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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
- 13
- 14
- 15
Author's Note: In case it is not already apparent, I believe that this story has firmly ventured off into AU (Alternative Universe) territory. In explanation, it was written in the time period between the release of Goblet of Fire and Order of the Phoenix. I fully expect that the story I have depicted may be incompatible with the storylines that are revealed in books five through seven.

In the first place, I have assumed, as have many other fanfic authors, that the "mission" Dumbledore sets Snape on at the end of the fourth book is to resume his role as a spy among the Death Eaters. There have been numerous lengthy and well-reasoned objections to this assumption, not the least of which is that Voldemort is hardly the trusting type, and that many people feel that he refers to Snape as "the one who has left me forever." So, if we find out that the "real" mission is for Snape to sneak into Honeydukes for Dumbledore and steal a load full of candy to squirrel away at Hogwarts, won't we all look silly?

Secondly, my assumption that Snape is someone who deeply regrets his initial involvement with the Death Eaters, is also a commonly-held, but not entirely-supported-in-canon theory. JKR wrote a very intriguing character in Severus, and I often find myself debating between the fact that she has admitted he is at least partially based upon a teacher that she heartily disliked and describes him as a thoroughly unpleasant and unlikeable person, and the fact that she chose Rickman to portray him. The nuances of his performance have "ensnared my senses", and lead me to believe (particularly since JKR apparently gave him some additional background information) that there is a lot going on with the character that we have not as yet been shown. I'm still not sure if he is going to turn out to be a "bad" or "good" wizard in the end, although by the time we get to the end of the series, I suspect we will have seen the best of people do the worst of actions, and vice-versa.

Thirdly, Snape may yet turn out to be a vampire. Again, this is a very intriguing theory that I have heard intelligently debated ad nauseum, and I have in fact incorporated this into others of my fanfic works. However, it is not a component of this story.

And, once again, let me say that this story would never have been possible without the aid and support of my wonderful editor, "lablanche". By the way, it was at her urging that I decided to post this chapter on the night of a full lunar eclipse. She assures me that we can blame her "pagan sensibilities" for the decision and that she takes full responsibility for any uncorrected mistakes resulting from the rush to post.

As a final note, we found ourselves most inspired by the fact that Alan Rickman had not only played the role of "Jaques" in "As You Like It", but also wrote a most thoughtful and entertaining article about his experience. The couplet that is quoted at the end of this chapter are Jaques final words from that play.

LLPL 12: Thus Misery Doth Part the Flux of Company

Perhaps it was because she had spent so much of the evening reminiscing about their past, but as he paused to remove his cloak and hang it upon the rack, she was struck again by how tired and weary he looked. She thought back once more to the night that he had emerged from the fog and spoken to her, that chance encounter between two people who knew each other, but didn't know that they knew each other that had led to such an unexpected and complex relationship. She supposed that they had both changed immeasurably since that evening, and she doubted that few people would have believed that she had once been a gaudy, painted streetwalker. Snape, on the other hand, his clothing and carriage as distinctive and unique as ever, would have been much more recognizable as the customer who had approached her.

But perhaps the casual observer would have been forgiven in assuming that their assignation had taken place a long time ago, for it was also undeniable that the ensuing years had weighed heavily upon him. The lines and wrinkles she had noted a year ago had become even more obvious, more etched into the planes of his face, and the sharp angles of his cheekbones and beak-like prominence of his nose were more pronounced than ever. Always a thin man, he had lost weight as well. And though his body remained sinewy and strong, his narrow face had wasted into gauntness and there were dark circles rimming his eyes. The gray hairs had continued to proliferate, blending in with the black and creating a silver sheen to his mane except at the temples, where there were distinctive patches of white.

"Dear gods," she thought sadly, "I swear at times that the man has aged ten years overnight."

His visits had settled into something of a schedule: although he continued to occasionally call upon her unexpectedly, by and large he confined his visits to every two weeks, appearing sometime on Friday night and usually leaving on Saturday, only rarely staying until Sunday morning. Although she could not deny that she was hurt by the fact that his appearances at the flat had become shorter and less frequent over the years, any doubts she might have harbored that that his desire for her was fading were always instantly erased by the swiftness with which she always found herself being thrown down upon the bed (or couch or floor) upon his arrival. His need for immediate physical gratification seemed to have waxed rather than waned over the years, and if his initial ravishings were always rather abrupt and brusque, they were exquisitely passionate as well. And she could always comfort herself with the thought that he would be much more solicitous of her needs during the subsequent, unhurried sessions.

