He awoke, covered in a cold sweat. The nightmares kept him tossing and turning. Last night's selection had been of his friend Charity. They had wonderful conversations, his demeanor didn't put her off, and she was easily the most accepting person he knew. Sometimes he wished they could have been more, perhaps taken her out for dinner. And something in him said that she wanted that too. Which made it all the worse when she called to him to save her from death. But now all he could see was her still body, her pleas for help lingering in the air.
She died thinking he betrayed her. That guilt would never leave. He sat up slowly, rubbing his temples. Life seemed so large. Looming in front of him, endless choices. Paralyzing.
Make the next small decision, he told himself.
Take a shower.
He allowed the hot water to ease him awake, the herbal scent of his shampoo grounding him into the moment. Time to pull himself together for the day. He had several potions to brew and was officially open for business.
He began to brew after his simple breakfast of jam on toast. It was all his stomach could handle after the night of twisted dreams and memories. The bell began to ring, signifying a customer.
The morning went quickly, his supply walking out the door with various witches and wizards. A sense of pride filled him, and not the vain sense. Not hollow pride. This was purposeful. He had a purpose that could help him now. A purpose that he could feel good about. A life that was his own.
He sat counting the drawer at the end of the day when the bell gave its signature tinny clang.
Zella.
Her golden brown curls hung wild past her shoulders, bouncing on their own accord. They almost swallowed up her pretty face which was just as beautiful as he remembered. Today she wore a mint green dress, scooped neck line with a tightly wrapped wire choker and black tights covered her smooth legs.
She kicked off her shoes as soon as she entered his door.
"Do you have a vendetta against shoes?" he asked sarcastically, locking away the money.
"I do. I hate them. With every fiber of my soul. I like to feel the ground beneath my feet" she smiled, taking a turn about the store, reading the names on the bottles
What a visceral being. Every aspect of her seemed raw.
"You confuse me" he tossed out, normally unwilling to divulge such embarrassing information
"Why is that?" she asked curiously, hopping up onto the small counter beside him, her dress edging up her thighs
The urge to touch her knee overwhelmed him, but he had to hold back. Her skin was a perfect sight to behold though...
"You are just so...free" he couldn't place a better word that didn't sound insane and inappropriate
He had only known her for twenty four hours. Why did it feel like longer? Like she had seen a part of him that he kept hidden away.
"And you are so bound" she responded succinctly, but without judgment
He was bound. To what anymore, he didn't know. Tightly held in by his clothes, his routine, the structure that kept the fears at bay. The ever present fear. But he kept moving in spite of it. He had to.
"I am bound to keep from flying apart" he told her sharply, staring at the wire that clung around her neck
Brown eyes the color of golden amber stared at him. They were impossibly bright. Softened, but not in sympathy. Waiting, for him to continue. Trying to understand.
"Would you like to talk about it and learn how to harvest fig nuts? They're ready today" she invited him, hopeful at his acceptance.
He had never harvested those before. Many plants he could get from the Forbidden Forest, but others he couldn't. Fig nuts were only available in America and he needed them sent in.
Nodding, he went to her small jungle, the scent of earth and greenery wrapped him up cozily. In a corner sat three trees, each about six feet tall, their thick branches hanging heavy with red tennis ball sized shells.
"I say a blessing before I take the fruit" she told him, almost defiantly, as if she expected pushback
"That sounds reasonable. Teach it to me" he told her, something about the practice settling in his soul
"Take my hand" she directed, holding out her hand, several rings with gemstones catching his eye
Holding her hand awkwardly, she closed her eyes, and lifted their hands toward the trees
"From Earth to air, and here to there, I grind you fine, with love and care. Through pestle to essence, here I sow. From whole to powder, on mortar you go. Round and round may your power grow. Continue to let your energy flow"
Her alto voice, throaty and warm coated him like thick honey. The words a physical presence over his body. This was deep magic. Kind magic. Gratitude. Love. Gentleness. Soft resistance.
