Thirteen years had passed since that day. He hadn't changed much. Tall with a distinctly large nose, his black hair hung near his shoulders and was a bit less greasy than she remembered, same frown and deeply intense expression. He wore magnificent dress robes in black with silver piping and his voluminous, black cloak gracefully draped to the floor.

Panic gripped her as she watched him glance around the large room. She prayed he wouldn't notice her. Taking a deep breath she pulled herself together. "Breathe," she reminded herself, "slow and easy." Forcing herself to look away, she turned her back to him and returned to mingling among the other guests. She had seen him scanning the room and she hoped against hope that he would fail to recognize her. Attempting to shield herself from his line of vision she moved quickly among acquaintances, always keeping someone between her and where he had been standing. She needed to say her good-bye's and leave as quickly as she could.

Long minutes passed. Then she felt the weight of his gaze. When she looked up he no longer stood near his former companions, but next to the open bar with a glass of wine in his hand. She knew immediately that he was well aware of exactly who she was. She met his gaze and after a moment of intense scrutiny she nodded at him in acknowledgement. She thought she saw a hint of a smirk and briefly wondered if he were mocking her. He lifted an eyebrow and cocked his head slightly in invitation. Her insides were in shambles, but she gathered her wits about her and approached him. "Professor Snape," she said, accepting the wine glass.

"Ms Ballantine." His scowl had disappeared and he seemed genuinely interested in seeing her again.

She was not inclined to be so engaging. Lifting the goblet to her lips, she paused and after a moments consideration she sniffed the wine, closing her eyes. She inhaled its complex bouquet slowly and deeply, as if analyzing the contents. Looking her former professor in the eye, she challenged him, "What? No Amour-Repulse Serum? You're living dangerously, Professor."

He looked startled for just a moment as emotions played across his normally stoic face. Then he threw his head back and laughed. His laugh was genuine and held no mockery. Shaking his head, he looked extremely pleased with himself. "Beautiful!" he said, smirking. "Very perceptive. I always knew you had potions in your blood! So what do you do? Teach?"

"No, Sir. I own an apothecary here in London." She was proud of her accomplishments and was quite satisfied to rub his nose in it. "In fact, I brew Amour-Repulse Serum myself."

He looked slightly taken aback, but pleased and impressed. She was just full of surprises! "Are you aware that I created that serum?" he asked, sensing that they were now on dangerous ground.

“Indeed I am, Professor. Presumably, not for me, exclusively," she responded, her voice laced with sarcasm. She suddenly felt no hesitation in twisting the knife a little.

He looked down at the floor for a moment and took a deep breath. This was not going to be an easy reunion. "No," he said quietly. "However, you must know that I have never used it indiscriminately."

"I should certainly hope not! One would not like to think that you would utilize that highly controlled substance in such an irreponsible manner. So I was just one of the lucky few? Hmm?" Feeling like she was just getting warmed up, she longed to unleash the anger she had buried so long ago, but at the risk of creating a scene she kept her anger in check. However, she wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily. Thirteen years may have passed and the rawness of the pain faded, but the memory of the young witch’s mortification was still with her. "Tell me, Professor, did you enjoy watching me squirm? What perverse pleasure did you take in my humiliation? Did you ever once stop to consider the effect your cruelty would have on a young woman's psyche?"

"Contrary to popular belief, Ms Ballantine, I am not a sadistic man. It was never my intention to humiliate you and I most assuredly got no pleasure from doing so. The serum is used for a very specific purpose. It was only intended to discourage inappropriate behavior." He wasn't going to allow her to believe he had actually enjoyed one of the worse moments of his teaching career. Yes, he enjoyed humiliating students on a regular basis and he certainly did have a cruel streak when it came to the occasional student who continually challenged his authority. However, he seldom singled out a student in Ravenclaw or Slytherin houses. If memory served him correctly, Ms Ballantine would have been a Ravenclaw. Her intelligence was superior and he always appreciated that in a student. Far too many students actually were the dunderheads he accused them of being. No, she had been an exceptional student and was no less than outstanding in Potions. He had been devastated by what he had put her through.