Tonight, though, he seemed oddly restrained, and it was she who initiated the embrace, wrapping her arms around him and tilting her head up to reach his lips. Instead of drawing her close to him and beginning to undress her as he usually did, he contented himself with caressing her gently for only a moment before releasing her and walking on toward the sofa. He collapsed upon it with a sigh, and as he tilted his head back against the cushions, she noted again how wan and pale he looked.

"Bad day?" she asked, looking down at him with concern.

His laughter was harsh and bitter. "An horrendous day," he replied, closing his eyes bringing his hand to his temples. "And by far the worst in what has been a ghastly week," he added, keeping his lids closed as his hands dropped down to his sides.

She waited for a few moments for him to continue, but was not surprised when he declined to elaborate. The last time she had attempted to winnow more news about the wizarding world, insinuating that she had a vague idea as to what was happening, he had exploded with anger and demanded to know where she had gotten her information. Her tearful admission that she had procured a copy of The Daily Prophet had only enraged him further, and she hadn't dared to seek out further news. So she could only guess that the crisis was continuing to worsen and that he had no desire to discuss it.

Instead, she sank down to the floor and set about removing his boots, ignoring his snort of surprise and stripping off his socks as well. She suppressed a smile as she felt him jerk his leg away from her, knowing that he was slightly ticklish but far too stubborn to admit it. She reached out and cradled his foot in her lap, rubbing and massaging the flesh firmly, moving his toes in slow circles and gently flexing the ankle until she felt the muscles relax under her ministrations and heard his soft groan of contentment. She repeated the process with his other foot and then looked up at him, delighted to see that there was a hint of smile upon his lips and that some of the tenseness had disappeared from around his mouth and eyes. She heard him chuckle softly as she bent down and planted a light kiss on top of his long and slightly crooked big toe.

"You're supposed to find this erotic, not amusing," she complained, grinning up at him.

"Indeed," he replied, and then pulled his leg away again as she ran her fingernails softly over the calloused skin of the heel. "It is a rather unusual sensation," he drawled, bending down to brush a strand of hair away from her forehead, "Simultaneously relaxing and yet just a bit arousing," he allowed.

She shifted to her knees and glanced pointedly at his trousers.

"It would seem that arousal is winning out over relaxation," she noted triumphantly. She moved closer to him and began to work her fingers underneath his pant cuffs. "Shall I keep working my way upwards?" she asked.

"No," he replied quietly.

"Oh," she said, more than a little surprised at his refusal. "I suppose," she teased, frowning slightly as she sat back and folded her hands in her lap, "That if I were a true Japanese courtesan, I would be using my own feet to massage you."

He laughed again, and then directed his gaze up to the ceiling. "I daresay that, if you are serious about stomping about on my body, you would have to stand in line. I assure you that there are numerous individuals who are eager to perform that task-preferably clad in spiked heels."

Leaning forward, he gestured at her to lean towards him. As she did so, he drew his hands through her hair, using his fingers to comb through the curls.

She stared up at him, bewildered by the somberness of his mood and his unexpected hesitation. He continued to run his fingers through her hair for several minutes, his expression grave and thoughtful.

"It's like he's looking at me for the first time," she thought in amazement. "No," she told herself, her as she continued to study his face, "It's more like-"

As if he had finally realized what he was doing, he smiled and pushed away from her, lifting his nose to sniff at the air.

"Something smells delicious," he noted.

She blinked, unprepared for either the withdrawal of his touch or the unexpected compliment.

"Chicken Cordon Bleu," she said, rising to her feet. "Again," she added with a laugh. "Since you enjoyed it so much the first time. And it's just about done." She hesitated for a moment and then shrugged her shoulders. "I just have to toss the salad and put the asparagus in to cook- if you're hungry?" she asked.

