in which things make no sense, at all
the christmas incident
mark i
This was such an utter waste; Auriga had spent innumerable hours getting ready for the Yule Ball. She had emptied six bottles of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion into her mane of dark red hair, and had at last succeeded in making every strand straight and silky. It now tickled her shoulder blades and was made all the more noticeable by the backless dress robes that Septima had chosen for her. She had done such other outlandish things as put on makeup and try to find a pair of high heels that did not cause her to fall down the stairs, if she did not constantly look at her feet.
And it was all for nothing. As she had spent most of the evening thus far leaping out of the way of Alastor Moody's Peg Leg of Doom. She had been genuinely flattered when he had asked her to dance. He had told her that she was the “very picture of elegance,” that evening, and it had sounded quite earnest in his faint brogue. The fellow may have been a bit paranoid, but he was at least a gentleman, and that was more than you could say for a number of the other men present.
Anyway, it had seemed like a better deal than standing dutifully beside Septima, at the foot of the stage where the Weird Sisters were now warbling away. It may have been nice to be engaged to a famous musician, but waiting for your fiance to have a break to come and talk to you didn't seem like any fun. Then again, neither was dancing for dear life. Or at least, the lives of your precious toes.
She was so relieved when someone had asked permission to cut in that they were five measures into the next song before she realised that it had been Snape. His hand was cold against her bare skin of her back, and she wondered how she hadn't recognized him simply by his touch. “Why, Auriga,” he drawled softly, when she had finally made eye contact with him, “I hadn't realised that you had an entire face under that rat's nest of yours. Of course, the glasses always indicated that there were eyes in there somewhere, but imagine my surprise to see a nose and a mouth, too.”
“Yes, well,” she snapped, “we can't all have noses the size of yours.” It having occurred to her that she had said this aloud, Auriga looked rather pleased with herself. “And you can make fun of my hair all you like, but at least I wash mine.” Two points for Sinistra. She had to fight hard not to giggle at her own wit.
Snape's left eye twitched slightly. He always was touchy about the hair. She wondered why. But far be it from her to understand greasy, unpleasant bastards, so she shrugged it off. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked, while he was still formulating a response to the hair insult. “I hadn't figured you for a dancer, much less a save-Auriga's-toes-from-certain-death-at-the-hands-of-Mad-Eye's-peg-leg... er. If that is, indeed, what you had intended to you.”
“I can always hand you back,” he retorted silkily, “I'm sure Alastor would be thrilled to have such a picturesque beauty on his arm.”
She had to stop dancing for a moment, so she could kick him in the shin. “Detestable... bastard,” she muttered. “I'm not saying I'm not grateful, I was just asking.” He grunted vaguely, and glared in the direction of Albus Dumbledore, who was dancing gracefully with the gigantic Madame Maxime.
“You can't even try and tell me he put you up to this. We both know he's... mad, and... sadistic... and that he seems to enjoy watching us suffer. I can't even believe-Are you really serious? That's just... stupid.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“What? You really, honestly, truly expect me to believe that you survived nearly a decade of service to the Dark Lord, but you can't tell Albus Dumbledore to bugger off and take his matchmaking aspirations somewhere else? Did you lose a bet or something?”
Snape scowled, and edged them closer to Moody. Fearful for her toes, Auriga stopped asking questions. They finished the song in silence.
The Weird Sisters' vocalist and drummer took a break, and the three men left on stage began to pluck out a slow ballad. Auriga looked up at Snape, expecting him to quickly relinquish her hand at the thought of dancing with her to such a romantic tune. But he only pulled her closer-she had to rest her cheek on his chest to keep her nose from getting smashed against him-and continued dancing.
Snape was, at least, light on his feet. Auriga might have appreciated this, if he were any other man dancing with her at the Yule Ball, but as she had previously been positive that they were sworn enemies, the nonchalance with which he held her hand and waist thoroughly unnerved her. After only a few beats, she pulled quickly away from him, and rushed to the refreshment table. She needed a drink.
Finding little in the way of alcohol, she was forced to settle for a glass of nettle wine. Which was about as strong as a teaspoonful of the cough medicine her father had given her when she was a little girl. Auriga pouted. “There has got to be something stronger than this,” she whined to no one in particular.
“You know, Auriga,” came a familiar voice over her shoulder, “it is not polite to run out on one's dance partner in the middle of a song. And to think, I was kind enough to rescue you from Professor Moody.” He took a glass of wine for himself and sipped it thoughtfully.
“What is the matter with you?” Auriga hissed. “Are you under the Imperius curse, or something? Or do you really just enjoy tormenting me that much?”
He feigned a hurt expression. “You really have no faith in me,” he sighed dramatically. “I merely thought we might put aside our differences for a night. It is Christmas, after all.”
“Bollocks.”
“Language, Auriga. There are children present.” He sneered gleefully at her over the rim of his glass. The bastard was really enjoying watching her squirm, wasn't he? Served her right for thinking she'd gotten the best of him, earlier, she supposed.
At that moment, Igor Karkaroff swept over to them from the dance floor. “Severus,” he boomed merrily, and clasped hands with Snape. “How have you been?” he asked, with a pointed look. Auriga secretly wished she had some of whatever Karkaroff was drinking, to be so happy to see the Potions master.
“As well as one could expect to be.” The hand not holding his wine glass twitched slightly. “You have met Professor Sinistra, I presume?” He gestured to Auriga, who had been watching Septima and her fiance sway and twirl to the music. She jumped out of her stupor and held her hand out to Karkaroff.
“Charmed,” she muttered vaguely, disinterested.
Instead of shaking her hand, the Durmstrang headmaster raised it to his lips and kissed it. “I will admit that I have seen you about the castle, but I do not believe we have been formally introduced. Until now, of course.” He smiled in what she supposed was intended to be a charming manner, but only looked kind of creepy, to Auriga. “Do you dance, Professor?”
She glanced sidelong at Snape before responding. The vein in his temple had begun to throb slightly. “Of course,” she positively beamed at Karkaroff, “I would be delighted.” And she took his arm, following him back to the dance floor. Anything to get away from Snape.
“You know,” Karkaroff was saying, “I lived in Britain for many years in my youth, but I never met so many attractive women as I have on this visit. Dumbledore certainly seems to enjoy surrounding himself with them.”
Auriga wondered if he was partially blind. She did not ask. “Most of the teachers here are married,” she said, instead, “or engaged.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
He smiled confidently. “Then my statement stands.”
She tried to look pleased by this, but couldn't quite manage it. There was something genuinely off-putting about Karkaroff that made her wish she had somewhere to which she could escape. “At least he's not Snape,” she mumbled.
“Pardon me?”
She had not meant to say that out loud. “I asked, how do you know Professor Snape?” She forced a cordial smile.
Karkaroff sighed, an air of nostalgia about his expression. “Severus?” he said, “Oh, Severus and I go way back...” Looking off into the distance, he seemed to be recalling a pleasant memory. “I won't bore you with stories of young men and their incredible dreams, however. But tell me, Professor Sinistra, what do you teach?”
“Astronomy.” And the remainder of their dance was occupied by discussion of the stars, and how interesting it was that Auriga had such a fitting name for her profession, and what had made her want to teach at Hogwarts. She supposed she should have been thrilled to have a man seem so interested in her, but considering that he was about as attractive as Septima's twin brother (which is to say, not at all), Auriga just could not bring herself to feel any kind of gratitude.
When they had danced three songs together, Karkaroff said, “Perhaps I had better return you to Severus, hm? He is looking less-than-ecstatic that I have been keeping you so long.”
“I can't imagine why. We're not exactly the best of friends, you know.”
This news seemed to surprise Karkaroff immensely, much to Auriga's puzzlement. She wondered where he had gotten the impression that she and Snape did anything besides loathe each other to the very core of their beings.
“It is just... you looked quite comfortable together. Dancing,” was his answer to her expression. Despite her protest that there was nothing special-emotional or otherwise-between her and Snape, Karkaroff insisted that they return to the refreshment table, where Severus was still standing. His wine goblet seemed to be refilling itself, as it was now much fuller than it was when they had left him.
Auriga pretended to be considering the cakes laid out on the table, to avoid making eye contact with Snape. Neither man moved, but stood side-by-side, as though simultaneously considering something in the distance.
“Lovely woman,” Karkaroff declared, twisting his beard contentedly. “I don't suppose you-”
“Be my guest.” But Snape's left eye was twitching.
The other wizard patted him on the shoulder. “A good friend, you are, Severus. Even after all this time.” He smiled earnestly.
Snape just scowled, and took a long draught of his wine.
“Has it gotten any stronger in the last twenty minutes?” asked Auriga, sidling back into the conversation. “It was miserably weak, when I had a glass.”
A grunt was her only response.
The three of them stood there for a number of minutes, solemnly watching their colleagues and students dance. At least everyone else was having a good time. Even McGonagall was uncharacteristically merry, trying to waltz with tiny Flitwick.
