The Last Dance
Disclaimer: It's not mine. But I reeeeeeeeeaaaaaaally want Snape. Maybe for my birthday, if I'm good.
Author's Note: Damn Frank Sinatra for inspiring this fic during a late night listening to The Reprise Collection. "The Last Dance" came on and this fic was born. I even had to wake up and turn on the light to start writing before I lost the idea completely!
'Snape was now quite sure that time had stopped and that he was trapped for all eternity in this hellish existence called the Yule Ball.' Another Yule Ball, just like the last. Until someone asks Severus to dance, that is.
* * *
From the furthest corner away from the dance floor, the dark eyes of Professor Severus Snape watched the proceedings of the dance. His arms were crossed forbodingly across his black-clad chest, his wand tapping restlessly against his side. And his expression, even more sour than usual, seemed to dare anyone to approach him.
Most people took the hint. Those that didn't were treated with a particularly forceful glare for their troubles. It was all too obvious that he did not want to be here. He never did. Somehow, he doubted that chaperoning a roomful of hormonal adolescents was in the contract he had signed with Dumbledore. Though whenever he brought up the subject with the headmaster, Albus seemed to become suddenly hard of hearing.
With a throaty snarl, he studied his feet, wondering how much longer he would be required to remain here. He wasn't sure how much more he could stand before skulking off to his rooms to break into the liquor cabinet.
He didn't see the point, really. What was the use of formal balls in the first place? He had never, even when younger, expressed a desire to become suddenly giddy with pleasure over a female escort. Certainly not enough so that he would don ridiculously frilled dress robes and spend the night dancing and drinking spiked punch so that the next morning he would be unable to move without excruciating pain.
It was rather ironic that, years later, he was required to attend. Miserably ironic.
He was now quite sure that time had stopped and that he was trapped for all eternity in this hellish existence called the Yule Ball.
"May I have this dance?" He didn't look up to see who was speaking, or to whom. It was probably a tipsy Vector trying to get Lupin to dance with her. The damned werewolf seemed nearly as out of place at the dance as Snape did. And that fact was only slightly comforting. "Severus?" This time he raised his head and his black eyes met those of Ciana Sinistra.
"Yes?" he snarled annoyedly, glancing towards the exit. It was most likely time to check those ridiculous rosebushes. He swore Albus put them there specifically as a convenient place for students to disrobe each other.
"I asked you a question." He returned his gaze to her. Ciana Sinistra, Astrology professor... profoundly unbearable. He frowned as he regarded her. She waited, expectant, with that annoying glint in her emerald eyes. She wore stylish robes of deep blue, with a black fur wrapped around her neck. Her black hair, for once loosed from its customary updo, tumbled down her back in soft waves. He rolled his eyes at the sparkling blue gems that were placed at random in her tresses. She always managed to be overly extravagant.
"Forgive me," he sighed, "but I cannot hear myself think, much less your inquiry, with all this bloody racket."
"I asked you to dance."
His eyes snapped to hers, searching for signs that she was mocking him. He regrettably found none. "What?"
"Dance. Surely you haven't missed the fact that dancing is in itself the main focus of a ball, have you?"
"Don't be childish."
She smiled in a way that was very unnerving. "Must be the punch. I have a feeling that the Indomitable Twins spiked it yet again. Shame. We really must do something about them... it's far too weak." She snapped her fingers and a glass appeared in her hand a second later. She held it out to him. "Care for some, Severus?"
"Certainly not."
She shrugged as if to say 'your loss' and sipped from the glass, peering at him over the rim. "Now about that dance?"
He raised a dark eyebrow. "I assure you, Ciana, I could have to be more drunk than you are to set foot on that floor. Either that or daft."
She extended the glass again. "Then I suggest you start drinking, Professor Snape. Of course," she added, wrapping her fingers around his slim wrist and preventing his escape, "I have been told that I am quite enough to drive people mad."
Snape glared at her. "I do not doubt that."
A laugh bubbled to her lips. "I didn't think that you would. Now come on. It's the last dance."