He nodded absentmindedly and rose to his feet as she made her way to the kitchen. He followed and paused to retrieve a glass from the cupboard, pouring some wine for himself and refreshing her drink as well. As she started to chop up the tomatoes, he wandered back to the living room area and, to her surprise, pulled out the chair and sat down at the desk.

"I see you've been studying," he commented, his fingers idly paging through the open textbook.

"I was trying to," she admitted, with a laugh. "I didn't accomplish much, I'm afraid."

"You certainly don't have any doubts that you are going to pass the examination, do you?" he asked sharply, before taking a sip of the wine.

"No, not at all," she assured. "I'm just ensuring that I receive highest marks."

"You should," he replied, carefully placing his glass down upon the table. "You have attended to your studies and done remarkably well."

She set down the knife and looked at him in disbelief. "Are you feeling all right?" she asked.

"Of course I am," he replied, gruffly, closing her books and moving them to the side. "Why do you ask?"

"Two compliments in the space of less than five minutes," she said, raising her eyebrows. "You're either delirious with fever or I'm drunk," she teased, picking up her own glass and examining the wine. "And this is only my second glass," she protested.

Snape made no reply but rested his elbows upon the table and rubbed his eyes wearily.

She bit her lip and looked over at him worriedly for a moment before turning her attention to finishing the salad. He was still sitting with his head resting in his hands when she brought over the salad plates and set them down on the table.

"You look more exhausted than hungry," she observed. She moved to stand behind him and began to massage his shoulders and neck. He raised his hand and brought up his arm as if to wave her away, but she ignored the gesture. She continued to work her fingers through the tense muscles until she felt the knots begin to soften, and heard him allow a long, satisfied sigh to escape from his mouth. "Better?" she asked, raising her hands to his temples and rubbing them softly.

"Much," he replied, his eyes once again closed.

"Perhaps," she said, bending down to whisper in his ear, "You had better use the bed for sleeping tonight. I hear that some people actually do that," she teased.

" No," he said, shaking his head.

He brought up his hands, and pushed her fingers away from where they were still resting against his temples. Shrugging her shoulders, she pulled out the other chair and seated herself across from him, resisting the temptation to note her surprise that he was finally deigning to eat at the table.

He picked up his fork and frowned down at the salad for a moment, half-heartedly prodding the croutons around the plate before setting the utensil down again. He sighed and pushed the dish away. "There is something that we need to discuss," he said, his tone indicating that the matter was of immense importance.

She nodded and set her own fork to the side, feeling a new uneasiness arise. She wondered just what she had done to provoke his anger or his disapproval this time. Although she honestly could not think of anything she had done since his last visit that would justify a reprimand, that did not stop her heart from beginning to pound slightly as she waited for him to continue.

"I expected that you would perform adequately in this field of study," he began, gesturing toward the books. "But, you have done more than that." He reached out for his wine glass and took a deep swallow before continuing. "In the two and a half years since I have been supporting you, you have managed to do much more than merely survive in the Muggle world, you have thrived-both in and out of school. Not only are you about to obtain a certificate in bookkeeping, but-" he paused for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts.

"I've also absorbed a bit of culture along the way," she finished for him. "Including a nodding acquaintance with Shakespeare, opera, art and fashionable clothes," she said, tapping off her fingers as she spoke.

"Yes," he said, crossing his arms and sitting back in chair. "And what are your plans?"

"My plans?" she repeated, frowning slightly.

He sighed deeply and stared up at the ceiling. "What do you want to do after receiving your Bookkeeping Certificate?" he elaborated, in that irritatingly slow way of his that always indicated that she was being annoyingly thick.

She picked up her wine and sipped at it, studying him over the rim of the glass. "And since when do you ask me what I want to do?" she answered, "It seems to me you've rather made a habit out of telling me what I am going to do."

He shrugged and raised his eyebrows. "Yes, but this time I am asking and you may as well humor me."

"Well," she began, putting the glass back down. "If you are seriously asking me-"

"That would appear to be what I am doing," he replied, sardonically.

"I think I should go ahead and get my Accounting certificate, eventually," she said, pausing to look for some kind of response from him. He picked up his fork and twirled in his hand, apparently mesmerized by the flash of light over the tines as he spun it.

