November 22nd, 1894 — Professor Griffith's office

Samuel half sat and half leaned on the table of stone in the middle of his office and looked towards the window; more precisely, he looked at the woman standing in front of the glass panes. Themis held a binder in her hand that contained a row of equations, magic represented in runes and numbers. She had just added an annotation and said something and it had made him smile. It was afternoon and the sun would set soon. The daylight coming through the window gathered to the things around him, to the smooth surface of the table and the silvery lines of the circle; it gathered to her hair and to the drying ink on the paper.

Samuel shifted his weight slightly and his hands gripped the edge of the table. He did not avert his gaze from her. His dark eyes appeared as opaque and still as ever, but he felt suddenly and with finality a change in himself.
He was ready. There was not much active thought involved in coming to this conclusion, it was knowledge that resided entirely in the now and needed no explanation or rationale. The seed, of course, had been planted a while ago. Samuel had left it unattended and looked the other way, perhaps hoping that nothing much would come of it; or thinking that his heart over the course of his unsteady life had become infertile ground for affection of enough depth and consequence to sustain itself in absence of being tended to.

Now he averted his gaze and looked away. The relaxed posture of his shoulders hardened and he felt an increase in tension in his body and an awareness that he was changing gears entirely. His prior course of caution and avoidance appeared suddenly no longer acceptable. Could he expect himself to pretend indefinitely that there was nothing more to their bond than regard between colleagues and friends, to avoid risking the plans he had for their collaboration?
There was much to lose, certainly. They might be on the precipice of achieving the most important breakthrough of his career as an Alchemist. But every further meeting with Themis had reiterated to Samuel that there was a great reward in sight indeed, that had little to do with his scientific ambitions, if he dared to cross the distance. She would not be the one to do it. And he would not be the one to wait forever. Besides, he thought himself to have reason to hope that this was not a one-sided issue, although he could not be certain of her at all.

Themis had said something but her exact words had not registered with him.
Samuel turned his head to look at her. Standing up to join her at the window seemed quite impossible. He might as well be frozen to this table. So he extended his hands towards her, palm-sides up. "Themis," he heard himself say, and his voice sounded calm. "Will you come here for a moment?"
She would put her hands in his and accept this first part of his bid, he felt sure of it. Hands were established between them, they were safe territory. Uncharted was what would come next.

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Themis Lyra

  

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“And that balances the equation. Problem solved.” Themis grinned, the familiar action of bringing order to chaos pleasing her. The last rays of the late autumn sun were weak but welcomed on her skin. She was more at home with her stars, but Themis had now experienced many sunsets in his office. It was becoming a habit, her free moments spent in Samuel’s office, diving headfirst into the alchemical world he showed her. Her own office saw less and less of her outside of hours she reserved for students. If she coaxed Samuel into joining her in the Astronomy Tower to make use of her favorite telescope now and then, it was only fair.

Their experiments were progressing splendidly, her comprehension of the subject growing and pushing the limits of what and how they worked. It was becoming addictive, the rush she felt when they defied the laws of magic, the indescribable sensation when the heat of his magic met hers. She craved it, found herself itching for the next encounter, the next time they would reshape the laws of nature. She was cautious in her emotions, taking care to remember that it was the work that fueled her; that it was scholarly ambition that united her and Samuel. Their bond was more than collegial, a friendship she never anticipated, but now cherished with every fiber of her being. If she was honest, it surprised her. If she was truly brave, she would admit that it frightened her. But Themis was a woman, not a girl stumbling through the early experiences in life. It was the depth of their connection that made this novel, nothing more; nothing to concern the skeptical scholar. If she found herself seeking his sly smiles, the glint of mischief in his eyes that promised her laughter, what of it? As she told him before, they were both too serious for their own good. They earned the right to moments of joy. If she could offer him those moments, coax a smirk from the unshakable sculpture of a man, why would she deny him?

“I think our issue rests in limiting ourselves to the Latin texts; I believe there may be value in examining the Germanic runes. And you haven’t heard a word I just said.” She bit her lip to suppress a grin, his nonreaction the only confirmation she needed. Her humor dissipated quickly as she took note of his posture, the sudden stiffness in his shoulders. She felt her body reacting, the urge to go to him strong. She was in motion before he finished his summons, the book of equations set gently at his side as her hand went to his. The ridges of his scars were familiar against her palm, the deep etchings in his hands fitting against the smooth skin of hers. She didn’t ask about the distinguishing marks, didn’t pry, but somewhere in their interactions, she had gone from ignoring the scars to valuing them. They were scars earned by ambition, by a ceaseless drive to challenge the world. She admired him for them, her hand tightening in his. “I can hear you thinking, Samuel.” She chided gently, her eyes searching for answers and finding none.

