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[INT. Outside THE YULE BALL of 1994. A rush of snow flurries streak through the darkened night sky, and the cold has begun gathering upon the earth like a clean, white duvet. SEVERUS SNAPE is blowing off some steam after THE WALTZ with LYRA REED by going through carriages to assure they are empty. In one of them, however, he discovers two STUDENTS attempting to snog in secret. ]
"—Lumos!" A blinding ball of light illuminates the end of Snape's ebony wand, and as he wrenches open the door of the carriage, the squeaking of wheels came to a razor's edge conclusion.
“That's ten points from Hufflepuff, Faucet,” growls the Potions Master disapprovingly, ushering both the disgruntled students out from within the carriage and into the cold. “And the same for Ravenclaw, Stebbins!”
With the rough swing of his arm, the carriage door slammed closed and the vehicle rocked a little beneath the force. That sound echoed out against the snow-strewn courtyard, chorused by the hiss of whispers and the muffled cacophony of rock music from inside the Ballroom. Lightless eyes sweep along the dark of shadows cast by pillars, brow taut, lingering upon the places where little puffs of hot breath are expelled and then fade like ghosts. Let them look, he thinks, let them know. There will be no foolishness tolerated tonight, nor any other night.
In his head, he's still warmed beneath the sensation of the Matron's body swaying against his own. He can still smell faint traces of lavender oil from her hair as though the scent had been wound into the fabric of his clothes. With a twitch of his hand, he finds he can nearly still feel the fabric of her gown beneath his calloused fingers. The thought works at his jaw. At the time, it felt enchanting. Now, looking back, his stomach has begun twisting itself into knots. Perhaps the display had been.. inappropriate. He'd already been evading Professor Sinistra when sheer audacity had thrust Madam Reed's hand around his wrist, dragging him along behind her without the chance to protest. He resented his infernal body for reacting accordingly on impulse. It was all far too easy. He had enjoyed it far too much. His head was spinning. He has to pause for a moment and pinch the bridge of his nose to bring himself back to reality.
It was a dance, and a dance only. A gesture of collegial civility. That was all. If Igor was indeed speaking to the back of his head, (which he was... often. Incessantly so.) the sound became muddled into the rest until, to Snape at least, it was just as much indiscernible noise as anything else. He had always been talented in looking through other people instead of at them. Letting them wag their tongues without wasting the energy of listening to filth. But the closer Karkaroff's boots came to the back of his heels with every step, the tighter the knots in his shoulders became. The faster his doe heart had begun to beat. The harder his teeth began to grind. Perhaps this was why he found his own behaviour with Lyra so disturbing ── he'd been looking at her that whole blessed time, captivated by every word. She was a fine distraction.
A beaten animal backed into the corner may often rear its head... Fear becomes viciousness in the span of an instant.
Through the plume of grey smoke swirling off the end of her half-burned cigarette, Lyra Reed's narrowed gaze lingered upon the sight from underneath one of those pillared arches. From a distance, she was just another shadow shivering in the dark. Furrowing her brow, she follows the scene unfolding within the courtyard without moving a muscle… Her gaze trails after the two men until they disappear past her peripherals. Maybe it's curiosity. Maybe it's something else. As it always had, a sort of intuition nipped at the base of her spine and fluttered inside her heart.
Only a short few moments ago, her hand had folded been in his. Their eyes had been locked together, and her heels had been moving synchronized and confident into the places where Snape's stepped back from. Now, her footfalls fall to a concentrated quiet against the earth as she slips between shadows. She’ll rake the hot cherry of her fag into stone, grinding out the flame against the wet and the cold, and flick it into a bin. Karkaroff’s voice is a gruff and graveled sound against the otherwise quiet of the winter eve, barking over the cheering that erupts from inside the castle and the whine of electric feedback as the Weird Sisters transition to another song in their set. Reed tilts her head a little to one side and crosses her arms over her chest. She's watching Karkaroff's mouth to decipher the words...
“It's a sign, Severus.” Igor barks, “Admit it!” but Snape only deflects, side-stepping Karkaroff from where the brute had thrust his height into the path to search another carriage for any transgressing students.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Snape mumbles in an air of dismissal, but Karkaroff only closes in on his heels and scoffs.