"Yes?" he asked, not looking up at her.

"But, not right away," she added, quickly. "My advisor definitely thinks that I have what it takes to be an Accountant and that I will find myself bored with simple Bookkeeping after awhile."

"Hmm, I should expect so," he replied, tossing the fork back onto the table.

"But she also thinks I should take a year or so off of school and work in the field before I make that decision."

"That would appear to be an excellent suggestion," he said, studying the table intently.

Her hands reached out to nervously play with her wine glass again. She had been debating for weeks how to bring the subject up, not knowing if he would thoroughly disapprove of her plans. The way that he so possessively watched over her, she had rather doubted that he would welcome the idea of her toiling away in an office, unobserved, with the possibility that several of her coworkers might be male.

"You wouldn't mind that?" she asked, hesitantly.

"Of course not," he replied, raising his own glass to his lips and draining it in a large gulp. "I am relieved to see that we are in agreement." Setting the glass down, his hand went to one of his jacket pockets and he retrieved a card, tossing it over to her. "This is the company that I used when searching for this flat. I have already contacted the agent, and she will be simply delighted to search for an affordable unit for you to rent. I am certain she will find something suitable that will be convenient to your place of work-wherever that ends up being."

She stared down at the card, unable to read the print upon it because of the tears that were suddenly brimming in her eyes. "Is this a joke?" she asked, looking up at him.

He shook his head.

"Are we being evicted?" she asked, knowing that she was grasping at straws.

"Rosalind," he said, suddenly rising to his feet. "We have just agreed that you are capable of supporting yourself. I am therefore asking you to vacate this flat. I should think that a month should be sufficient time for you to do so."

"Why?" she asked, feeling herself start to shiver.

The smile he bestowed upon her was cold and cruel. "Because, my dear, as much as the thought of forming my own harem appeals to my inherently arrogant and oriental sensibilities, I am afraid that the new little strumpet I plan on seducing may not be quite as accommodating as you have always proven to be." His smile widened as he watched her response, as if glad to see how much his words had stung her. "You are being replaced, my dear, and I see no reason to why I need to obtain a new flat when it is merely its occupant that has begun to bore me."

She forced herself to her feet as well and stared angrily across the table at him. "So," she said, keeping her voice level even though her whole body was shaking now, "You are Pinkerton."

His smile faded, and for the briefest of moments she was sure that she had hurt him as well. Then a cool mask of indifference slipped onto his face, and he looked rather amused again as he replied: "No, not at all. If I were, I should leave you with false promises of returning, and you would discover for yourself that there was no more money appearing into your account at convenient intervals-as there has been for the past two and a half years."

He picked up his salad plate from the table and walked toward the kitchen, setting the dish upon the counter. "As a matter of fact," he said, as he turned back to her, "I have made a very substantial deposit into your account today. And you may of course keep any other money or gifts that I have presented to you during our association." He gestured with his hand at the walls around them. "In fact, you may even take the furniture and all the household items with you." He was standing rigidly now, his hands behind his back, and his voice was as flat and emotionless as if he were dictating a potions recipe to his class.

"I don't want them!" she shouted.

He shrugged. "Then pawn or sell them, as you see fit. But, you surely do not expect my new mistress to content herself with these soiled, second-hand furnishings?"

She heard herself gasp in pain, and her hand reached out to grab the nearest the thing she could find. For a moment she stood there, the glass salad plate gripped in her hand, fighting the urge to fling it at his face.

He regarded her coolly, his left eyebrow arching up to its highest angle. "Throw it," he said, calmly. "If it will make you feel better."

She stood for several seconds more, frozen in place and staring at him wordlessly. She had never been naive enough to think that she was able to completely understand what motivated him or that she could anticipate the violence and direction of his mood swings, but she was completely flummoxed by this sudden turn-about in his behavior. Only a few months ago, he had been drunk and half-crazed with jealousy simply because she had dared speak with another man. And now he was summarily throwing her out of the flat saying he was tired of her and had found someone else?

Something was definitely wrong, she decided. But she also knew that it was fruitless to question him at the moment, and that her only hope of obtaining more information was to refuse to give into the temptation to dissolve into tears and screams.