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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She took his hands so easily. Looking back at this moment later, he deemed that this was the reason for his confidence that he was correct in his feeling that he was not alone in his desires. Touch in their society was strictly regimented and between two people such as them, it was practically impossible. And yet they had developed a language of physical affection that, however chaste and light it may be, was as important to Samuel as anything else they did together and said to each other. It had brought to his attention that he had unknowingly starved himself for a very long time of what he now suddenly received. And what she brought to the barren land that he defended so embitteredly against anyone but her, he had quickly become dependent on.

He took a moment to look at their hands, joined together as he knew it; hers on his, easy and trusting. There was the distance between them, that they had somehow silently settled on being the appropriate one, it was always the same — slightly less than an arm's length. He looked up to her searching eyes. "If you can hear me think, you might know what I am about to say," he answered.

And then, with a feeling as if he was about to jump from a very high place, he gently pulled her towards him. Everything seemed to take a very long time. Their distance of safety shrunk and then it was gone and Themis stood as close to him at the edge of the table as was possible. Very close. He felt the fabric of her dress brush against his shins. They had been very close before, on the floor right next to where they were now, but never facing each other. Her height meant that since he was leaning back against the table slightly, their faces were now aligned; hers was even a bit higher.

Not wishing to keep her arrested by her hands, he let go of them. They had few places to land, besides falling naturally onto his chest or shoulders, or being pulled intentionally away from him, which would tell him something. His own settled without much conscious thought where it felt right; at the waistline of her dress. It was barely a touch, yet it was so distinctly a breach of their secret protocol that it might make his intentions obvious. The current he had freed would now find its way forward, he could not take it back even if he wanted. "This might be sudden", he said, "but you should know that you are all I see. You have eclipsed anything else. I can not deny that any longer." he heard himself say to her and his voice perhaps betrayed his own surprise and trepidation about the truth of that. And there was nothing else left to say, because he could not say it any more directly. And he moved to rise up towards her, but then something rang in his ears, like a warning bell and he halted in his movement for a second. He looked into her eyes, suddenly unsure what he would find there. If you are looking for the opportune moment to flee, he thought as if she could hear him, it is now. And then, because his heart was already set on it and he was already in motion, he leaned in to kiss her.

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"If you can hear me think, you might know what I am about to say.” There was a warning to his words that made the statement almost ominous. Something raised a silent alarm in her mind, the frightening feeling of being exposed, vulnerable. She felt it the first day they reunited over the summer, a seesaw between her judgment and curiosity. From the start, he spoke to her as an equal, his teaching never condescending or questioning her intelligence. It was one of the first identifiable reasons she trusted him, even as her mind labeled his apparent faith in her as foolish. She balanced confidence and caution, trusting little but believing in her own ability to adapt and succeed. Samuel’s own confidence bordered on hubris and landed just a touch shy of reckless. She wondered, at first, if was the false confidence that seemed inherent to men, the belief that the world was meant to bend for you by virtue of being male. It annoyed her, the privilege of men. Yet, Samuel was different. There was a hardness to him, a resilience that came from experiencing just how cruel life could be. She could see it in every sharp line of his face, in the flecks of green and grey in his eyes. He earned his strength and developed his power in defiance of every force in existence that had tried to limit him. It afforded him a unique position: where he led, she would go. His next action confirmed her theory.

His posture shifted, and she felt something coil tighter in her stomach. She’d become so responsive to his movement, the two of them developing a dance that kept them balanced and in sync during experimentation. There was no question now when to push or pull, when to sharpen the edges of her power, or when to yield to the force of his. There was no question or thought as he guided her in, no resistance as she found herself in the unfamiliar position of looking down at his face. There was nothing until his hand left hers, and the sudden loss of contact sparked something uncomfortable, something fearful. It was primal, as if she’d sunk too deep beneath the surface and realized she needed to breathe, that she would never break the surface in time to fill her lungs. It felt inherently wrong and unfamiliar in her experience with Samuel. In a second of existential panic, her body took over, knowing where and how she would find her safe harbor. She reached for Samuel.

One hand fell to his heart, the other his shoulder, the feeling of drowning suddenly abated. It took a moment to register the hand at her waistline, which seemed impossible because the heat of his hand seemed to brand her. He was always so warm, so close to scalding, but it clashed with the scent of him. He burned like fire but reminded her of the first bite of winter cold and snow; something stark and foreboding that still called her closer. He was danger and sanctuary in one being and it perplexed her, left her turning thoughts of him over and over in her mind and still unable to solve the equation of him. As he spoke, his voice left her wondering which of them was more confused by their current state.

She had stopped breathing, her body finally forcing a quick breath, but oxygen provided no clarity. There was no way to dissect his words that would satisfy her need for balance now. And she had no recourse. Words swirled through her head, but no satisfying response would form. She had no response, no defense against such a turn and a part of her remembered to be amused that he looked as lost as she.

