When the Circle Burns

The rain had returned to Hogwarts with a quiet vengeance, tapping gently against the high arched windows of the Defense classroom. The scent of damp stone and parchment lingered in the air like a ghost refusing to leave.

Elara stood at the blackboard, chalk still in hand from a finished lesson. The students had filed out moments ago, their laughter echoing faintly down the corridor. Behind her, she heard the unmistakable sound of measured footsteps and did not need to turn to know who lingered.

"You stayed behind," she said flatly, wiping the board with a wave of her wand.

Snape didn't respond immediately. When she turned, she found him standing near her desk, fingers clasped behind his back, brow furrowed—not with disdain, but something else. Something more thoughtful. Calculated. Troubled.

"You felt it again, didn't you," he said lowly, as though even the stones might listen in.

Elara's eyes narrowed slightly, her posture still. "The magic."

He stepped closer. "It responded when we passed near the eastern wall yesterday. It's drawing tighter."

"I noticed."

There was a long pause. Neither moved. The flickering candlelight threw shadows across their faces—half illuminated, half unreadable.

"It's binding," he said finally. "Not just reacting. It wants something."

She tilted her head. "You've been studying it, then."

"I couldn't ignore it," he muttered, almost to himself. "And I—" He hesitated. "I think... we need to explore it further."

Her lips twitched at the corner, almost a smirk but far too contained. "Explore, Severus?"

He didn't flinch at her use of his first name—though it echoed strangely in the room, as though forbidden. Instead, he held her gaze, dark eyes gleaming. "For research purposes."

The silence cracked just slightly.

Elara raised a brow. "Ah. Of course. For science."

That almost-smirk returned as she stepped just a touch closer—barely enough to notice, but the air shifted. He felt it. That static warmth, the gravitational pull he'd been denying for weeks. She tilted her chin, mockingly curious.

"And what would this... experiment entail?"

His throat tightened, words briefly caught behind his teeth. Her voice was velvet and frost—measured, challenging, coaxing him to edge too close to the fire.

"Observation," he said hoarsely. "Proximity. Magical interaction."

"Proximity," she echoed, and stepped forward until they stood a breath apart.

The air between them trembled.

Their magic pulsed faintly. Elara felt it stir along her skin like heat without flame, like fingers that hadn't touched but already knew. Snape inhaled sharply and looked down at her, something unspoken crawling under his stern composure.

It would take nothing—nothing—for them to close the space between their mouths.

"Purely academic, of course," she murmured.

His voice was barely a whisper. "Naturally."

But neither moved.

It was unbearable—the tension, the ache of restraint. His body betrayed him first: heat rising through his chest, heart unsteady, a coil of want twisting in his gut. Her expression remained cold, but her breath had quickened just slightly.

They stayed like that. Seconds. Minutes.

Finally, Elara tilted her head back a fraction, her lips parting—

And Snape stepped away like he'd been burned. The movement was sharp. Mechanical.

"This is a mistake," he said, voice jagged, low.

"Most important discoveries start that way," she replied, voice as cool as always, though her eyes flickered with something else—curiosity. Control. Challenge.

"I'll send you my notes," he muttered, already halfway to the door.

"I'm sure they're thrilling."

He paused at the threshold but didn't turn. "You're not what I expected," he said quietly.

Elara smiled to herself once the door clicked shut.

Later That Night

Snape sat in his chambers, firelight casting angry shadows against the stone walls. His fingers twitched where they rested on his lap.

What had he done?

Proximity.

Observation.

It had meant nothing.

It had meant everything.

His mind wouldn't stop replaying the flicker in her gaze, the shift in her breath, the way she hadn't moved away. The way he'd wanted to touch her—wanted her, in a way that terrified him. It wasn't just the magic. It wasn't just curiosity.

It was her.

And that was unacceptable.

Elsewhere, in the North Wing

Elara sat by her small enchanted mirror, combing through her silver hair. Her fingers paused as she met her own reflection—flawless, controlled, the glamour still perfectly in place.

But beneath it, she could feel the heat of the moment still clinging to her skin.

Snape had nearly kissed her.

She had nearly let him.

And she wasn't sure what terrified her more.

Her fingers resumed their motion, slower this time.

"Research," she murmured aloud, her voice curling with amusement.

Perhaps it was.

But something else was beginning to spark—and they were both too intelligent to ignore it for long.