“Really?” he exclaims incredulously, before advancing Snape from the back and extending his hands forward. “Then, perhaps, you wouldn’t mind rolling up your sleeve? Huh?” and in a flash of movement he lunges forward for Snape’s arm, sending the other man reeling back against the side of the carriage and throwing his arm in the air to avoid being touched. The carriage Snape thumps back against whines low beneath the sudden shift of weight, but there is little time to notice. Reed springs forward almost at once, hurrying across the courtyard towards them.
“HA-HA!” Chortles Karkaroff, pointing an index finger and too intent upon his one-sided conversation to notice that they were being advanced. “You don’t fool me, Severus! You are scared,”
The Matron is a blur of extravagant, glittering fabrics against the falling snow. Of gown and shawl and of fiery auburn hair that had been shaken loose until it was spilling stray curls into her face. Her silver eyes have hardened to a cold slate. “Oi!” It's a shock, even to the weathered stones. Reed's voice reverberates as a stern echo across the courtyard, rarely heard in such a harsh cadence. It coaxes the wandering eyes of a few mingling students who are quick to shy into the shadows and peek upon the scene from behind stone pillars. Normally, she’s a creature of little more than honeyed words and sweet charm, watching her erupt was like watching a phoenix burst into flame. Alas, she is no winged wonder to behold at the moment; and it is no great surprise to anyone on the outside looking in that badgers sometimes devoured snakes.
The Matron crosses the length of the courtyard like the cracking of a whip. Tightening her jaw, she thrusts her shoulders between the two men and wedges herself between them. Had Igor reached out with any further conviction to grasp at Snape’s sleeve, he would have grazed her neck with his fingernails. Baring her teeth, the willow wood of her wand slips from her cloaks as effortlessly as taking a breath, and is extended forth against the dark until the tip nearly kisses the cleft of his chin. The other arm is flung back protectively around Snape’s right side, and fingers are elongated and spread, but bent and clawed at the knuckle.
“You do not get to touch him,” is the warning that bites from between her teeth. If there were a threat there, it presented itself against the chill of the night as anything but empty. “That is not your privilege. Now back off,” or I will scatter you for the vultures.
Karkaroff, reeling, regains himself and merely cackles out from between his cracked lips. A grin splits the features and reveals his yellowed teeth. His open palms jerk out from the sides and are extended into the air in mock surrender, and for a moment, that bone-biting fear which had sunk its gnarled teeth into the ball of his spine just a moment ago seems just that easy to displace, conquered now by a giddy amusement that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“What is this, Snape?” He calls out over the figure before him, cold blue eyes finding the ample black of Snape’s as they stretched against the dark and the snow. The Potions Master's back was still pressed against the cold carriage side. Igor chuckled again throatily, “Can you not fight your own fights anymore, eh? Hired some woman to do it for you?”
Snape’s eyes dart from Karkaroff to the back of Lyra’s head, snared into iron-clad stillness that steals all the will to move from him and leaves him paralyzed by shock. The lips are agape yet unmoving, though for a moment he tries to taste her name on his tongue, Igor carries on over him as the body thaws, and his arm begins to lower back slowly to his side.
“Though, I must admit,” Karkaroff continues, accent-thick cadence adopting something almost greedy as it oozes from his tone like venom. “She is the most.. enchanting little guard dog I have ever seen. Can’t say I wouldn’t mind having you guard me either, Miss..?”
Behind her, Snape rolls his eyes. But Lyra has already advanced him, elbow craning until the rounded tip of her wand caresses Karkaroff delicately against his jawline. “The guard dog can speak for herself, funnily enough.” she murmurs against the sickeningly saccharine smile toying with the corners of her painted, pouting lips. Her expression is too sweet. Even without tasting it on the tongue, it's enough to make one's teeth ache. However, like Karkaroff, it is specific only there: upon her mouth ── it doesn’t have the reach for her eyes that it should. In a flash of movement and with a flick of her wand, the woman’s lips have curled over her teeth again, for she drives the tip into the fleshy bit of neck directly under Karkaroff’s tongue, forcing his chin to tip upward beneath the pressure, and leaving him sputtering.
“What? You’re going to start a duel right here?” he demands, scoffing, “in the middle of the Yule Ball?” and the air hangs upon the edge of a challenge. “Please. You wouldn’t want to disrupt everyone’s night.”