This moment was unfamiliar, yet somehow, they had been here before. She did not trust her words, didn’t trust her body not to betray her, but through the flurry of activity in her mind, she knew from experience that in her weakness, he would protect her from herself. She must have looked half wild to him, her pupils blown wide and heart hammering loud enough she was sure the castle could hear. It was all she could hear, the blood throbbing in her ears deafening her. Somehow, in the milliseconds that seemed to last an hour, the hand at his shoulder moved to the base of his skull, and she found herself stroking the short hairs she found there. Whether the gesture was meant to soothe him or her was uncertain. She held his gaze, and what she read there gave warning, but she found her hands tightening, holding on to him—the urge to flee not nearly strong enough to rival the certainty that Samuel meant safety.

“Sam” was all she managed, both warning and wondering before she made her decision, which felt like no decision at all. Leaning into him, her lips met his.

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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With every passing second the kiss lingered on, the shift it brought along started subsuming into reality. The presence of his hands at her waist transitioned from barely perceptible to firm. This was happening. His heart did not race, but every beat seemed to increase in tenacity. Her heart was racing. He could feel her fear; he had seen it in her eyes. When their lips broke away from each other, he put his arms around her and held her closely and tightly. He allowed his head to settle against the curve between her shoulder and neck. Where his cheek was in contact with the side of her neck, he could feel her pulse; fast and unsteady. Her hand on the nape of his neck was smooth and cool. He could not see her face, only strands of her blonde hair that smelled faintly of lavender. Her narrow, straight form shifted slightly in his arms. It carried always a proud, stubborn, slightly defensive bearing that set her apart from most any woman he knew. He would be able to pick her out of a crowd from the distance, by the way she turned her head to arrest someone in the piercing gaze of her eyes.

Her eyes; he was glad he could not see them right now. It was not the first time they used close proximity to evade each other's gaze. His mind started picking up pace. Possibilities that had seemed downright forbidden to consider, what he had desired nonetheless but not allowed himself to think about in depth, were now crowding his horizon.

He pulled back to look at her and took back her hands in his. It was on him now to say something, to anchor between them that this was going to be alright. Up until this second he had been moving rapidly, had taken a sharp turn away from their agreed-upon course and had, by way of closing the safe distance between them, warped and thrown into disarray the dynamic of their relationship—what they were to each other and where they were going. He needed to take the pieces suspended in the air and transmute them into something new that had a form each of them could understand.

But he was, in this moment, completely bereft of the words to accomplish that. His mind was searching for any familiar concept to apply to the situation and what it dredged up was lacking. Samuel had once become adept at making romantic entanglements into exactly what he needed them to be. That had not always led to an arrangement of equal power or benefit. To apply any suggestion of circumspect affairs to Themis, however, seemed impossible and insulting. He did not feel like he desired to keep her a secret. The prospect of any sort of official relationship however, which really only could be a marriage, if they wanted to keep their careers and reputation intact, was foreign and confusing to him. What other encounters had occurred in his life were best left a shameful secret; none of it was any use. None of it had really mattered. This was not inconsequential, trivial and base.

A quiet voice told him: You don't need all the answers now. Just let the pieces fall where they land. His mind however did not slow. It dragged him backwards until it delivered him cruelly at exactly the place he should better not go—He had been with Kazimir for six years. They had worked together obsessively and destructively. They had loved each other. They had pushed against and broken boundaries of their craft. Kazimir had died on December 22nd. It was November 22nd.
You are recreating what you had with him, with her, said a cold voice in his head. You are going to get her killed, too.
Samuel's hand tightened around hers. Too much time was passing. He could not reveal anything of what he thought to her. He did not know what she would be able to read in his eyes. Nothing good. But perhaps she would not see it. Perhaps she too was caught up in the trappings of her own inner world, that he knew was inhabited by doubt and fears he not always grasped the roots of. Perhaps in a few more seconds he would manage to free himself from the frozen state that kept him silent and immovable in place, gripped by an invisible, cold terror. Now his heartbeat resounded deafening in his ears.

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Reality and past experience warred in her mind as instinct directed her body. For the briefest of seconds, she was a young bride again, bracing for the wave of revulsion and disappointment that came with every kiss and obligatory physical encounter. It didn’t come. The flood of sensation it its place was all the more confusing. The hand in his hair did not try and repel Samuel, it held him to her. The hand on his chest tugged at his always-immaculate clothing, suddenly confused at the concept of ‘distance.’ When she thought of this moment, and she would, repeatedly, she would wonder at the foreign feeling of excitement that came with his grip on her waist and the sheer elation that grew with each second of their kiss. This was happening; it was terrifying, and it was beautiful.