“Oh, look!” cried Dumbledore in delight, as he passed them. “Mistletoe.” His eyes twinkled, as he indicated the plant, dangling in midair and stretching its branches farther outward as it revolved above the spot where Snape and Auriga stood.
Snape shot the headmaster a furious glare. Karkaroff was inching toward them, clearly only too willing to step in, should Snape not rise to the occasion. Auriga looked from one of them to the other, and buried her face in her hands. This could not be good. She could only hope that a miracle would occur, and Karkaroff would kiss Snape, instead.
Dumbledore grinned. “Oh, come now. It is such a charming Christmas tradition.”
Snape glowered and opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Auriga looked up decisively, and seized him by the arm. She stood on her toes, reaching to kiss the side of his face. She missed spectacularly, and landed right where she had been trying to avoid: his mouth.
They froze there for a moment, lips pressed awkwardly together and startled eyes open. Auriga flung her arms around Snape's neck to keep from falling over, and he relaxed suddenly, lacing his fingers in the hair at the back of her neck.
The kiss was interminable, and by the time they pulled apart, everyone else had gone back to whatever else they had been doing. Even Karkaroff had vacated the immediate area. But they didn't notice. Severus and Auriga were too busy staring, aghast, at one another. “We fell for it, again,” said Auriga, after a while, “didn't we?”
“I am going to kill that old man, one of these days,” growled Snape.
---
mark ii
“Do I have to go?” whined Auriga, glaring at her reflection. Her hair had been piled on top of her head, adorned with a festive sprig of holly, and she and Vector had spent the last half hour trying to make her eyelashes visible behind her thick glasses. All in all, it was an improvement over her day-to-day appearance, but she had to admit that she could never be bothered to spend this much time grooming herself on a regular basis. It was far too much effort for not enough reward.
“Yes,” Septima said simply. She was riffling through her makeup bag for some blusher. “It's Christmas. And it'll be fun, I promise.”
Auriga sighed glumly. “I hate Christmas. Embarrassing things always seem to happen to me around Christmas.” As she poked through her closet, she couldn't help but wish that she was not friends with Septima Vector, and thus wouldn't feel obligated to serve as her plus-one to Horace Slughorn's Christmas soiree. “Doesn't old Sluggy expect you to show up with a man, anyway?” she had asked, when Septima had insisted that she come, as a guest.
“Probably,” the other witch had admitted, “but you know I haven't been up to serious dating since Orsino and I split up. And, well, I couldn't bear to leave you all alone so close to Christmas, with no one but your house elf to keep you company!” Septima had raised her hand to her forehead dramatically, and Auriga had been forced to agree that spending the evening with Wimmy, who had never quite gotten over his crush on her, was less than ideal. And so, she had grudgingly said she would accompany her friend to the Christmas party, where there were sure to be loads of attractive, successful wizards with whom they could shamelessly flirt.
“Aren't you worried that dear Mister Thruston is going to be there? He is, after all, unfortunately famous, and just the sort of person Slughorn's likely to have connections with.” Auriga pulled a dress from her wardrobe and laid it across the bed. “Not that you really have anything to be concerned about. You split up with him, didn't you?”
“He did not do especially well in school, Orsino, and I don't think Horace is a fan of rock and roll music. We've got more of a chance of running into your mum, really.”
Auriga blanched. She hadn't thought of that. “On second thought, maybe I should stay in. Grade papers. Tidy up my desk. That sort of thing.” The idea of seeing her mother, particularly at a social gathering where all of her coworkers were sure to overhear any and all humiliating conversations that might take place, was even less appealing than Wimmy sensually crooning “A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love” while she hid in the bathroom.
“Calm down, Aur. I'm sure your mother would have written, if she were coming to Hogwarts, again. Besides, there will be so many people there, it won't be hard to duck out of her way.” Vector was now jabbing at her friend's face with a large, pink powder puff.
Auriga sneezed at the cloud of makeup surrounding her face. “Brilliant. Even more people for my mother to berate me in front of. Why haven't you worn high heels, Auriga? You must have learned to walk in them, by now. Gracious, thirty-five years old, and still too clumsy to wear proper footwear. What a disgrace.” She shuddered at this. Her mother may have been all high-society and semi-famous, but things like courtesy and discretion took a back seat to publicly criticizing Auriga's every flaw.
“Are we ready yet?” Auriga took a deep breath, as she did up the buttons along the back of her dress, by magic. Septima had been busy festooning tiny white roses all among her perfectly tousled blonde hair.
“Almost.” Vector flung a pristine fur stole around her shoulders, and slipped her feet into dangerously high stilettos. “There. How do I look?”
No response was needed, as Septima Vector, much to Auriga's general dismay, looked positively stunning at all times. The Arithmancy professor was an incredibly lucky witch, having been blessed with a perfect figure, lovely sun-kissed-looking skin, and a healthy dose of brains, just for good measure. If she wasn't the only friend Auriga had, surely, she would hate her.
Septima held out her arm. “Shall we be off, then? We don't want to be too fashionably late.” She giggled a little, apparently already having put on her charming-and-clever face for the party.
“If we must.”
Slughorn's (magically-enlarged) office was spectacularly decorated for the holiday, and already teeming with guests, when Auriga and Septima arrived. The former gave a momentary shudder as she noticed the veritable carpet of tray-bearing house elves shuffling about the guests' knees. The incident had been many years before, but it still troubled her greatly to see that many house elves in one place. She took a deep breath, and reminded herself that Wimmy liked her again, so they probably would not try to kill her. Though, by the end of the evening, she might have wished they would. But she wold reserve judgement, for now. She was doing her best to be a supportive friend (despite the fact that Septima tended to shirk her own duties, in that regard), and it was going to be tough.
Her mother, thankfully, was not there. Orsino Thruston, the drummer for the Weird Sisters and Septima's most recent ex-fiance, however, was, along with one of his bandmates. Auriga had never met any of the Weird Sisters before, and might have taken that opportunity to ask for their autographs, had she not been dutifully following her friend around the party. Perhaps she would try and sneak over, later that night, once Septima was busy trying to make Orsino jealous with some other handsome, successful wizard. (Not that you could really call Orsino handsome-he wore his long, dark hair straight down to his waist, and you couldn't really see much of his gaunt face behind the twisted beard. But Auriga supposed that being a famous musician probably contributed greatly to the man's sex appeal.)
Slughorn greeted Septima enthusiastically, when he spotted them, and she stooped to kiss his fat little cheeks. “Lovely party, Horace,” she cooed, still clutching Auriga's arm. “Is that a real vampire?” She had pseudo-whispered the question, indicating, the tall, shadowy man accompanying a squat little wizard.
He beamed brightly. “Why yes, he's an acquaintance of my dear friend Eldred Worple. The famous writer, you know, Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires? Well-read thing like you must have at least heard of it.” Almost as an afterthought, he turned to Auriga, “And who is your-oh, my! Professor Sinistra, I hardly recognized you. Why, you look simply radiant, this evening.”
She forced a polite smile. It wasn't that she was especially offended-not looking like herself might have been taken as a compliment, considering her usual appearance-but there was really no need to exaggerate.
The man seemed to remember something. “Oh, but I've just been talking to a charming young fellow who says he's met you before, Septima.”
“Not Orsino, I hope,” muttered Auriga.
Slughorn did not seem to hear her. “He's a very famous designer. Been voted Witch Weekly's third Most Eligible Bachelor in Britain, I hear.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Probably been promoted to second, since the unfortunate mishap with Gilderoy Lockhart. Ah, but there you are!” He reached a stubby little arm into the crowd and produced a very good-looking man whose presence made Auriga's stomach drop. “Algernon Brightmann, I believe you know Septima Vector.”
To Slughorn's general confusion, Algernon's smile faltered as he locked eyes not with the dazzling Vector, but petite little Auriga. “Ah, hello,” he said casually, although it was very clear from his expression that he had not expected to encounter her, here. “Fancy seeing you, again, eh? I say, Horace, you never told me-” But when he had turned to Slughorn to make his recovery, the plump little man had disappeared into the crowd.
“Lovely to see you again, Algernon,” Septima said smoothly, flashing her most winning smile as she shook his hand. “Married yet?”
Well, she certainly didn't waste any time, Auriga thought, trying to make herself even smaller, so that she might be able to duck away as soon as possible. It was just her luck that the “handsome, single wizards” promised to her when she had agreed to come would have been the only handsome, single wizard with whom she had already (unsuccessfully) attempted to have a relationship.
“Divorced, actually,” Algernon was saying, with something like regret in his voice, “I met Gwenog Jones while pitching a new design for the Holyhead Harpies' Quidditch uniforms. She's how I met Horace, actually. One of his favorite students, Gwen was. Of course, I ought to have known better than to marry an internationally famous athlete. Barely ever saw each other. Didn't last long. Amicable enough split, though, I suppose. I do believe she's around here, somewhere.”
“Slughorn seems to be pretty fond of inviting people's exes, just for laughs,” grumbled Auriga.
Septima laughed loudly, presumably to cover up the vague contempt in her companion's voice. “I would say so! My ex-fiance is here, too,” she explained to Algernon. “Over there, the one handing out his autograph to that seventh year girl.”