"Spare me, Professor! I know exactly what the potion is used for. Remember, I said that I brew it myself for my own clients. Forgive me if I'm slightly resentful that you felt the need to administer it to me alone when you could have so honored any of half a dozen young witches, all clamoring for your attention!"

He suddenly stiffened and his jaw clenched. He would not allow her to insult his intelligence. His manner became strained as he glared at her then and his voice was low and trembled with barely contained anger. "I would not bother administering such a highly controlled potion to every young witch engaging in adolescent fantasies involving her professor. As much as I dislike the occasional infatuation, it would be grossly incompetent of me and a complete waste of my time. These young ladies have absolutely no interest in Potions and can easily be discouraged with a few miserable detentions and a failing grade! However, there is occasionally a student who shows such a high degree of potential in the subject that it is necessary to use a different method of discouragement. I created the potion as an antidote, but I had no intention of discouraging the pursuit of Potions. Interest in the subject is to be retained if at all possible and you were an exceptional student of Potions."

She laughed bitterly at that, suddenly wanting to throw her empty wine glass across the room. "Well, congratulations, Professor! You succeeded, brilliantly! As you can see, I've done quite well for myself. It appears then that I owe you a debt of gratitude! Forgive me if I don't thank you properly. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Professor," she said and with that she turned and stalked from the room.

He stood and watched her go. He had known that seeing her again might incur her wrath. He was actually surprised that she had let him off so easily. He certainly didn't deserve any mercy from her, yet she had been amazingly restrained. He'd been caught off guard when he'd first seen her, chatting with a few friends. For years he'd hoped to run into her somewhere. He'd assumed that she would stay near London after completing University, but their paths never crossed. As the years passed, he hadn't bothered to look for her and eventually let her memory fade. Then tonight, at a simple holiday gathering of Potions Masters, there she was looking every inch the successful woman she had obviously become. Regret and something that felt a lot like longing tugged at him. He knew she would come to him. He would wait for her. He would let her make the next move. And she did.



Half an hour later, she found him outside on the balcony. She stepped through the doorway and leaned against the wall, quietly observing him. He stood with his back to the door, looking out over the gardens, his cloak billowing in the wind. Gods, he was breathtaking! Looking every inch the gothic dungeon master. She wondered if he had any idea how imposing, how intimidating, how completely and utterly sensual he was. As if he had heard her thoughts, he spoke without turning, "Come here," he commanded.

She moved towards him and halfway across the balcony, she hesitated. He turned to face her then and she could see regret written on his face and pain in his eyes. "Come closer", he said.

She approached him cautiously and stopped again a few feet away. He shook his head slightly. "Closer," he said again.

She stepped in front of him then, close enough to touch him, close enough to smell his musky scent. Memories flooded her thoughts. Steaming cauldrons, chopping and slicing, tense silence, black teaching robes swishing from table to table, his cocked eyebrow, his breath near her ear, his fingers guiding her hand. She closed her eyes and let it take her back. She could feel his breathing. She could almost hear his heartbeat. His presence was a palpable thing inhabiting the very air surrounding them. Why did she feel his presence to be so all-consuming? His essence was all around her and inside her. Her eyes were riveted on his mouth as he softly and clearly enunciated the word again, "Closer."

She hesitated for just a moment, her eyes searching his. Then throwing caution to the wind, she leaned into him until their bodies touched. He reached around her then and pulled her to him, placing his left foot between hers and his right foot on the outside, forcing her knees slightly apart. "Closer," he whispered into her ear as he lifted his knee. She caught her breath as his thigh made contact and moaned softly. She felt drunk with a desire that made her knees nearly buckle and left her slightly disoriented.