The end to the kiss was disorienting as it was disappointing, but she went willingly into his arms when he tugged her closer, her arms tightening around his shoulders. The kiss had surprised her, but the intimacy of his cheek at her throat, the way he held her, was arresting. Amid the cacophony of thoughts whirring through her head, not one of them was fear of him. She registered her vulnerability, the way his hands trapped her close to him, the imposing size of his form, and felt the most confusing sensation of rightness. He enveloped her like this, and instead of suffocating, she found herself satisfying every curiosity she had taken such care to ignore. The first scratch of stubble was returning to his cheeks, the streaks of silver in his hair somehow making his appear all the more vibrant, alive. She couldn’t see him as her eyes slid closed, and she tucked her nose against his hair. Closing her eyes was a mistake; it illuminated all the other ways she could experience him. It wasn’t until he pulled back gently that she resisted, her body going stiff at the move but relenting when his hands returned to hers.

She didn’t move to step away from him, keeping herself in contact with as much of him as possible. Her higher mind was already returning to all the ways this could never continue, how the only place indulgence would lead was to humiliation and a ruined career. Samuel would survive, as men always did. There would be no mercy for her. Any secret liaison between them would lead to danger and, she was certain, disappointment for Samuel. She had no use for the trappings of marriage and no will to leave her life at Hogwarts behind just yet. She could never be his wife, as law required, couldn’t abandon the world she built to agonize over giving him an heir and spending nine months of the year wandering an estate in London, wondering if he remembered to think of her. She had rebelled against that in her first marriage, had fought to maintain her autonomy. She had more to lose now. She also lacked the will to step away.

The silence seemed to drag between them as her breathing slowed. She opened her eyes, terrified she would see regret in his. What she saw frightened her more. His grip tightened on her hands, almost painful, as she watched a shadow cloud his eyes. She had seen glimpses of this before; was aware he could see the same when the past came clawing back for her. His body was with her, but his mind had gone somewhere she had no permission to follow. They had shared deeply, but both jealously guarded their secret and histories, some scars still too fresh to examine. She no longer knew the rules to their engagements, the standing norms thrown aside when he spoke the unspeakable between them. Her courage seemed to abandon her, but she acted on impulse, allowing his imperceptible clues to guide her as they did when they worked. Before all else, he was her partner in this. She would not surrender him to the ghosts of his past.

Gently, she released his hands, her palms cradling his face while taking care not to trap him. “Come back to me, Sam,” she coaxed, her voice gentle. Her piercing gaze softened, concern winning out over her need for answers. She had no easy solution to the tangle they wove for themselves, but she would dissect the problem later, reexamine it with a rational eye. For now, her focus narrowed to the small space they had claimed as their own, the world of their bond. Thumbs brushing his sharp cheekbones, she allowed herself an indulgence and pressed her forehead to his, her nose brushing his as she tried to guide him back to her. “I’m here with you.”

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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Her face closed in on him until their foreheads touched. He felt the brush of her hand against his cheek like it was touching a thin layer of glass instead of his skin, that seemed to invisibly separate him from the world. The sensation reached him, but not entirely. At least he now felt that he could move his head again, close his eyes for a second and open them again. She was so close that everything but the blue of her iris was a bit out of focus.

The freeze that had arrested him broke, but it was replaced by a crushing sense of impending doom. His mind continued its machinations of dragging up the patterns of his life and transposing them over what he was about to do here, with her. Realistically, he, Samuel Griffith, had shown that since he had been unleashed into adulthood, he incinerated his life in cycles of seven to ten years. The first life he had laid flames to was the ministry career his parents selected for him after school. He had blown that apart at 19 years of age—and he had laid waste to the part of the house that contained the bedroom of his childhood in one fell swoop. Then he had left for the continent and started anew as an apprentice Alchemist in Prague. At 26, his lover and partner in work and crime was dead and Samuel had struck down his first master and second father, Oldrich Rosenberg, in their very last fight and fled for Paris.

In the summer of his 34th year, his last Master Nicholas Flamel dismissed Samuel from his laboratory because his conduct and the social circle he kept made him a liability no longer worth risking. Cut off from his last remaining anchor, Samuel had drifted off into what he could only call degeneracy and come December he had been behaving as if he intended to die by his vices, so he had abandoned his life in Paris and returned home.

Nine years had passed in the meantime. Years he had dedicated to reversing the financial ruin of his family. There were no more masters, only his real father, who endeavored to undo any progress Samuel achieved by his excessive spending and short-sighted steering of family matters. Samuel had nonetheless succeeded in accruing enough resources for those who mattered to be taken care of, if the men around them could be prevented from taking it for themselves, and he had abandoned his laboratory in London and started something new. The other shoe, however, had not yet dropped. The matter was not truly resolved and the forecasted calamity had not yet arrived.