“Thruston? From the Weird Sisters?”
“Mmhmm. We seem to both have a taste for celebrities. Although, I should say you're a bit of one yourse-ow!”
Auriga had jabbed her elbow, hard, into Septima's kidney. She glared pointedly up at her friend before saying sweetly to Algernon, “Excuse us a moment, won't you?” and dragging Vector off into a corner.
“No,” she hissed the moment she was sure they were out of earshot of anyone important. “I did not let you drag me here, against my better judgement, to sit by docilely while you hit on my ex-boyfriend. I don't care how long ago we broke up,” Auriga held up her hand before any protest could be made, “you know how awful I felt afterward. Not to mention it was all your fault.”
Septima looked a little sheepish at being reminded of this. She had, a few years before, told Severus Snape that Auriga and Algernon were thinking about getting married (which they weren't), in attempt to make Snape realize his “true feelings” about Auriga.
“I am in no way going to let you use poor Algernon to try and make your stupid ex-fiance jealous! You already won the break up, Septima, you don't need to trod all over the poor man's soul.”
Vector looked appropriately chastised, once she had stopped seeming so surprised that Auriga was actually standing up to her. “I'm sorry,” she mumbled finally. “You want to go and torment Snape? I thought I saw his greasy black head lurking around here, somewhere.”
Auriga laughed. It was a valiant attempt to make her feel better, and it had almost worked. Coupled with the fact that she had, for the first time ever, won an argument-however one-sided-with Septima, she supposed she could tolerate a couple more hours of the party, before needing to either be far, far away, or very drunk. “Bah,” she said, “it's Christmas, and I'm feeling rather charitable.”
They both laughed, this time. Suddenly, they were forced apart by a mop of bushy brown hair, the owner streaking past them and into the crowd. They looked at each other curiously, wondering what had just happened.
“Hermione?” a boy called into the crowd. “Where did that girl go?”
Auriga and Septima shook their heads at each other, and set off in search of something alcoholic. It had been far too long since someone had offered them a refreshment, and what was a party without at least a glass of champagne?
As they made their way to the central refreshment table, Auriga overheard a silky voice drawling, “Oh, I do hope you're not going to punch me again. I am not sure I could bear to put the same man in hospital twice. Though I might be able to make an exception in your case, Brightmann.”
“Looks like Snape's seen Algernon,” whispered Septima gleefully. “We might not even have to torture him ourselves.”
“My spine is positively trembling,” Algernon was retorting. “I must admit, however, that I fail to comprehend your malice toward me, Professor Snape. That whole mishap was merely a huge misunderstanding.”
They never got to hear Snape's reply, however, because at that moment, Slughorn had seized him by the shoulder. “Oh, stop skulking and come and join us, Severus! I was just talking about Harry's exceptional potion-making!” It seemed that fate had stepped in to make the former Potions master as miserable has humanly possible. For though he countered all of Slughorn's praise of Potter with thinly-veiled sarcasm, the vein in his temple was throbbing with flourish.
“Merry Christmas, Auriga,” Sinistra said, and toasted herself. This was possibly the best present she'd received in a long, long time. Which she supposed should have been a sorry statement about her life, but she figured had to appreciate the little pleasures, however petty they may have been.
A few moments later, the whole party went quiet, as Filch dragged a swearing Slytherin boy-Draco Malfoy, Auriga recognized-in by his ear and presented him to Professor Slughorn. The caretaker was positively giddy at having a potential rulebreaker to punish. “That man really needs to get a life,” Septima muttered to Auriga. The latter nodded her agreement.
Slughorn had, benevolently, allowed the boy to stay, forcing Filch to sulk away and try to find some other means of entertainment. And then, suddenly, Snape declared, “I'd like a word with you, Draco,” which effectively eliminated Auriga's only source of diversion, as well. With Severus gone, there was no one else in whose misfortune she could revel.
This seemed to be as good a time as any to start getting drunk.
The process did not go nearly as quickly as it normally did, as all the drinks seemed to have been watered down, undoubtedly so that Slughorn could not be held accountable for any students getting completely smashed and doing something that might upset either the other professors or their parents. While this may have been a good idea for everyone's sake, Auriga couldn't help wishing that there was something stronger available. How was she supposed to cope with Algernon's unexpected appearance without a drop of hard liquor?
Between Algernon and Orsino, Auriga and Septima were having quite the difficult time trying to avoid their respective exes. The party seemed to be getting smaller and smaller, and the room felt as though it were shrinking, too. The two witches had to squeeze themselves into a tiny enclave, housing a squashy loveseat that barely fit inside the recess.
Whatever Snape had needed to talk to Malfoy about must not have gone the way Snape had hoped, because when he returned to the party, he was looking positively rabid. He swept over to where Sinistra and Vector had been resting, in what could only have been an attempt to make himself feel better by inflicting his sinister presence upon them.
“My, my, Auriga,” he drawled, “I would have thought you'd be trailing behind Brightmann like a wretched puppy, begging him to take you back. Considering that he was, how did you say it?” He adopted a shrill whine, “The only remotely functional relationship I've ever had.” A sneer bloomed on his thin lips.
Auriga sighed. “I split up with him, thank you very much,” was all she could think of. It had been true. Of course, he had then mercifully saved her from her mother's scrutiny, and she had sort of fallen in love with him again. “Besides, we split up years ago.” She waved her hand nonchalantly. “I could really care less who he's interested in these days.”
Septima held her tongue, and chose instead to say, “And he's divorced, anyway. You don't want another woman's leftovers, do you, Aur?”
The sheer irony of this statement was not beyond Auriga; hadn't Septima just tried to pick him up, mere hours ago? “You have got some nerve, you know.” The words had come out of her mouth before she had finished thinking them. “I don't want Algernon because he's some other woman's leftovers, but it's perfectly okay for you to try to shag him, when you know damn well that he and I-”
“Well,” Snape cut in, “I will leave you... ladies to your conversation.”
“Oh, no you don't!” shouted Auriga, who caught Severus' arm before he could slink away. “This is just as much your fault as it is hers!” His eyes widened innocently. “I swear, if I didn't know better, I'd think the two of you were conspiring to make my life positively miserable.”
“Excuse me?”
The little Astronomy professor took a deep breath, trying hard not to explode from the effort of it all. “Septima here has been so adamant over the past six years that you and I need to just get it over with and sleep together, that she has been sabotaging my other relationships in order to try and make you confess your true feelings.”
Snape snorted, and Vector writhed uncomfortably on the loveseat.
“Not that I think you've got any kind of feelings, let alone ones for me, but that's why Algernon and I split up. Septima told you we were going to get married, so that you would try and stop us. I hate to say it, Snape, but you played right into it. Except for the whole, you know, throwing Algernon off the Astronomy tower, and breaking his spine.” She considered it for a moment. “And the not shagging me part. For which I am eternally grateful. But you see,” she continued, “it only proved to her that you secretly lusted after me, and made her try even harder.”
“Is this true, Vector? I know how Auriga loves to fantasize that the world revolves around her pathetic little life.” Snape seemed almost desperate to confirm that Auriga was, in fact, delusional, as his words lacked their usual bite.
Septima nodded guiltily. “I, um, think I'll go say hello to Gideon Crumb, before he leaves. Orsino seems to have vacated his side, for a moment. I'd better go, now.” Clearly, Snape's death glare was too much for her to take. Auriga was a little surprised at this, considering how well Septima normally functioned at stuffy social gatherings. She supposed that all of this honesty had left her rather unsettled, and that Severus' glower was merely the final blow.
Auriga found the whole ordeal exhausting. She wished she could just collapse right there, and sleep right through until the start of term. She didn't even have the energy to flounder under Snape's burning gaze. Rather, she stared evenly up at him, eyes tired and half-closed. She pushed her glasses up in a slow, pained motion. “Well, Snape? Aren't you going to tell me how ridiculous and self-obsessed I am, and how I'm a pitiful excuse for a teacher and a woman, and, oh, I don't know, that I look like a haggard she-troll?”
He blinked. His expression unreadable, he sat down where Septima had been.
“Don't you ever get sick of this?” she asked suddenly. “I hate you, and then I want you, and then I can't stand the sight of you. And then sometimes, just sometimes, we do something nice and maybe it's not so bad after all.”
Snape still did not speak a word. Auriga went on. “It's just, can't either of us decide whether or not we want to hate each other?” She looked at Severus imploringly. “It doesn't seem like it ought to be a hard decision, does it? Do we like each other, yes or no? But we're both so thoroughly... I don't know, insane that we genuinely can't figure it out, or don't want to, or something. It's just... so... draining, you know?”
A long silence followed. It occurred to Auriga that she had been babbling nonsensically, and she was sure she was about to get an earful from Snape about how utterly foolish she was to think that he was as confused as she seemed to be.
Instead, he spoke in a kind of relaxed tone, almost relieved. “Why don't we?”
“What?”
“Just get it over with.”
