Mirren had seen her share of memories. As a physician it was not uncommon for her to plunge into strangers' extracted memories, seeking the causes of their comas or even deaths. But this memory...it was extracted with such care. It was stunning in its clarity, as if it was lovingly re-crafted before wrenched from consciousness.

Usually, extracted memories had...fuzzy edges. Blurred areas where the rememberer perhaps lost track of their own storyline. It happened. Witches and wizards were still human, still prone to losing focus, to attention deficit. It was an often frustrating science, memory study.

But this one… It was as clear as celluloid.

She solidified in a cluttered foyer near a door. A paned, panelled door. Very muggle. The door opened on a dark, rainy street. There were lamps, but many were out. There was an air of disrepair, of abandonment. Ghetto. And there was a witch.

It was only a witch by shape. A hood covered her head, but clinging, wet coat revealed hips. Snape recognised her immediately. "You're back." He stepped aside, gestured the witch in out of the elements.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. Her teeth chattered. She was wet through, shaking. But more from nerve than cold. "I had to come back." She dropped her hood. Water sprinkled from it, pattered wooden slats. It was Narcissa Malfoy. Her voice dropped. "Pettigrew?"

"Banished to his burrow for the evening." Severus regarded the witch with high alert.

"Severus. I've something most sensitive to discuss with you." Now tears. Mirren could tell she was barely holding herself together. "I'm afraid for both of us if you can't fix this!"

"Calm yourself." Snape took her shoulders, guiding her into his sitting room. But she didn't sit. He placed her on the settee, but by the time he'd fetched his firewhiskey, she was standing. He nearly bumped into her.

"Something happened," she hissed. "During our vow today. I was...I was in your head somehow."

"In my head?" He tensed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I saw things, Severus!" Her voice broke on a sob. "Things I know I shouldn't have. Things about you."

"What things, Narcissa?" His voice was a threat in his chest. He'd stepped very close to her, close enough that they could speak quietly. She was nearly pressed against a bookshelf.

"I saw you kneeling before Dumbledore, Severus," she wept. With every word he drew up more; his nostrils flared. "I saw you pledging yourself to him as you did to me. I saw you watching over Potter. I saw you reporting on the last attack to the Order. I saw all of their faces! I saw Grimmauld Place! I know I remember it from my youth. I saw -"

Her breath caught when he pushed her violently into the shelf. His elbow cut across her throat. "Ah!" She squeaked. Some books tumbled to the floor. "Please!"

He released her, whirled away. A desperate hand in his hair. Mirren could tell he was a man unaccustomed to panic. "Say no more," he said. She panted, cowered in a darkened corner, watched him lean for a moment on his desk. Watched him think. Her eyes were as wide as Mirren had ever seen them - wet, red and terrified.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered again.

"Not your fault," he grunted. "Bloody hell!" He swept a stack of books from his desk. An hourglass tumbled to the floor. She flinched.

"It has to go." He spoke with finality. Straightened and turned to her. "I'll have to take the memory. All of it."

She nodded. "Yes! Yes, I knew you could. I was desperate, Severus." She moved toward him, shoulders still trembling. "I hid it from Bella. I didn't understand what had happened but I knew I couldn't let her know. Couldn't let...Him...know. So I hid it as best I could. When we got back to the Manor I went to my rooms. I locked myself away and -"

"So you confided in no one?"

"No one." She nodded. "If He found out…" She shuddered. Mirren knew the He she spoke of. Voldemort. "He'd kill us both, Severus."

"Yes." He nodded. Calmed. "You did well, Narcissa."

His praise crumbled her resolve again. This was a witch who'd not known kindness for some time. She fell against him. "I knew that if I saw Him...He would know. Would...dig. In that way He does. And I can't take it! I couldn't…"

"Shhh." Severus stroked her head. Embraced her. Mirren could see his fear, his awkwardness faintly give way to something else. Something fleeting. He softened and she saw his handsomeness. His tenderness. "Do they know you've left again?"

"No." She mumbled in his waistcoat. "I waited until they were gone. Or asleep. The Dark Lord retires with the snake. They sleep so deeply. And Bella…" She managed to collect herself. Looked up at him. "I thought at worst - if she finds out - I'll tell her we're…" She gestured amorphously. Blushed.

He didn't quite catch her meaning. "We're…"

"You know." A ruder gesture. "Having an affair."