Snape, at last, seems to breathe with new life from behind her, and finds his voice in a wave of alarm. “Madam Reed,” he says quickly, but with impeccable calm. “That’s quite enough.. Let’s not foul the evening.” Though, rather to his dismay, he finds her unyielding.
“Aye, I bet you’d just love it...” she sneers at Karkaroff, with little acknowledgement toward Snape besides a fleeting glance. “Shame, though. Only a few more minutes ‘nd there may no’ be anything left t’guard.” As her voice begins to adopt a low growl, Snape’s eyes dart until they rediscover her there, snow glittering within the depths of her hair. Turning to water immediately against her bare skin. He’ll extend a trepidatious hand, and dare to brush his fingers softly against her wrist.
“Madam,” he says again with a notable sternness, “don't be a fool.”
In any other circumstance, he may have frozen to recall bitterly a memory from their childhood. His inexorable temper teetering before the imagery of a young girl in the courtyard who had swooped in from the crowd and wedged herself between him and four other young boys. At the time, he hadn't even known her name. But he could remember it was her standing there, speaking to his defense. He could remember the feeling of blood clotting in his nostrils. The taste of it over his teeth as he snarled centimeters from her startled, wide eyes. The chilliness of his own soul as he turned and stormed away.
A frantic foot stamping against her proverbial flame, the phantom caress over her skin coaxes her rabid heart back from her throat and into her chest where it belonged. It worked to ground her, tempting her back from Karkaroff, if only just slightly. Hesitance wanes, though the wrist acquiesces to lower beneath the hold that has begun to draw her arm back to her side .. The other arm remains thrown back along the side of him.
“Th’ next time,” she begins, hardened eyes remaining steady within Igor's as she pocketed her wand again. “Mind yourself, ya great wagon. Or I will.”
Igor only sneers down at her, “Severus can take care of himself, my little pet. It is you who should be more careful,” he growls amidst a dry cackle, rubbing the spot beneath his jaw where her wand had jammed into the flesh. He’s already begun backing away as he barks “play with fire, and you might just get burned.”
Lyra scoffs. “I’ll have to remember that,” come as words stifled from between her bitten teeth. Her eyes meet with Snape’s as she makes to turn away, and though the womanly fury in her seems to have ebbed by his request, the gaze is aflame, still, with something .. vicious. Just before she turns to stride away, the cold blue of Igor's gaze settles upon Snape, and he scowls.
“You should keep a tighter leash on your company, Severus.”
* A wolf is a wolf, dear reader, it must be said. Even in a cage, even dressed in silk. In the moment, gentle Lyra became a wolf and a lioness and a badger wrapped in human skin. All teeth and little humanity. She wasn't a creature caged by masters in the yard, but tethered to the binds she herself had fashioned with the blood and sweat of her own hands. Clapped in a pair of irons, forged only in the attempt to keep at bay those savage impulses that threatened to tear away at her grace. (She could hear a voice in the back of her mind sometimes…) (Delicious, it said. Delicious…) But they were merely the whispers of air between the cracks in her porcelain mask to be plastered over. Bound and muzzled, a wolf is also a woman. All fire and fury and darkening scorn. It's enough to make one wonder which is the more terrifying to be faced with.
A moment passes, and suddenly neither the tone nor familiarity of that pleading voice seem to carry much weight on the scales of justice. My little pet (...) yes, perhaps she was just so. A pretty little bird in her gilded cage. Lyra’s jaw tightens. (See? … can’t you see?) They’d clipped her wings, but forgotten she has feral dog teeth and claws that tear and scratch!
Wild impulse reached out a hand and yanked hard at the little hairs on the back of Lyra's neck until they stood on end. In a blur of the pale skin and of glittering fabrics, the Matron spun around on her heels and launched a fist through the air; thrusting her bony knuckles right into the center-mass of Karkaroff’s skull. The sound cracked sharply through the courtyard like a slab of meat thudding against a hard table top, and while the force of impact might have staggered some off their balance and sent them down with him, Reed managed to remain steadfast on her shoes. She leered downward as the massive man crumbled and sprawled into chilled earth, even going so far as to advance him another step - nearly reeling her fist back again as though she’d intended to strike him twice!