Auriga gaped at him as though he were severely unhinged. It was not a feeling of which she was used to being on the giving end. Normally, he was making this face at her, and then sneering and swooping off into the night to laugh maniacally at her obviously inferior intellect. Or something of that ilk.
But his expression was open, as earnest as she had ever seen him. And some unseen force drove her to fling her arms about his neck and kiss him rather fervently on the mouth.
Across the room, Septima and Algernon clinked wine glasses. “I concede to a cunning far greater than my own,” the wizard was saying. “I would never have thought that those two were capable of doing anything besides mumbling contemptuous nonsense at each other.”
“Well,” Septima sighed, “honestly, I was beginning to think nothing but copious amounts of alcohol and shock therapy would get them together.”
“Lucky I turned up.”
Septima grinned and drained her glass. “Only took five years.”
“Now, to see if it lasts.”
“It will.”
---
mark iii
That year, Auriga toiled inwardly at whether or not it would be appropriate to give him a Christmas gift. They had, however briefly, been lovers, and since their affair had abruptly ended, she had tried to remain at least cordial. Or, well, as cordial as Severus Snape would ever allow. And, anyway, she couldn't pretend that it didn't nearly drive her to murder every single time Alecto Carrow leered at him, like some kind of sex-starved cat.
Which, after consideration, she probably was. Poor thing wasn't exactly much to look at, and unless you believed the rumors about her relationship with her brother-creepy, really-she was probably going to die a virgin.
Her possessiveness aside, Auriga concluded that a Christmas gift was not even close to the worst thing she could possibly give Snape for the holiday.
She had been waiting in the teacher's lounge on Christmas morning. She knew that he woke earliest of her colleagues, and was almost always in dire need of coffee. “Happy Christmas, Sev,” she said quietly, as he pushed groggily into the room. When he had sat down in a nearby armchair, she nudged a small package in his direction. “For you.”
He looked bewildered at first, which quickly transformed into suspicion. Prodding the square box with a cautious forefinger, he regarded Auriga with a question in his eyes.
“It's not going to blow up. I swear.”
He opened it. It was a coffee mug. In fact, it was the selfsame coffee mug that Auriga had chucked at his head for telling her she looked almost as pretty as Hagrid six years before. She wondered if he even remembered.
Snape blinked.
He was probably wondering why in the name of Merlin's saggy left testicle she had given him a gift, at all, let alone such a spectacularly mundane one. She could have at least tried to kiss arse properly and given him liquor. (Although, given the events that tended to transpire when the two of them imbibed alcohol at the same time, it was best that she hadn't.)
“Thank you, Auriga.” His voice was quiet. She smiled and sipped her tea.
Any other discussion that might have occurred was killed before it had even been conceived as That Awful Carrow Woman had burst unceremoniously into the room. “Happy Christmas, Headmaster,” she said in a horrible, husky voice. She presented him with two objects: “A bottle of the best elf-made wine from Amycus and me, and, ah... the other one, that's just from me.” She seemed to be blushing.
Auriga gripped her teacup with particular force. Were her hands stronger, the delicate thing might have shattered.
Snape peered into the smaller gift bag. He gulped visibly. “I appreciate that you... and your brother thought of me, Alecto.” The vein in his temple was throbbing, but Alecto was clearly too busy fawning to notice. Auriga thought this was probably a good thing.
When she could take no more of the lumpy witch's simpering, thinly-veiled innuendo, Auriga slipped unnoticed from the lounge.
The usual Christmas feast was held, that evening, though fewer students than ever were found in attendance. In fact, it was rather grim-half a dozen or so downtrodden children ate without looking at each other and scurried back to their common rooms; Professor McGonagall stared stiffly out from underneath her pointed hat; only Septima Vector, who was determined to enjoy herself enough for the lot of them, seemed to be having any kind of fun at all.
“Oh, come on, Aur,” she burbled, “it's Christmas! Might as well celebrate while we've got something to.” Her elbow found Auriga's ribs. “If nothing else, we can celebrate how fantastic we both look.”
Vector had forced her, at wand point, to dress up for the occasion. She had chosen midnight blue dress robes with a plunging back that had been sitting untouched in the back of her wardrobe for two or three years. She couldn't actually remember the last time she had worn them. Or more accurately, the memory of the last night on which she had worn them was extremely foggy. She could only remember waking up with the worst kind of hangover, a tonic serendipitously perched on her nightstand.
It seemed like a good time to put those robes back into circulation. She had even, after much persuasion, managed to magic her hair into something smooth and shiny and not at all like her normal mess of dark red tangles.
“Looks like you've caught Snape's attention.” The fact that Severus Snape was a Death Eater and You-Know-Who's right-hand man had done nothing to staunch Septima's ever-evolving, career-long ploy to get the two of them into bed together. Apparently, being responsible for the deaths of countless people, not to mention that of the greatest wizard of all time merely made the man, “A bit of a bad boy. But that's sexy, right?” She had never been quite right since that fateful trip to the Muggle hair salon, lo those many years ago. They must have done something to her brain. “Go on,” she nudged Auriga again, “give 'im that dazzling smile of yours.”
Completely. Daft. But to humor her friend, Auriga aimed a small smile in Snape's direction. He jerked his head vaguely, and took a sip of the wine that Alecto had been constantly shoving in front of him. His cheeks may have looked a bit pink.
When, at last, it was time for bed, the display had become almost too much for Auriga to handle. Alecto was very nearly in Snape's lap-for she was leaning so close to him-her brother sitting to her left, pouting a little at not being included. To make it worse, Vector had been periodically muttering nasty things about the “Muggle Studies” teacher into her ear. Only muttering was more like loudly slurring. They were lucky that Carrow was as drunk as Septima or there would have been more than a few curses flying through the air, that evening. “Come on, dear,” Auriga soothed through gritted teeth, “we had better get you off to bed before you hurt yourself.” She stood up, and helped her companion out of her seat. “Good night, Professors, Headmaster,” she inclined her head toward Snape and the Carrows. Only Amycus turned to look at her. “Happy Christmas.”
She wouldn't have heard it, had she not been frustratedly tidying up the small hallway that served as the entrance to her quarters. She couldn't sleep, but for her imagination conjuring up grotesque images of Severus entwined with that disgusting woman. Sober and sane, he was clearly as repulsed by her as Auriga-though Alecto was deluded enough to think otherwise-but the sheer volume of wine he had consumed that night could in no way have allowed him to be sober, and for weeks, months now, Auriga had been questioning his sanity. But it was a match of which the Dark Lord would likely approve, so there was no ruling it out.
As Auriga was busy mentally raging about this, there was a soft rustling outside her doorway. Footsteps, perhaps. She wrenched the door open, eager to take her anger out on the two hormonal teenagers certain to be groping each other on their way up to the observatory. “Detention for you both, and-”
But it wasn't a couple of students staring her in the face. It was Severus Snape. She stumbled backward into her rooms, speechless. “Severus,” she breathed in disbelief.
He stepped forward, and closed the door behind him. The lock clicked.
It took her a moment to recover her speech. “W-what are you doing here?” He spread his hands and stared helplessly at her, as if to say that he did not know himself. “I thought you'd be with Professor Carrow.”
He shuddered openly. “I could never be drunk enough.”
A wave of relief flowed over Auriga, though she did not want to admit that she had been jealous. She changed the subject. “Would you like a cup of tea? I have cinnamon.” It should have bothered her to be remembering things that he liked with such ease. But it was comforting, instead. She hurried into her tiny kitchen to avoid thinking about it.
They sat down in opposite chairs in her sitting room, and she served tea with milk and a cinnamon stick each. “How do you burn cinnamon?” she whispered to herself. The corners of his mouth twitched. They did not speak for a long time.
“Auriga.” He said her name slowly, and opened his mouth to continue, but no words came.
“What's happened to the school, Sev?” she asked all of a sudden, looking up at him with worry in her eyes. “What's happened to our world? What's going to happen to us?” She leaned forward in her chair, tense and troubled.
He looked evenly back at her, for a long time. His black eyes did not bore into her, as they used to; they did not search for the meaning behind her question. He sighed, and set his empty tea cup on the squat little table. “I don't know,” he answered, rising.
He turned to leave, but she caught him immediately. “Don't go,” she whispered. She looked like a child, standing there in the candle light. A tiny thing, her brow furrowed, green eyes wide with something like fear. “Please, Sev.” He faced her again, and she clung to him desperately.
Years ago, he would have peeled her off of him and stalked out, sneering at her maudlin pleas. But he did not, and she was grateful for it. Instead, he hoisted her into his arms and carried her off to bed, like a frightened little girl. He held her for a moment, burying his face in her hair before laying her down onto the soft mattress.
Neither of them said another word, as Auriga's lips found every inch of exposed skin he had to offer, and her fingers worked at creating more. He was warm, and seemed to fill the icy chasm that had opened up inside her, over the past months. She had missed him more than he could know, and it was boundlessly, amazingly comforting to have him with her, now.
When she was laying, breathless, with her head against his bare chest, he said, “Happy Christmas, Auriga,” and she almost laughed. She gave him a little squeeze and began to drift off to sleep.