"No, I don't think so," she replied haughtily, striving to match his tone, as she slowly lowered her arm and set the plate down upon the table. "After all, I am quite fond of these dishes. It would be a pity to waste one, particularly since it appears I shall be responsible for replacing it."

Under the intensity of her gaze, he suddenly flicked his own eyes downward, staring at the floor. She noticed that there was a muscle twitching uncontrollably under his left eye, and she saw him set his teeth grimly, as if by sheer willpower he could tame it into immobility.

She moved the plate slightly to the side. "However I must admit that I have rather lost my appetite," she added, quietly.

He had finally managed to bring the errant muscle under control and, clearing his throat, moved to seat himself upon the couch, still not meeting her eyes.

"I am sure neither of us wants to prolong this pointless scene," he said, bending down and picking up the discarded footwear. "I shall be going."

She watched silently as he worked the socks over his feet and prepared to pull on his boots.

"I do have one favor to ask of you before you go," she said quietly.

"Indeed?" he grunted, his attention still focused upon his feet as he paused with one boot in his hand.

"Yes," she said, moving so that she was standing right before him. "And since you are an arrogant bastard, I am sure you will be glad to do this for me."

He reluctantly raised his head, and she saw that his hands were gripping the boot so tightly that his knuckles were white. "And what specifically are you requesting of me?"

She reached down and tugged the boot out of his hand, dropping it to the floor. Bending down, she cupped his chin in her hand, her fingertips gently brushing against his cheek. "You are an exquisite lover, you know. Why don't you stay and make love to me one more time?"

He stared up at her for a long time, and she was sure this time that there was pain and longing in his eyes.

"After all, you could have just sent me a letter," she said, her fingers continuing to stroke lightly against his chin. "Since you were honorable enough to deliver your message in person, I see no reason why we cannot part on amicable terms."

He slowly stood up and took her in his arms, his mouth closing over hers as his hands reached out to embrace her tightly. They kissed for a long time, and she kept her eyes closed as he drew away from her.

"You are misguided if you think this flagrant seduction will buy you more time," he whispered. "I shall not change my mind."

"I know," she said, opening her eyes. She reached down and kicked the boots out of the way. "But I don't think you're going to be leaving just yet." Holding out her hand, she led him up the staircase.

He sat down on the bed and moved to take off his socks again.

"Let me," she said, kneeling down before me. "You know," she observed, as she peeled off the stocking, "In all the time we have been together, I don't believe that you have ever once let me undress you."

"Is that another request?" he asked, a small grin appearing on his face as he looked down at her.

"Yes," she said, removing his other sock. "May I undress you, sir?" she asked, forcing her voice to be light and cheerful.

He nodded his head and she gestured for him to stand up. She worked languidly, beginning with his jacket and removing it slowly, taking the time to hang it over the chair before returning and unbuttoning his shirt. She paused to drape this over the chair as well, and then she knelt before him, her fingers reaching for his fly. He drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes as she patiently undid each button, easing the black fabric down to his feet and allowing him to brace himself against her shoulders as, one at a time, he lifted his feet to free himself from the garment. She raised her hands and ran her fingernails gently across his stomach before working her fingers beneath the waistband of his silk boxers. With a sudden intensity, she impatiently jerked the underwear down to his ankles and before he could step out of them he felt her mouth close around the swollen tip of his erection and take it into her mouth. Her hands lovingly caressed his buttocks as she swirled her tongue and took him deep inside of her. But after just a few moments she abruptly released him and rose to her feet, standing up on her tiptoes so that she could kiss him, her fingers twining into his hair as she pressed her mouth against his. He bent down and embraced her again, and then he felt her pushing him back onto the bed.

He reached out for her, expecting that she would join him. But instead she stepped back and smiled, shaking her head. "I'll be out in a moment," she promised.

She paused and picked up her jewelry case from the bureau and headed towards the bathroom. Flicking the light on, she moved to stand in front of the mirror, placing the box upon the vanity. She removed the barrette that was holding her hair and reached for her brush.

The bed creaked softly as he turned to watch her emerge from the bathroom, and she heard him gasp in surprise as he realized that she was nude but wearing her jewelry. The white sapphires were sparkling at her ears and neck and there was an assortment of necklaces and bracelets wound around her ankles and wrists as well. The pearl ornaments and the satin and silk ribbons had been woven through her hair, which was falling in dark waves over her back and shoulders.