For several minutes, they stood against each other, her hips finding a slight, but perceptible rhythm, rocking against his thigh. With one hand across her back, he held her to him and the other was tangled in her hair. She slipped her hand inside his robes and pulled his shirt free from his trousers, allowing her to slide her hand across the bare skin of his abdomen. He groaned audibly at the long awaited contact while his lips brushed her ear. She raised her face and allowed his lips to find hers. His lips were warm and his breathing ragged as minutes passed. As their lips parted and the kisses deepened, she struggled slightly, drawing away from him, panting to catch her breath. He searched her eyes for confirmation of what he already knew was next. Seeing her answer, he grinned, asking wickedly, "Your place or mine?"

She pulled away then and turning, began to walk away. His face betrayed a moment of confusion and then she turned to him again. "Mine," she said simply and held out her hand.

They Apparated directly into her bedroom. She turned to him and as he reached for her she gave him another long searching look. In his eyes she saw lust, but there was something more. A validation, a relief and an asking for her trust. She smiled her affirmation and proceeded to release his belt and the buttons holding up his trousers and they dropped to the floor along with his boxers. He stepped free of them and she pushed him back until he sat on the edge of the bed, then she knelt in front of him. She smiled up at him, cocked an eyebrow and as she took him in her mouth he groaned in pleasure. The night was spent in the frantic lovemaking of a desire long denied, but never forgotten. Making love repeatedly and thoroughly, each took extreme pleasure and gave it freely. Near dawn they collapsed in sated exhaustion. He lay on his back, one arm behind his head and the other curled around her shoulder as she rested her head on his chest, twirling one finger in the patch of curly hair between his legs.

"Yes," he purred, "that blow job was my fantasy, but then you knew that, didn't you?"

She grinned, mischievously. It was every man‘s fantasy. “I wasn’t sure at the time, but yes, I suspected. It was difficult because I was so young and didn't understand. It was so intense and I knew it wasn't coming from me, but I couldn't really deal with the implication of having your fantasy in my head. It was only later that I wondered if you really had thought of me. It all made sense, given the inappropriateness of the whole thing," she explained, as a sense of wonder crept over her. He had fantasized about her, too. It all made sense now.

"I thought of you then and many times over years, as well. Destroying you then was the worst thing I have ever had to do in my teaching career. It was probably as hard for me to look you in the face everyday after that as it was for you to look at me. Knowing that you hated me and were completely repulsed was nearly unbearable," Snape confessed, needing her to know that he had hated himself as well.

"Yes, I did hate you. The remainder of that school year was sheer torture for me. I hated your guts, but I loved Potions,” she admitted. "I knew what you had done and why, but it didn't stop the hatred. It was like a living thing inside of me. I knew it would fade, but that did nothing to diminish the strength of the revulsion I felt. It began to lessen by the time the following summer was over and I started the Apothecary program at University. Of course, we studied the potion and by the time it's effects had completely worn off I had worked myself into an angry snit over it, but the revulsion and hatred were gone. I would still see you in my fantasies and wondered if I were ever in your thoughts."

"You were most definitely in my thoughts," he said, stroking the soft flesh of her forearm. "For many months and then often over the years. I wondered what had become of you after University. I couldn't be more gratified that you have become a success. Those who have the aptitude for potions are relatively rare and you were exceptional."

"So what happens now? Do we go back to our lives and pretend that this never happened?" she asked. She was fully aware that he could see into her mind, but she was no good at Legilimency and had to ask.

"By no means do we pretend that this never happened," Snape frowned and spoke sharply. "It is a simple process to apparate from just outside the Hogwarts gates. I fully intend to pursue now what was once impossible. That is, if you are agreeable. You are completely justified if you choose otherwise, but it is my hope that you will not.”

She smiled at him and as his words sunk in, fatigue fell into place, dragging her down. She snuggled into his embrace and as sleep overtook her, she muttered something about first year and ensnaring senses.

"Indeed," the wizard whispered softly to himself.