By the time she had awoken, he was gone.
mark i
This was such an utter waste; Auriga had spent innumerable hours getting ready for the Yule Ball. She had emptied six bottles of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion into her mane of dark red hair, and had at last succeeded in making every strand straight and silky. It now tickled her shoulder blades and was made all the more noticeable by the backless dress robes that Septima had chosen for her. She had done such other outlandish things as put on makeup and try to find a pair of high heels that did not cause her to fall down the stairs, if she did not constantly look at her feet.
And it was all for nothing. As she had spent most of the evening thus far leaping out of the way of Alastor Moody's Peg Leg of Doom. She had been genuinely flattered when he had asked her to dance. He had told her that she was the “very picture of elegance,” that evening, and it had sounded quite earnest in his faint brogue. The fellow may have been a bit paranoid, but he was at least a gentleman, and that was more than you could say for a number of the other men present.
Anyway, it had seemed like a better deal than standing dutifully beside Septima, at the foot of the stage where the Weird Sisters were now warbling away. It may have been nice to be engaged to a famous musician, but waiting for your fiance to have a break to come and talk to you didn't seem like any fun. Then again, neither was dancing for dear life. Or at least, the lives of your precious toes.
She was so relieved when someone had asked permission to cut in that they were five measures into the next song before she realised that it had been Snape. His hand was cold against her bare skin of her back, and she wondered how she hadn't recognized him simply by his touch. “Why, Auriga,” he drawled softly, when she had finally made eye contact with him, “I hadn't realised that you had an entire face under that rat's nest of yours. Of course, the glasses always indicated that there were eyes in there somewhere, but imagine my surprise to see a nose and a mouth, too.”
“Yes, well,” she snapped, “we can't all have noses the size of yours.” It having occurred to her that she had said this aloud, Auriga looked rather pleased with herself. “And you can make fun of my hair all you like, but at least I wash mine.” Two points for Sinistra. She had to fight hard not to giggle at her own wit.
Snape's left eye twitched slightly. He always was touchy about the hair. She wondered why. But far be it from her to understand greasy, unpleasant bastards, so she shrugged it off. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked, while he was still formulating a response to the hair insult. “I hadn't figured you for a dancer, much less a save-Auriga's-toes-from-certain-death-at-the-hands-of-Mad-Eye's-peg-leg... er. If that is, indeed, what you had intended to you.”
“I can always hand you back,” he retorted silkily, “I'm sure Alastor would be thrilled to have such a picturesque beauty on his arm.”
She had to stop dancing for a moment, so she could kick him in the shin. “Detestable... bastard,” she muttered. “I'm not saying I'm not grateful, I was just asking.” He grunted vaguely, and glared in the direction of Albus Dumbledore, who was dancing gracefully with the gigantic Madame Maxime.
“You can't even try and tell me he put you up to this. We both know he's... mad, and... sadistic... and that he seems to enjoy watching us suffer. I can't even believe-Are you really serious? That's just... stupid.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“What? You really, honestly, truly expect me to believe that you survived nearly a decade of service to the Dark Lord, but you can't tell Albus Dumbledore to bugger off and take his matchmaking aspirations somewhere else? Did you lose a bet or something?”
Snape scowled, and edged them closer to Moody. Fearful for her toes, Auriga stopped asking questions. They finished the song in silence.
The Weird Sisters' vocalist and drummer took a break, and the three men left on stage began to pluck out a slow ballad. Auriga looked up at Snape, expecting him to quickly relinquish her hand at the thought of dancing with her to such a romantic tune. But he only pulled her closer-she had to rest her cheek on his chest to keep her nose from getting smashed against him-and continued dancing.
Snape was, at least, light on his feet. Auriga might have appreciated this, if he were any other man dancing with her at the Yule Ball, but as she had previously been positive that they were sworn enemies, the nonchalance with which he held her hand and waist thoroughly unnerved her. After only a few beats, she pulled quickly away from him, and rushed to the refreshment table. She needed a drink.
Finding little in the way of alcohol, she was forced to settle for a glass of nettle wine. Which was about as strong as a teaspoonful of the cough medicine her father had given her when she was a little girl. Auriga pouted. “There has got to be something stronger than this,” she whined to no one in particular.
“You know, Auriga,” came a familiar voice over her shoulder, “it is not polite to run out on one's dance partner in the middle of a song. And to think, I was kind enough to rescue you from Professor Moody.” He took a glass of wine for himself and sipped it thoughtfully.
“What is the matter with you?” Auriga hissed. “Are you under the Imperius curse, or something? Or do you really just enjoy tormenting me that much?”
He feigned a hurt expression. “You really have no faith in me,” he sighed dramatically. “I merely thought we might put aside our differences for a night. It is Christmas, after all.”
“Bollocks.”
“Language, Auriga. There are children present.” He sneered gleefully at her over the rim of his glass. The bastard was really enjoying watching her squirm, wasn't he? Served her right for thinking she'd gotten the best of him, earlier, she supposed.
At that moment, Igor Karkaroff swept over to them from the dance floor. “Severus,” he boomed merrily, and clasped hands with Snape. “How have you been?” he asked, with a pointed look. Auriga secretly wished she had some of whatever Karkaroff was drinking, to be so happy to see the Potions master.
“As well as one could expect to be.” The hand not holding his wine glass twitched slightly. “You have met Professor Sinistra, I presume?” He gestured to Auriga, who had been watching Septima and her fiance sway and twirl to the music. She jumped out of her stupor and held her hand out to Karkaroff.
“Charmed,” she muttered vaguely, disinterested.
Instead of shaking her hand, the Durmstrang headmaster raised it to his lips and kissed it. “I will admit that I have seen you about the castle, but I do not believe we have been formally introduced. Until now, of course.” He smiled in what she supposed was intended to be a charming manner, but only looked kind of creepy, to Auriga. “Do you dance, Professor?”
She glanced sidelong at Snape before responding. The vein in his temple had begun to throb slightly. “Of course,” she positively beamed at Karkaroff, “I would be delighted.” And she took his arm, following him back to the dance floor. Anything to get away from Snape.
“You know,” Karkaroff was saying, “I lived in Britain for many years in my youth, but I never met so many attractive women as I have on this visit. Dumbledore certainly seems to enjoy surrounding himself with them.”
Auriga wondered if he was partially blind. She did not ask. “Most of the teachers here are married,” she said, instead, “or engaged.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
He smiled confidently. “Then my statement stands.”
She tried to look pleased by this, but couldn't quite manage it. There was something genuinely off-putting about Karkaroff that made her wish she had somewhere to which she could escape. “At least he's not Snape,” she mumbled.
“Pardon me?”
She had not meant to say that out loud. “I asked, how do you know Professor Snape?” She forced a cordial smile.
Karkaroff sighed, an air of nostalgia about his expression. “Severus?” he said, “Oh, Severus and I go way back...” Looking off into the distance, he seemed to be recalling a pleasant memory. “I won't bore you with stories of young men and their incredible dreams, however. But tell me, Professor Sinistra, what do you teach?”
“Astronomy.” And the remainder of their dance was occupied by discussion of the stars, and how interesting it was that Auriga had such a fitting name for her profession, and what had made her want to teach at Hogwarts. She supposed she should have been thrilled to have a man seem so interested in her, but considering that he was about as attractive as Septima's twin brother (which is to say, not at all), Auriga just could not bring herself to feel any kind of gratitude.
When they had danced three songs together, Karkaroff said, “Perhaps I had better return you to Severus, hm? He is looking less-than-ecstatic that I have been keeping you so long.”
“I can't imagine why. We're not exactly the best of friends, you know.”
This news seemed to surprise Karkaroff immensely, much to Auriga's puzzlement. She wondered where he had gotten the impression that she and Snape did anything besides loathe each other to the very core of their beings.
“It is just... you looked quite comfortable together. Dancing,” was his answer to her expression. Despite her protest that there was nothing special-emotional or otherwise-between her and Snape, Karkaroff insisted that they return to the refreshment table, where Severus was still standing. His wine goblet seemed to be refilling itself, as it was now much fuller than it was when they had left him.
Auriga pretended to be considering the cakes laid out on the table, to avoid making eye contact with Snape. Neither man moved, but stood side-by-side, as though simultaneously considering something in the distance.
“Lovely woman,” Karkaroff declared, twisting his beard contentedly. “I don't suppose you-”
“Be my guest.” But Snape's left eye was twitching.
The other wizard patted him on the shoulder. “A good friend, you are, Severus. Even after all this time.” He smiled earnestly.
Snape just scowled, and took a long draught of his wine.
“Has it gotten any stronger in the last twenty minutes?” asked Auriga, sidling back into the conversation. “It was miserably weak, when I had a glass.”
A grunt was her only response.
The three of them stood there for a number of minutes, solemnly watching their colleagues and students dance. At least everyone else was having a good time. Even McGonagall was uncharacteristically merry, trying to waltz with tiny Flitwick.
“Oh, look!” cried Dumbledore in delight, as he passed them. “Mistletoe.” His eyes twinkled, as he indicated the plant, dangling in midair and stretching its branches farther outward as it revolved above the spot where Snape and Auriga stood.
