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008. AN EMPTY BALLROOM, 1996.
An empty ballroom. One that bleeds heavy silence, virtually unmatched by abandoned cemeteries long-overgrown and crumbling, despite any rhythmic footfalls that might seep in through the doorway from busy corridors. Passing students, passing staff... These are not the sounds for which these walls have been erected, and so they barely even seem to count when considered. This room — in particular to all the rest — had been built for something else entirely. Ballrooms were intended for events of great extravagance. There's an ancient longing for decoration of dazzling lights, and to be filled to the brim with steps far more delicate than the marching to and from afternoon classes. The last time it had known such a gathering had been in the year nineteen-ninety-four, two whole years past. So much had happened between then and now, it was somewhat difficult to fathom the revelry.
To that end, the empty ballroom appears to be little more than a tomb to those who stumble upon it, and the corpse which resides within is the Hogwarts grand piano. It lies just there, situated in one far corner of the room. Shut tight, and silent. Yet... There are moments when a fair maiden shall crack open the sarcophagus, and dare to slip inside. IN ALL HER INCORRIGIBLE NATURE TO NURTURE ALL THINGS, (the body must be tended to, after all, lest it began to decay.)
The Matron Reed shall approach in a break from her duties, and settle her exhausted weight upon the bench to practice. Peeling back heavy wooden casing in order to reveal the board of pristine ivory and black keys which lie beneath it.. Breathing in the smell of fine wood. Normally, it was an instrument played by an enchantment as opposed to a pair of hands; but for her, Dumbledore had insisted an exception to be made with a smile on his face, and a twinkle in his eyes. She didn't take him up on the offer very frequently; less so since the event of last Christmas... but just now, the urge had led her here by heartstrings. Casting a fleeting glimpse toward the floor, she situated her pretty feet upon the pedals and, stretching out her scarred fingers with a crack of her knuckles, she began to play a Sonata in C Major, Opus 2, No. 3 (Adagio.) It's a heavy, practiced sort of sound that cascaded into the expanse of the room, flooding out and crashing against the walls. Erupting into the empty spaces. Filling every corner, caressing every edge, and billowing out toward the high arched ceilings.
So it went, on and on still, rather despite the creeping sense of disquiet that began to roll along the length of her spine from the crown of her auburn-haired head. What first materialized as a dull ache against the back of her neck soon blossomed to her shoulders, but she endured dull discomfort for as long as she was able before curiosity is piqued. She'll flicker those silvered eyes first ahead, before daring a glance over her right shoulder...
YOU ARE BEING WATCHED! —
"Judas Iscariot!—" she cried with a start, before pressing the back of her hand to her cheek and breathing out a huff of exasperated breath. "I didn't expect to see you there, Severus."
Practiced fingers come to a clumsy halt over the keys, and the final note drummed somewhat off-tempo. There on the opposite side of the vacant expanse, a tenebrious former Potions Master (now Dark Arts Professor, she reminds herself) had materialized from shadow to haunt the doorway. He shifted awkwardly on his feet upon being discovered, fidgeting visibly with his hands like a guilty little boy. Trying and trying to mask the enchantment that softened his features as lips part, despite how his voice appears to lag a little behind his brain.
"You must forgive my intrusion, Miss Reed .. I presumed the source of the disturbance to be a correctional matter, you see." His voice was immaculately steady, and matter-of-fact. "More to the point, I merely wish to convey that I did not intend to interrupt you."
Disturbance. The word echoed into her mind, but she didn't repeat it out loud. Instead she raised a single brow toward her hairline and expelled an airy chuckle, clearly still somewhat unnerved. "Just me, I'm afraid." Uttered from underneath the shocked flutter of her heart in her throat, taking a moment to swallow and compose herself before folding her hands into her lap and leaning back a little bit from the piano. "Though I suppose it's a fair assumption," She continued, a little lighter now and wearing that sweet smile. "Sorry to disappoint you."
"Hardly," (My dear)... Dark eyes merely blink in response to prattle, mouth wavering upon an inkling of a smirk which quickly dissipates. "As it.. so happens, I'm somewhat pleased to find you here. I rather intended to send an owl, but .. seeing as we find ourselves in one another's company..." He trailed off, ever so mysterious.
