Weft of Power, Warp of Blood: A Tapestry of Desire

Chapter Forty Five
Bed, Bookcase, Floor

Narcissa fought back the revulsion and desire to vomit. Only that bird-legged, pug nosed, faux redhead, Wren Stickly-Smythe smelled that way. Narcissa could smell his cabbage-rose-and-cinnamon scented mistress on his skin, even as he rutted over her. It wasn’t rape, after all, she never said no. She wasn’t stupid enough to say no; she liked her skin in one piece and her nerves not screaming. She had never minded his other lovers; she used to set them up half the time. She always knew that he loved her and that he’d always return to her bed and her body before too long and she'd looked forward to those nights – when he felt guilty and took extra time and care. Now, she dreaded it. Narcissa Malfoy wasn’t exactly willing and happy to have sex with her husband. Truth be told, she was revolted by his touch. Oh, she made all of the appropriate clenches and moans. She scratched his back, drawing blood, just like Lucius demanded, and lifted her hips as though begging for more of his cock.

Even as he grunted and filled her with his seed and she feigned wanton passion she contemplated leaving him for the thousandth time. No one would take her, though. Her parents were dead, the Blacks were long gone, Bellatrix was insane and Andromeda… it was too late. Draco, her baby, and the main reason she stayed, would be out of school in only a couple of years and setting up his own household. Maybe then.... As soon as he was flaccid, Lucius rolled off of her and was snoring within minutes. She lay still, thanking whatever God was in the sky that Lucius never suspected she’d been taking a birth control potion for years. Keeping her breathing slow and shallow so as not to disturb her husband, she once again hoped the potion was as good as it claimed to be. The thought of bringing another child into the world …she shuddered involuntarily...when Lucius was so...unstable...was terrifying to her. She kept her knees lifted and wide open to allow his semen to ooze out of her body, in hopes of aiding the potion. It quickly cooled under the spelled breeze in the room and was horridly uncomfortable and she desperately needed to urinate, but she remained frozen for several minutes after his snores rasped through the room. It was always safer that way.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
School started with a BANG. Rather, the silly Hufflepuff, Mr. Balb started his first day back with a bang. Somehow, and Kiaya wasn’t quite sure how, the new second year managed to explode a cauldron of the least inflammatory substance in the world, Potion Master’s Protectant. Though her nerves were already on edge and her body continued its incessant tingling, Kiaya avoided yelling – and coming. Instead, she gritted her teeth, swished and flicked to send the lot into the drain and planned her first real headache tonic of the year – right after her second orgasm of the year (having had her first at lunchtime). She sincerely hoped that Snape had his usual teacher’s headache tonic prepared, open and on her desk by the time she hustled the last of the children off to dinner. And if he didn’t, she’d raid the stores and damn all comers who got in her way. Every scrape of every glass stirring rod, every clink of students’ brass scales and even the soft whisper of crushed Cantharis sliding into the potion made her head scream and brought tears to her eyes. The Cantharis dust left in the air from some idiot’s measuring mistake made her sneeze - and forced her to press her legs together as her arousal built to almost unbearable, warring with the throbbing in her head for supremacy on which would drive her mad quicker.

Finally, oh, thank God, finally, the clock struck “Kick Them Out”. As the door slammed behind the last black robe, she sagged against the podium, making a mental note to kill the child who slammed it. Cleanup could, nay, cleanup would wait. Limping her way into her office, legs pressed together so tightly from need, Kiaya assumed that she was waddling and didn’t care. She wasn't sure if her head hurt so bad from the headache, the potion or because her eyes were clenched to keep her eyeballs and tears from seeping out of her head. She thought of whimpering, but it took far too much effort.

Her eyes opened only enough to see that no headache potion sat on her desk and the whimper broke free. Ignoring Snape, who stood next to the spitting fireplace, Kiaya headed directly to the cabinet in the corner. Just as her fingers brushed the last bottle of headache tonic, Snape’s hand manacled hers.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, sounding neither surprised that she was there or particularly irritated.