As if on some hell-sent cue, the music slowed dramatically and those dancing began to partner up. Snape felt dread clench at his stomach and he was certain that the vein in his temple was throbbing madly. Gritting his teeth he motioned towards the punch table, and a glass flew into his hand. He downed the contents in one swig, nodded towards it, and it promptly refilled.
"Thirsty?"
"Quite," he responded shortly, throwing back another long drink and praying that the liquor took effect quickly.
She laughed again, raising her glass to his. "Cheers, Severus." His answer was unintelligible as she half-pulled him onto the dance floor. For one as slight as she was, she was stronger than he had expected. As they approached, the students seemed to mechanically part like water before them. She smiled back at him. "I see you hold complete respect, both in class and out."
He choked a laugh. "I assure you, it is not respect they have for me. It is..."
He was cut off as Sinistra stopped and turned to him, resting one hand on his shoulder and catching his right hand up in her left. "... utter awe of your charming personality?" she finished for him. He merely snorted and placed his palm just above her hip, as she coaxed him into moving reluctantly with the rhythm of the music. "There, see? You can dance."
At her comment, he frowned. "What, did you expect me to tread all over your feet while counting the steps aloud?"
She shrugged. "Well, as far as my memory recollects, I have never once witnessed you dancing. I was beginning to wonder..."
"Well," he growled, noticing with humiliation the dozens of eyes fastened upon him and the Astrology professor, "you will not be seeing it again." She began to chat amiably, predictably about her field of expertise. It was his experience that Hogwarts professors talked about little else other than their areas of study. Sprout spoke of nothing but her gardening, Flitwick of the latest discovered charm, and now Sinistra about her stars. She knew no little bit about the heavens, probably an inexhaustible wealth of knowledge, but unlike Trelawney, her chatter about the positions of the planets did not grow immediately loathsome and drab... not to mention the delightful fact that her conversation did not focus on predicting the gruesome deaths of the entire student body. There were only so many times and ways that Potter could die, after all.
"... and the position of Jupiter coinciding with Venus at its high point has successfully, I believe, predicted the fact that you will be ignoring me through the duration of this song. Don't you agree, Severus?"
He gazed blankly at her, aware for the first time that he had not been listening to her for nearly a minute. "What?"
She pursed her lips in an angry gesture. "Am I that boring, Professor? Perhaps you would care to chime in on your preference of cauldron shapes for the more precise accuracy of potion-making."
Instantly, he straightened, rising up to his full height in an instinctive display of superiority. He recalled all too well the Staff Meeting that had taken place three years ago. It had been composed almost exclusively of his arguing the type of cauldron students should be required to buy. Correct shape had been one of his main points.
He glared down his sizable nose at her, but she seemed unaffected. Instead she stepped a bit closer to him as they danced, closing the gap between them. "Honestly, Severus, you needn't hold me at arms length. I don't bite."
"I thought you just did," he commented dryly, recalling her snappish jab at his cauldron argument, as her arm snaked further around his neck.
"Oh no, Professor," she said coyly, "that was certainly not biting."
He started at her words, wondering if he was taking them in a different manner than she had meant. But by the look on her face, there was no doubt of the way she had meant the phrase to sound. He should turn icily away and stride outside, leaving her with that ridiculous smile on her face. He didn't want to be here in the first place, dancing with her. He had never wanted to, from the moment she had asked him to.
So why was his hand still resting easily on the curve of her hip?
And... why hadn't the damned music ended yet?! He was nearly ready to glance over at Dumbledore to see if the old fool had deliberately lengthened the song. If he had...
A growl rose in his throat, and Sinistra's fingers pressed lightly into his skin in reproach. "Easy, Severus." She arched her eyebrows. "Don't you ever relax?"
"When, in my expansive free time?" He glanced coldly down at her.
"Perhaps if you did not spend it all huddled over a potion. I believe the fumes are going to your head, Professor."
"And I believe the high altitudes you spend most of your time hiding away at are affecting yours." They must have, if she had asked him of all people to dance.
"Well, well," she grinned. "I see we haven't lost our touch for sarcasm."
"I've spent years perfecting it."
"I've noticed."
He frowned deeply. "Why are you doing this, Sinistra?" She blinked innocently and he snorted. "Do not even attempt that."
