, quietly, as the bills were discretely transferred to Charles' waiting hand.

"Of course, sir," assured the usher, without even glancing at the large wad of money.

With a wave of his hand, the dark man dismissed him, and Charles bowed his way out of the box.

Celia returned her attention to the theatre, glancing out over the stage and at the rapidly-filling seats on the floor below them.

"May I take your wrap?" she heard Snape whisper, with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Yes, thank you," she replied, as airily as she could, as she raised her hands to her neck and began to undo the buttons.

As he swept the shawl off of her shoulders, she heard the unmistakable murmur of surprise and jealous approbation from the people in the surrounding boxes, and she caught the glint of more than one pair of opera glasses swiveling in her direction as an excited babble arose around them as she took her seat.

"I see that Sargent's Madame X has arisen yet again to cause a stir in society," she murmured, as he finished draping the wrap over the back of her chair and sat down beside her.

His eyebrows rose ever so slightly. "And I see you have been studying," he noted. He raised his arm to her back, and for a fleeting moment she felt his fingertips run across the thin rhinestone straps. "And you must therefore also realize that I did allow you to wear the slightly less shocking version of the gown."

"Yes," she answered. To her dismay, she felt a small shiver run through her. Although part of it was undoubtedly anticipation, she had to admit that the low neckline of the dress meant that she was just the tiniest bit chilled as well.

"I see," he said. With a small grin, she watched him raise his left hand to his mouth, pretending to cough while actually pronouncing a spell at the same moment that his right hand wrapped around the wand in his pocket. A moment later, her neck and shoulders felt measurably more comfortable as the warming spell began to work.

"Thank you," she said, sitting back in her chair and twining her hands demurely in her lap.

"Well, we certainly don't want you to be catching cold," he teased.

"Oh, yes," she agreed, turning to face him. "It would be such a shame if I ended up in bed," she cooed. "Sick," she added, smiling sweetly. "You'd have to take care of me again," she whispered, her voice sounding slightly regretful.

"I assure you, Mademoiselle," he replied in a low voice, his black eyes gleaming with anticipation as he paused to remove a pair of gold opera glasses from the pocket of his jacket, "I shall be attending to you in bed ere this evening is over."

"I was hoping to hear that," she assured him with a grin.

By the time that Charles returned, the theatre was packed and Celia had spent several minutes perusing the program that she had picked up from the table, trying to glean every bit of information that she could before the performance began.

"Never mind that," Snape muttered, as he handed her the flute of champagne. "I shall translate for you." With a soft click of the glasses, they toasted each other.

"Happy Birthday," he whispered, bending down and speaking softly so that only she could hear him, as the lights dimmed.

To be truthful, she probably wouldn't have needed his help, for the production was a particularly inspired one, and the singers were gifted with expressive body language on top of their exquisite voices. But there was a special pleasure to be found in the way he bent his head toward hers as he whispered something about the lyrics or plot into her ear, with his right hand more than once drifting gently across her bosom as he leant forward, and his voice so low and hushed that he managed to speak without disturbing the other patrons.

But she found herself shivering with excitment and arousal as his rich baritone voice reverberated gently in her ear, his fingertips brushing against her skin in cadence with his words.

"Are you chilled again?" he asked, so near to her that she could feel his breath waft against her neck.

"No," she whispered back and then turned to gaze at him in amusement. "And you know it," she challenged, as she brought her hand up to caress his cheek.

He smiled broadly for a moment before bending down to plant another kiss upon her neck. "Indeed," he replied, speaking softly into her ear, "But after all, I am an arrogant bastard." Then he looked at her in a most reprovingly manner, staring down the full length of his formidable nose as she clapped a hand over her mouth in a vain attempt to keep from laughing out loud.

She was fascinated by the whole experience, and very grateful to him for bringing along the opera glasses, for she found herself anxious to take in every detail of the performances, scenery and costumes. Snape, on the other hand, made little use of the lenses, and in fact spent a great deal of the evening sitting back in his chair with his eyes closed. Not in boredom, as she had first feared, however. But it seemed as if he enjoyed the music so thoroughly that he was content to allow it to wash over him, unimpeded by any other sensory input.

As he had promised, the experience was quite moving and she found, to her distress, that she could not keep the tears from welling up in her eyes as she watched Cio-Cio-San sing her final aria and prepare to kill herself. She was one of the first to rise to her feet as the performers took their bows, ignoring the tears that were streaming down her cheeks and Snape's somewhat bemused stance beside her as she clapped enthusiastically. As she reluctantly ended her applause, she felt him press a handkerchief into her hand.

"I shall assume you found the performance adequate?" he chided gently, as she wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

"It was beautiful," she admitted, as they slowly began to make their way out of the theatre. "Thank you."

But, by the time they had returned to the flat she had seemed somewhat pensive and withdrawn.

"Tired?" he had asked, as he closed the door behind him and raised his hand to remove the ribbon from his hair.

"Uh-hmm," she had murmured, distractedly, as she went to place the cloth over Jaques' cage.

" Would you care for a Cognac?" he had asked, gliding towards the kitchen.

" No, thank you," she had answered, removing the cloak and hanging it upon the stand that stood near the door. Then she walked towards the mirror and stood before it. In the semi-darkness of the room, the pearl ornaments were glowing with an other-worldly light. If she squinted her eyes, she could almost imagine that she was seeing the white face and black wig of a Geisha instead of her own reflection. And then Snape's pale visage appeared in the glass, his face framed by blackness of his hair and his dark eyes scrutinizing her features as his arms wrapped around her.

"It is late," he noted. "And we both have classes early in the morning." He paused for a moment. "Perhaps I should be going."