He tilted his head to the side, and she answered his unspoken question.

"You told me when you gave me these," she said, lying down beside him on the bed, "That I could only wear them when I was with you. It seems that this will be the last time I will have the opportunity."

She moved on top of him, feeling his body buck up against hers as she knelt over him. He reached out and brushed the curls back behind her shoulders.

"You're not wearing a braid," he said. "Your hair will be tangled in horrible knots the morning."

"I don't care," she said, shaking her head. "Touch it. It is yours, after all. You gave it to me."

He drew his fingers slowly through the dark tresses, as if savoring its texture. Then his hands slowly moved down to cup around her breasts and she closed her eyes and swallowed as she felt his thumbs press against her hardened nipples. After a moment, she placed her hands on top of his.

"These are yours also, you know," she murmured, "You claimed them for yourself a long time ago."

He stared up at her, continuing to caress her breasts as she moved her fingers over his hands. "I release you," he said.

"I don't think you can," she said, leaning down to kiss him. His hands slid over her shoulders and she felt him running his fingers softly over her back and buttocks. "After all," she continued, whispering in his ear, "You saved my life, and in the wizarding world that produces a profound and unbreakable tie between us."

She heard him laugh softly, his arms reaching out to hug her against him.

"Well, I have never been one to follow convention," he replied. She felt his hand upon her chin, urging her face upward. "And you are no longer living as a witch. Therefore you are not bound by that society's constraints."

She leaned down and kissed him upon the neck, and then began to slowly make her way down his body, nipping and sucking gently as she moved. She wound her fingers around his swollen penis, her thumb brushing firmly against the head as her tongue dipped down below his navel. She heard him moan with pleasure as she teased the foreskin back and kissed him gently upon the tip. And then she heard him groan with disappointment as she suddenly released her hold and moved to kiss him on the throat again.

This time she began to make her way slowly down his left arm, nibbling and caressing him gently as she traveled, pausing only when she came to his forearm.

In retrospect, that had been the greatest change of all. In the years that she had been with him, the mark had continued to darken noticeably between each visit. No longer a hazy, indistinct image, the hideous illustration now constantly stood out in vivid contrast to the pale skin underneath it. She stared at it for a moment, and then moved to trace the design with her tongue.

"No!" he cried, pushing her away. "Do not soil yourself with that," he said, shaking his head.

"If I could lick this wound clean, I would," she replied, suddenly aware that both of their voices were rough and jagged.

He brought his hand up to stroke her hair again, this time brushing it back behind her ears.

"I am sorry," he said. For once there was not a trace of mockery in his voice or coldness in his eyes.

She stared down at him, knowing that he had never been as vulnerable as he was at this moment. "I'll help you," she blurted out suddenly.

He shook his head.

"I'll wait for you!"

He raised a finger to her lips. "Silence." This time it was a plea, not an order. And yet, nevertheless, there was an undeniable finality to it.

She raised her head and looked about the room, gazing at the Utamaro and the Lautrec prints that adorned the wall, smiling as her eyes fell across the Picasso print that he had begrudgingly purchased but relegated to the darkest corner of the room. She dropped her eyes back down to his face.

"You won't obliviate me, will you?" she asked.

His lips rose into a sad smile. "No, my Rosalind, I shall not obliviate you." He reached up to caress her cheek. "I am far too selfish to do that."

She frowned down at him and bit her lip.

"I want someone to remember me," he said, quietly. He closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. "No," he amended, "I want you to remember me."

She nodded and bent down to kiss him again, feeling him move slightly so that they turned to the side and lay against each other for a moment. And then she turned onto her back and he rose to mount her, her arms and legs twining about him as their bodies joined. There were no more words between them, only the soft gasps and moans as their hips rose and fell in rhythm with each other, his hands constantly moving over her body as she clung to him. She felt him edge close to orgasm several times, but he would stop and lie quietly, forcing his body back from the edge, taking in deep, husky breaths for several minutes before beginning to move again. He waited until he heard her cry out in ecstasy before allowing himself to thrust deeply and rapidly into her, his own orgasm long and silent as he stiffened on top of her. They both lay without moving for a long time, until she felt him soften and slip out of her, the warm streams of semen already oozing down her thighs.