She shrugged. "I never talk to you, Severus. And it's the last dance... I thought I would take advantage of the opportunity."
"We're not talking." They were something close to bickering, each teasing and baiting the other.
"But we are." Her smile this time was purely genuine. "We are talking... in our own way. Besides," she nudged him with her hip, "I wanted to see if you were as bad a dancer as Hooch said you were."
Snape scowled at the memory. Iolana Hooch had physically forced him to dance a waltz with her once... with rather disastrous results. She had refrained from even drawing near him at a dance since then. Not that he minded.
"She is not one to talk about dancing skills." He nodded over Sinistra's shoulder and turned so that she could see the Flying professor dancing energetically with the Wizarding Literature professor. It looked as if she were about to give the diminutive wizard a severe case of whiplash.
Sinistra chuckled, turning her face into Snape's robes to hide her smile. "This is true." It was a small motion, but it made him stiffen at her forehead pressing against his collarbone. A sudden rush of blood seemed to flood his cheeks and he felt... strange.
He attributed it, of course, to the alcohol in the punch finally taking effect. It was about time. Now all he needed was to get out of here and escape to the unbroken solace of his quarters.
But instead, he found his fingers tightening over the soft curve of her hipbone. He whet his lips, which were unnaturally dry, and looked down at her. As he was about to speak, the music that had been playing endlessly in the background wound to a stop. Dumbledore rose to say a few words about Christmas, but he didn't listen. He withdrew from Sinistra, dropping her hand as if it burned him, and turned to stalk outside. There was still rosebush duty awaiting him.
And he wanted to be as far away as possible from that damned woman.
He had barely gone two feet when he realized that she had not answered his previous question of why she practically forced him to dance. He swung around to accuse her and found her already standing in front of him. She was so close that he brushed against her before he could keep his composure. He stumbled back slightly at the surprise of her proximity, catching his balance quickly. But he was not quick enough for her not to notice. Her lips curved into a smile. "Something wrong, Severus?"
He fought the rush of blood that threatened him again and shook his head sharply. "It's the punch, I'm sure." Once again, he turned away, this time swearing that he would not speak to the wretched witch again until he had to. It wasn't right that she should be able to unsettle him so easily.
This time, her hand caught a fistful of his sleeve and she stepped closer, rising on tiptoe to place her mouth next to his ear. He could feel her breath against his skin. He stiffened again at the sensation. He swore, this was the last time he would allow himself to consume alcohol at a ball. He was not himself... he should have left by now, should have brushed her off with a scathing remark, and should never have allowed her to take him onto the dance floor in the first place. It was all a result of that bloody spiked punch. He made a mental note to deduct a hundred points from each of the Weasley twins first thing on Monday.
"Severus," she whispered, low enough so that only he could hear, "the punch was not spiked."
And with that, she gave an all-too-knowing smile and walked away, flipping her curls over her shoulder. It took him a moment for the words and their meaning to register. Once they did, he stared after her, stunned, as students and their dates moved around him towards the exit. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, and he desperately wanted to curse something.
His glittering eyes ran over the room for something... or someone, providing that Potter hadn't left the room yet, finally landing on the exit of the Great Hall. Then a leering smile made its way across his face. The rosebushes. He gripped his wand determinedly and strode outside, eager to get his mind off the unexpected events of the evening.
As Sinistra walked down the hall, she could hear the yelps of the occupied students as Snape blew their hiding places apart, one by one. From the sounds of it, he was on a rampage. Which meant that everything had gone as planned. She smiled to herself and began to hum a melody under her breath.
* * *
By the time all of the rosebushes in the near vicinity had been effectively demolished, Snape felt calm enough to return his wand to his pocket. By his memory, he had deducted a total of 25 points from Slytherin, 45 from Hufflepuff, 59 from Ravenclaw, and a grand mass of 75 points from Gryffindor.
All in all, it had been a good night.
Of course, he wasn't counting the five minutes he had spent on the dancefloor. He was working on blocking that completely from his memory. A bottle of brandy should effectively do the trick.
If not, he had more where that came from, and a long weekend ahead to recover from the subsequent hangover.
