The Art of Deception

The fire crackled softly in the dimly lit private parlour of the Three Broomsticks Inn. The scent of spiced mead and aged wood filled the air, mingling with the lingering traces of perfume clinging to Katya’s skin. She lay with her head resting against Severus’s shoulder, her fingers idly tracing patterns on his forearm. 

The man could feel the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, merging with those already clinging to his skin. Their bodies had been entwined only minutes ago, limbs tangled in a fervour that had left them both breathless. The air in the dimly lit room was thick with the lingering heat of their passion, the scent of skin and desire still heavy around them.

Severus allowed himself a rare moment of satisfaction, feeling a smug sort of pleasure in the necessity of having placed Silencing Charms on the room. He liked knowing he could make someone feel this way—utterly lost in him, in his touch, in his presence. It was a heady thought, one that settled deep in his chest like a quiet triumph.

Beside him, Katya lay sprawled against the mattress, her body loose with the aftermath of their shared pleasure. She could barely feel her legs, her mind floating somewhere between wakefulness and the haze of sleep. Yet, she forced herself to focus, to listen to the steady cadence of Severus’s voice as he spoke—though about what, exactly, was becoming increasingly difficult to grasp.

He was complaining about something. Work, most likely. His tone was tinged with that familiar dry exasperation, his irritation barely veiled beneath the languid exhaustion that followed their coupling. Katya wanted to listen, she truly did. It wasn’t that she found him uninteresting—on the contrary, she enjoyed hearing him speak, his deep voice washing over her like a soothing tide. But right now, after what they had just done, her entire being felt like it had been unravelled and pieced back together in a way she had never quite experienced before.

Her head felt light, almost dazed, as though Severus had managed to unlock something in her that no one else had before. It was a strange, intoxicating sensation—one that left her feeling utterly satiated, but also oddly vulnerable. She wanted to show him, in some small way, that she appreciated this moment, that she appreciated him. And so, despite the overwhelming pull of sleep, she fought to keep her eyes open, to stay present, to give him the simple gift of her attention.

Severus, for his part, seemed oblivious to her struggle, still lost in his own thoughts as he ran a hand through his damp hair. He exhaled sharply, his irritation evident even in repose.

“I fail to see why I must be subjected to such nonsense,” he muttered. “As if overseeing a group of insufferable teenagers wasn’t tedious enough, now I am expected to instruct them in matters as utterly pointless as ballroom dancing.”

“You sound positively miserable,” she murmured, amusement lacing her voice.

“I am,” Severus replied dryly. “If I have to endure one more night of watching a group of Slytherin imbeciles stumble over their own feet, I may well hex them into next week.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, irritation still etched into his expression. “The Yule Ball is an archaic, frivolous waste of time.”

Katya chuckled, shifting so that she could meet his gaze. “And yet, you—a formidable Potions Master, feared by students and respected by peers—have spent your evenings teaching clumsy children how to waltz?”

He scowled. 

“Dumbledore insisted. Apparently, allowing them to publicly humiliate themselves on the dance floor is not an option.”

“How noble of you.” She smirked, brushing her lips against his jaw before pulling back. “Perhaps you ought to put all that effort to good use.”

Katya let out a soft, breathy chuckle, tilting her head slightly to look at him. Severus shot her a withering glance. 

“Laugh all you like. I assure you, it has been nothing short of a nightmare.”

She hummed in amusement, stretching lazily beneath the sheets before propping herself up on one elbow.  “Are you any good at it yourself?” She asked, arching a brow.

“I am proficient.” He scoffed. 

“How very modest of you.” Katya smirked. 

 “If you are insinuating that I am incapable, I can assure you—” He narrowed his eyes at her.

She cut him off with a grin. 

“Then prove it.”

 “What?” Severus blinked.

“Teach me,” she said simply, her tone both playful and challenging.

His lips parted, as if to argue, but then he sighed, shaking his head. 

“You are insufferable.”

“You weren't saying that a few minutes ago.” She said, her smirk widening.

With a reluctant grumble, he sat up, reaching for his wand to flick away the tangled sheets. He extended a hand towards her, and she took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

The wooden floor was cool beneath her bare feet as he placed one hand at her waist and took her other hand in his. His grip was firm, his movements precise as he guided her into position. So the girl took advantage and grabbed his waist as well, drawing him back to her mischievously.

“No games, Katya.” he warned, moving it back into her previous place. “Pay attention.”

