A few days passed simply wonderfully: it had finally warmed up, and Severus's mastery of goblin mental techniques, which at Flitwick's initiative took place outdoors with a beautiful view of the lake, wasn't going exactly smoothly, but quite successfully. It was harder for him to explain his techniques and Riddle's techniques to the Teacher - as they had agreed to call You-Know-Who. But Flitwick proved persistent, so Snape had to try on the role of teacher himself and understand that he wasn't exactly great at pedagogy. Not at all, to be precise. And engaging in this didn't appeal to him in the slightest.
With a colleague at Flitwick's level, it was still manageable: he knew no less than him, operated with the same concepts, and explanations boiled down to describing "how I do this" without any foolish digressions into "why," "what for," and "what will happen if it doesn't work." By the end of the week, both could quite freely exist in each other's memory and were now working on increasing sensitivity and various types of blocking.
"Well then, mentalism is a trump card for both of us." Severus smiled: finally he had managed protection that the Teacher couldn't penetrate unnoticed. "Merlin forbid we should find ourselves on different sides..."
"That's hardly possible. While you're on your side, I'm on it too."
"And vice versa."
"Yes, we needn't fear each other. But we must keep in mind that someday we - or rather, our... employers - might not be allies."
"Undoubtedly."
"Well then, today we'll work on such a comprehensively wonderful topic as women," he measured his student with a long look and sighed displeasedly: "Make your eyes smaller and your face simpler, my friend, and remind me what you recently wanted from me?"
"Advice on how to get rid of the attention of older female students..."
"More specifically? How does the attention of female students bother you? Do they make eyes at you?"
"If it were only eyes. They'll stick out a knee so I'm sure to see it, or smear themselves with love potion, or perfume - it reeks, or they'll open their robes, and there's such clothing underneath... ahem. After the 'unwashed hair' idea, they at least stopped trying to press against me in narrow passages. I am a normal healthy man. Young. And..." he waved his hand, "sometimes this is already beyond all limits!"
"And what do you feel during this?" asked Flitwick, putting on his face the naivety appropriate to the content of the question.
"A Jesuitical question," Snape stated, compressing the corners of his mouth. "And this from my almost century-old Teacher."
Flitwick looked at him silently, waiting. Severus snorted.
"Voice the answer? Pressure in the groin. And. This. Irritates. Me."
"Does their behavior irritate you, or your reaction?"
"Everything!"
"My friend... Girls are nature... they are an elemental force. Let's start with you, nevertheless."
Severus looked at the Teacher with interest.
"This is your physiology, and trying to do something about it is like spitting against the wind. One shouldn't go against nature itself, even if you're thrice a great wizard. And you're not even once great yet, or am I not informed? Do you seriously consider it reasonable to be irritated at yourself for being a normal healthy man? Think and announce your reasoning to me."
The silence dragged on somewhat, finally Severus said:
"Yes, you know how to turn things around..."
"And you know how to bury yourself in your own prejudices. Very strange ones, I dare say. Your puberty passed long ago, for these questions to make you blush. And young girls should evoke not irritation in you, even if they try to behave too boldly, in your view."
"You what... Me?.. This is a school!"
"Merlin's beard, what does school have to do with it," the half-goblin waved his hands.
The twenty-two-year-old Snape, indignant that girls were interested in him, amused and simultaneously alarmed the seasoned spy. This unhealthy tendency would have to be somehow overcome, and apparently, this task had fallen to him... Unexpectedly. But he had something to share - not for nothing had he postponed this conversation for a week. And he continued:
"Little girls, whose everything hasn't grown yet, and if it has grown, it hasn't matured here," he tapped his finger on his forehead, "are one hormonal storm and complete zero experience. And just as much knowledge and skill. What can they give you? Well... something, of course, they can. Freshness and sharpness of sensations. But for you, this sharpness will mostly be in breaking the prohibition and the looming prospect of Azkaban. Here I completely agree with you, this is absolutely unnecessary. Neither for you nor for them, whatever they might think about it themselves."