He moved silently through the halls towards his dungeon chambers. They were located adjacent to his office and reached through a series of secret panels and protective wards. No one but him knew how to enter.
Which was why he was... shocked, to say the least, to find the hidden door to his chambers slightly open. His hand was on his wand in an instant, holding it ahead of him as he stepped towards the door. He heard nothing from inside, save for the crackling of a... fire? He could not recall having left a fire in the hearth. He never used a fire, preferring the numbing cold over false warmth.
Someone was inside... or had been recently. Another step brought him closer. He laid his left palm flat on the wood of the paneling and pushed softly. The door, true to form, swung open noiselessly. A curse was already formed on his lips before he realized that there was no one to challenge him, no wand spitting a spell at him. He was alone.
He relaxed slightly, glancing at the blazing fire. "Finite incantum," he said, ending the spell that kept the flames going. The room dove into semi-darkness, save for several torches that lined the walls. He crossed the room to a wooden cabinet on the wall and removed the wards that locked it.
Absently, his hand reached for the bottle he sought, but his fingers only met open air. He looked up sharply. The bottle was missing. He whirled around, his penetrating gaze scanning the whole of the room. Still, he saw no one. "Bloody hell," he swore under his breath.
"Language, Severus," came a voice from far side of the room. The chair in front of his desk swung around, revealing Ciana Sinistra seated comfortably in it. He nearly dropped his wand. She was holding a full glass in her hand and his favorite bottle of brandy sat, half-empty, on the desk.
He started towards her, infuriated. "How the hell did you get in here, you..."
She held out the glass with a quirk of her mouth. "Need a drink?"
Glaring, he swatted her hand away. "Don't be ridiculous."
"I thought we'd already established that I was."
He snatched away the glass and the brandy. "You found your way in, though Merlin knows how, I presume you will be able to retrace your tracks."
She snapped her fingers and the glass flew out of his hand into hers. She took a drink and looked around at her drab surroundings. "I love what you've done with the place, Severus, really."
"Leave."
Once again, she was unfazed. "Now Severus, you'll get a lot better results if you say please."
His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Leave." She waited, staring at him expectantly. After nearly a minute, he growled and added contemptuously, "Please."
She smiled good-naturedly. "There. Now wasn't that better? But no thank you, I'd prefer to stay. This brandy is excellent." She sipped from the glass again. "You really should try it." A soft giggle escaped her lips at the look on his face.
"You're drunk," he sneered.
She shrugged again, waving her wand at the fireplace so that the flames leapt up again. "Perhaps." Another motion and a second glass was being sent through the air at him. "Care to join me?"
He sighed and poured the dark liquid into the glass, taking it from where it hung suspended in front of him and drinking deeply. The drink burned pleasantly down his throat, and after a moment, he closed the door and seated himself uneasily in a chair across from Sinistra, returning his wand to his pocket and refilling his glass.
Albus had once told him a Muggle phrase that he imagined applied quite well to the situation at hand as Sinistra held out her empty glass to him. He leaned over to pour more brandy for her and smiled to himself as he leaned back in his chair and listened as the witch began to talk.
Now what was that phrase? Oh yes.
If you can't beat them... join them.
He set the bottle down next to his chair and took another slow drink. The warmth from the fire licked at this body while the liquor warmed him from the inside out. Perhaps it was the drink, but he was beginning to feel quite comfortable... more so than he had in years.
He glanced at Sinistra, who was playing with a loose strand of her hair as she spoke, her sharp features lit up by the firelight and her lips stained a darker red. Another wave of warmth spread over him, and he looked away into the fire. It was the drink taking effect, surely.
After all, what else could it be?
He glanced at her again, noticing the way her free hand gestured as she talked animatedly about the subject she loved most- the stars.
Yes... definitely the drink.
END
~They're wondering just when will we leave, but till we leave
Keep holding me tight
Through the last dance, each beat of the last dance
And save me the first dance in your dreams tonight ~
Author's Note 2: Well... I'm not sure what I think of it. I tried to keep Snape from 'frolicking in the fluff,' but I'm not sure. Sinistra's awfully bubbly... but I kindof like her that way. She's different from my other Sinistra, which is what I was going for. Let me know what you think, if you would.