"Oh?" Now with a musing tone, Lyra swiveled around on the long bench and leaned back against the instrument to offer him her full attention. If she'd noticed his throat bobbing, she gave no indication. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
A single step toward her was taken, but that's all the closer he'd come. His hands were laced together neatly at his front, but the occasional fidget of his fingers did not go unnoticed. "Perhaps you might recall our last encounter here, two years past."
(Of course she does.) "I take it you're referring to the dance as opposed to that unpleasantness with Igor Karkaroff."
"Indeed."
"Go on, then."
"..." Their eyes met, and when they did, he watched indulgently as she tucked a strand of hair out of her face. "I regret that my performance at the time was.. somewhat inadequate." He said, his dark eyes pointedly fleeing hers. Instead, he observed the
curious tilt of her pretty head, and the subtle pinching of her brows.
"You and I must remember that evening with a difference of opinions." She said with a small smile.
When his gaze fluttered to her mouth, it appeared to struggle in fixating upon anything else. "—that notwithstanding.. I feel compelled, Madam, to extend an invitation to my personal dwellings. If you're agreeable, perhaps you'll permit me to rectify the situation."
Were it two years ago, she might have been struck viscerally by such a request. Even now after all they'd been through, she couldn't quite seem to shed surprise from her eyes nor hope to swallow back the exhilarated smile that illuminated her features in its wake. (Recall the sight of him drenched at your door, gritting his teeth as not to shiver visibly) [ ... ] How she'd longed to reach forward and wipe the rain from his face with her sleeve. AN INVITATION TO THE SNAKE'S DEN WAS NOT SOMETHING EASILY OBTAINED. Even though Snape had graced her own gaff now on more than one occasion, she couldn't have predicted in a hundred years time that he would ever consider reciprocating the gesture.
Deep breath, dear heart——
She disguised her disbelief well beneath a veil of contemplation, carefully rolling her possible responses around on her tongue before allowing anything past her lips.
"Are you inviting me over to yours?" She asked clumsily, immediately cursing herself for faltering with so bloody stupid a question.
"How very deductive of you, Madam Reed." He added, his tone becoming curt on instinct. "I would hope that was obvious."
"Right, sorry." Her grey eyes are darting.
"Only if that is permissible, of course. Should you alternatively find the notion to be inappropriate—" He's so quick to slither backward,
Quick! (But be careful,) "—What time should I plan to come round, then? I'll need a bit of time to change out of these robes, you understand." He's jolted to silence, but finds himself relieved when she recovers and spares him from scrambling. "Shall we say... seven thirty? Maybe eight?"
"... Whichever is the more convenient for you."
"Hm. Meet in the middle, shall we? Seven forty-five..?"
"Yes, alright.."
"Brilliant."
As he bowed his head and retreated back toward the door, his lips pressed into a thin line, Lyra watched him with a fond smile dimpled into her cheeks. After half a moment's consideration of their exchange, she found herself turning back 'round again on the bench.. Tempted toward the start of a new tune in the wake of his departure, while the phantom of their conversation still clung to the air. She began to play Rhiannon, half-heartedly hoping he might hear on his way...
In truth, he hadn't made it further than a single step outside the doorway. There with his back had pressed against the cool stone, his ragged heart raged in his chest. He tilted his raven-haired head back until it thumped against the pillar, and breathed. Feeling the timbre of the tune she played for him rumbling in his chest. Dark eyes fluttered to the ceiling, and eventually, his jaw slowly shut. He swept away in a billow of his long cloaks.
008. CIGARETTES ON THE ASTRONOMY TOWER, 1996.
The chill of late autumn had begun to settle upon the earth. Leaves shed their greenness, dried up, and fluttered off of the trees until they'd begun to pile across the vastness of the school grounds. Outside, it smelled semi-pleasantly like the precise variations of decay that signaled winter was not far off the current horizon. Professor Severus Snape stood atop the Astronomy Tower, a shrinking fag fixed between two fingers, blowing clouds of smoke from his teeth. He'd suspected himself to be alone for the moment; buried so deep into the dark recesses of his working mind that he didn't quite notice the faintest sound of foot steps trailing up the staircase behind him until hyper-vigilance exposed the fact that another human being would certainly materialize out of the shadows. He grew frightfully still, quieting even his breath in order to observe without motioning around to gawk. Perhaps to see what whomever approached was up to, perhaps to protect himself.
