While Phoenix prepared to leave, Snape sat behind his desk, studying his notes and trying to make sense of her performance. She knew too much that was not in the curriculum, but she could not prepare a basic first-year potion. There had been mistakes, but most of them were on subjects so trivial, he never expected anyone to bother memorising them. Her laboratory techniques were flawless, although highly unusual at times, and her movements had a fluidity that could only come from years of work. Even while Snape clung to his suspicions and doubts, he could not suppress the thought that it would be a joy to teach someone like her. He shook his head as if trying to shake the thought from his mind. It was preposterous.

Snape had hated Phoenix on sight.

When he came down from breakfast that morning, his first sight of her, with her arms upraised, brushing back her long hair, awakened a familiar longing. Phoenix reminded him of the pureblood girls that had starred in his teenage fantasies. Although not a spectacular beauty, her features were pleasant enough. Her hair was an ordinary shade of brown, but she did have green eyes—he always noticed green eyes—and a good figure, which she flaunted shamelessly with her revealing Muggle clothing. Overall, though, her appeal came from something she radiated from inside—poise and confidence, and something that was impish and sexual at the same time. In real life, girls like Phoenix had teased and scorned him, or turned away while passing him in the corridors, letting their eyes slide past him as if he were a leper. They sauntered through the classrooms and common rooms, confident of a superiority that came only from birth. They were always well bred, but usually stupid and spoiled, and too conceited to give him the time of day.

As he sat and tried to put a label on her, rather than forming one of his ironclad opinions, he only grew more confused. She was a misfit, a puzzle even, and she did not belong at Hogwarts. Deciding he needed to study her further, he stood and walked silently to the doorway of his lab. Phoenix’s hands moved among the equipment, purging the cauldrons, cleaning up spills, reminding him of a woman cleaning her kitchen after a family meal. That thought gave him a sudden insight—she had the face of a girl, but she behaved with the composure of a grown woman.

Phoenix was not brazen and cocky, he thought, but poised and self-assured. Although he had used every opportunity to insult or berate her, she was still able to look him in the eye at the end of the day. He could not remember the last time a student had been able to stand up to him. And she did it without anger, remaining composed even though his tongue had been acid, almost brutal.

Except for the last time, he thought, and the realisation that he had hurt her gave him unprecedented pang of regret, both for the pain he had given her and the loss of a possible friend. He imagined sitting by the fire during Hogwarts’ long winter evenings, talking with a woman who was articulate, and whose conversation hinted at a breadth of knowledge that went beyond potions. What a mystery she was. She was too experienced to be just a girl, despite her youthful body.

Thinking of her body beneath the shapeless robe brought on a flush of desire so strong he had to grasp the doorframe to steady himself. How could I be thinking like this? No matter what her true age was, there were rules that should not be broken.

Although the sensations were not uncontrollable, the onslaught of feelings made him so uncomfortable with himself that he used one of his Occlumency tricks to banish them. On the edge of the worktable, she had piled a stack of cauldrons, and he focused on these, taking in the dull sheen of the pewter and the crusty curves of pots blackened from years of use, studying and memorising every detail until his mind had no room for any other thought.

He didn’t notice that she had turned to face him until she spoke.

“What did you say?”

“You’re trying to fight it,” she said.

“Fight what?” he asked, alarmed that she had read his lustful thoughts.

“The love potion.”

She smiled a little and his heart lurched. He wanted to smile back just for joy of seeing her wonderful smile. It was crooked, lifting just one side of her face most of the time, and radiated both mischief and a childlike sweetness, transforming her face from ordinary into irresistible. Then he frowned, because there was something crazy about the way she made him feel. I’m going insane. Her silly potion couldn’t be doing this to me.

“Right now you are feeling things that seem unreal. They are too potent, and too pleasurable to be allowed. At least for you, I suspect. That particular potion affects everyone in different ways.” She gave him a warm, knowing smile, and he realised with awe that she had read not his mind, but his heart. He admired her. He wanted her. And he had hated her only because he assumed that someone like her would give him nothing but contempt.

“In a few minutes you will stop wanting to fight it. You won’t even remember the reasons why it was so important to fight it in the first place. A few minutes after that, and you’ll be unable to fight the potion altogether.”

She tossed the towel she was holding onto the table and said, “I’d like a real wash.”

*****

Phoenix stepped into his office and stopped at the wall of books, wondering if he knew what a treasure they were, all those lovely, precious, magical books. They reminded her of the library that the Ministry had taken from her. In his present condition, Snape would be eager to make her happy, and she decided to take advantage.

“Do you think I could look at your books before I leave? And maybe borrow one or two?”