His eyes widened and he recognized that he himself had already expertly put everything into position and was, as always, the scheming architect of his own demise. His father waited at home, put under an unforgivable curse that would see Samuel thrown into Askaban should he ever be discovered. His brothers were plotting on his downfall. He had busied himself once again with pushing against the most universal laws and boundaries of nature out of pure hubris. Had he unwittingly acquired another sacrificial lamb to perish in his stead? Nothing of consequence could be gained without another of equal value being lost.

Now it was eerily quiet in him. They were still looking at each other. He had no idea how much time had passed. It could have been a few seconds, or minutes.

"Forgive me," he said finally, unsure if he had just discovered the truth or was suffering a bout of insanity and paranoia. What he needed to do next might hurt her. What was between them might be too fragile to survive it. But he needed to get through this December and make things right, and she needed to be at a safe distance until his affairs were sorted. Whatever needed to happen would happen and he needed her to be part of the new beginning, not of the end. He would make it to the other side, he always had. Those around him had not always been so fortunate.

She cradled his face and therefore had released his hands. They had stayed frozen where she left them and only now did he move them and reached up to pull her in, to kiss her again. There was a different need and urgency in this embrace, because Samuel knew it was only delaying the inevitable. He was not ready to let this go just yet.

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   Themis Lyra

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“There is nothing to forgive.” The truth of this, the level of its meaning fueled additional fire in her eyes. She could see the pasts that claimed him, the many lives he lived to stand with her today. She knew the same battles happened in her eyes, but she let few people close enough to notice. Samuel was closer to her than she could have planned, in so many confounding ways. “You have done nothing I have not welcomed, nothing I regret.”

She spoke quickly, words clipped precisely, but she still doubted he registered her words. He’d been so still, so frozen in her hands and now he moved with a pace that startled her. If their first kiss him introduced doubt to her understanding of human intimacy; this was cataclysmic.

The decisions she made now seemed to be made on a tightrope. Anything she did or said could cause harm to them both and there would be no forgetting this pivot between them. Themis hadn’t found words to match his confession and had spent the better part of a season trying to ignore the changing way she thought of Samuel. She lacked words, but preferred action, matching his urgency, her own sense of dread awaiting her.

She allowed him to guide her for a moment, elated by the feel of her body like this. She allowed him to engulf her, a moment to conduct her as he pleased, but she couldn’t remain passive. She released his face, and her hands flew to his hips. She tugged at him, wanting him away from the table, wanting to know just how well they fit against each other before they had the sense to ensure it didn’t happen again. She kissed him reverently, enthusiastically. She would crush any doubt he had of her willingness in this. This was unwise, and she would savor every second of it.

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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He needed to say it. But from being frozen in place they started into forward flight. His hands were in her hair and on the nape of her neck, then down on her back and his mouth touched the place between her jaw and her ear. He found himself, without exactly following what happened in between, at her collarbone. She had very white skin that reddened easily at even the faintest brush with his teeth or the stubble on his cheeks. He felt heady. His blood carried a strange concoction of fright and excitement and every further heartbeat pressed it into every one of his cells. Her hands were on his hips. They were calling for him to push this further. Samuel was trying to make amends with himself.

Finally he stood up, without letting go of her, and they were both in the upright for a moment; swaying and unsteady. He started to turn and with his arms around her he turned her with him until her back was towards the stone table. Slowly he shifted his weight onto her until she yielded and settled against the table. He saw the fabric of her dress pour onto the silvery lines of the circle. Careful where you set your hands, he would have said, if the situation was any less serious. He leaned into her and noticed the reversal of their positions. If this was any less serious, he would be amused about having believed himself too forward and her a flight risk. Themis had the wondrous courage to open herself to him despite all that was at stake for her, and instead of allowing himself to fall into her, he must pull away. However, his readiness towards the opposite direction of away was all too apparent. His thumbs pressed onto the edge of her hip bone; he could feel a hint of it through the layers of her dress. No, he could not rush ahead any further. He raised his hands instead to her face to hold it.

"Themis," he said. It must be done. If this were to be taken to its conclusion, just for him to reveal after the fact that he needed to be at a far distance for an undefined amount of time, Samuel would set a precedent he thought to be unacceptable. How could she trust him?
But are you, asked the cold voice, to be trusted?

"I have come to the realization, and I must tell you now, that after today, we cannot see each other for a while." The words materialized and he could feel them change temperature in the air. "I fear I have gotten myself into a predicament you can under no circumstances become connected to. I need—" his voice halted. He fought for the right words. "I need time. To see this through to the end." Time to undo the terrible tangle in his chest and in his life; one seemed to be the same as the other. He was aware that she was now free to jump to any of her own conclusions. This sounded suspicious. It was. To imagine what she would now think and assume pained him. But he could in no way give her an adequate explanation.