Disclaimer: It's not mine. But I reeeeeeeeeaaaaaaally want Snape. Maybe for my birthday, if I'm good.
Author's Note: Damn Frank Sinatra for inspiring this fic during a late night listening to The Reprise Collection. "The Last Dance" came on and this fic was born. I even had to wake up and turn on the light to start writing before I lost the idea completely!
'Snape was now quite sure that time had stopped and that he was trapped for all eternity in this hellish existence called the Yule Ball.' Another Yule Ball, just like the last. Until someone asks Severus to dance, that is.
* * *
From the furthest corner away from the dance floor, the dark eyes of Professor Severus Snape watched the proceedings of the dance. His arms were crossed forbodingly across his black-clad chest, his wand tapping restlessly against his side. And his expression, even more sour than usual, seemed to dare anyone to approach him.
Most people took the hint. Those that didn't were treated with a particularly forceful glare for their troubles. It was all too obvious that he did not want to be here. He never did. Somehow, he doubted that chaperoning a roomful of hormonal adolescents was in the contract he had signed with Dumbledore. Though whenever he brought up the subject with the headmaster, Albus seemed to become suddenly hard of hearing.
With a throaty snarl, he studied his feet, wondering how much longer he would be required to remain here. He wasn't sure how much more he could stand before skulking off to his rooms to break into the liquor cabinet.
He didn't see the point, really. What was the use of formal balls in the first place? He had never, even when younger, expressed a desire to become suddenly giddy with pleasure over a female escort. Certainly not enough so that he would don ridiculously frilled dress robes and spend the night dancing and drinking spiked punch so that the next morning he would be unable to move without excruciating pain.
It was rather ironic that, years later, he was required to attend. Miserably ironic.
He was now quite sure that time had stopped and that he was trapped for all eternity in this hellish existence called the Yule Ball.
"May I have this dance?" He didn't look up to see who was speaking, or to whom. It was probably a tipsy Vector trying to get Lupin to dance with her. The damned werewolf seemed nearly as out of place at the dance as Snape did. And that fact was only slightly comforting. "Severus?" This time he raised his head and his black eyes met those of Ciana Sinistra.
"Yes?" he snarled annoyedly, glancing towards the exit. It was most likely time to check those ridiculous rosebushes. He swore Albus put them there specifically as a convenient place for students to disrobe each other.
"I asked you a question." He returned his gaze to her. Ciana Sinistra, Astrology professor... profoundly unbearable. He frowned as he regarded her. She waited, expectant, with that annoying glint in her emerald eyes. She wore stylish robes of deep blue, with a black fur wrapped around her neck. Her black hair, for once loosed from its customary updo, tumbled down her back in soft waves. He rolled his eyes at the sparkling blue gems that were placed at random in her tresses. She always managed to be overly extravagant.
"Forgive me," he sighed, "but I cannot hear myself think, much less your inquiry, with all this bloody racket."
"I asked you to dance."
His eyes snapped to hers, searching for signs that she was mocking him. He regrettably found none. "What?"
"Dance. Surely you haven't missed the fact that dancing is in itself the main focus of a ball, have you?"
"Don't be childish."
She smiled in a way that was very unnerving. "Must be the punch. I have a feeling that the Indomitable Twins spiked it yet again. Shame. We really must do something about them... it's far too weak." She snapped her fingers and a glass appeared in her hand a second later. She held it out to him. "Care for some, Severus?"
"Certainly not."
She shrugged as if to say 'your loss' and sipped from the glass, peering at him over the rim. "Now about that dance?"
He raised a dark eyebrow. "I assure you, Ciana, I could have to be more drunk than you are to set foot on that floor. Either that or daft."
She extended the glass again. "Then I suggest you start drinking, Professor Snape. Of course," she added, wrapping her fingers around his slim wrist and preventing his escape, "I have been told that I am quite enough to drive people mad."
Snape glared at her. "I do not doubt that."
A laugh bubbled to her lips. "I didn't think that you would. Now come on. It's the last dance."