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The headache raged more every second, making her nauseous. Instead, she beckoned the bottle into her hand. He caught it midair and held it out of her reach. Whimpering again, Kiaya clawed at his hand and snarled in a hoarse whisper, “Snape, headache. Give it to me!” she demanded, wincing as she caused herself more pain. She ground out a conciliatory “Please” when he stared at her.

“Nothing else with the potion. You know that,” he said, looking down at her with might almost be considered pity, hand still clasped around her wrist.

She mustered as much strength as she could and tried again, “Snape, please. I have a headache,” pleading with him.

He set the bottle back on the shelf and locked the door with a glance. “No,” he said firmly, “have an orgasm. That will help and you can sleep the remainder off.”

She squeezed the tiny muscles that were so ready to obey his command but there was no way; not while she was in such pain. She reached for the potion again, gathering all of her words and begging, “That isn’t funny, Snape. Even half a dose. I can’t… have… do that without getting rid of this headache.”

He grabbed her other hand and backed her against a nearby bookcase; the potions cabinet now well out of her reach. He leaned down and murmured, his voice as smooth as silk, “Don’t think about it. You need to come.” He lifted her hands above her head, pressing them into the books. He stared into her eyes, his own were almost black and fathomless. He murmured again, “Don’t think about the pain. It’s just a sensation. I want you to come. “

Her head still pounded and she tugged her arms without much effort but her feet inched apart, even as she blinked back tears. “Stop it! Let me go!” When he refused, she begged, “Please, Severus. I can’t, my head….”

“Yes you can.” His thumb stroked over her palm and down the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. “I know you need to. It’s been hours, hasn’t it?”

She nodded miserably and closed her eyes. The shooting colors of her headache speared through her brain. She felt, rather than saw him move closer. Their teaching robes tangled together. She smelled his ever-present coffee and peppermint scented breath as she clenched her eyelids against the agony.

He’d captured both wrists in one hand, keeping her pinned to the bookshelf. She tried to twist away but it was half-hearted. As he stroked a finger down her cheek he murmured, “Look at me, little one.”

She shook her head, even though it sent a screaming chain reaction of rockets, hammers and pick-axes into her head. She felt him lean closer and murmur in his velvet and brandy voice, “You always look like a little startled kitten. Did you know that?”

She shook her head again, tears welling from under her closed lids.

“Look at me with those big kitten eyes. I want to see you.”

Kiaya cracked her impossibly heavy eyelids to look directly into his. She whispered, “Hurts.”

His almost-black eyes mesmerized her and stole her breath.

Snape moved his hand to her shoulder and she dropped her gaze to look at it, baffled at his actions.
“No,” he said firmly. “Look at me. Don’t stop looking at me.”

She obeyed, falling into his eyes again, her ears roaring with the headache’s pain, confusion and arousal. She had no idea why but she felt warm and safe, trapped in his hands, despite her embarr
assment and discomfort.

“You’ll feel better if you come,” he said, his eyes boring into hers. “Won’t you?”

Kiaya stood almost frozen, but for her fingertips skittering over the strong hand holding hers aloft. His lips brushed her cheek as he murmured, “All of those beautiful hormones will rush through your body and brain and you’ll be rid of that headache.” His hand slipped between her breasts, down her chest and pressed on her lower belly. Instinctively, she arched to meet his hand. “You know an orgasm will help, don’t you, little kitten?”

“Don’t call me that,” she protested weakly, knowing that it sounded stupid not to complain about the rest of what he was saying and doing.

She knew the biology. She knew the orgasm would stimulate endorphins, serotonin and oxytocin – natural painkillers. She knew having an orgasm would help, but she couldn’t do it, not while she was in such pain. It was a vicious circle. She also knew that her post-orgasm lethargy, if allowed, would help her sleep the headache away. Kiaya didn’t give a damn about the biology. She didn’t give a damn that Severus Snape was holding her trapped against a bookcase with her hands manacled over her head and his foot between hers. She didn’t give a damn about that he was likely breaking a dozen school and social rules about fraternization and consent. She wanted her headache gone and she wanted an orgasm - and she didn’t care which order it happened in, at this point. Kiaya knew she was close. It had been hours and she ached with need. Her nipples were hard and her panties were damp. She burned under his hands.