“Well…” he began, as if he was torn between the desire to please her and possessiveness. He scanned the rows of books and then her face. “All right. But if you don’t remain at Hogwarts, I expect them back immediately.”

“Of course. Also, when I come back, would you give me directions to the kitchen? I’m starved, and I know dinner is over.”

“Certainly.”

She removed her robe in the restroom and took stock. Her sexy, revealing clothing didn’t seem like such a good idea after all, considering that Snape needed little encouragement to start howling at her like a love-starved wolf. But she hated eating in her work robe when she didn’t know what nasty things clung to its surface. While she scrubbed her hands and face, she told herself that she could handle him. She hoped. Night of Passion could be dangerous in the wrong hands, but she thought his animosity expressed itself verbally rather than physically. If she were lucky, she would never find out.

When she returned from the restroom he was staring at the bookshelves with a smug look on his face.

“I was just thinking,” he said, “that I haven’t eaten all day, either. So I asked a house elf to bring us some food. It will be here in a few minutes.”

Phoenix wanted to share a meal with Snape like she wanted a rattlesnake bite. “Thank you,” she said. “That was very thoughtful.”

She stood beside him. “So many lovely books.”

“Do you like books?”

“Yes.” She wondered how much to reveal. “There have been times in my life when books were denied to me. Particularly magic books. Why don’t wizards have free libraries?”

“I’ve never thought about it. I suppose Muggles have lots of them. Why were books denied to you?”

“It’s a long story. That looks interesting,” she said, changing the subject by pointing to a fat volume bound in green leather. His stacks were so tall that he had a library ladder to reach the top shelves. She slid it over and climbed up two steps to take down Potion Shortcuts.

“Is there anything useful in this?” She twisted her body, not just to look at him, but so her behind was not right in front of his face.

“Yes. I’ve used a number of tips from there.” He took the book from her and laid it on his desk. His smile told her that he was enjoying this far too much.

“Counter Curses—How to Protect Yourself from the Bully Wizard or Witch. Let’s hope I never need that one.” She passed it over, looking for more Potions books.

He had a lot of volumes on defensive magical theory, and she almost had too much to choose from. “Making Inert Ingredients Work for You,” she said with scepticism.

She was going to pass it up, but he said, “You might want to take that one. It’s a lot more useful than the title suggests.”

She loaded it into her arms, as well as two more books on Potions. From the topmost corner of the shelves, gold leaf glittered in the lamplight. She recognised the red leather binding and fancy script as Brownlee’s Odd Potions and Magical Curiosities. She braced the elbow of her book-laden right arm against the ladder, leaned out, and then caught the top of the book with her fingertips and slid it into her grasp. When she leaned back, she lost her balance. She swayed on the third step of the ladder until she felt hands on the bare skin at her waist.

“Here, let me help.” He lifted her down from the ladder and set her on her feet. Phoenix was short and slender, but had an athletic build.

“Okay, I admit it. You’re very strong,” she said with a nervous laugh.

He chuckled and leaned forward with his hands still on her waist. “And you’re very beautiful.” He was close enough for his warm breath to brush against that most sensuous spot, the nape of her neck. What disarmed her, though, was his voice. The instrument that he used so roughly now created a sensual purr. A tingle ran down her spine and she shivered.

“That’s the potion talking,” she said as she twisted out of his grasp. She needed to draw some boundaries for him before she did something idiotic. “Please don’t do that again.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.” He showed a little embarrassment, but what she noticed most of all were his eyes. Without the haughty look, they were the saddest eyes she had ever seen. She also noticed that he had an unusual level of self-control. Most men would have had her backed up against the bookshelves by now.

Folly arrived with plates of sandwiches, which she laid out on his desk. They settled across from each other and began their meal in silence.

“How old are you?” he asked.

I’d better nip this in the bud, she thought. “I’m not going to bed with you,” she said. “So even if I were a minor, which I’m not, my age makes no difference.”

He glared, his cheeks reddening. “I was wondering,” he said with a voice like a cold wind, “if I might offer you a glass of wine.”

“Oh. Sorry.” She tried to pass it off with a sheepish grin. “Maybe something stronger?”

“Brandy?”

“Perfect.”

He rose and went to a small ornate cabinet behind his desk. Phoenix could see bottles and glasses when he opened it.

“Of course,” he said as he set out glasses and poured, “I was well aware that if you were old enough to drink, you would be old enough to…er…consent.” A smile played at the corners of his lips. “Don’t worry, you are quite safe. I’m not one to force my attentions where they are not wanted,” he said, confirming her suspicions.

I need to get out of here.

The strange thing, though, was that he didn’t make her feel uncomfortable. She could see in the softening of his expression, and the ways his eyes lingered on her, that he was powerfully attracted, but his manner remained reserved, almost formal. It was if his expectations were so low that he was content to sit and talk to her.