Snape shot the headmaster a furious glare. Karkaroff was inching toward them, clearly only too willing to step in, should Snape not rise to the occasion. Auriga looked from one of them to the other, and buried her face in her hands. This could not be good. She could only hope that a miracle would occur, and Karkaroff would kiss Snape, instead.
Dumbledore grinned. “Oh, come now. It is such a charming Christmas tradition.”
Snape glowered and opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Auriga looked up decisively, and seized him by the arm. She stood on her toes, reaching to kiss the side of his face. She missed spectacularly, and landed right where she had been trying to avoid: his mouth.
They froze there for a moment, lips pressed awkwardly together and startled eyes open. Auriga flung her arms around Snape's neck to keep from falling over, and he relaxed suddenly, lacing his fingers in the hair at the back of her neck.
The kiss was interminable, and by the time they pulled apart, everyone else had gone back to whatever else they had been doing. Even Karkaroff had vacated the immediate area. But they didn't notice. Severus and Auriga were too busy staring, aghast, at one another. “We fell for it, again,” said Auriga, after a while, “didn't we?”
“I am going to kill that old man, one of these days,” growled Snape.
---
mark ii
“Do I have to go?” whined Auriga, glaring at her reflection. Her hair had been piled on top of her head, adorned with a festive sprig of holly, and she and Vector had spent the last half hour trying to make her eyelashes visible behind her thick glasses. All in all, it was an improvement over her day-to-day appearance, but she had to admit that she could never be bothered to spend this much time grooming herself on a regular basis. It was far too much effort for not enough reward.
“Yes,” Septima said simply. She was riffling through her makeup bag for some blusher. “It's Christmas. And it'll be fun, I promise.”
Auriga sighed glumly. “I hate Christmas. Embarrassing things always seem to happen to me around Christmas.” As she poked through her closet, she couldn't help but wish that she was not friends with Septima Vector, and thus wouldn't feel obligated to serve as her plus-one to Horace Slughorn's Christmas soiree. “Doesn't old Sluggy expect you to show up with a man, anyway?” she had asked, when Septima had insisted that she come, as a guest.
“Probably,” the other witch had admitted, “but you know I haven't been up to serious dating since Orsino and I split up. And, well, I couldn't bear to leave you all alone so close to Christmas, with no one but your house elf to keep you company!” Septima had raised her hand to her forehead dramatically, and Auriga had been forced to agree that spending the evening with Wimmy, who had never quite gotten over his crush on her, was less than ideal. And so, she had grudgingly said she would accompany her friend to the Christmas party, where there were sure to be loads of attractive, successful wizards with whom they could shamelessly flirt.
“Aren't you worried that dear Mister Thruston is going to be there? He is, after all, unfortunately famous, and just the sort of person Slughorn's likely to have connections with.” Auriga pulled a dress from her wardrobe and laid it across the bed. “Not that you really have anything to be concerned about. You split up with him, didn't you?”
“He did not do especially well in school, Orsino, and I don't think Horace is a fan of rock and roll music. We've got more of a chance of running into your mum, really.”
Auriga blanched. She hadn't thought of that. “On second thought, maybe I should stay in. Grade papers. Tidy up my desk. That sort of thing.” The idea of seeing her mother, particularly at a social gathering where all of her coworkers were sure to overhear any and all humiliating conversations that might take place, was even less appealing than Wimmy sensually crooning “A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love” while she hid in the bathroom.
“Calm down, Aur. I'm sure your mother would have written, if she were coming to Hogwarts, again. Besides, there will be so many people there, it won't be hard to duck out of her way.” Vector was now jabbing at her friend's face with a large, pink powder puff.
Auriga sneezed at the cloud of makeup surrounding her face. “Brilliant. Even more people for my mother to berate me in front of. Why haven't you worn high heels, Auriga? You must have learned to walk in them, by now. Gracious, thirty-five years old, and still too clumsy to wear proper footwear. What a disgrace.” She shuddered at this. Her mother may have been all high-society and semi-famous, but things like courtesy and discretion took a back seat to publicly criticizing Auriga's every flaw.
“Are we ready yet?” Auriga took a deep breath, as she did up the buttons along the back of her dress, by magic. Septima had been busy festooning tiny white roses all among her perfectly tousled blonde hair.
“Almost.” Vector flung a pristine fur stole around her shoulders, and slipped her feet into dangerously high stilettos. “There. How do I look?”
No response was needed, as Septima Vector, much to Auriga's general dismay, looked positively stunning at all times. The Arithmancy professor was an incredibly lucky witch, having been blessed with a perfect figure, lovely sun-kissed-looking skin, and a healthy dose of brains, just for good measure. If she wasn't the only friend Auriga had, surely, she would hate her.
Septima held out her arm. “Shall we be off, then? We don't want to be too fashionably late.” She giggled a little, apparently already having put on her charming-and-clever face for the party.
“If we must.”
Slughorn's (magically-enlarged) office was spectacularly decorated for the holiday, and already teeming with guests, when Auriga and Septima arrived. The former gave a momentary shudder as she noticed the veritable carpet of tray-bearing house elves shuffling about the guests' knees. The incident had been many years before, but it still troubled her greatly to see that many house elves in one place. She took a deep breath, and reminded herself that Wimmy liked her again, so they probably would not try to kill her. Though, by the end of the evening, she might have wished they would. But she wold reserve judgement, for now. She was doing her best to be a supportive friend (despite the fact that Septima tended to shirk her own duties, in that regard), and it was going to be tough.
Her mother, thankfully, was not there. Orsino Thruston, the drummer for the Weird Sisters and Septima's most recent ex-fiance, however, was, along with one of his bandmates. Auriga had never met any of the Weird Sisters before, and might have taken that opportunity to ask for their autographs, had she not been dutifully following her friend around the party. Perhaps she would try and sneak over, later that night, once Septima was busy trying to make Orsino jealous with some other handsome, successful wizard. (Not that you could really call Orsino handsome-he wore his long, dark hair straight down to his waist, and you couldn't really see much of his gaunt face behind the twisted beard. But Auriga supposed that being a famous musician probably contributed greatly to the man's sex appeal.)
Slughorn greeted Septima enthusiastically, when he spotted them, and she stooped to kiss his fat little cheeks. “Lovely party, Horace,” she cooed, still clutching Auriga's arm. “Is that a real vampire?” She had pseudo-whispered the question, indicating, the tall, shadowy man accompanying a squat little wizard.
He beamed brightly. “Why yes, he's an acquaintance of my dear friend Eldred Worple. The famous writer, you know, Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires? Well-read thing like you must have at least heard of it.” Almost as an afterthought, he turned to Auriga, “And who is your-oh, my! Professor Sinistra, I hardly recognized you. Why, you look simply radiant, this evening.”
She forced a polite smile. It wasn't that she was especially offended-not looking like herself might have been taken as a compliment, considering her usual appearance-but there was really no need to exaggerate.
The man seemed to remember something. “Oh, but I've just been talking to a charming young fellow who says he's met you before, Septima.”
“Not Orsino, I hope,” muttered Auriga.
Slughorn did not seem to hear her. “He's a very famous designer. Been voted Witch Weekly's third Most Eligible Bachelor in Britain, I hear.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Probably been promoted to second, since the unfortunate mishap with Gilderoy Lockhart. Ah, but there you are!” He reached a stubby little arm into the crowd and produced a very good-looking man whose presence made Auriga's stomach drop. “Algernon Brightmann, I believe you know Septima Vector.”
To Slughorn's general confusion, Algernon's smile faltered as he locked eyes not with the dazzling Vector, but petite little Auriga. “Ah, hello,” he said casually, although it was very clear from his expression that he had not expected to encounter her, here. “Fancy seeing you, again, eh? I say, Horace, you never told me-” But when he had turned to Slughorn to make his recovery, the plump little man had disappeared into the crowd.
“Lovely to see you again, Algernon,” Septima said smoothly, flashing her most winning smile as she shook his hand. “Married yet?”
Well, she certainly didn't waste any time, Auriga thought, trying to make herself even smaller, so that she might be able to duck away as soon as possible. It was just her luck that the “handsome, single wizards” promised to her when she had agreed to come would have been the only handsome, single wizard with whom she had already (unsuccessfully) attempted to have a relationship.
“Divorced, actually,” Algernon was saying, with something like regret in his voice, “I met Gwenog Jones while pitching a new design for the Holyhead Harpies' Quidditch uniforms. She's how I met Horace, actually. One of his favorite students, Gwen was. Of course, I ought to have known better than to marry an internationally famous athlete. Barely ever saw each other. Didn't last long. Amicable enough split, though, I suppose. I do believe she's around here, somewhere.”
“Slughorn seems to be pretty fond of inviting people's exes, just for laughs,” grumbled Auriga.
Septima laughed loudly, presumably to cover up the vague contempt in her companion's voice. “I would say so! My ex-fiance is here, too,” she explained to Algernon. “Over there, the one handing out his autograph to that seventh year girl.”