As though spawned by the prickles along the back of his neck, the Matron Reed faded into view. Hers was a familiar face, but not quite what he had expected. Just as his own footfalls began to usher him instinctually backward, as though the vast space were only big enough for one of them alone, her muddled Irish tone seeped in through his solitude, grabbed him by the collar, and thrust him out of it. She was one of the very few who could dissuade his intention to make a swift, wordless exit.
“—Don’t suppose you’ve got one to spare?”
It might have jolted him out of his skin if he didn't cling to his own composure like his very life depended upon doing so. (After all, it frequently did.) The Professor's black eyes whipped over one shoulder to behold the source of the voice. The magnitude of her radiance seemed enough to tranquilize even the biting wind that whistled through the air at their altitude. One moment Snape was shuddering his hair from his eyes incessantly, the next, an inexplicable calm fell over the atmosphere. The snake in his heart laid it's scaled head down onto the earth. Dark eyes swept from her head down to her feet, ever embittered by the lulling effect she seemed to have on his soul with barely a discernible attempt. He was not easily tamed, nor was he easily coaxed out of broody silence. From over the railing, almost the entire grounds could be viewed at one's pleasure. The castle was tall and sturdy, but there weren't many who sought refuge this high above the ground. Between both the highest and lowest points, solitude could be found either above or below conglomerates of staff and student.
For a moment he blinked in silence as though he didn’t quite understand the question. Then, he forced himself back to life and rummaged around in the pocket of his robes to find his handed-down cigarette case. "As long as you can assure me I'm not your influence," he murmured drolly, arching a single eyebrow. The sentiment made him feel rather like a delinquent who was smuggling contraband in the dark while the last sliver of sunlight faded into dusk.
"God, no. Your conscious is clear." (as though his conscious had anything to do with it,) "I blame London in the eighties, actually. Reckon most our age do."
Snape made no move to respond. The healer's antler velvet, sedative voice took it's time soothing in and out of his ears, heedless of how he tried to proverbially swat his own fondness out of the deepest layer of his eyes. In an attempt at distraction, he flipped open the shabby little cigarette case and extended one out for her, motioning a little impatiently when she didn't react as quickly as he might have wanted. She bore his irritability like she always had; gracefully. Reaching out to claim his offering and immediately thereafter propping the filter between her painted lips. When Snape even went so far as to offer an abnormally courteous light, a grateful hum was all the more she fussed.
"Sláinte," she said softly, taking a long pull that hollowed her cheeks before puffing smoke out of the corner of her mouth. "Dirty habit, I know... I stopped for a while. Pregnancy risk and all that." Unlike most others, she found Snape rather striking in abysmal lighting. The way shadows haunted his sallow features made him seem handsomely inhuman. "More and more lately, I find myself picking it back up again."
Once again, her reluctant companion said nothing in response to mindless chatter. He only leered at her, watching the smoldering end of her cigarette illuminate her features and then fade again beneath a cloud of grey before turning his gaze back toward the grounds and leaning over the railing. Upon her approach from the back and her casual mimic of his stance alongside him, he bristled. However he didn't protest, nor did he make an attempt to shrink away from her proximity. He simply raised an eyebrow and kept his attention fixed anywhere but her direction.
A strange sort of silence bounced between them, filled only with glowering inhales and hazy exhales. Bad habits notwithstanding, he wasn't good for her... Yet her insistence upon being his ally continued to confound him, nevertheless her amenity toward his insensitivity. He was a ghost who haunted the lives of other people. It had been that way before the events of last Christmas, and it remained thusly now. What possibly could she hope to gain from his favour? He had invited her into his home. What more was there to give?