“I’ll call you whatever you want and there isn’t a damned thing you can say about it, is there?” When she glowered at him, he asked silkily, “You want to come, don’t you?”

Closing her eyes against him and his hated truth, she nodded. The Cruciatus ripped through her brain as her fear welled.

“Look at me. You must look at me,” he growled.

Though she half hated him, she obeyed and caught a small gleam of triumph in his eyes; her fear subsided. His fingers massaged her belly as a reward for her obedience, brushing over her mons. Her body hummed in response and she canted her hips toward him.

“I want you to go have your orgasm – have as many as you can,” he instructed, looking into her eyes.

“Can’t,” she whispered. It was true. Her headache was too strong.

“Tell me why not,” Severus demanded softly, his voice as deep and dark as his eyes.

“My head hurts,” Kiaya whimpered, caught between agony and his touch.

“I know it does. I had a headache, too. You need to come, for it to be better.”

Kiaya bit her lip and shook her head, mortified. Tears slid down her cheeks. “I can’t.”

His eyelids lowered to half-mast. “Tell me what you want.”

Kiaya closed her eyes and dropped her head in shame.

Immediately his hand left her belly and chucked her chin back up. “Look at me. Don’t disobey when I give you a direct order.”

Her eyes opened wide in shock as she opened her mouth to argue. His lips covered hers, forestalling her words. She melted into him, greedy as his tongue darted between her lips, plundering her mouth.

As her eyes drifted closed, he made a small warning sound in the back of his throat and carefully bit her lower lip in punishment. Shocked, she stared into his eyes, black now, as he ran his tongue over the bite. She pressed closer, her breasts flattening into his chest and whimpering in need.

He lifted his lips slightly; her mouth chased them but he refused to be caught. Frustrated and in pain, Kiaya froze, panting.

He glanced at her swollen lips and again into her eyes. “If you can’t go to your rooms to have your orgasm, tell me what you want,” he ordered silkily. His hand slid back to her belly, his fingers spread wide. “You want the pain gone. Tell me what you want.”

“Please,” she whispered, for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening.

“Tell me,” he commanded. His lips were inches away from hers.


She trembled, her green eyes begged him not to make her. His hand was steady on her belly. Finally, she gave in and begged, “Please help me.”

“Not good enough,” he said. “The words.”

She looked down at his chest in confusion. When he growled, she glared up at him.

Lightning flashed behind her eyes at the sudden movement and she felt dizzy. Clutching at his hand, she begged, “Please make me come.”

With a smirk of triumph and a flick of his wrist, her black teaching robes were open and her skirt was around her waist. His calloused hand slid around her waist to tilt her hips up to him. The friction of her curls sliding over her panties made her clench every muscle. She focused on the burning heat of his hand as it traced the cleft of her bum, his fingers sliding down to cup the fullness. With a velvet hum of laughter, his hand moved so he could first stroke then tangle his fingers in her already damp curls. He tugged gently at the fine hair and she squealed in exquisite agony.

“Open for me, little kitten,” he said.

Shaking, she obeyed immediately and parted her legs, yearning for more. She leaned against the bookcase for support. As she gazed into his eyes, an image of a warm, comfortable bed eased into her mind.

He gave her a taste of what she needed with a stroke of his knuckle. Concentrating on his touch, she slid her hips back and forth over his hand. Each caress drew a gasp of shocked delight and her headache faded to a memory, overcome by desire, warmth, and safe comfort.

Finally, he was touching her. It wasn’t a dream, it wasn’t one of a million fantasies, it was… . She trembled as he cupped her, his fingers sliding over the slick flesh between her thighs. She held her breath, waiting for more, desperate to be filled. Her lips lifted to his. Severus leaned in and almost kissed her. His breath teased her as her eyes drifted closed in prayer.