She kept her arms wrapped around him as he sighed and brought his hand up to brush the hair from her brow. He stared down at her for a long time and then bent down and she felt his lips brush against the bridge of her nose.

She closed her eyes and smiled as she felt his fingertips begin to draw a lazy circles upon her forehead. "Sleep," he whispered, his voice soft, but insistent..

She struggled to open her eyes as her mouth formed a silent "no".

******

She knew at once, when she had awakened, that he was gone. But she jumped out of bed and ran down the stairs and found herself sobbing as she realized that the flat was empty. She wandered over to the kitchen and saw that he had taken the time to wrap up the chicken and place it, along with the rest of the uneaten meal, in the refrigerator. The wine glasses had been washed, rinsed and dried, and were sitting out upon the counter.

As if in a daze, she turned and walked back to the living room and sat down upon the couch, feeling inexplicably numb and chilled. After a moment, she rose and moved toward the stereo system, the full moon streaming in through the skylight affording her enough light to find the titles she was looking for. With deliberate care, she pulled the two versions of "Madam Butterfly" out of the stack of jewel boxes and threw them into the dustbin.

******

The man walking up the stairs moved silently but slowly, as if each step were a major hurdle, only accomplished by a great deal of effort and at the expense of a significant amount of pain. He was dressed all in black and there was something about his movements that suggested he was being drawn to this place rather than advancing upon it out of his own free will. He paused at the top of the steps and hesitated for a long time, as if uncertain as to whether he wished to continue. But he finally began to move forward, his hand slipping into his pocket to retrieve the key as he approached the door.

The lock turned smoothly, but the hinges gave a groan of protest as he swung the door open, and there was something about the way the noise echoed into the hall that suggested that the chamber within was empty and abandoned. He slammed the door behind him and leaned against it, his arms crossed over his chest as he silently perused the room. After a long time, he tilted his head back and took in a deep breath through his nose.

There was something stale about the room, something marking it as a place that had been uninhabited for many days. At first, he could only catch the faint but distinctive odor of the leather furniture that had once sat there. He uncrossed his arms and took a few steps into the room, closing his eyes as if to shut out the visual stimulus and sniffed at the air again. This time his sensitive nose caught the subtle hint of her perfume, and he smiled slightly.

He had missed that, very much. The night that he had left her had been the only time that he hadn't showered before leaving. He had needed to carry her scent with him for just a little longer. And now it had finally faded, from his clothes if not from his mind, and he reveled in the heady pleasure of her fragrance for several minutes before forcing himself to open his eyes and move about the room.

It looked, as most vacant flats did, slightly cold and gloomy. There were scuff marks on the floor and the walls looked rather worn and dirty, the empty shelves already beginning to collect dust. He wandered over to the kitchen and pulled open the refrigerator door. Inside, the appliance was spotlessly clean and pathetically bare. He opened up a few of the cupboards, assuring himself that they were empty as well, and then he sighed and turned towards the sleeping area.

As he neared the small flight of steps he stopped again, as if debating whether to venture onward. After a few moments, he took in a deep breath and slowly began his ascent. For a man who normally prided himself on the lightness and stealth of his tread, his footsteps were surprisingly loud and heavy. His pace was slow and measured, and yet at the same time one could discern a certain strange determination in its rhythm, as if he knew he would not be satisfied until he had gazed upon that bleak and empty chamber.

This room seemed even more depressingly vacant than the living area, the myriad nails and faint outlines upon the wall where prints had been displayed adding to the feeling of desolation. The drapes were closed and he stood staring out into the darkness for several minutes before he realized that the room was not entirely empty-a small cluster of items was sitting in the middle of the floor. He bent down and examined them more closely, his eyebrows lifting into the air as he realized that it was the small portable stereo system that he had bought for her, and alongside of it was a bottle of Cognac, a snifter and Rosalind's jewelry box.