“Yes, profesor.” She bit back a grin. She really liked it when he was this dominant.

He led her through the steps, his movements smooth and practiced. To her surprise, he was a good dancer—graceful, deliberate, as he always was in everything he did. She followed his lead, her body responding instinctively to his.

“You’re not terrible at this.” he admitted begrudgingly after a few turns.

“High praise indeed.” She laughed softly. “My former dance teacher would be pleased with your compliment.”

He placed one hand at her waist and took her other hand in his own, his grip firm but careful. She followed his lead, stepping in time with him as he guided her through the basic movements. To his mild surprise, she was a quick study, moving with far more grace than his students.

They danced in the quiet of the room, the flickering firelight casting their shadows against the wooden walls. It was a strange thing—almost domestic, almost normal. For a fleeting moment, Severus allowed himself to forget the outside world. 

Although he still harboured a degree of mistrust towards her, Severus could not deny that he genuinely enjoyed being around Katya—and not merely for the pleasure of taking her to bed. There was something about her presence that unsettled him in a way he could not quite articulate, something that reached beyond desire or fleeting indulgence. He liked that, with her, he could momentarily shed the weight of who he had become and reconnect—if only briefly—with a version of himself he had long thought irretrievable.

She was more than just a beautiful woman who had been unfortunate enough to cross his path. He knew that now. And yet, knowing it did nothing to ease the ever-present wariness that lingered at the back of his mind.

As they continued dancing, their movements synchronised in a way that felt almost effortless, his thoughts drifted to an idea so absurd, so entirely foreign, that he almost scoffed aloud at his own foolishness.

For the briefest of moments, he imagined what it would be like to wake up beside her every day—to open his eyes to the scent of her skin lingering on the sheets, to the sight of those piercing blue eyes watching him with quiet amusement, to the soft curve of her smile greeting him before the world outside could intrude.

The notion was ridiculous. Preposterous.

And yet, it lingered.

It seemed surreal to him that someone—anyone—would choose him. Him, of all people. Not out of duty, not out of obligation, not out of necessity—but out of want.

No, there had to be something off about her, something suspicious, something unreliable. He wasn’t naive enough to believe in luck, nor was he foolish enough to trust easily. If she was genuine in her affections, if this was truly what she wanted, then surely—surely—there had to be something profoundly broken within her.

Eventually, they stoped dancing. Katya let out a soft, pleased sigh. 

“See? That wasn’t so dreadful.”

Severus gave her a pointed look but said nothing, instead reaching for his cloak. 

“It’s late.” He said, bringing them both back to reality.

Katya dressed slowly, taking great care to lengthen those minutes of farewell. He, watching her, did the same.

"It seems cold outside," she said, already dressed and adjusting her cloak to her throat.

He nodded, feeling a heavy feeling of wanting to stay there, locked in that room until the whole outside world calmed down for good. Together, they stepped out into the aisle, they went down the stairs and Severus, grateful that there was no one in the inn, opened the front door, only to be hit by a cold breeze. The warmth of the inn quickly replaced by the sharp bite of winter.

"I’ll walk you to—"

Severus began, but before he could finish, he felt Katya stiffen beside him. The change was almost imperceptible, but he had learned to notice the smallest shifts in her demeanour. Her fingers, resting lightly on his sleeve, tensed, her breathing slowed just a fraction, and though she did not stop walking, there was a sudden sharpness to her focus.

Severus followed her gaze instinctively, his own expression darkening as he spotted the figure lingering in the shadows just beyond the light of the street lanterns.

Alastor Moody.

Even in the dimness of the night, the Auror was unmistakable. His presence was like a scar across the otherwise quiet evening—his posture rigid, his magical eye whirring as it tracked them. He was standing just at the edge of the square, not quite hidden, but not making himself obvious either. Watching. Always watching.

Severus felt a wave of irritation coil in his chest, though he forced himself to maintain his composure. He had no doubt that Moody had been there for some time, observing unseen, picking apart every movement, every expression, every glance exchanged between him and Katya.

Severus was no fool. He knew the man didn’t trust him. He never had.

Moody’s suspicion of him was nothing new—it had been simmering long before this night, before the war had even reached its boiling point. The grizzled Auror had always been the type to see enemies lurking in every shadow, and Severus had been one of those shadows for a long time. A former Death Eater, a man who had once walked freely among the ranks of the Dark Lord—there had never been any redemption in Moody’s eyes, only guilt, only stains that could not be washed away.