As if on some hell-sent cue, the music slowed dramatically and those dancing began to partner up. Snape felt dread clench at his stomach and he was certain that the vein in his temple was throbbing madly. Gritting his teeth he motioned towards the punch table, and a glass flew into his hand. He downed the contents in one swig, nodded towards it, and it promptly refilled.
"Thirsty?"
"Quite," he responded shortly, throwing back another long drink and praying that the liquor took effect quickly.
She laughed again, raising her glass to his. "Cheers, Severus." His answer was unintelligible as she half-pulled him onto the dance floor. For one as slight as she was, she was stronger than he had expected. As they approached, the students seemed to mechanically part like water before them. She smiled back at him. "I see you hold complete respect, both in class and out."
He choked a laugh. "I assure you, it is not respect they have for me. It is..."
He was cut off as Sinistra stopped and turned to him, resting one hand on his shoulder and catching his right hand up in her left. "... utter awe of your charming personality?" she finished for him. He merely snorted and placed his palm just above her hip, as she coaxed him into moving reluctantly with the rhythm of the music. "There, see? You can dance."
At her comment, he frowned. "What, did you expect me to tread all over your feet while counting the steps aloud?"
She shrugged. "Well, as far as my memory recollects, I have never once witnessed you dancing. I was beginning to wonder..."
"Well," he growled, noticing with humiliation the dozens of eyes fastened upon him and the Astrology professor, "you will not be seeing it again." She began to chat amiably, predictably about her field of expertise. It was his experience that Hogwarts professors talked about little else other than their areas of study. Sprout spoke of nothing but her gardening, Flitwick of the latest discovered charm, and now Sinistra about her stars. She knew no little bit about the heavens, probably an inexhaustible wealth of knowledge, but unlike Trelawney, her chatter about the positions of the planets did not grow immediately loathsome and drab... not to mention the delightful fact that her conversation did not focus on predicting the gruesome deaths of the entire student body. There were only so many times and ways that Potter could die, after all.
"... and the position of Jupiter coinciding with Venus at its high point has successfully, I believe, predicted the fact that you will be ignoring me through the duration of this song. Don't you agree, Severus?"
He gazed blankly at her, aware for the first time that he had not been listening to her for nearly a minute. "What?"
She pursed her lips in an angry gesture. "Am I that boring, Professor? Perhaps you would care to chime in on your preference of cauldron shapes for the more precise accuracy of potion-making."
Instantly, he straightened, rising up to his full height in an instinctive display of superiority. He recalled all too well the Staff Meeting that had taken place three years ago. It had been composed almost exclusively of his arguing the type of cauldron students should be required to buy. Correct shape had been one of his main points.
He glared down his sizable nose at her, but she seemed unaffected. Instead she stepped a bit closer to him as they danced, closing the gap between them. "Honestly, Severus, you needn't hold me at arms length. I don't bite."
"I thought you just did," he commented dryly, recalling her snappish jab at his cauldron argument, as her arm snaked further around his neck.
"Oh no, Professor," she said coyly, "that was certainly not biting."
He started at her words, wondering if he was taking them in a different manner than she had meant. But by the look on her face, there was no doubt of the way she had meant the phrase to sound. He should turn icily away and stride outside, leaving her with that ridiculous smile on her face. He didn't want to be here in the first place, dancing with her. He had never wanted to, from the moment she had asked him to.
So why was his hand still resting easily on the curve of her hip?
And... why hadn't the damned music ended yet?! He was nearly ready to glance over at Dumbledore to see if the old fool had deliberately lengthened the song. If he had...
A growl rose in his throat, and Sinistra's fingers pressed lightly into his skin in reproach. "Easy, Severus." She arched her eyebrows. "Don't you ever relax?"
"When, in my expansive free time?" He glanced coldly down at her.
"Perhaps if you did not spend it all huddled over a potion. I believe the fumes are going to your head, Professor."
"And I believe the high altitudes you spend most of your time hiding away at are affecting yours." They must have, if she had asked him of all people to dance.
"Well, well," she grinned. "I see we haven't lost our touch for sarcasm."
"I've spent years perfecting it."
"I've noticed."
He frowned deeply. "Why are you doing this, Sinistra?" She blinked innocently and he snorted. "Do not even attempt that."