“Look at me!” Severus commanded against her lips and squeezed her labia and mons. “Look at me and know exactly who is making you feel like this.”

Kiaya shuddered in desperation and looked at him. His lips brushed her in slight reward. She tried to taste the peppermint with a kitten-like lick but he drew away with a small smirk and pursed his lips. She dampened his hand with her need and blushed at his smile of satisfaction. His eyes held hers as his hand held her on the edge of orgasm. She moaned and arched into his hand, craving more of his touch. Greedily she whimpered her need. Severus pressed his body into hers as he dipped a single, long finger between her labia. Slowly he pressed it to her clit and she gasped. Her breaths came out in short pants as he ground himself into her belly. His finger started to move, slowly teasing her. She bit her lip and concentrated on his eyes.

“Are you ready?” he asked. The words were barely a whisper.

She knew he knew the answer but nodded anyway.

“What was that?” He moved his finger away. His eyebrow raised like she was a naughty student that he was testing.

“Yes!”

“Yes… what?” He dragged his finger over the tangle of hair, teasing her. Tugging on her pubic hair, he waited. More moisture poured from her; the scent of her arousal filled the room.

“Yes, please,” she ground out, close to screaming in frustration

He rewarded her by sliding between her slick heat again and moving fast and hard over her clit. She came apart in a cloud of colors, a rush of rain that coated his hand, and a cry of pleasure.

“My name!” he demanded. He clamped his teeth on her shoulder, biting hard through the cotton and silk.

Kiaya’s eyes opened wide and met his as another shudder wracked through her. “Severus… Severus… Severus…” she chanted on each panted breath, rubbing her breasts over his chest.

His smile was gleeful as he lifted his hand and twisted his wrist, sending her into another orgasm. Severus let her grind against his thigh as his fingers teased her clit. With each stroke of her nub, she jerked and moaned. She soaked his trousers as he pinched her swollen clit, staying well away from her cunt though she writhed against him.

Kiaya’s nails sank into his hand, high above her head and he whispered, “Let it out. Just scream. No one will hear you but me.”

He pressed on her clit again, flicking his fingers. She came again, giving a high, keening cry before collapsing against his chest.

Her last thoughts before sleep claimed her were that one of his buttons was pressing into her cheek, her headache was almost gone and that no wand could ever be as good as Severus Snape.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
After Roundtree - no “Kiaya”, he reminded himself - was safely dumped unconscious on her own couch, Severus strode back to his rooms, sent a barked message to Dumbledore through the floo, grabbed his long, black cloak and mask and left the castle. A soon as it was possible he apparated to Wiltshire.

He landed smoothly and immediately dropped to his knees, ready to be g forgiveness for his tardiness, and expecting excruciating pain.

“How kind of you to join us, Severus,” the Dark Lord said mildly. Too mildly.

Severus waited silently, breathing lightly, his stomach muscles tense. As quickly as possible, he built mental walls around the events of this evening, leaving much exposed and only a little bit hidden. He kept his eyes on the floor but knew there were at least three others in the room. He made an educated guess at Pettigrew (the mouth-breather), Lucius Malfoy (the aggrieved sniff), and the always vile Greyback (that … smell).

Voldemort continued, “How was the first day of school?”

Severus swallowed and answered into the floor, “Hellacious as expected, Master, but the afters more than made up for it.”

The reply was high pitched and curious, “And what were those ‘afters’ that made you so very late?”

Snape avoided rolling his eyes. He knew as well as everyone else, that the Dark Lord could smell Kiaya’s scent on him. He hadn’t washed his hands or changed his damp trousers for that very reason. To draw the game out, though, he said, “A woman, my lord, offered herself to me. Being a man of very few morals, I was helpless to resist.”

Voldemort sniffed in apparent pique; Snape tensed. “A woman, eh?”

Snape felt the oily invasion into his mind as Voldemort explored , looking for the memory of the encounter. Kiaya’s face flashed into his mind, her eyes wide on his and her tiny teeth biting her lip as she came for him.