Severus, who had turned crimson, caught his breath. No one had ever spoken to him like this. No one had talked to him about this at all, for that matter... And Flitwick handled the topic completely freely. Well yes, age, experience. Interesting, did he... have someone? Maybe he even has children? No, he wouldn't ask him.
And the Teacher continued to say completely seditious things, but in such a tone as if he were giving a classification of household spells in class.
"You need to release tension, including that which arises in your loins."
He glanced at his student and became indignant:
"Stop blushing already, Severus, are you a scholar or what?! I understand, of course, that sublimation of sexual energy into mental gives quite good results, especially judging by your recent work. And that's wonderful. But the release of energy in its own channel, I dare tell you, is no worse, and most importantly - different. And it also acts quite beneficially on your beloved mental activity, though not immediately. You're a researcher, my friend, it makes sense for you to try and practice, preferably regularly. But you need a professional, at least initially. We'll plan this for tomorrow."
The last phrase, in Severus's opinion, was definitely excessive.
"I don't need anyone!"
"Studen-t... don't get uppity. The Teacher sees the point, which means your task is to find it too. Rinse your hair properly. However..."
He waved his hand, jumped down from the high chair, returning it to its original state of a large boulder with a wave of his hand, and without looking back, headed toward the castle.
***
Severus fulfilled the instruction about his hair. There was no point in desperately clinging to his own if he had agreed to be a student. An experiment on himself... Decided, that's how he would relate to it. But who could have foreseen such a turn?
The Muggle clothes were prepared for him by house-elves, apparently also at Filius's request - they lay on a chair by the bed when he came out of the bathroom in a carelessly thrown-on robe. He turned over in his hands some blue rough fabric trousers with spacious legs widening toward the bottom and a t-shirt, fortunately black and quite loose. He sighed. Got dressed. Secured his wand, put some Muggle money in his pocket - he kept a reserve out of old habit. Sighed again: it was time to go.
"Heart-rending sounds," the half-goblin commented somewhat poisonously, immediately appearing nearby. "Morning, Severus."
"Invisibility charms... Did he just sit here? And... did I dress in front of him?"
Flitwick snorted, making it clear that he had read his thoughts, but didn't dignify him with an answer.
They reached the border of the anti-Apparition zone quickly and silently. The Teacher Apparated him himself, explaining nothing beforehand. A fresh wind with a light smell of smoke hit his face. Severus sniffed.
"The sea nearby? The smell..."
"Yes. Want to Apparate to the shore?"
He shrugged.
"Business first."
Flitwick smiled widely.
"At first I was thinking of taking you to professionals... But you're too good for those who love for money. However well they might know how to... it's not that. We'll still have time for that. (Severus shuddered slightly). You say business... Let it be business. Just remember that as a scientist, you have no right to abstract yourself."
"Still, where are we?"
"Pembrey. A small village in Wales. If we go up a bit more, an excellent view of Carmarthen Bay will open up. What do you know about flower children, Severus?"
"What? I'm hearing this for the first time... What is it?"
"And hippies?"
"Well... something flickered by, but I never took interest. Some strange youth."
"You speak as if you yourself are an old man. But the fact that you don't know is rather good. You'll see and understand everything yourself, relying on nothing except your own experience. Yes, that's definitely better."
They slowly descended the hill, going around sparse trees.
A bonfire on the riverbank, a couple of strange trailers... The nasty smell of gasoline... ah, no longer, only near the cars. People in bright and colorful clothes.
"Where have you dragged me, teacher? To gypsies? Or is this a traveling circus? I can't believe it!"
"And don't believe, Severus," Flitwick smiled into his bushy mustache, with a light movement casting invisibility charms on both of them. "Sit down... We must let you look around, or you'll start doing all sorts of foolish things. Sit, watch, breathe... observe."
Below, small drums began to beat out a slightly ragged rhythm. A guitar joined in quietly. And after a few bars, a simple and pure violin melody entered their conversation with inexpressible tenderness. People in bright clothes, mostly young, began gathering in a circle around the bonfire. One of the women began to sing.