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This was madness and she reveled in it. Her analytical brain couldn’t decide what sensation to cling to; some hedonistic element in her refused to make a choice. She felt everything and it broke her heart.

The dizziness of the moment and Samuel’s quick reversal had her tightening her grip on him. For a split second, impulse was ready to offer resistance. Pride and memory of her own helplessness and obligation tickled at her mind, but she had no memory to prepare for this. This was Samuel. The eyes she always seemed to find across the room, the focus of her most errant thoughts. He had vanished from her life for decades and now seemed to dominate in all realms. He was the first coworker she consulted, the first mind she wanted to tease with a new discovery or thought. It seemed harmless when her thoughts became less academic. Getting to know the different facets of him was simple curiosity, and never mind that her pulse did something silly whenever he took her hand. Never mind she’d already proven herself an Icarus in his presence before. She kept flying for the sun.

She held his gaze as she submitted to his weight and pressure, savoring his focus as she lay back in their circle. Her surrender was her offering in this ritual, her faith in him. She parted her legs for him, urged him closer, knowing this couldn’t continue. When his hands stilled on her hips, her throat clenched; Samuel would be the one to stop this; she’d pushed him far enough.

She loved the sound of her name when he said it, but the weight of it now, the conflict in his voice made her ache. She should have spared him this, should have drawn a line at his confession and spared them what came next. She began a litany of “I know,” reluctantly sitting up from the table to face him. She went silent again when he continued, her unease shifting ominously. He was trying to protect her, which sent a bittersweet pain to her heart. It also came with a certainty that she was ready to do the same.

She said nothing at first, her anguish at this forced removal secondary to her growing concern. She wouldn’t waste either of their time demanding explanations he would never give. She wouldn’t lobby to prove her worth to him; Samuel knew her strengths and never belittled them. She also couldn’t deny how much it bothered her to think of him facing a threat alone. “As long as it takes, but you will come back to me.” She couldn’t make it a question. “And I would help, if you asked me.”

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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"I know," he answered. "I know you would," he repeated, quieter. He wondered at the ability of his voice to remain even. If his anguish was visible in his eyes or if it was sealed too deep under his surface, he did not know. There had been hope in him that once it was established that she would not get caught up in the imminent threat he suddenly felt around him, his torment would lessen. It did not. It simply mutated into a different form, one that had everything to do with the way she looked at him now. What he must do to get out from under the blade that seemed poised to fall on his neck, was heinous. Her offer to help him made him feel abject misery. How had he gotten here?

As always. Something had challenged his power and he had struck to vanquish that circumstance; as ruthless against his next of kin as he was towards himself. And ruthless he would need to be to finish what he had begun last summer.

The risk had seemed back then negligible compared to the reward. For his own safety, Sam much lacked the ability to care, or the need. What his impact could be, right now, was what he lived for. The matter of his own future beyond that had only become non-trivial to him very recently. "I want to come back to you," he said to her, because it was true. That he would, he could not promise her. As he knew, anyone's return was never certain. Fate was cruel.

His hands gently let go of her face. Her poise and grace towards him made him feel profoundly undeserving, and he was not a man who tended to feel unworthy of much in this life, at least he did not think so. Her legs moved slightly, to the left and right of him. He leaned over her, propping himself up on the table and he wanted to fall now and he wanted to stop thinking about anything at all. Perhaps it was high time to stop this, but he could not see anymore how to do one or the other. Events had spun out of his control.

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The most shameful little groan escaped as Samuel moved back over her. She needed to stop this for both of them, draw a boundary that could bind them to the better angels of their nature. She needed to not rise off of the table just enough to claim his lips again. She needed to not press her hips against him. She needed to do so many things to protect them both, but she couldn't resist touching him. She'd spent decades starving herself of touch, avoiding anything but the chaste affection of her son. She wondered as she let her hands rest on Samuel's hips how long had passed since he'd been adored like this. She didn't wonder at lovers; she was strangely unconcerned about whomever kept his bed warm on occasion. But adoring him was all she could think to do.

She treasured him in every facet and delighted in the nuances she'd learned to read in his face. Did anyone else know the thinning of his lips during staff meetings hinting at his impatience with the headmaster? Had anyone else noticed he moved about the room like it was a chessboard to be manipulated; how he weaponized space to put someone on the retreat? He radiated signals to her, pieces of the puzzle that continued to evolve as she studied. His eyes, a beautiful conflict of colors, told her volumes if she was brave enough to hold his gaze. It felt like a dare at first, as if he challenged her with the weight of his eyes. He would reveal himself, piece by piece, if she could tolerate his calculating stare. She had, willingly, but Themis was certain Samuel had seen shadows she had never wished to share. He had handled the glimpses of her humanity well.