“Thruston? From the Weird Sisters?”
“Mmhmm. We seem to both have a taste for celebrities. Although, I should say you're a bit of one yourse-ow!”
Auriga had jabbed her elbow, hard, into Septima's kidney. She glared pointedly up at her friend before saying sweetly to Algernon, “Excuse us a moment, won't you?” and dragging Vector off into a corner.
“No,” she hissed the moment she was sure they were out of earshot of anyone important. “I did not let you drag me here, against my better judgement, to sit by docilely while you hit on my ex-boyfriend. I don't care how long ago we broke up,” Auriga held up her hand before any protest could be made, “you know how awful I felt afterward. Not to mention it was all your fault.”
Septima looked a little sheepish at being reminded of this. She had, a few years before, told Severus Snape that Auriga and Algernon were thinking about getting married (which they weren't), in attempt to make Snape realize his “true feelings” about Auriga.
“I am in no way going to let you use poor Algernon to try and make your stupid ex-fiance jealous! You already won the break up, Septima, you don't need to trod all over the poor man's soul.”
Vector looked appropriately chastised, once she had stopped seeming so surprised that Auriga was actually standing up to her. “I'm sorry,” she mumbled finally. “You want to go and torment Snape? I thought I saw his greasy black head lurking around here, somewhere.”
Auriga laughed. It was a valiant attempt to make her feel better, and it had almost worked. Coupled with the fact that she had, for the first time ever, won an argument-however one-sided-with Septima, she supposed she could tolerate a couple more hours of the party, before needing to either be far, far away, or very drunk. “Bah,” she said, “it's Christmas, and I'm feeling rather charitable.”
They both laughed, this time. Suddenly, they were forced apart by a mop of bushy brown hair, the owner streaking past them and into the crowd. They looked at each other curiously, wondering what had just happened.
“Hermione?” a boy called into the crowd. “Where did that girl go?”
Auriga and Septima shook their heads at each other, and set off in search of something alcoholic. It had been far too long since someone had offered them a refreshment, and what was a party without at least a glass of champagne?
As they made their way to the central refreshment table, Auriga overheard a silky voice drawling, “Oh, I do hope you're not going to punch me again. I am not sure I could bear to put the same man in hospital twice. Though I might be able to make an exception in your case, Brightmann.”
“Looks like Snape's seen Algernon,” whispered Septima gleefully. “We might not even have to torture him ourselves.”
“My spine is positively trembling,” Algernon was retorting. “I must admit, however, that I fail to comprehend your malice toward me, Professor Snape. That whole mishap was merely a huge misunderstanding.”
They never got to hear Snape's reply, however, because at that moment, Slughorn had seized him by the shoulder. “Oh, stop skulking and come and join us, Severus! I was just talking about Harry's exceptional potion-making!” It seemed that fate had stepped in to make the former Potions master as miserable has humanly possible. For though he countered all of Slughorn's praise of Potter with thinly-veiled sarcasm, the vein in his temple was throbbing with flourish.
“Merry Christmas, Auriga,” Sinistra said, and toasted herself. This was possibly the best present she'd received in a long, long time. Which she supposed should have been a sorry statement about her life, but she figured had to appreciate the little pleasures, however petty they may have been.
A few moments later, the whole party went quiet, as Filch dragged a swearing Slytherin boy-Draco Malfoy, Auriga recognized-in by his ear and presented him to Professor Slughorn. The caretaker was positively giddy at having a potential rulebreaker to punish. “That man really needs to get a life,” Septima muttered to Auriga. The latter nodded her agreement.
Slughorn had, benevolently, allowed the boy to stay, forcing Filch to sulk away and try to find some other means of entertainment. And then, suddenly, Snape declared, “I'd like a word with you, Draco,” which effectively eliminated Auriga's only source of diversion, as well. With Severus gone, there was no one else in whose misfortune she could revel.
This seemed to be as good a time as any to start getting drunk.
The process did not go nearly as quickly as it normally did, as all the drinks seemed to have been watered down, undoubtedly so that Slughorn could not be held accountable for any students getting completely smashed and doing something that might upset either the other professors or their parents. While this may have been a good idea for everyone's sake, Auriga couldn't help wishing that there was something stronger available. How was she supposed to cope with Algernon's unexpected appearance without a drop of hard liquor?
Between Algernon and Orsino, Auriga and Septima were having quite the difficult time trying to avoid their respective exes. The party seemed to be getting smaller and smaller, and the room felt as though it were shrinking, too. The two witches had to squeeze themselves into a tiny enclave, housing a squashy loveseat that barely fit inside the recess.
Whatever Snape had needed to talk to Malfoy about must not have gone the way Snape had hoped, because when he returned to the party, he was looking positively rabid. He swept over to where Sinistra and Vector had been resting, in what could only have been an attempt to make himself feel better by inflicting his sinister presence upon them.
“My, my, Auriga,” he drawled, “I would have thought you'd be trailing behind Brightmann like a wretched puppy, begging him to take you back. Considering that he was, how did you say it?” He adopted a shrill whine, “The only remotely functional relationship I've ever had.” A sneer bloomed on his thin lips.
Auriga sighed. “I split up with him, thank you very much,” was all she could think of. It had been true. Of course, he had then mercifully saved her from her mother's scrutiny, and she had sort of fallen in love with him again. “Besides, we split up years ago.” She waved her hand nonchalantly. “I could really care less who he's interested in these days.”
Septima held her tongue, and chose instead to say, “And he's divorced, anyway. You don't want another woman's leftovers, do you, Aur?”
The sheer irony of this statement was not beyond Auriga; hadn't Septima just tried to pick him up, mere hours ago? “You have got some nerve, you know.” The words had come out of her mouth before she had finished thinking them. “I don't want Algernon because he's some other woman's leftovers, but it's perfectly okay for you to try to shag him, when you know damn well that he and I-”
“Well,” Snape cut in, “I will leave you... ladies to your conversation.”
“Oh, no you don't!” shouted Auriga, who caught Severus' arm before he could slink away. “This is just as much your fault as it is hers!” His eyes widened innocently. “I swear, if I didn't know better, I'd think the two of you were conspiring to make my life positively miserable.”
“Excuse me?”
The little Astronomy professor took a deep breath, trying hard not to explode from the effort of it all. “Septima here has been so adamant over the past six years that you and I need to just get it over with and sleep together, that she has been sabotaging my other relationships in order to try and make you confess your true feelings.”
Snape snorted, and Vector writhed uncomfortably on the loveseat.
“Not that I think you've got any kind of feelings, let alone ones for me, but that's why Algernon and I split up. Septima told you we were going to get married, so that you would try and stop us. I hate to say it, Snape, but you played right into it. Except for the whole, you know, throwing Algernon off the Astronomy tower, and breaking his spine.” She considered it for a moment. “And the not shagging me part. For which I am eternally grateful. But you see,” she continued, “it only proved to her that you secretly lusted after me, and made her try even harder.”
“Is this true, Vector? I know how Auriga loves to fantasize that the world revolves around her pathetic little life.” Snape seemed almost desperate to confirm that Auriga was, in fact, delusional, as his words lacked their usual bite.
Septima nodded guiltily. “I, um, think I'll go say hello to Gideon Crumb, before he leaves. Orsino seems to have vacated his side, for a moment. I'd better go, now.” Clearly, Snape's death glare was too much for her to take. Auriga was a little surprised at this, considering how well Septima normally functioned at stuffy social gatherings. She supposed that all of this honesty had left her rather unsettled, and that Severus' glower was merely the final blow.
Auriga found the whole ordeal exhausting. She wished she could just collapse right there, and sleep right through until the start of term. She didn't even have the energy to flounder under Snape's burning gaze. Rather, she stared evenly up at him, eyes tired and half-closed. She pushed her glasses up in a slow, pained motion. “Well, Snape? Aren't you going to tell me how ridiculous and self-obsessed I am, and how I'm a pitiful excuse for a teacher and a woman, and, oh, I don't know, that I look like a haggard she-troll?”
He blinked. His expression unreadable, he sat down where Septima had been.
“Don't you ever get sick of this?” she asked suddenly. “I hate you, and then I want you, and then I can't stand the sight of you. And then sometimes, just sometimes, we do something nice and maybe it's not so bad after all.”
Snape still did not speak a word. Auriga went on. “It's just, can't either of us decide whether or not we want to hate each other?” She looked at Severus imploringly. “It doesn't seem like it ought to be a hard decision, does it? Do we like each other, yes or no? But we're both so thoroughly... I don't know, insane that we genuinely can't figure it out, or don't want to, or something. It's just... so... draining, you know?”
A long silence followed. It occurred to Auriga that she had been babbling nonsensically, and she was sure she was about to get an earful from Snape about how utterly foolish she was to think that he was as confused as she seemed to be.
Instead, he spoke in a kind of relaxed tone, almost relieved. “Why don't we?”
“What?”
“Just get it over with.”
Auriga gaped at him as though he were severely unhinged. It was not a feeling of which she was used to being on the giving end. Normally, he was making this face at her, and then sneering and swooping off into the night to laugh maniacally at her obviously inferior intellect. Or something of that ilk.
