𝐒𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 || Severus Snape x OC ||

34. OF SERPENTS & CINDER

*.·:·.☽ ✧ ☾.·:·.*

Breathe, her mind whispered to her. Her blood pulsed in her veins. Her senses awake. Listening. Waiting. She breathed in the scent of the Forest. Pine and oak, ivy and grass, and somewhere deep, herbs and fungi embracing the old wood and the fallen leaves upon the damp ground. Wood smoke from the castle's fireplaces, carried by the wind and a billion verdant wands of pine waved in arboreal air; for this place was magical, so much so that she could feel it from core to fingertips.

"I believe a test is in order," he had said to her.

"What kind of test, sir?" she had asked him in return.

She listened to the sounds around her. Thestral cries afar, owls in the distance, branches creaking around her. Her own feet shuffling through detritus as she moved. Magical beings chattering, leaves rustling; the wind whistling around the trunks that stood like everlasting nymphs of the Forest. Their leafy manes caressed by the wind.

"I may be able to hide and shield you for some time, but should things change –and they will—" he cocked a knowing eyebrow, "you will have to rely on your own power to shield yourself," his chest had rumbled.

His words echoed still in her mind as her eyes roamed across the Forest. From the rich brown earthen hues of the forest ground to the melancholy of the blue-white sky peeking from the clouds, the forest was a three-dimensional wonderland for the eyes who were willing to absorb the light and the magic, too.

"I can teach you how to yield the power within you. And you shall practice non-verbal spells for that purpose. Those who progress to using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spellcasting. Not all wizards can do this, of course; it is a question of concentration and mind power which some lack the predisposition for. But you, Alice, don't..."

"The Dark Arts," had said Severus with a voice lowered, and dark as the deepest dungeons of the castle, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed. Mutating, and indestructible."

Her knowledge of Dark Arts was limited to what the other teachers had taught her, and the spell-casting lessons Severus had granted to her the summer of the year before. But never had she watched him speak of the Dark Arts as he had done so that day, before the green droplets of his potion had stained her lips and the world had changed once again.

Her wandless hand splayed; touching, feeling; the rough tree bark; the kiss of falling leaves; the branches slapping. Her feet balancing upon the uneven ground, knobby roots underfoot, and sticky sap. Tickles of hanging moss and spider webs strands on skin.

She knew to respect the Dark Arts. And though the promise of unfixed and everchanging magic was enthralling, Alice's respect stemmed from her fear not to mingle with the Dark Arts. Instinct, or perhaps a calling – a yearning, somewhere deep inside her made her weary of them. A part of her, a fraction of her blood and soul was linked to them. Linked to the dark wizard who had caused such pain and destruction because of them.

And it was that fear, deep within, that fear that she'd be lured to the Dark Arts, that kept her at a distance from the subject. But respecting the darkness as a dangerous and worthy opponent was one thing. Hearing the cloaked man speak as he had spoken about them with the darkest, deepest loving caress in his voice was quite another... It almost felt as if he spoke of a mistress. A wicked, untamed, and enthralling mistress.

Her mind recalled his words, as she stood amidst the altered, unexplored depths of the Forbidden Forest. Her heart picking up pace.

"Your defenses," had said Severus, "must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo". Her doe-like eyes had made his lips curl in the ghost of a smirk. She had seen the vial nest in his hand. La Fee Verte, glimmering beneath the glass.