Somewhere in the dark, Snape called out her name as he scrambled furiously toward her. If she heard, she gave no indication. “Tell me again about being burned, Karkaroff, the next time you can speak!” she snarls down at Igor, lips curled as Snape’s hands grappled at her shoulders and he began trying to force her backward. Shockingly, his initial attempt was easy to fight against. The adrenaline coursing through her veins made her quick and agile in moments of need. She side-stepped his outstretched fingers and turned out of his grasp before he changed his tactics. Before she could double back again, she found herself locked in a mad struggle against a pair of arms constricting around her from the back. For Snape, it was like scruffing a cat.
Baring her teeth, Reed dug a single foot into the shallow depth of snow and kicked it furiously at Karkaroff before she was otherwise lifted completely off the ground ── wrenched away from the scene.
“That’s ENOUGH!” Snape exclaimed, hauling her upward against his chest; careful to keep his knees away from her kicking feet. “GET──INSIDE──NOW!”
“──off of me, Severus! ... Get up and fight, Karkaroff, y’bastarding coward!” she cries out over him, writhing against Snape’s iron grip coiled around her as he toted her with a huff across the courtyard. Conceding to him at last, though only insofar as to finally be free of his hold so that she may whirl about back in the direction where Karkaroff laid still splayed across the earth, and in a flash of final fury, she spits into the snow. Tighten your own leash, she thinks, though just as Snape snatches her by the arm and shoves her toward the open door.
“GO ON!” he snarled, and she’s sent stalking back into the ball. Quick to fixate on mending her appearance. Wiping her nose on the back of her hand .. tucking a stray curl back behind her ear.
Snape huffs, and the breath clouds into the air as he trudges his way back across the courtyard toward Karkaroff to rouse him. Eyes darting and catching the sight of several onlooking students, he curls his lips over his teeth: “Fifty points from the House of anyone who is not inside in the next fifteen seconds! GO! ” and in a flurry of flustered footfalls, they’re scurrying back through the doors, slamming them closed in their wake and casting an eerie sort of hush upon the courtyard. Heaving out another sigh, and jerking his neck to the side in an attempt to shrug the hair from his eyes, Snape stooped down to drag Karkaroff to his feet by the front of his clothes.
“Get up, Igor, and stop your whimpering.”
There was blood pooling from the larger man's broken nose, splattering droplet-stains of crimson against his ivory dress robes. Nose wrinkling in distaste, Snape fell away from Igor’s midst the moment the figure regained his balance before attempting to smooth out the dark fabric of his own garments. Once more flipping his hair back from his eyes. “That .. little.. bitch.” Igor managed, muffled by the hand over his bleeding nose.
“I suggest you focus on getting yourself to the infirmary.” Snape retorted, completely exasperated.
“I will not forget this, Severus. And YOU should not be forgetting our conversation from earlier, either! If the Dark Lord returns, it’ll be death to us both.” A beat, and Igor drew his bloodied hand away for only a moment before clapping it back over his nose. “That silly woman cannot save you from him. I know you’re scared…”
Against the grit of his teeth, Snape turned his eyes to Karkaroff and sneered. “I have nothing to be scared of, Igor...” he said curtly, gaze trailing from Igor’s eyes, and then down to his bloody robes. He arched a single, dark brow. “...Can you say the same?”
Karkaroff scoffed wetly, before whirling on his feet and skulking away in the dark with the heavy thud and crunch of his footfalls against the snow.
When alone at last, Snape released a heavy sigh and dragged a malcontent hand over his face. He found that his patience for the cold had begun to dwindle as his own adrenaline began eking out of him, and with another scouring glare about the emptied courtyard, he pocketed his wand and dared to tread back inside to get warm. Dark eyes felt themselves attracted to the sight of Lyra's red-haired head almost instantly as he slipped into the back of the crowd, and when he drew nearer, he could see that she was inconspicuously icing her hand. A single moment situated him upon the edge of great precipice: to walk quietly away, or to offer aid. She hasn't met his eyes. One could safely presume she had yet to notice him in return, with her back to him and her eyes downcast. He could disappear into the chaos of festivities now and fade into the nearest corridor, and she'd never know he was there. The night would go on, likely uninterrupted.