They were still holding hands in closed eyed silence.
"See? You understand the power" she smiled, giving his fingers a squeeze before letting them go.
"I'm beginning to" he acknowledged, ready to start
"Pick them from the branch first, gently, or else the skin will tear" she instructed, pinching the stem on the branch, giving a gentle tug as the fruit came away easily
He reached up, following her example and a satisfying rush settled in his chest as he held the fig in his hand. They picked seventy figs. His fingertips radiated soreness by the end, using a different set of muscles than potion making but Zella didn't seem fazed.
Handing him a knife, she showed him how to slice the fruit to harvest not only the meat but the nut inside. Horizontal slice, vertical slice, pop out the middle. It seemed easy enough but the middle wouldn't pop for him.
A rush of hot shame and embarrassment creeped up his neck. He wasn't used to learning new things or being a novice. Zella didn't say a word, she simply reached over, placed her hand over his, respositioned his fingers, and with a swift squeeze popped out the middle into a bowl.
"You have to mean the squeeze" she smiled, the absence of her fingers left his hand cold
"How did you learn all of this?" he asked as they worked, the red fruit juices beginning to stain his hands
"My parents are Muggles. They are horticulturists. Plant scientists. They always thought I had a knack for gardening, they didn't realize it was magic" she explained with a laugh
"How did they take it?" he followed up, remembering his own father's hatred of magic
"Surprisingly well. My dad said that's why I always won our town's annual rose growing competition. How about you?" she rolled her eyes good-naturedly at her fathers antics
Him. Abusive father, traumatized mother. Poverty. No funny anecdotes there.
"My mother was a witch. My father was a muggle...And is not worth mentioning" he stopped short of a full explanation.
She nodded before whispering
"I'm sorry"
And she was. It wasn't false or perfunctory.
"Thank you. It was a long time ago..." he deflected, walls up
"Some things still hurt. That's okay. Would you like to learn how to juice the figs?" she moved on easily, sensing his discomfort
"I want you to show me everything" he answered quickly, realizing he just showed his cards
For some reason, he believed she would show him everything. And that he wanted her to. There was no reason other than a gut feeling. She raised her eyebrow, a smile hiding.
Her face relaxed, motioning for him to wait.
She brought out a gigantic wrought iron cauldron that had to weigh at least fifty pounds. She carried it easily when she could have just summoned it. Power move.
"Toss in all the fruit meat and skins, and we'll cook it until all the liquid is out. Then we'll strain it. The liquid can be used for potions or tinctures. The meat is great for salves and poultices. Whatever we can't use is good for the ground" she told him, the plopping and pop of liquid beginning to simmer
The steam rising out of the cauldron appeared pink in color, fruity and nutty in smell, calming. A beautiful art work.
"I've always loved the elegance of a simmering cauldron. It speaks of so much promise and reward" she divulged, standing beside him, arm touching his
The beauty of a potion done well. The intricacy. He agreed, speaking softly as the moment required it
"Yes, that is one of the things I find most...beautiful in life as well"
"I think you're very similar to this cauldron Severus" she announced a few moments later, sounding for all the world like his former student, Luna Lovegood.
Gods help him, he was going to indulge this off the wall woman.
"And how, pray tell, is that" he asked, wanting to be annoyed, but being so curious and desperate for affirmation he plowed forward
Taking his hands, a move that no one back home would ever have attempted for fear of instant death or because of disgust, she placed his right hand on his heart and his left on hers, breastbone rising up and down. He fought to contain his shock.
"Because you are heavily weighted down, seemingly immovable. But inside, there's something brewing. A complex, messy, and difficult potion. One just needs to tend to it, place in the correct amount of time and effort, attention, care...Like magic"
And then she smiled. Completely at him. Her hand over his on her chest, heart thumping steadily, if a little fast. Oh, this little witch with her boundless optimism would be his undoing. Taking a chance, he slid his hand up her chest, then her neck, enjoying the small gasp, cupping her cheek.