Samuel was incredibly strong. She had felt it in his magic and read how he carried his body. He was powerful in a way that should have repelled her and labeled him a threat. But Themis couldn't stay away from him. She had no solid evidence to support her conclusion, but Samuel was safe. He wouldn't harm her intentionally. She owed him the same.

Reluctantly gentling her kiss, she gave him a regretful smile: "I'm afraid you'll resent me if I don't stop this. And, selfishly, I don't want you to stop." She barely kept herself from pouting. She didn't bother to stop the hand that went to his hair, wanting to memorize the texture. "You will come back, Samuel." It was a warning to God as much as man, her resolve firm for them both. "You'll come back, and I will show you how I treasure you." It was the best promise she could give him and the only words she'd mastered that came near her feelings. She wasn't naming the overwhelming emotions and sensations Samuel caused; she couldn't objectively name anything when it came to Samuel. Merlin, she needed to regain her control.

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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"I could never resent you," he said to her. The way she had taken him back into her affection despite what he had told her astonished him. He was unaccustomed to such forgiveness. There was a part of him that still questioned if he could let this happen; if their time apart would be made harder by what they were about to do, or if it would be the greater cruelty to both of them to leave it undone. Kisses could be walked back on and made more innocent in retrospect. If they saw this through to the end, there was no going back.

While that idea still settled on him, his arms already gave away. He let himself fall into her. With something like surprise he thought: we are doing it. His elbows met the hard surface of the stone table and the last bit of space between them vanished. She moved beneath him, perhaps surprised at his sudden turn to determination. With another woman he might have been afraid that the pressure of his body would hurt her, but not with Themis. That had only little to do with her statuesque height — She was not fragile; She could bear his impact. His hands found her under him. Her breath was on the side of his neck and one of her hands was in his hair still and the other somewhere at his lower back, reflexively tightening its grip.

Under any different circumstances, they ought to have honored the occasion by slowly discovering each others mysteries. It might have involved a bed. This was not that. There was a feeling that every moment they gave away to the customs that should accompany such an act, was a moment in which they might come to their senses and think better of it. Sam was growing ever more unwilling to give himself to thinking better of anything. So there was as little attention paid to the superficialities as they could get away with. There was a moment of struggle to get themselves free of what was too much in their way. There was a moment where she moved to open the front of his shirt and he caught her wrists and held them to his chest, so she couldn't, just before they joined together. He did not want to confront her with the marks the past had left on his body, not now; this was not about the past at all.

If it was done in a rush, it did not feel wrong. They had proven before that despite how controlled they were on their own, together they were capable of reckless forward momentum. Perhaps it was just right that it happened exactly where they first met, back in summer. They had spoken to each other about love, on that day, completely blind to what was coming for them.

He could not say at all how long it took, only that he was too caught up in it to notice. There was no foreign feeling between them. Even when it was over, the drop into strangeness or need for distance that he had often experienced in the past did not come.

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   Themis Lyra

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The truth to his words startled her. There was something raw to his words, a hint at just frayed his control was becoming. It would be easier, perhaps, to dismiss what he said at such a charged moment, but for a second, she stilled, her mind overloaded by the task at hand. Lust could cloud over anything if given the chance, but his eyes were clear, wild, and solely on her. All she could read was his sincerity and it was more frightening than any hint of scheming.

He gave her no more time to overanalyze his sincerity as his body pinned her to the table. There was no room for panic as the weight of him held her in place, only a growing realization that there would be no other end to this encounter, there would be no stopping them now. She was overjoyed, the feeling heady and reckless as her hands begged to explore him.

She was lost to it, the overpowering force that was Samuel filling more of her senses now, her world shrinking to every point of contact between them. Her head fell back as she moved with him, the table and the back of her head meeting in a way she would regret tomorrow. It didn’t matter, the ache in her head nothing compared to the way Sam surrounded her. She resented the articles of clothing still separating them; wanted to catalogue every inch of him before he walked away from her. The thought that this was it, that in moments he would dismiss her and go chasing his demons, made her wild. Her hands were at his chest, intent on ridding him of his damned shirt when he stopped her. A spark of dread flared in her chest as he stilled her hands, certain that this was when he stopped them both. She searched his face for explanation, but quickly gave up her search and what was left of her composure when he finally joined them.

There was no place for soft words and gentle seduction tonight. The list of ways this should be different was loud in her mind for a moment. She did not take lovers, did not endanger her reputation, she certainly didn’t seduce men or swoon at the first shows of attention. This wasn’t her, propriety scolded, but any thoughts about what she should do evaporated as they established a rhythm that left her incapable of reason.

The only words she seemed capable of were a litany of his name, a prayer to him as he wrecked her sense of control. Twice he pushed her past some threshold she didn’t know to expect, the freefall dizzying even as he held her in place, held the pieces of her together as her body forgot to function. It made sense, for a brief moment, why people lost their mind when emotions were at play. She was not some higher being now, a creature of intellect and reason. She was so very human, a being of flesh, blood, and instinct. She felt alive and, with every snap of his hips, certain that she wouldn’t let him see the future through alone.