Infuriatingly, he finds himself compelled toward her; and when he's near enough, he takes her by the arm and lowers his head to hiss into her ear. "Come with me,"
She blinked, but rather shockingly did as she was told without fussing. His hand fell away from her, but she trailed behind him like a woman possessed. Down, down, down, they descended one after another into the dungeons. Chorused by the music fading into the distance as well as the click-click-clicking of her high heels against the floor.
They traverse into the Potions Master's office through the back of the miserably cold classroom, and Lyra has to bite down on her tongue to suppress the shiver that threatens to run through her now that all her adrenaline had fizzled out. It was a gloomy, melancholy little room lined with hundreds of various specimen jars housing animal parts and severed plants which floated, perfectly preserved, in liquids of a wide variety of different shades. Each was labeled and organized meticulously on shelves behind his desk. Within, it smelled rather like Severus himself often did: ink, sea salt, and chemicals. Somewhat lacking the moody notes of ambergris she suspected to be the base for his chosen cologne, but in following so close behind him, she caught semi-fond whispers of the scent a time or two in their descent into the dungeons. In fact, she caught herself relishing within it.
Reed flinched a little when he slammed the door closed behind them, before barking out a rather commanding “Sit down," which she acquiesced to, once again, without protest. The little maiden, even on edge, was unquestionably the most vibrant thing situated among the drab of the room. Rather because of that, she was also that much more out of place. Snape's impossibly black eyes glanced briefly at her, and apparently noting the gooseflesh along her pale arms, he flicked his wand toward the fireplace as he brushed her by to begin rooting through the shelving. She had to physically swallow the urge to sigh her relief when the fire in the hearth began radiating warmth.
The room seemed that much more hospitable when bathed in the warm hues of a glowering fire, but the light did little to lighten the atmosphere as it chased the chill out of the air. From within a drawer in his concoction table, Severus procured two small phials full of indistinct liquid. From atop a cabinet in the far corner of the room, he retrieved an empty bowl as well as some clean dressings. Mishaps during class were an unfortunate inevitability. He was well stocked, as were his predecessors.
Then, summoning a little stool, Snape settled there before the healer like a raven perched upon a gravestone and gestured impatiently for her hand. For the first moment she only stared at him, apparently puzzled by his intentions. In return, he reiterated irately: "Well..?"
A little uncertain at first, Lyra swallowed before extending the wounded appendage toward him. Trying her damndest to keep all her frustration bottled within over just how violently that very hand shakes when presented, then nearly gasping aloud when he took it between his to examine. It was the first time he'd touched her of his own accord. She found herself queerly unnerved by his tenderness.
"Stupid girl," she hears him mumble under his breath while twisting her hand about in the light, and grimacing. ... It was a fair assessment. To that end, she lets him have it without attempting to defend herself. He continued by chiding "I hope you recognize just how fortunate you are that this is the worst of the injuries you sustained."
The blood smeared on her skin was Igor's. Underneath, the skin was blossoming into various shades of bruising, but little else. Nothing seemed broken or cut. "You don't need to talk to me like a student, Severus──"
"──And yet you insist upon behaving like a petulant child, even now. May we continue?"
Reed's eyelashes fluttered, but her jaw snapped shut as his eyes flickered to hers and held steadily there, hardened and scolding. Almost daring her to argue, so he could send her on her way and wash his hands clean of the whole situation. Wisely, she only toyed her tongue against her teeth. He watches her swallow her pride before turning his attention back to her ailment. Her silence, he noted, was the most intelligent path of recourse she'd chosen all night.
With a veil of focus fixed over his expression, Snape abandoned her hand briefly in order to gather forth the empty basin he'd brought over. Uncorking one of the bottles he'd procured, he then worked to pour out the contents within it. The purply tincture smelled distinctly like wound-cleaning potion: a sterile, powerful antiseptic that she was profoundly familiar with. Then, unbuttoning both his sleeves in order to pull them back, he gathered her hand delicately back into his before submerging it into the basin. She might have winced at how cold the liquid was against her skin, but barely blinks when it smokes on contact. The pain dissipated instantly. Once again, her inner-strength prevailed. There's barely a hitch of her breath for him to scoff at. With another sweeping glance toward her after soaking her hand for a few moments, he brings it back out again to begin cleaning the blood from her skin. All in steady silence. The tension in the air between them is enough to make one's ribs ache. She watches him as he works, letting her next words roll carefully on her tongue before allowing her voice to penetrate the quiet.