Raspberry red lips pouted, honeyed brown eyes imploring him to make a next move. She tilted her head ever so slightly to the right. Now or never. Take the risk.
So much danger. He leaned down, touching his nose to hers, savoring the electricity of the moment before their lips touched. The expectation. The perfection. The lust. Mutual attraction. And then her skin was under his, lips just as sweet as they looked.
Melding to him, still at first, then more movement. They didn't break apart, to do so would be an insult. Her tongue traced his lips, and he allowed her in, the heat rising up from his belly to his chest. Flowing out to his frigid fingers and toes.
Yes. This was the beginning he was searching for.
Her hands wrapped around his waist, pressing her body against his. He wanted to pull her into him, the desire beginning to burn. Her tongue tasted of coffee and sweetness. A mix of sugar and acid. Someone enjoyed him. Found him attractive. Wasn't afraid. He could get used to it. He wanted it. And she wanted him.
Cautiously, he leaned her against the table, hands shaking as he touched her back, the softness of her dress a new sensation on his fingers. He fought to keep his muscles under control as she held the back of his neck, her grip strong yet featherlight. He couldn't stop his body from fully reacting, especially when she gasped, a chirp of desire when he squeezed her hip.
"Was that too much?" Zella asked nervously, resting her hands on his chest, leaning up on her tip toes, beginning to kiss his neck, her teeth grazing his skin.
Too much? No. It wasn't enough. No one had kissed him before. He wanted it all. Immediately. He had never felt the touch of someone's lips against his. The magnetic pull of desire. The heat boiling and bubbling. He didn't want just anyone to kiss him. He definitely just wanted her to kiss him. And to touch the rest of him. The urge to make love to her despite their ignorance of each other suffocated him. Her tongue on his neck buzzed electricity all the way down into his spine. He needed more.
"No, it's not. I don't want you to think that I only want to...do...this...I like you...Well...As much as I know you" he stammered, the awkwardness creeping up into his neck
"I don't think that...I like you too" she reached up, tangling her fingers into his hair, not once breaking eye contact, eyes wide open as she teased his tongue with hers
"You teach me about your garden, and I'll teach you about potions. We can learn about each other...You were right. I'm ready to plant" he ran his fingers down her cheek, breathing erratic, enjoying the velvet of her skin against his knuckles
"I like that idea. Are you hungry?" she asked with a smile, glancing at the wall clock
"Not for food" he answered mischievously, kissing her cheek like he had always imagined he would do with a lover.
Who was he? This new man who spoke so openly? It was terrifying. And exhilarating. The fact that someone so lovely and beautiful found him worthwhile hit deeply. Yet it felt like a lie. That she would soon find out his darkness and run. But until then, he would try and learn what made her happy. He would try and learn what made him feel good.
"Come upstairs with me Severus" she murmured, voice soft as silk, taking his hand in hers.
He liked the way his name sounded in her mouth. Kind. Wanted. Trusted. Not in any way a mark of evil or death.
Heart thumping, nerves jumbling, he followed her. The gentle swaying of her hips, the curve of her bottom, the casually inverted triangle of her thighs to ankles. All hills and valleys. Soft and sloping.
They entered into her apartment, dozens of smells acquainted themselves with his nose. Rose, dirt, violets, succulents, earthen clay. Plants hung from all the large bay windows, sat on tables, and scattered the corners in large ceramic pots. A large white staircase twirled up to a lofted room, not quite a full second story.
The light oak floor balanced with the bright white walls and modern block furniture and decor. Books tumbled everywhere, on shelves and tabletops, a few tossed on the couch.
Structured chaos brimming with life.
The light from the quickly darkening sky set her features in diamond and silver, the lack of light giving his fingertips more bravery than he felt. He counted each rib, sliding down her body, pressing his thumbs into the tender skin around her hips.