"Oh, don't leave me!" she cried, as her hands reached up to touch his arms. Instantly regretting the note of panic in her words, she strove to regain her composure. "I mean, you did promise to 'attend to me' in bed, didn't you?" she continued, forcing a smile onto her face and a teasing tone into her voice.

His arms tightened around her for a moment, and then his fingers wandered up to her hair. In an instant her dark curls were cascading over her bare shoulders.

"I am not Pinkerton," he murmured, his fingers continuing to caress her as he began to kiss her neck.

For a moment, their eyes met in the mirror, and she knew that he had realized that the words she had blurted out were not merely because she was afraid he was about to return to Hogwarts for the evening.

"But am I Butterfly?" she thought to herself, even as she responded to the touch of his mouth and hands upon her.

She turned and reached for him again, her lips seeking his, welcoming his warm, brandy-tinged tongue into her mouth as her arms wrapped around him. They kissed for several minutes and then he broke off the embrace. With a smile, he held out his hand and led her up the stairs to the bedroom.

At the top of the steps they paused to kiss again, and then she helped him unbutton his jacket and and toss it on the bureau. A moment later, her shoes were kicked off as well, and he sat down upon the bed to take off his boots as she turned her attention to removing the dress. But after several minutes, she found herself stymied, her fingertips unable to find a single button, hook or zipper no matter how many times she ran them over the smooth fabric.

"Ready to give up?"

She raised her head to look at Snape as he stood up to remove his trousers.

"Care to tell me what exactly is holding this dress together?" she asked, as he paused to hang the slacks over the bed railing before peeling off his underwear as well.

"Magic," he replied, lying back on the bed naked and beckoning her to come join him.

"I see," she said, kneeling beside him on the bed and bending over him. "So, I suppose you are going to have to remove it for me?"

She felt his hands moving to her shoulders, running his fingers underneath the band of rhinestones as he murmured something under his breath. Suddenly, the straps disappeared into thin air. As she moved to lie on top of him, his hands traveled up to her bodice, and she gasped in surprise as the fabric there faded away and she felt him cradle her suddenly-exposed breasts in his strong hands.

She rose up slightly, moaning softly as he kissed her gently upon the neck and then moved his lips downward. He paused for a moment at the point where he had sprayed the perfume, and they could both feel her heart beating wildly against her ribcage as brushed his lips against the spot. Then he moved his head to the side and took her nipple into his mouth, sucking upon it with a tender but insistent rhythm as his fingertips played with her other breast. Releasing his hold, he turned his attention to her other breast, his tongue reaching out to circle and lick at the responsive nub of flesh.

She cried out again in pleasure as his hands began to move down her torso, feeling the black satin continue to dissolve away as he caressed her and repeated the words that undid his enchantment upon the dress. She heard him murmur something and glanced down to see that there some marks upon her skin where the tight stays had pinched against her painfully. But as he continued to kiss and caress her, they disappeared as well. He nudged her onto her back and she brought up her hands to caress his own pale chest and erect nipples as he bent down to kiss her. By now, the fabric that had been draped tightly over her hips had vanished, and she was able to spread her legs as she felt his hands begin to stroke between her thighs and his erection throb against her stomach. His fingers dipped into her, penetrating her gently and beginning to rub against her clitoris.

"Oh, yes," she whispered, excitedly, as she felt his tongue trail down her bare stomach and his thumbs begin to work between the glistening lips of her genitals. And then he paused for a moment and she squealed in disappointment.

"Dear me," he muttered, rising up to his knees so that he could straddle her. "We haven't taken off your gloves yet," he remarked, looking at her forearms.

With a cry of frustration, she began to claw frantically at the offending garments. But she found that her efforts to remove them were just as futile as her attempts to take off the dress and that the black satin remained firmly and stubbornly in place.

"Shh," he murmured, amused by her agitation. He brought his fingers up to the edge of the glove that was on her right hand and began to slowly roll the fabric down. "Patience!" he admonished, as she groaned again in irritation. After several long seconds, he had finally succeeded in peeling the glove off of her hand. He paused and bent down over her palm, bestowing another kiss upon it.

"Come on!" she demanded, as she raised her left arm.

His right eyebrow rose sharply as he lifted his head to glare at her. "I believe you mean to say, 'Please hurry, sir', do you not?", he admonished.

"Please hurry, sir!" she repeated, fighting the urge to move her own hand down between her legs as she waited for him to finish undressing her.

He smiled and began to work off the other glove, working just as slowly as he had upon the first. But he finally tossed it off to the side and repositioned himself between her legs. She wound her fingers through his hair and felt her back arching up into the air as he began to pleasure her with his lips and tongue.

His lovemaking that night was slow and tender, a sharp contrast to the hurried, frenzied coupling that he usually engaged in when he called upon her. She had rather resigned herself to the fact that he tended to pounce upon her when he first walked through the door, and more than once she had found herself smashed against the cushions of the leather sofa within minutes of his arrival. In fact, she had become quite used to the fact that he sought out his own pleasure first, and then turned his attention to giving her satisfaction. And if, as she suspected, he mainly did so only to prove his prowess as a lover, it did not make the orgasms she experienced with him any less blissful.

Tonight though, he brought her to climax twice with his mouth before moving to enter her. And even then, he seemed unusually relaxed and considerate to her needs. To her surprise, he did not even object when she nestled against him, and fell asleep with his arms wrapped around her.

And yet, when he arose at dawn and silently left the flat, she had again kept her eyes closed and pretended to sleep as he showered and dressed. After he had gone, she had stared at the wall a long time, tears flowing down her face, wondering if her life was going to end as tragically as Cio-Cio-San's had.

"Am I foolish enough to be falling in love with this man who has sought me out merely for his own amusement?" she thought. "Is the day that far off when he will arise from the bed and leave this flat-and me-with no thought of returning?"
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Love's Labours; Paradise Lost