Voldemort almost purred as he watched Kiaya spend under Severus’s hands. There was a rustle of fabric before Voldemort tsked him and hissed, “Against a bookcase? Really Severus, use a bed. It’s much more comfortable.” He cackled at his own attempt at humor. “Lucius, I think Severus is getting your girl.”

“A pretty little blonde?” asked Lucius tightly. He cleared his throat and continued in a greasy, ingratiating tone, “He won’t have her long, if he really has her at all now. I have great plans for a… novel little fund raiser that will win the lady’s … affections.”

“And what of your lady wife and Mrs... what’s her name? The bird…” Voldemort feigned a memory lapse.

“Wren Stickly-Smythe,” Malfoy said.

“Blonde?” asked Voldemort.

Severus could almost see the fangy, manipulative grin that he knew was on the Dark Lord’s face.

“Redhead,” Lucius replied with contempt. “She’ll bow out gracefully when she’s excused.

Severus ground his teeth and, behind his mental walls, made a note to warn Dumbledore as the Dark Lord cackled.

“Well, while you plan fundraisers and futter ugly women, Severus here is,” Voldemort paused and probed Severus’s mind again, “playing in a pair of pretty blonde panties.”

Lucius said nothing but Severus guessed he was clenching his teeth enough to make the vein in his temple pop out. He inhaled the scent of Kiaya’s arousal and suppressed a grin, even as his cock half-hardened at the memory.

“All jealousy aside, however, I’d like to discuss Halloween, gentlemen….”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Dear Remus,

I’m so sorry that I haven’t written. September flew by in such a whirl of new classes and new teachers that I can only partially describe it.

Bill Weasley is a really good teacher though it isn’t really shocking. He knows how to block and break more curses and hexes than Umbridge could even spell! He’s also really good with the theory behind it all, though Ron and Harry don’t seem to care about why a spell works. I think it’s really useful stuff. What’s really surprising is that Fleur Delacour Weasley isn’t just sitting on her hands, taking up space (spiteful, I know) but she’s actually helping, if teaching after class dance and French classes counts as being useful.

Charlie Weasley is really good at managing all of Hagrid’s animals but as a teacher - well, he’s a better dragon tamer. Of all of the people to be shy in front of a class of teenagers, I would have thought Charlie would be the last but he seems to get tongue tied. D. Malfoy has been terrible to him. Of course, it’s nothing that he can get in trouble for but he’s so rude.

Everyone else is still about the same. Homework thus far is still a re-cap of previous years with a little bit of expansion on ideas and techniques. I’m all caught up and am reading ahead. It looks like it is going to be a challenging year if we go by the textbooks. The dinner bell’s just sounded so I’ll send this off with Harry’s note and Hedwig so I don’t forget!

Yours truly,
Hermione

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dear Sirius,
We have a Hogsmeade weekend next Saturday. Mind if I come around?
Harry

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

She refused to look at him. She couldn’t look at him. Every time she looked at him, her face went up in flames and she made a horrible choking sound. Instead, she graded papers in her rooms, made potions in her classrooms for shipment and sat at the other end of the table at dinner. In general, Kiaya tried to make herself completely unnoticeable to the too-observant eyes of one Severus Snape. It was easy enough to hide; she managed it for weeks, that is, until he sought her out to look over the Slytherins while he took a weekend sabbatical out of the castle in the first weekend in October. Even then, the entire discussion was held in under two minutes and had only short, clipped sentences before he whirled away and stalked off. Kiaya breathed a sigh of relief and went back to grading essays, ignoring her shaking hands and damp panties.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“I used to like him when we were kids, but later…. Of course I loved him,” Sirius corrected himself quietly, “he was my brother.”

“But the things Regulus did…” Jasmine said. She turned the end of the sentence up at the end, like a question, but it wasn’t really one. She didn’t look at him directly – she never did when they sat like this on the porch. She snuck glances at him, though, when she thought that he wasn’t looking. Her fingers were busy plaiting her hair.