…When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me,
Speaking words of wisdom —
Let it be…
In an amazing way, it turned out that this was a song about him too... The voice, slightly hoarse, not strong, but confident in something he didn't even know. They began to sing along to her, swaying, embracing each other, and he felt as if he were peeking through an open window at an intimate scene: awkward, but... beautiful and impossible to look away.
"Tergeo," the Teacher whispered, embracing his shoulders. He drew a ragged breath and only then felt his face drying from the induced warm breeze. He didn't want to listen further: this song was enough for him, but then a guy stood up in the circle, apparently his age, with such a voice...
...Hey, Jude... Don't hang your head, there are enough tears in our life as it is...
"Don't hang your head, Severus..."
This voice, light and clear, was so convincing - apparently believed, sincerely believed... no, KNEW he was right.
"Hey Jude, don't be afraid," the singer looked directly at him, and Severus understood: the invisibility charms no longer existed. "You were made to go out and get her..."
He stood up and walked forward, toward them, as if responding to the lines that had just sounded. The circle parted as soon as he approached, and then something incredible happened: someone's hands were on his shoulders, someone held him by the belt, and he became part of this circle, swaying to the beat of the song, left-right with everyone...
The song ended, the hands let go, the singer smiled gap-toothed, winked and lightly punched him in the shoulder with his fist. Severus responded to him in kind, not very confidently. No one asked where he had come from. A girl by the bonfire waved her hand, calling everyone over, and he was swept along by random neighbors.
He was handed a mug with some cheap but obviously strong brew, which quickly made his head light, too quickly - so that afterward he tried to mostly pretend to drink. He was passed a well-worn bowl with some incomprehensible but, as it turned out, quite edible and even tasty contents.
They gradually got acquainted with him, giving either nicknames or fragments of names. Severus called himself Rook, and that was quite enough for those who were at all interested in him. To his surprise, there were quite a few. Bubble (a girl who constantly blew bubbles with chewing gum), Old Man (who was hardly younger than the rest), Beard, Beatlemaniac, McCartney (that same singer, "just Mac, buddy!"), One and a Half Ears (Severus was even shown!), Claw, Robin, Little Tail (a thin girl with braids), Racer, Dragonfly, Musician (this guy could play all the instruments in this camp)... His head was light, and it no longer wanted to remember anyone else...
The dishes were taken from him and his neighbors by Dragonfly, shaking her copper-red curls and carrying them to wash by the stream. A quiet black-haired girl in a bright colorful shawl either on her skirt or replacing it joined her along the way - he didn't get a good look. The guy who sang, McCartney (is this a real name or?), looking at him, took a drag and passed his cigarette around the circle. Severus was confused: he had never tried smoking, even in his Muggle environment in Spinner's End, no one particularly smoked, somehow it worked out that way.
When it reached him, he carefully drew smoke into his mouth and was about to inhale, but immediately began coughing and, causing general laughter, tensed up, already ready to respond to the offense. But the laughter continued and sounded... completely inoffensive! And this discovery shocked him perhaps more than anything. They laughed somehow softly, restrainedly, someone patted him on the shoulder, someone winked conspiratorially... He didn't know such a thing was possible - to feel at home among complete strangers within an hour.
The black-haired girl crouched down in front of him, and he realized with surprise that the scarf really was replacing her skirt: the patterned fabric had parted, revealing a tender-creamy slender thigh, and he looked away with great effort to look at her face.
"Call me Breeze."
"And you call me Rook."
"I know. You're similar," she pulled him by the hand into a new circle, where small and ringing drums were already beating rhythm, near one of which he saw Flitwick. No, he probably wouldn't even have seen him if he hadn't waved his hand. Some confusion was beginning in his head...
Breeze... A pretty girl, black-haired, almost like him, was completely unlike any of his acquaintances. There she moved her shoulder... Smiled. Nicely, as if he really was... interesting to her. He tried to explain to her that he absolutely couldn't dance, but she burst out laughing as if it were an excellent joke.
"That doesn't happen!" she declared confidently. "Everyone can, and you'll find this out right now."
And she did pull him into the circle. Two guys - McCartney and, it seemed, Thrush - began in duet...
...We Can Work it Out...