He sat and took a second sandwich from the tray. Just as Phoenix had done, he cut it into smaller pieces with his knife. He took his brandy, swirled it, and sniffed before taking a small sip. His eyes met hers over his glass, and he frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“Your table manners are very gentlemanly. I never would have guessed.”

“Now there’s a backhanded compliment if I ever heard one.”

She laughed a little to herself but chose not to apologise. She took a slow sip of brandy and discovered it to be quite good.

“It comes from being a scion of one of the old families,” he said.

“Scion? You’re erudite as well.”

“Yes. Courtly manners, erudition, all that.”

“Well, don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

He looked puzzled. “About my lineage?”

Her mischievous, half-smile lighted her face. “I was talking about your manners.”

He gave her a mock scowl, and she smiled even more brightly at him in return.

“This brandy is very good,” she said. “Blackberries?”

“Yes. Thank you. I make it myself.”

“Really?” A thought came to her and she cocked her head toward the darkened lab. “In there?”

“Yes, of course.”

She shuddered and put down her glass. “Do the words ‘cross-contamination’ mean anything to you?”

His scowl was real now. “I assure you it is quite safe. I am a potions master, not some backwoods hedgewizard making firewhisky for the locals.”

She did not know why, but she found it hard to take his moods very seriously. She chuckled. “No, of course not. You are a scion of one of the old families.” She held up her glass. “To the your lineage.”

He narrowed his eyes, as if unsure if he was being ridiculed or not, but raised his glass to tap it against hers.

Phoenix watched Snape, trying to decide what she thought of him. He was nasty, and so cold and cruel there was probably no hope for him to have normal relationships. Underneath, though, he might not be so bad. Well, at least not entirely bad. He had to have some redeeming qualities. The love potion brought out aspects of his personality that he kept well-hidden. It made her sad that it took a potion to bring out his better side, and she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He was rather ugly, too, but that was due in part to his habitual sneer. Tall and slender, he moved with a sensuous cat-like grace—when he was not storming out of the lab in a rage.

As if he read her thoughts, he asked, “What does it take to attract a woman like you?”

Phoenix choked on her bite of sandwich, coughed, took a sip of water, and blurted out, “Try washing your hair.” Instead of his usual icy expression, the potion let him show his hurt. Phoenix berated herself for her tactlessness.

“Never mind. Forget I asked.” He looked at her with those sad eyes again and she felt like a heel.

“No, I’m sorry. That was terribly rude. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, really. I tend to be too frank sometimes, and a bit impetuous.” She watched as his face closed up like a flower after sundown. The potion had made him open up to her, but his habits were so strong, they could almost counteract it.

“So that was the truth, not just something you said to upset me.”

“Well, yes, partially the truth.”

“I suppose there is nothing wrong with the truth.”

“Oh, yes there is,” she said in a rush, trying to undo the damage she had done. “When the truth is hurtful, it’s often an unkindness to share it. It’s wiser to keep it inside if it will do no good and only cause pain.”

He studied her, an unreadable expression in his dark eyes. “You don’t like to hurt people,” he said, his voice very flat.

“No, of course not. ” She looked up and noted with relief that he had relaxed. “We make too many unintentional mistakes in life,” she said, “to be adding any more weight to our burdens of shame and guilt with cruel or thoughtless acts.”

She had struck a nerve. His shoulders twitched as if trying to shake off an unpleasant emotion. He stared at her with his cold, dark eyes until she could no longer meet his gaze.

“A question like that deserves a serious answer,” she said to break the spell. God, get me out of here. She thought first of the things he seemed to lack. “I guess kindness, compassion, a sense of humour.” He did have a sense of humour, although a very warped one. Phoenix wondered for a second what it said about her that she found some of his worst taunts rather clever and amusing. “Wit and intelligence, self-respect, trustworthiness.”

“What about appearances?” he asked, crestfallen. At least he seemed to suffer from no illusions about himself.

“They only matter to the extent that a man shows respect for himself and others by taking care of himself, and following certain social norms. ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder’ isn’t just a cliché. The more you like the personality within, the less the outside matters.”

They continued to eat in uncomfortable silence. Phoenix squirmed a little in her seat and tried not to look at the jars of slimy things that lined the walls. The potion once again reasserted its control over him, and he watched her with an open expression of desire. Snape opened his mouth and then shut it several times, as if he wanted to keep the conversation going but didn’t know what to say.

“Tell me about this potion,” he said at last.

“All right.” She sipped her brandy. “Well, first of all, it’s called ‘Night of Passion’ for a very good reason. You may have noticed that it has some very powerful aphrodisiacs.” She could not stop herself from saying with an impish grin, “If you didn’t notice when I made it, you’re noticing it now.”