She shrugged. "I never talk to you, Severus. And it's the last dance... I thought I would take advantage of the opportunity."
"We're not talking." They were something close to bickering, each teasing and baiting the other.
"But we are." Her smile this time was purely genuine. "We are talking... in our own way. Besides," she nudged him with her hip, "I wanted to see if you were as bad a dancer as Hooch said you were."
Snape scowled at the memory. Iolana Hooch had physically forced him to dance a waltz with her once... with rather disastrous results. She had refrained from even drawing near him at a dance since then. Not that he minded.
"She is not one to talk about dancing skills." He nodded over Sinistra's shoulder and turned so that she could see the Flying professor dancing energetically with the Wizarding Literature professor. It looked as if she were about to give the diminutive wizard a severe case of whiplash.
Sinistra chuckled, turning her face into Snape's robes to hide her smile. "This is true." It was a small motion, but it made him stiffen at her forehead pressing against his collarbone. A sudden rush of blood seemed to flood his cheeks and he felt... strange.
He attributed it, of course, to the alcohol in the punch finally taking effect. It was about time. Now all he needed was to get out of here and escape to the unbroken solace of his quarters.
But instead, he found his fingers tightening over the soft curve of her hipbone. He whet his lips, which were unnaturally dry, and looked down at her. As he was about to speak, the music that had been playing endlessly in the background wound to a stop. Dumbledore rose to say a few words about Christmas, but he didn't listen. He withdrew from Sinistra, dropping her hand as if it burned him, and turned to stalk outside. There was still rosebush duty awaiting him.
And he wanted to be as far away as possible from that damned woman.
He had barely gone two feet when he realized that she had not answered his previous question of why she practically forced him to dance. He swung around to accuse her and found her already standing in front of him. She was so close that he brushed against her before he could keep his composure. He stumbled back slightly at the surprise of her proximity, catching his balance quickly. But he was not quick enough for her not to notice. Her lips curved into a smile. "Something wrong, Severus?"
He fought the rush of blood that threatened him again and shook his head sharply. "It's the punch, I'm sure." Once again, he turned away, this time swearing that he would not speak to the wretched witch again until he had to. It wasn't right that she should be able to unsettle him so easily.
This time, her hand caught a fistful of his sleeve and she stepped closer, rising on tiptoe to place her mouth next to his ear. He could feel her breath against his skin. He stiffened again at the sensation. He swore, this was the last time he would allow himself to consume alcohol at a ball. He was not himself... he should have left by now, should have brushed her off with a scathing remark, and should never have allowed her to take him onto the dance floor in the first place. It was all a result of that bloody spiked punch. He made a mental note to deduct a hundred points from each of the Weasley twins first thing on Monday.
"Severus," she whispered, low enough so that only he could hear, "the punch was not spiked."
And with that, she gave an all-too-knowing smile and walked away, flipping her curls over her shoulder. It took him a moment for the words and their meaning to register. Once they did, he stared after her, stunned, as students and their dates moved around him towards the exit. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, and he desperately wanted to curse something.
His glittering eyes ran over the room for something... or someone, providing that Potter hadn't left the room yet, finally landing on the exit of the Great Hall. Then a leering smile made its way across his face. The rosebushes. He gripped his wand determinedly and strode outside, eager to get his mind off the unexpected events of the evening.
As Sinistra walked down the hall, she could hear the yelps of the occupied students as Snape blew their hiding places apart, one by one. From the sounds of it, he was on a rampage. Which meant that everything had gone as planned. She smiled to herself and began to hum a melody under her breath.
* * *
By the time all of the rosebushes in the near vicinity had been effectively demolished, Snape felt calm enough to return his wand to his pocket. By his memory, he had deducted a total of 25 points from Slytherin, 45 from Hufflepuff, 59 from Ravenclaw, and a grand mass of 75 points from Gryffindor.
All in all, it had been a good night.
Of course, he wasn't counting the five minutes he had spent on the dancefloor. He was working on blocking that completely from his memory. A bottle of brandy should effectively do the trick.
If not, he had more where that came from, and a long weekend ahead to recover from the subsequent hangover.