When he finally stilled above her and the lazy kisses she decided she adored slowed, she was reluctant to pull away. Themis was pleased, in a way that he would have to move away from her first, she lacked the strength to make the first move. The disgust and shame didn’t come, as he separated from her. The only thing that settled low in chest as she watched him was a certainty in their course. She allowed him to right himself, bring some order to his clothing before she spoke. “Whatever it is, you will see it through. And I won’t leave you to go it alone.”

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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There was a sliver of a moment where he felt at peace. It was preceded by the last deep and twitching shudder and before he pulled back his hips and their bodies ceased to interlock. His jacket lay on the floor. Where the touch of her skin left him, he went cold. Samuel rolled on his back and buttoned up his trousers. Awareness of the room they were in came back to him and his gaze drifted towards the high ceiling beams above them. The sun had long set.

He turned his head to the side and stretched out his hand and let it settle on her leg. Themis sat up and he looked to her face. Her hair had loosened itself out of its updo and fell down her back in disorderly golden waves. She looked changed to him; this was the private side he had not known yet, and wanted to belong to him. He felt a sense of wonder at what had happened between them. Never had he felt so determined to bring someone over the edge and into his possession. When she had clung to him and called his name, it seemed to be his heart that wanted to spill over, more imminently than anything else. He had clung to her too, feeling the elation and fright of the rushing down that must come when he could no longer delay it, and resenting the separation that would follow. Her eyes had been with him the entire time; they did not turn veiled and away from him, like he knew it from lovers of his past that he had wanted to conquer without being too intimately known by them in return.

"I will see it through," he repeated and sat up. "But you must let me go alone, there is no other way," he insisted. He knew her moral integrity. It was impossible to involve her in his crimes. He had already done one unforgivable thing. If he committed to one more, he would be free. Then he would be free to make his life into something she could enter into. He could regain control of his fate and uproot the poison. It was not all poison, of course, but it was rooted deep. His insides turned cold at the thought of what this really meant.
"I will be around less," he warned her. "But I will not be gone entirely. It will be temporary."

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   Themis Lyra

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She savored the hand he left heavy on her thigh. It was a simple gesture, tame in comparison to preceding activities, but the weight of his hand felt proprietary. It should bother her, that he touched her like he owned her, but the dark little thrill sparking up her spine made clear that Samuel had not overestimated his power. For as least as long as this moment lasted, Samuel held her in his power. It was a choice she made freely.

Her jaw clenched at his refusal, but it was expected. As badly as she wanted to solve whatever was now standing in their way, she wouldn't demean Samuel by blundering into his matters. She had little control beyond this moment, her reach decreasing as he spoke, but she saw her opportunity. She could do nothing about tomorrow, but tonight, she held the power to make this moment easier for Samuel.

Sitting up, now shoulder to shoulder, she considered briefly before placing her chin on his shoulder. It was almost ridiculous how quickly she could rewrite herself in a moment to adapt to him, but it felt natural. She shifted for him but didn't change who she was. It was a slight distinction, but it stood between her and self-loathing. She would adapt to Samuel but never compromise who she was for a man again. That had been the entirety of her marriage. It would never be her again. Somehow, she knew Samuel would never ask such demeaning things of her, no matter how far she fell under his sway.

"If that is the case," she said mildly as if he wasn't proposing an absence now that he inverted her sense of the world. "I have a proposal." She tested her theory, pressing a soft kiss to the shell of his ear and cheek. "Stay with me tonight. I will have Tilly bring us dinner and a bottle of the German wine you favor. Relax, enjoy a hot bath, and end the evening in my bed. Tomorrow morning, you may leave on your own terms, and I will abide by the rules you set for us." She offered her plan casually as if she wasn't offering him access to her privacy and one of the few places in the world where she felt fully safe. She knew, even as she offered that there would be no going back from this moment. They had shared something intimate, but whether he viewed it as a path forward or a mistake was yet to be seen.

She was running out of weaknesses to expose to Samuel, a thought that would normally horrify her, but Samuel was no other person. She would need to consider the future tomorrow and rethink how she handled the connection that mattered most to her daily. She feared what came next, but she would live honestly tonight. Tonight, she was Samuel's. "Please, Sam, stay with me tonight. I will not ask again, but I will not force you." If her voice dropped and her tone became flirtatious, she would deny it. What was serious was her sense of his limits. She wanted him safe and in her presence; wanted to know that she would wake to him sleeping soundly next to her, but that was not for her to decide. Whatever he decided, she would respect, no matter how her heart begged for him to remain and reassure.

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   Samuel Griffith

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Lou made magic!

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