He hesitated for several minutes, examining the lid of the box closely as if he expected it to be booby trapped in some way. But he finally eased himself down onto the floor and reached for the bottle and the glass, pushing the box slightly to the side for a moment. He frowned as he examined the glass, rubbing his finger along the inside and detecting a thin layer of dust upon it. He set it down upon the floor and paused to retrieve the wand from his pocket. After performing a brief cleaning spell, he replaced the wand and pulled the cork from the bottle, pouring out a very generous measure of the liquid for himself. He swirled the snifter slowly, allowing the alcohol to warm completely before taking his first sip. He forced himself to finish the drink completely before pushing the glass to the side and reaching down to take the box into his lap and lift the cover.

He drew out an envelope and studied it for a moment before running his hand along the edge to tear it open. Inside there were two small sheets of folded paper.

Severus,

Per your suggestion, I have sold most of the things you gave me, including the furniture (I am afraid that in that area, we did have rather dissimilar tastes, didn't we?).

A faint snort resounded through the room before he resumed his perusal of the note.

I have sold most of my jewelry, but I somehow couldn't bring myself to sell these items. Terribly maudlin and sentimental of me I suppose, but then we cast-off courtesans tend to be that way. They are far too gaudy for a Bookkeeper to wear, and I suppose I would never feel comfortable wearing them in the presence of another man.

There was another pause, but this time it was because he had bent down to peer into the jewelry box. There was a faint crinkling sound as his hand tightened around the paper, and he closed his eyes and swallowed, as if something had suddenly caught in his throat. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and continued to read:

After you left, I spent days upon days doing nothing but listening to music. I know your tastes run primarily to classical and operatic works, but after you left I found myself listening to this strange, sweet song over and over. I suppose it doesn't fall into your classification of poetry, either, but for some reason I felt compelled to copy down the lyrics and leave them for you. There is a copy of the song on the stereo as well, and I hope that you will listen to it at least once, so that you will have some idea of how much you mean to me and how much I miss you.

I do not believe that you have thrown me aside for someone else. I think it is more likely you have either decided that, due to the situation in the wizarding world, it is too dangerous to continue to associate with me. Or perhaps you merely feel obligated to shove me out of the nest and see how well your little creation can fend for herself. At any rate, though you have remained an enigma to me despite the hours we have spent together, I know one thing: To throw myself at your feet and beg you to take me back would only arouse your anger and disdain, and make you even more stubborn about insisting that we sever our ties to one another.

Realizing this, I will not be desperate enough to leave my address. But I will be in London. I know very well that you can find me if you wish to.

Love,
Rosalind Alice Galatea

He stared down at her name and slowly raised his fingertip to trace the letters of her signature, as if imprinting them upon his memory. Only then did he turn to the other page, squinting his eyes to make out the words in the darkness as he leaned forward and pressed the key to start the music.

Take Me With You

Your eyes are still closed, are you sleeping?
Can I touch you? Would it make you fall?
You say that love for the sky,
Where there's a cloud slips in between us,
I will live in your dreams,
Take me with you.
And night is still cold, let me hold you.
Drifting onwards, do you know how the wind blows?
They say that love for the sky.
Then I will keep you close beside me.
I will live in your dreams,
Take me with you.
Drifting homewards, do you know where the wind blows?
Take me with, take me with you.
They say that love for the sky,
And I will hold you close beside me.
I will live in your dreams,
Take me with you.
I will live in your dreams,
Take me with you.

Slowly and deliberately, he folded the pages and placed them back into the envelope. He hesitated for a moment, and then moved to eject the tape from the player, and carefully placed it within the jewelry box. Rising to his feet, he tucked the case under one arm while reaching down to retrieve the glass and the bottle with his other hand. He descended the short staircase and moved back to the kitchen, setting the box down for a moment as he removed the cork and slowly poured out the rest of the Cognac into the sink. Reaching over to turn on the tap, he rinsed out the glass and left it upon the counter, allowing the water to run for several more minutes until the scent of the brandy had dissipated. Picking up the box again, he turned to leave the flat, his footsteps echoing eerily as he walked toward the door. His hand was already upon the knob when he suddenly turned and looked behind him, his low, seductive baritone voice suddenly breaking the silence:

To see no pastime I what you would have
I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave
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Love's Labours; Paradise Lost