"I have seldom seen you come here before..." he notes in a sonorous tone, glancing toward her through the far corner of his peripherals before retreating back to the cigarette between his lips. It was getting dangerously close to it's quick end, so he is left to decide whether to strike another, or to bid her goodnight when he flicked it into the abyss and lacked something to do with his hands.
"Nor I, you." She says, catching the fleeting glance of his eyes and watching as it shied back again. "I've been coming up here since I was a girl, on the rare occasion my nights became dark and dreary. I got quite skilled at sneaking out of my dormitories in my second year. Perhaps we've only just missed each other until now... After all, the nights are long."
Her admission was something of a shock, though his expression remained unreadable. He'd never taken her for someone who flouted restrictions, let alone someone to admit the same with such informality. Perhaps she was a creature with more nerve than he'd given her credit for. "... It is something of a luxury, having the nights 'dark and dreary' so few and far between." A luxury Snape himself rarely knew.
"I don't take it for granted, believe me. Alas, here we are, like. 'fraid a bit of luck is always bound t'run out eventually." Then, sucking in another smoggy pull, she exhales through her lips and turns her glance to look upon him properly. "I might have assumed you were the better off of the two of us, actually. I don't doubt your capabilities in brewing a potent sleeping draught." A long pause. "...Is there nothing in the Infirmary stores I can offer you?"
"None. I much prefer to be awake.. in the dark hours of the evenings."
She nods her head, and redirects the direction of her eyes once he begins to shift on his feet. The moment he's alleviated of the weight of her stare, he finds himself glancing over at her instead. He could still see her crumpled in the snow-strewn road, with blood oozing from her paled lips. She was like an animal after it had been struck by a car. She was less bloody now, but she still bore the scars.
Even marred with tragedy, she was still so....
She was infinitely...
The butt of his cigarette just barely managed to singe the tip of his fingers before he ground it out against cold metal. He hadn't even flinched. She never knew one way or the other if he'd been burned as she kept her eyes politely fixed in the dark middle-distance. Then, Snape's low, cathedral voice once again penetrated the expanse. He was anything less than kind, but she didn't seem discouraged. "... I suspect your current supply of Wolfsbane has.. inexorably begun to dwindle, Madam."
Her eyes fluttered, as though merely mentioning her monstrosity indirectly carved a blade into her chest. "Mm. I've got enough for the next cycle."
"Then I will work to establish a new batch before morning." When she glanced over suddenly, he didn't quite expect to meet her eyes. His gaze was wild, but not necessarily disdainful.
"Thank you," she said softly. ".. It hardly remains your responsibility." (It was more his responsibility than she could fathom. After all, he could have left her to die.)
"I do not overexert myself with.. any task too inconvenient that it might interfere with my required duties." and while it might have been a backhanded way of saying it, Lyra was able to translate into a personalized version of 'your welcome'. She nodded her head, and flicked the ashes off the end of her fag. When he ducked his head with every intention to slip out of her company, the sound of her calling his name sweetly made him halt on his heels and turn back around. He tipped his chin defensively when she came closer to him, grinding the last of the cherry off her cig and tossing it into the nearest bin.
The sudden absence of fire burning through sweet tobacco thrust them both into nothing more than silvery moonlight. The Matron even went so far as daring to reach out and touch his arm, and though he eyed her incredulously for a moment, he hesitated and then leaned down slightly from his height so she could press a kiss into the hollow of his cheek. Then, he straightened up again. When he did, he watched Reed's head cant a little to one side and narrowed his eyes until she spoke.
"Blimey," she murmured, albeit mostly to herself, "you're tall, aren't you? ... Can't say I've not noticed before, but to this extent..?"
Snape visibly swallowed. His throat jumped beneath his high collars as he peered down at her. He didn't say anything for a long moment before, at last, his mouth parted: "... I hunch," he murmured, somewhat hesitantly as though revealing any part of himself to anyone - Lyra included - was a terribly obscene thing to do. He had done since he was a child.
Lyra only smiled prettily up at him. "You shouldn't," she said, pausing a moment before dismissing him at last with an infinitely tender "goodnight." spoken from her smile. He only met her eyes, and then turned and swept away. Once he was gone, she meandered back to the railing and sighed softly.