But his expression was open, as earnest as she had ever seen him. And some unseen force drove her to fling her arms about his neck and kiss him rather fervently on the mouth.
Across the room, Septima and Algernon clinked wine glasses. “I concede to a cunning far greater than my own,” the wizard was saying. “I would never have thought that those two were capable of doing anything besides mumbling contemptuous nonsense at each other.”
“Well,” Septima sighed, “honestly, I was beginning to think nothing but copious amounts of alcohol and shock therapy would get them together.”
“Lucky I turned up.”
Septima grinned and drained her glass. “Only took five years.”
“Now, to see if it lasts.”
“It will.”
---
mark iii
That year, Auriga toiled inwardly at whether or not it would be appropriate to give him a Christmas gift. They had, however briefly, been lovers, and since their affair had abruptly ended, she had tried to remain at least cordial. Or, well, as cordial as Severus Snape would ever allow. And, anyway, she couldn't pretend that it didn't nearly drive her to murder every single time Alecto Carrow leered at him, like some kind of sex-starved cat.
Which, after consideration, she probably was. Poor thing wasn't exactly much to look at, and unless you believed the rumors about her relationship with her brother-creepy, really-she was probably going to die a virgin.
Her possessiveness aside, Auriga concluded that a Christmas gift was not even close to the worst thing she could possibly give Snape for the holiday.
She had been waiting in the teacher's lounge on Christmas morning. She knew that he woke earliest of her colleagues, and was almost always in dire need of coffee. “Happy Christmas, Sev,” she said quietly, as he pushed groggily into the room. When he had sat down in a nearby armchair, she nudged a small package in his direction. “For you.”
He looked bewildered at first, which quickly transformed into suspicion. Prodding the square box with a cautious forefinger, he regarded Auriga with a question in his eyes.
“It's not going to blow up. I swear.”
He opened it. It was a coffee mug. In fact, it was the selfsame coffee mug that Auriga had chucked at his head for telling her she looked almost as pretty as Hagrid six years before. She wondered if he even remembered.
Snape blinked.
He was probably wondering why in the name of Merlin's saggy left testicle she had given him a gift, at all, let alone such a spectacularly mundane one. She could have at least tried to kiss arse properly and given him liquor. (Although, given the events that tended to transpire when the two of them imbibed alcohol at the same time, it was best that she hadn't.)
“Thank you, Auriga.” His voice was quiet. She smiled and sipped her tea.
Any other discussion that might have occurred was killed before it had even been conceived as That Awful Carrow Woman had burst unceremoniously into the room. “Happy Christmas, Headmaster,” she said in a horrible, husky voice. She presented him with two objects: “A bottle of the best elf-made wine from Amycus and me, and, ah... the other one, that's just from me.” She seemed to be blushing.
Auriga gripped her teacup with particular force. Were her hands stronger, the delicate thing might have shattered.
Snape peered into the smaller gift bag. He gulped visibly. “I appreciate that you... and your brother thought of me, Alecto.” The vein in his temple was throbbing, but Alecto was clearly too busy fawning to notice. Auriga thought this was probably a good thing.
When she could take no more of the lumpy witch's simpering, thinly-veiled innuendo, Auriga slipped unnoticed from the lounge.
The usual Christmas feast was held, that evening, though fewer students than ever were found in attendance. In fact, it was rather grim-half a dozen or so downtrodden children ate without looking at each other and scurried back to their common rooms; Professor McGonagall stared stiffly out from underneath her pointed hat; only Septima Vector, who was determined to enjoy herself enough for the lot of them, seemed to be having any kind of fun at all.
“Oh, come on, Aur,” she burbled, “it's Christmas! Might as well celebrate while we've got something to.” Her elbow found Auriga's ribs. “If nothing else, we can celebrate how fantastic we both look.”
Vector had forced her, at wand point, to dress up for the occasion. She had chosen midnight blue dress robes with a plunging back that had been sitting untouched in the back of her wardrobe for two or three years. She couldn't actually remember the last time she had worn them. Or more accurately, the memory of the last night on which she had worn them was extremely foggy. She could only remember waking up with the worst kind of hangover, a tonic serendipitously perched on her nightstand.
It seemed like a good time to put those robes back into circulation. She had even, after much persuasion, managed to magic her hair into something smooth and shiny and not at all like her normal mess of dark red tangles.
“Looks like you've caught Snape's attention.” The fact that Severus Snape was a Death Eater and You-Know-Who's right-hand man had done nothing to staunch Septima's ever-evolving, career-long ploy to get the two of them into bed together. Apparently, being responsible for the deaths of countless people, not to mention that of the greatest wizard of all time merely made the man, “A bit of a bad boy. But that's sexy, right?” She had never been quite right since that fateful trip to the Muggle hair salon, lo those many years ago. They must have done something to her brain. “Go on,” she nudged Auriga again, “give 'im that dazzling smile of yours.”
Completely. Daft. But to humor her friend, Auriga aimed a small smile in Snape's direction. He jerked his head vaguely, and took a sip of the wine that Alecto had been constantly shoving in front of him. His cheeks may have looked a bit pink.
When, at last, it was time for bed, the display had become almost too much for Auriga to handle. Alecto was very nearly in Snape's lap-for she was leaning so close to him-her brother sitting to her left, pouting a little at not being included. To make it worse, Vector had been periodically muttering nasty things about the “Muggle Studies” teacher into her ear. Only muttering was more like loudly slurring. They were lucky that Carrow was as drunk as Septima or there would have been more than a few curses flying through the air, that evening. “Come on, dear,” Auriga soothed through gritted teeth, “we had better get you off to bed before you hurt yourself.” She stood up, and helped her companion out of her seat. “Good night, Professors, Headmaster,” she inclined her head toward Snape and the Carrows. Only Amycus turned to look at her. “Happy Christmas.”
She wouldn't have heard it, had she not been frustratedly tidying up the small hallway that served as the entrance to her quarters. She couldn't sleep, but for her imagination conjuring up grotesque images of Severus entwined with that disgusting woman. Sober and sane, he was clearly as repulsed by her as Auriga-though Alecto was deluded enough to think otherwise-but the sheer volume of wine he had consumed that night could in no way have allowed him to be sober, and for weeks, months now, Auriga had been questioning his sanity. But it was a match of which the Dark Lord would likely approve, so there was no ruling it out.
As Auriga was busy mentally raging about this, there was a soft rustling outside her doorway. Footsteps, perhaps. She wrenched the door open, eager to take her anger out on the two hormonal teenagers certain to be groping each other on their way up to the observatory. “Detention for you both, and-”
But it wasn't a couple of students staring her in the face. It was Severus Snape. She stumbled backward into her rooms, speechless. “Severus,” she breathed in disbelief.
He stepped forward, and closed the door behind him. The lock clicked.
It took her a moment to recover her speech. “W-what are you doing here?” He spread his hands and stared helplessly at her, as if to say that he did not know himself. “I thought you'd be with Professor Carrow.”
He shuddered openly. “I could never be drunk enough.”
A wave of relief flowed over Auriga, though she did not want to admit that she had been jealous. She changed the subject. “Would you like a cup of tea? I have cinnamon.” It should have bothered her to be remembering things that he liked with such ease. But it was comforting, instead. She hurried into her tiny kitchen to avoid thinking about it.
They sat down in opposite chairs in her sitting room, and she served tea with milk and a cinnamon stick each. “How do you burn cinnamon?” she whispered to herself. The corners of his mouth twitched. They did not speak for a long time.
“Auriga.” He said her name slowly, and opened his mouth to continue, but no words came.
“What's happened to the school, Sev?” she asked all of a sudden, looking up at him with worry in her eyes. “What's happened to our world? What's going to happen to us?” She leaned forward in her chair, tense and troubled.
He looked evenly back at her, for a long time. His black eyes did not bore into her, as they used to; they did not search for the meaning behind her question. He sighed, and set his empty tea cup on the squat little table. “I don't know,” he answered, rising.
He turned to leave, but she caught him immediately. “Don't go,” she whispered. She looked like a child, standing there in the candle light. A tiny thing, her brow furrowed, green eyes wide with something like fear. “Please, Sev.” He faced her again, and she clung to him desperately.
Years ago, he would have peeled her off of him and stalked out, sneering at her maudlin pleas. But he did not, and she was grateful for it. Instead, he hoisted her into his arms and carried her off to bed, like a frightened little girl. He held her for a moment, burying his face in her hair before laying her down onto the soft mattress.
Neither of them said another word, as Auriga's lips found every inch of exposed skin he had to offer, and her fingers worked at creating more. He was warm, and seemed to fill the icy chasm that had opened up inside her, over the past months. She had missed him more than he could know, and it was boundlessly, amazingly comforting to have him with her, now.
When she was laying, breathless, with her head against his bare chest, he said, “Happy Christmas, Auriga,” and she almost laughed. She gave him a little squeeze and began to drift off to sleep.
By the time she had awoken, he was gone.