She allowed her head to fall back, the goose bump laden flesh of her neck apparent and calling for him.
"You're so beautiful. Why choose me?" he asked as he nervously kissed her neck, tracing the hollow at the bottom, her skin tasted of salt and citrus.
"What are you really asking Severus?" she leaned her body against him, brushing his hair behind his ear in a gesture much too familiar for their short time together.
He wanted to know if she just wanted the glory. To say she bed him. If she truly thought he was a good man and worth knowing. If it was just sex. He wished he could not think or ruminate but he couldn't.
Twisting a curl around his finger, staring deeply into her eyes, the color of onyx in the evening light, he sighed before asking
"Am I a conquest to you?"
A second of hurt flashed over her face before she recovered
"I don't collect souls as trophies. I know I can be intense...Am I too much? Am I freaking you out?" she told him apologetically, arms wrapped around his neck, calf touching his while the ball of her foot massaged his leg muscles.
Definitely too much. But he wanted it. The thrill of acceptance overpowered any he experienced before. Not even his ascent to power within the dark lord's circle compared to the swell of pride in his chest as this whirlwind of a witch stared up at him with nothing but care and desire.
"You are everything I didn't know I needed" he answered with a shy smile, kissing her forehead
Her face softened as she leaned up to kiss him, motioning for him to follow her to the black couch, wide enough for two, straddling his hips as he sat down. He drew in a deep breath, eye level with her breasts, hands on her hips.
"I'm not generally so impulsive" he admitted, capturing her lips and tongue sloppily, the friction of her bottom on his lower half teasing every part of him.
"Have you ever had the choice to be impulsive?" she asked gently, tongue deepening in his mouth, tip of her nose to his, imploring his eyes to answer
No. Everything in his life had to be planned out. His childhood mapped around his fathers drunken rages, his mother's depressive moods, when Lily came home from school. His teenage years around when James and Sirius weren't around. Hiding. His adulthood to the whims of Albus or the dark lord.
This was the first time he was free. Was he making the right choice with this freedom?
"No I haven't. And I worry that my impulsivity will hurt me. Or you" he traced her jaw, restraining himself from kissing her
She leaned down and wrapped her arms around him, tightening her grip. Her perfume smelled of floral, maybe peony, amber, black currant or cranberry. She placed the gentlest of kisses on his forehead, delicate and affirming.
For once, he believed a promise that he was told. Even if it was unspoken.
A butterfly landing on the twig that broke the nest. Fall or fly.
"I want to kiss you...please...Can I kiss you" he whispered timidly, allowing his desire to burn him up, speed up his heart, rattle his fear
She tilted her head to the side, breath coming in puffs around his lips. They moved together fervently, her hips pressing into him, his hands traveling down her body like he was used to the touch. Familiar and brand new all at once. She moved away from his lips and he groaned in good natured annoyance as she made her way down his neck, breasts resting against his chest. He watched in near disbelief as his fingertips moved their way up her bare thighs, her dress bunched around her waist.
Her eyes burned, she wanted him so badly. And he wanted her too. He wanted to dive headfirst. He wanted to continue, but it wouldn't be honest. And he needed to start in honesty.
"I would like to stay with you tonight. But I need a plan" he spoke evenly, trying to show some self awareness
She moved her hand in a circle and all the lights turned on low, her puffed lips kissing him sweetly on the cheek
"We can sit. Talk. Or not. No pressure. I mean that. I don't have any expectations"
Instantly, he relaxed. There. Concrete steps. He could follow a plan. He could enjoy himself more with a plan.
"Thank you Zella" he whispered, fighting the feelings of shame flooding his body.
"You're welcome Severus" she kissed his cheek quickly, accepting smile never once changing
There was nothing wrong. He had a friend. A woman who found him attractive. A business. A home. He needed to fight through the inadequacy. She didn't think he was inadequate. Or else she would have been gone by now.