“It’s funny, I always have this image of him, wearing the stupid short pants and braces that my mother always put us in, casting the Dark Mark and then giggling like a five year old blowing bubbles from his mum’s wand.” Sirius stared into the meadow, lost in his musings.

The October moon played hide and seek with the clouds and a chill breeze made the long grass of the meadow dance. Leaves rustled comfortably in the protection of the charms protecting Dumbledore’s Garden. The light shining from the inside of the house revealed Remus sitting on the couch reading, and burnished Jasmine’s hair through the window. Sometimes Sirius would play shadow puppets in the light from his usual spot on the porch steps.

They sat just this way every night for weeks now, she in the rocking chair and he on the stairs. Through the heat of the summer and into the rapidly cooling fall, they used gentle words and soft voices every night, there on the porch. Sometimes Remus joined them, when he wasn’t off on an Order chore, with Greyback - or recovering from either. Many times, though, he sat inside, on the comfortable couch and voraciously reading an ancient spell book that Hermione Granger had brought him in the house. Conversation was easiest when Remus acted as a buffer and more than once chats between Sirius and Jasmine would falter and fade away, requiring a forced start again. Once she’d made the choice not to allow herself to be trapped inside her own home by That Man, the conversations were inevitable. Her manners (and the desire not to irritate her great-grandfather) kept her civil in the beginning; the desire for his companionship kept her coming back outside. They talked, of anything and everything, though it had started out terribly superficial. Now though, after hours and weeks, conversations became deeper and stronger – even meaningful.

More than once, Jasmine was reminded of her time getting to know Severus, years ago, but never said that to Sirius.

“He was a kid. Just sixteen when he joined the Death Eaters. He was stupid and got killed for it,” he said.

Jasmine’s eyebrow twitched upward. She was glad that her face was shadowed just then. “What about all of the other Death Eaters. Are they all ‘stupid’, too?”

He looked up at her, his face clear in the light behind her. He said with a small smirk, “No, most of them are just arseholes.”

She chuckled softly and snuggled deeper into her robe to ward off the chill. “What about your parents? I heard they were pretty….”

“Prejudiced? Biased? Nasty?”

“Traditional.”

“Aren’t you the tactful one?” His smile was wide and his eyes were alight with amusement. “They were insane – literally, which is what happens when the branches on your family tree cross a few too many times. She disowned me – and I didn’t really mind.”

His grin almost made her dizzy, his humor and obvious intelligence made her infatuation come roaring back to life, only now, he was no childhood crush come to life. Now, because of their quiet chats, he was a real person, not just a ‘perfect male’ … who could make her feel faint with a kiss.

“My mother agreed with Voldemort and was thrilled when Regulus joined up. I used to think that he was an evil little prick, but I think he might have been stronger than I was - am. At least he did something active to hurt Voldemort by standing up for himself and trying to get out, instead of just sitting on his duff in comfort, staring at a beautiful woman all day.”

She’d swear later that she didn’t blush, but it was a near thing. Instead, just took a big breath of cool air and changed the subject. “It was nice seeing Hermione and the boys again today. They’re so gentle with Ari.”

“They’re all good kids – of course, Harry…” his voice trailed off, “he’s amazing. Just like his dad was. Smart, tough. Looks just like him.”

She smiled at the obvious affection. “Especially with that hair.. Ari was desperate to comb it.”

“I was never supposed to tell Lily; James spelled Harry’s hair to be messy all the time; he thought the messy look made him look rakish. It’ll never comb straight for more than a minute or two, the vain sot. He was nutters,” Sirius laughed good naturedly. “We were all crazy back then.”

She twisted around to look in the window at Remus as he read on the couch, looking more relaxed than he had in weeks. “I don’t remember Remus being crazy – except to hang out with you lot,” she teased.

“Oh, never worry, he was the sanest of the bunch, but he got into … well, no one got in to as many scrapes as James and I did, but he was sent down to detention with us, just the same.”