Severus could still recall the man’s presence at his trial, the way Moody had stared at him across the chamber with that mismatched gaze, his magical eye whirring as if it could see straight through him, past his words, past his carefully chosen defences. He had not believed a word of it—not Dumbledore’s testimony, not the sworn assurances that Severus had turned spy, that he had risked his life to bring information to the Order.

Moody had been among those who had argued that the risk was too great, that a man who had once sworn allegiance to the Dark Lord could never truly sever that tie. He had voted to send Severus to Azkaban.

And now here they were, years later, still playing the same game. Moody still watching. Still waiting. 

Severus inhaled sharply, forcing his irritation into something colder, something distant. He had long since learned not to let his temper betray him, but there were moments—like this one—when he found himself questioning Dumbledore’s choices more than usual.

What was the old man thinking, giving Moody a position at the school?

It had been difficult enough working among colleagues who barely concealed their contempt for him, who avoided his gaze in the staffroom or stiffened when he entered a room. But Moody—Moody was not like the others. He was not a man content to sneer from a distance or gossip behind closed doors. He was a soldier, a man of action, a hunter.

And Hogwarts was not a battlefield. It was a place of books, of potions simmering in dimly lit dungeons, of students who needed guidance more than they needed paranoia and suspicion lurking in the corridors. Moody did not belong in a classroom. 

Severus could only wonder whether Dumbledore had placed him there as some sort of test—or as a warning. 

The professor positioned himself next to the woman, she pulled his arm and linked it with his. Her normally sharp blue eyes were fixed on Moody, but there was something peculiar in her expression—something beyond mere wariness. A flicker of discomfort, perhaps even pain, ghosted across her face before she turned away abruptly, exhaling softly as though shaking off an unseen weight.

"I think we'd better apparate closer to the school grounds, if you don't mind," Snape told her.

"Not at all," she replied. Severus was glad that she didn't ask why or how, just obeyed as if she understood that the auror was bad company.

Severus didn’t ask. He merely reached for her arm, guiding her away from the square and out into the quieter path leading beyond the village. Only when the lights of Hogsmeade had dimmed behind them did Katya finally speak.

“That man… Do you know him?” she hesitated, rolling her shoulders as if to rid herself of some lingering sensation. “His aura is dark.”

“His what?” Severus frowned slightly at her choice of words. 

Katya slowed her steps and turned to face him fully. The cold night air wrapped around them, but she didn’t seem to notice. 

"His aura, yes. I see magic differently than most," she admitted. There was no hesitation now, only quiet certainty. “It manifests as colours, as energy. Some are warm, golden, comforting. Others are… murky. Heavy.” She looked at him, intently. "Do you know him?"

“Yes, actually his a… He's an auror, although he's now a professor at Hogwarts. Professor of the Dark Arts, in fact. 

Her gaze flickered back towards the village, though Moody was no longer in sight.

"Well, that could explain why his aura… it´s so thick. Tainted. Like ink spilled into water, clouding everything around it.” 

Severus studied her carefully. She spoke as though this was not a metaphor, not mere perception, but something tangible—something real to her.

And then, almost as if on impulse, he asked:

“And what of mine?” His tone was measured, but curiosity laced the words before he could temper them.

Katya let out a breath, as if she had been expecting the question.

"Yours is… complicated," she admitted with a soft, wry chuckle. “Not fully dark, not fully light. It shifts. Most people are like that. But there are some who have sudden changes of emotions, or intentions so bright or dark, that they make me sick. There are sometimes I can feel when I'm watching a dark wizard because they gave migraines, it becomes unbearable.” She smirked, though it lacked malice. “So what I´m trying to say is that you are, quite literally, a headache, Severus.” She joke. 

“Charming.” He scoffed. 

She shook her head, the smirk softening. “But sometimes, just for a moment… it lightens. It’s subtle, but it’s there.”

Severus held her gaze for a long moment, unreadable. He really wanted to tell her that she should stay away from him, that if she wasn't smart, she could bring him more than just headaches. But he was selfish and the way the girl looked at him made him want to kiss her. Which he did. The young woman said goodbye to him, also kissing him intensely and then disappearing.

As he walked to school, he felt that whatever levity, passion or intense desire had lingered between them earlier had faded now, replaced by something else—something unspoken. The war, the shadows of their pasts, the ever-watchful eyes that followed them… none of it had ever truly left them. Severus wanted to blame Moody, but deep down, he knew that the feeling of hopelessness he was feeling was just the beginning.