He blushed and shifted in his seat, and she thought that if his prick was uncomfortable, then that was what he deserved for being such a prick.

“The second group of ingredients serve to reduce inhibitions and alter mood. So, you are powerfully randy and you want to act on it.”

Snape’s blush deepened, and he looked about the room rather than at her.

“Now, I’ll bet you noticed that I didn’t use Ashwinder eggs.”

“Yes, I did. How do you expect to make someone fall in love without them?” The question helped him recover some of his composure.

“I don’t. That’s not what the potion is for.”

“Then you did not make a love potion.”

“Ah, but I did. You see, it is a potion for lovers, not a potion to make people love each other. Which you can’t do, anyway. Did you notice that I used a bit of Jobberknoll feathers—what you’d use in truth serum?”

“What were they for?”

“To allow the persons using the potion to come face-to-face with their true feelings. That’s why it’s sometimes called Lovers’ Truth Serum. And it’s why I needed the hairs. It’s a user-specific potion.” She decided to throw him a curve ball. “Do you hate me right now?”

He stared at his plate as if searching his feelings, but the answer was quick and firm. “No.”

“You clearly don’t love me, but whatever you may have said or done today, you feel something positive toward me.”

Snape gazed at her face, too far gone in the potion to feel embarrassment. “I suppose I do,” he said.

“Here is the beauty of this potion: the emotional clarity remains after the potion has worn away. Because what you feel under the influence of this potion is the truth, only enhanced somewhat, and brought to the surface so you must face it. In the morning, you may resent what happened tonight, and you may rehash all the things you told yourself that made you act the way you did, but you’ll also not be able to deny the fact there is something about me you like. If you feel attracted to me now, then you already were before you drank it.”

Snape looked at her with such longing that she began to feel sorry for him. He was going to have a very long, lonely night.

“What if they don’t love each other, but only think they do?”

“Then it can become very dangerous.” She took a bite of her sandwich, while getting the words right in her head. “There was a case of a boy who acquired some for his girlfriend and himself. He was trying to get her to go to bed with him, but he didn’t know that she was going to break up with him that night. She had sensed that he was dangerous and became afraid. When he drank the potion, she refused to, and poured it out. He didn’t love her, he was angry at her, he had violent tendencies, and he was under the influence of some powerful aphrodisiacs.”

“He raped her,” Snape said.

“Yes. After that, the woman who invented it refused to make it any more.” Phoenix, being that woman, still felt guilt when she thought of it.

“So, what good is it?”

“It’s a wonderful potion for couples,” Phoenix said. “Particularly for older couples who want to have a special night. It helps them remember what it felt like when their love was new. They remember all the reasons why they fell in love in the first place. The aphrodisiacs also help people who’ve reached that age when the libido needs a kick-start. It’s supposed to be very romantic. Newlyweds like it, too, if they are still a little shy around each other physically. Of course, nowadays, with people jumping in the sack the moment they meet, that doesn’t seem to be so much of a problem.”

Snape turned scarlet, and she knew that was exactly what he had been thinking about. She tried not to smile at him. He was suffering enough. “And then there is the fire,” she said.

“What about the fire?”

“The magical fire is what pulls it all together and strengthens the potion. It galvanises it. Without fire, it would just be a mishmash of herbs and things that would create a muddle of feelings and desires. Even the aphrodisiacs wouldn’t be as strong.”

“That’s very interesting,” he said. “I’ve never heard of setting a potion on fire, except to actually turn the ingredients into ash.”

They had finished their meal, and Phoenix rose. Out of long habit, she stacked her dishes in a neat pile and placed her serviette on top. “There is something I’d like to do for you,” she said.

“What’s that?” Snape looked like a child who thinks he might get a trip to the sweet shop.

“A sleeping draught,” she said. “It will be a long, uncomfortable night for you. The best way to get through it is to sleep.”

His face fell. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Please, let me do this. I never thought you would actually drink the potion, but I do feel responsible. Please. It would make me feel better about the whole thing.”

He agreed with reluctance, and she quickly stepped into the lab to stir up a simple potion.

“Here,” she said when she returned, handing him a phial. “I want to see you drink it up.”

He took the draught, pursed his lips, and drank the whole thing in one swallow.

“Good,” she said. “Now you’ll go to sleep and have sweet dreams.” She smiled her uneven smile. “Very sweet, vivid, memorable dreams.”

She gathered up her belongings and the books she had chosen, bade him goodnight, and left his office. As soon as the door was shut behind her, she let out a huge sigh of relief, and almost ran to her rooms, worried that he might open the door and try to call her back.