"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you," She says, still dumbfounded by how inexplicably gentle his touch continued to be. For a moment, Snape merely pursed his lips as he dabbed her bruised skin dry again.
"Igor's impression of me, as it so happens, is of little to no concern." He mused in response, with no discernible emotion in his cathedral organ tone. "That being said: the fact hardly negates that your interference was beyond insipient, even under the gravest of circumstances..." A beat. He paused, and then reached over for the cotton dressings to begin wrapping her knuckles with. "You'd be wise not to underestimate him again. The man is formidable.. As an acquaintance, let alone as an adversary. Only a fool would question it." There's little more to be said. She knows that almost as well as he does. So she turned her kind attention back to where he continued carefully wrapping her knuckles, tilting her head slightly to one side.
In the back of his mind, he thinks she's come quite a long way from the girl in the courtyard he knew from his adolescence. Whether the transformation was progression or regression was, for the moment at least, somewhat unclear. He steals an innocuous glance at the skirts of her gown, but is careful to avert his eyes quickly back to his work. Rocking a little in place, but little more. She was unquestionably beautiful even in the weak lighting. A better man would tell her so, rather like everyone else had that very evening before all the unpleasantness had come to fruition. Unsurprisingly even to himself, he remained in bated silence. Convinced she knew already, and that bringing it up now would be a redundant misuse of time.
When she looks across at him seated before her, she thinks he looks quite different from the underfed little boy she’d known to be ruthlessly cruel in passing. Whatever the repercussions, she enjoyed protecting him. She liked his arms around her, even if it was to drag her out from underneath a storm of her own emotions. She liked her hand in his, whether they be dancing or tending to superficial injuries. There was a strangeness to it: to this moment, specifically. He was fully aware that she was more than capable of tending to her own bruises without aid, yet he had summoned her here with that knowledge notwithstanding. It was almost excruciatingly intimate. She might have leaned forward to kiss him if she were feeling as impulsive as she had during the opening waltz earlier that evening. Instead, she found herself quite taken with his own advice. Perhaps it was better to avoid allowing emotion to cloud her judgment... But that didn't stop her from staring at his mouth.
She clears her throat, “You’re quite good at this, you know.” Mused in a far softer tone. Almost shy, but with just enough discernible nerve to actually say it all aloud. "If you hadn't been so inclined to teach, you would have made a fine healer."
In response, he merely arched a slightly disinterested brow as he neared the end of the gauze. “Healing and potion making, Madam Reed, are not .. mutually-exclusive talents. Both are exact arts which require immense skill, and furthermore — a steady hand.” She’s embarrassed even to admit it to herself that until now, she didn’t think him capable of such gentleness. Even further still when he continues on to say, "That .. being said, I'm sure most — if not all — of those at this school, student and staff alike, would agree unanimously that you yourself are better suited for your chosen role than I have .. ever been."
Upon satisfactory completion of his task, he took care to tuck in the end of her wrappings back into the folds. She swallowed again when he did, grey eyes searching for his while he gave her hand a final looking over. Not quite ready to let her go, though his reluctance is skillfully masked under the guise of mere observation. Her fingers twitched a little inward toward his, and when they did, his own lingered just there for an instant longer. Skin brushed against skin. His hands are soft, and so were hers.
"Thank you." she manages, just barely above a whisper. With a blink of his eyes, he determines to release her from his grasp and leaned away from her again.
"Indeed." Then, he succumbs to his own nature. "... I trust you are able to see yourself.. out. Ideally without incident."
A small smile illuminated her features, and he had to fight to keep from squirming out from underneath it - rising along with her as she stood from the chair, and toweling off his hands. "'Reckon I can manage that."
He says nothing, eyes sweeping over her before turning away to begin clearing away his tools as she makes her way back toward the door. Reed pauses with her good hand on the handle to take another look at her bandages, before turning back to see he'd been watching her go. He looks away again quickly.
".. Goodnight." She says.
Snape rocked again a little on his feet, as though he needed the physical stimulation in order to reply: "Enjoy the remainder of your evening, Madam Reed."
She smiles at him a little solemnly, teetering along a tangled web of unspoken things. Then, she turned and slipped through the door, closing it gently behind her. He listened as the clicking of her heels faded.