The rhythm, light, accelerating the heartbeat, leading along, making him move - he took a step, another - warm strong fingers took his hand, turning him, pushing, and he, as for the first time in the general circle, flowed into this rhythm and this music. And again it turned out to be easy.
The rhythm accelerated, the moving flexible young bodies were gilded by the setting sun. Spicy-humid scents of grasses and river mixed, heated skin so close. She touches his hands, nestles against his very chest, from which heat rises inside, but, led by the rhythm, pulls away to return after a few beats back, to him, she... seems... pleased. In the circle, two couples almost merge with each other - how can dance be so frank? How can one do so, in front of everyone? He feels himself blushing and tries not to look in their direction anymore.
Breeze... Returning with the next wave of dance, she stands on tiptoes and kisses him on the... nose. Snorts, giggles, seeing his confusion and... no longer moves away. As if specially the musicians slow the rhythm, changing the song.
"Don't Let Me Down..." Thrush seems to address him... Though, of course, it's deception - the guy looks in a completely different direction, at the one who sang... Robin, yes.
And Breeze, warm, flexible, between his two palms lying on her waist - when did he manage? His breath catches, palms become moist, below... it begins.
"Don't Let Me Down..." she begins to quietly sing along.
He quietly freaks out from the content of the little song... Well, if... He won't let her down. It seems he has never breathed so deeply. The sunset sun no longer gilds, but embraces with red glints a couple of light clouds in the west, and red reflects the hot and tender skin nearby. She presses against... What are you doing to me, what are you doing?!
Somehow they find themselves on the shore away from everyone - sounds barely reach them, and the bonfire is quite far... The skirt-scarf becomes their bed. This night he learns what it means to have sky in diamonds. They were of different sizes and brightness, it was impossible to know and feel them all, but they tried. It even seemed to him that she had grown another pair of hands, and he immediately regretted that he couldn't grow some for himself too. Barely restraining himself from falling asleep on the waves of receding sharp pleasure, he managed to think that it was worth repeating, and also he'd need to brew Filius a whole cauldron of Felix...
Yes, however many forces young and healthy people have, they also end sometime. They fell asleep before dawn, wrapped in that same scarf - it was enough for two...
***
A sunbeam... no, Gentle sits next to him with a small mirror in her hands and plays with a sunbeam... She removes it immediately as soon as he, squinting, opens his eyes.
"Hi. How are things?" cool lips kiss him on the nose.
Things... He smiles and understands that nothing needs to be said. Just like that, everything's simple...
She's not dressed, only covered by her long black hair, gleaming in the sun. So beautiful... He rises to give her the skirt. She laughs and kisses him again. Again on the nose. Tenderly and ticklishly, as if a butterfly lands.
His nature already demands its due, but he finds strength to ask, incomprehensible even to himself why, but he wanted to know, that's all.
"Why do you kiss it?"
"Kiss who?"
"My nose..."
"So what? Isn't it allowed?"
He grins:
"I never thought this beak was good for kisses."
Ringing laughter - forget about little bells, they're generally about nothing - becomes his answer.
And then she lies right on his chest with her wonderful breast. What are you doing, crazy girl, in the morning! - he wants to exclaim, but clenches his teeth because she wants to say something...
"Silly," hot whisper in his ear makes shivers run. "It's simply created for kisses."
He's already breathing heavily, looking into her such close radiant eyes. And she whispers right into his lips:
"You were created for love. We're all created for love."
***
Later, everything else will be later... The Teacher will leave him here - for a week. And will be right. During this time feelings won't cool, but the veil will fall from his eyes.
He will yet learn the bitterness of their "free love." He will yet see both dirt and the crushing weight on feelings and consciousness after euphoria with a joint... Generosity and wretchedness mixed so that they can no longer be distinguished... Powerless protest - and the strength to live so, not like everyone. All later. Non-resistance to evil will be hardest for him to understand, but he will understand, knowing already for certain that this is not his. He is a fighter. And therefore...
He will understand but not accept and will go his own way. But he will learn much. To forgive. To feel. To understand. And even to sing.
And for now - for several days he will simply be loved and desired. Just like that. Several days. Sometimes that's not little at all.
Let it be...