He moved silently through the halls towards his dungeon chambers. They were located adjacent to his office and reached through a series of secret panels and protective wards. No one but him knew how to enter.
Which was why he was... shocked, to say the least, to find the hidden door to his chambers slightly open. His hand was on his wand in an instant, holding it ahead of him as he stepped towards the door. He heard nothing from inside, save for the crackling of a... fire? He could not recall having left a fire in the hearth. He never used a fire, preferring the numbing cold over false warmth.
Someone was inside... or had been recently. Another step brought him closer. He laid his left palm flat on the wood of the paneling and pushed softly. The door, true to form, swung open noiselessly. A curse was already formed on his lips before he realized that there was no one to challenge him, no wand spitting a spell at him. He was alone.
He relaxed slightly, glancing at the blazing fire. "Finite incantum," he said, ending the spell that kept the flames going. The room dove into semi-darkness, save for several torches that lined the walls. He crossed the room to a wooden cabinet on the wall and removed the wards that locked it.
Absently, his hand reached for the bottle he sought, but his fingers only met open air. He looked up sharply. The bottle was missing. He whirled around, his penetrating gaze scanning the whole of the room. Still, he saw no one. "Bloody hell," he swore under his breath.
"Language, Severus," came a voice from far side of the room. The chair in front of his desk swung around, revealing Ciana Sinistra seated comfortably in it. He nearly dropped his wand. She was holding a full glass in her hand and his favorite bottle of brandy sat, half-empty, on the desk.
He started towards her, infuriated. "How the hell did you get in here, you..."
She held out the glass with a quirk of her mouth. "Need a drink?"
Glaring, he swatted her hand away. "Don't be ridiculous."
"I thought we'd already established that I was."
He snatched away the glass and the brandy. "You found your way in, though Merlin knows how, I presume you will be able to retrace your tracks."
She snapped her fingers and the glass flew out of his hand into hers. She took a drink and looked around at her drab surroundings. "I love what you've done with the place, Severus, really."
"Leave."
Once again, she was unfazed. "Now Severus, you'll get a lot better results if you say please."
His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Leave." She waited, staring at him expectantly. After nearly a minute, he growled and added contemptuously, "Please."
She smiled good-naturedly. "There. Now wasn't that better? But no thank you, I'd prefer to stay. This brandy is excellent." She sipped from the glass again. "You really should try it." A soft giggle escaped her lips at the look on his face.
"You're drunk," he sneered.
She shrugged again, waving her wand at the fireplace so that the flames leapt up again. "Perhaps." Another motion and a second glass was being sent through the air at him. "Care to join me?"
He sighed and poured the dark liquid into the glass, taking it from where it hung suspended in front of him and drinking deeply. The drink burned pleasantly down his throat, and after a moment, he closed the door and seated himself uneasily in a chair across from Sinistra, returning his wand to his pocket and refilling his glass.
Albus had once told him a Muggle phrase that he imagined applied quite well to the situation at hand as Sinistra held out her empty glass to him. He leaned over to pour more brandy for her and smiled to himself as he leaned back in his chair and listened as the witch began to talk.
Now what was that phrase? Oh yes.
If you can't beat them... join them.
He set the bottle down next to his chair and took another slow drink. The warmth from the fire licked at this body while the liquor warmed him from the inside out. Perhaps it was the drink, but he was beginning to feel quite comfortable... more so than he had in years.
He glanced at Sinistra, who was playing with a loose strand of her hair as she spoke, her sharp features lit up by the firelight and her lips stained a darker red. Another wave of warmth spread over him, and he looked away into the fire. It was the drink taking effect, surely.
After all, what else could it be?
He glanced at her again, noticing the way her free hand gestured as she talked animatedly about the subject she loved most- the stars.
Yes... definitely the drink.
END
~They're wondering just when will we leave, but till we leave
Keep holding me tight
Through the last dance, each beat of the last dance
And save me the first dance in your dreams tonight ~
Author's Note 2: Well... I'm not sure what I think of it. I tried to keep Snape from 'frolicking in the fluff,' but I'm not sure. Sinistra's awfully bubbly... but I kindof like her that way. She's different from my other Sinistra, which is what I was going for. Let me know what you think, if you would.