“Just how many detentions did you have?” she demanded to know.

“Not nearly as many as we should have! How about you, little Miss Dumbledore? Did you ever get into trouble?”

She scolded, “Don’t call me that. It’s annoying. I had enough of it in school. It’s Miss Swan, I’ll have you know.”

He gave a rakish grin, his long hair falling into his face, sticking to his beard. He swept it away negligently and said, “I know. I just like hearing you sputter.”

She glared at him; he just chuckled.

“So how many detentions did you get?”

Jasmine coughed and avoided the subject by bringing up something that had given her a bit of concern.
“Remus and Hermione seem to get on well.”

“Yeah. He was her teacher a few years ago. That’s how he met her.”

Silence was Jasmine’s answer. It expressed more than enough.

“I worry about him. He’s mad for her. Had it been anyone else but Remus, I’d say he was pathetic, lusting after a schoolgirl, but he’s been hurt so much. He deserves whatever joy he can find.”

She thought about that for a long time, thinking that Sirius rather deserved a measure of joy, too, after Azkaban. She just wasn’t sure that she was the one to give it to him. She asked, “And she’s not so much a schoolgirl, is she? Remus talked about a Time Turner during dinner. Did she really double up on her third year?”

He nodded, “Mmhmm. He has this wishful thinking that it also added a year to her age - though McGonagall said that the Ministry doesn’t officially mark time that way.”

“So how is old she?”

“Seventeen, I think, though with the doubled year, I’d say that she’s eighteen.”

Trying to be objective, Jasmine mused, “Seventeen isn’t bad.”

He barked his laughter, “It is when you’re thirty-seven – and a werewolf.”

Remembering to the day that Kiaya and Severus had come round to get blood samples, Jasmine offered, “I don’t think Hermione really cares that he’s a werewolf. It looked like she was pretty taken with him, fur and all.”

“No, she doesn’t. I don’t think she cares that he’s thirty-seven, either, really. Once, I told her that she was sharpest witch of her age - I wasn’t lying. I just don’t think there’s much hope for me or old Remus, in there, to make it through this war, much less have a relationship with a young girl.”

Trying not to panic, Jasmine said sharply, “There’s always hope. Especially for a dying man.”

Sirius uncoiled from the step to lean on the wooden support beam as he looked at her. “You know hope was in Pandora’s Box with all of the evils? It was the one that she left in there.”

Discomfited, she stood as well. “Hope was considered by the Greeks to be just as dangerous, though - it wasn’t a vice, but it was certainly a potent danger. It did get out, eventually.”

“I know.” He smiled and looked into her eyes and leaned forward. “I know all about hope.”

She looked at him, her eyebrows furrowed. “I should go to bed…. Goodnight.”

~*~*~*~*~
“And please don’t forget that Halloween is next weekend. We will be having our annual feast…”

With a sound that might have been a long, low burp, Sybil Trelawney interrupted the teacher’s conference and clenched the tablecloth nearly dragging it, and the plates on it, to the floor. Her eyes rolled back in her head and a voice that wasn’t hers but came out of her mouth intoned, “Arachne is ripped from the tapestry and only the slave can protect what is most important with a kiss of true love. One is lost while another lives locked in silver. Enemies cry truce to retrieve treasure but friends scatter in the winds of hatred.”

Dumbledore breathed deeply and wore a look of concentration while Snape and Flitwick scribbled madly, getting as much of the prophecy down as possible.

As Trelawney recovered, everyone at the table stared but Firenze, who munched on an apple. He looked at the armillary next to the window and said, “The prescience of Cassandra bears Apollo’s curse but Briseís still sings the sweetest song known to man.”

Dumbledore help up a finger, quelling the babble of questions and commentary from the shocked teachers. He asked, “I don’t suppose you’d care to enlighten us to the meaning of that, Firenze?”

The centaur looked at him and said in his quiet, deep voice, “The stars tell all but only man tries to defeat his destiny.”

Trelawney leaned over to Pomona Sprout and whispered, “My dear, what just happened?”