"Oh!" He rubbed her shoulders comfortingly, a rueful grin cracking his features. "Yes, they will all believe that," he answered sarcastically. He turned her. "Sit. Relax. I'll need to make some preparations."

She sat in a wingback facing the fire. Drew her singular wand and performed a quick drying charm on her attire. She shrugged from her coat, revealing a simple grey boatneck frock beneath. Kicked off her heels carelessly.

Severus searched in his desk, found two empty potions flasks. His wand maneuvered a small table to Narcissa's side. She regarded the vials upon it as he removed his own waistcoat and loosened his cravat. Cissa had never seen him so unbuttoned. "You should have a drink. Or two. Makes the memory easier to extract. Drops your inhibitions just enough."

She chuffed laughter. "It's frightfully easy to invade my mind. That's why I'm here, Severus. I'm hardly a legilimens."

"Mm. And a piss poor occlumens, too." He unrolled a potions kit, selected a thin wand. She paled a bit when she saw the tools.

"Perhaps I will have that drink, though." She shivered.

"Cold?" He poured her a finger of firewhiskey from the decanter near the door.

"Yes." She took the tumbler. Drank. "And afraid."

"That will help." He studied her, leaned against his desk. Thinking. The firelight cast warm shadows on his face, deepened the brown of his eyes. "You could have told him. Could have told Bellatrix. You could have exposed me. Changed everything. You may have saved yourself and your family a great deal of heartache by doing so. Why didn't you?"

Narcissa didn't look up at him. She rubbed at the rim of her glass. Watched her chilled toes curl on the ratty rug beneath her chair. "I suppose I'm exposing myself to you now, am I not?"

He took a deep breath. "Narcissa. You put yourself in a dangerous predicament. Your loyalties -"

"Are to my son and myself," she snapped firmly. "If I could hide that fact…" She shrugged. "Well, I suppose if I could hide that fact I wouldn't be here now."

"You hate Him."

She drained the last of her firewhiskey. Set the tumbler on the table near his roll of terrifying tools. "He's hardly a lovable character, Severus. My life is...forfeit because of Him. I'll be lucky if my son survives." A quiet tear spilled. "I sometimes think none of us shall survive. And if He wins...I can see no way. No light. No love left in this world. And I miss it."

Snape nudged an ottoman toward her. He sat upon it, facing her, knees drawn up slightly by the awkward position. "You still have love, Narcissa. It brought you to me earlier."

"For my son, yes."

"And your husband. Lucius' stay in Azkaban shan't last forever." She had no comment. He noticed and met her eyes. "I'm sorry."

She looked at the thin wand in his hand. Speaking of her husband...was taboo. "Special tools for special jobs?"

"It's designed specifically for this purpose, yes."

"Will it hurt?"

"It will be...uncomfortable. But there will be no pain."

She bit her lip. "And you can remove your own memories of...all of this? My entire visit?"

"It shall be like you never came back."

"What about my apparation? What about going back to the Manor?"

"A mild befuddlement charm. You'll feel a bit groggy. Like you were sleepwalking. You'll think you've had an odd dream, most likely."

She swallowed, watching the glint of light on the wand as he turned it in his elegant fingers. Her forehead creased. "And the memories you extract?"

"I shall destroy them." At this, Mirren's brow arched. "Are you ready?" He asked.

"Yes." Cissa steeled herself. He raised a steadying hand to her temple. Mirren could see her eyes searching his face. He raised the thin wand. "Wait!"

Her hand grasped his wrist, stilling his actions. "What?" He asked softly.

"Just…" She licked her lips. "I don't know. Just...a moment." He nodded and she breathed deeply. His hand lowered to her lap, her fingers still wrapped around it. "Your hands are quite warm." Odd, off-handed observations.

"Yours are freezing."

"Severus."

"Yes, Narcissa." He was amazingly patient with her. Mirren's heart hurt for the pair.

"How much can you remove? I mean, safely."

He blinked. "Is there something else you want removed?"

"No. No." She folded her hands in her lap near his. He hadn't moved, but squinted at her, waiting. "Oh, hell." Her wet, pretty eyes rolled. "You'll think I'm desperate."

"I already think you're desperate. But we all are now."

"Would you make love to me?" Her face coloured brightly on the whisper.

His brows shot ceiling high. So did Mirren's. She never would have expected such candor from the Malfoy witch, nor such shock from Snape. "I -"

"Nevermind!" Narcissa spoke quickly, covered her face with her hands. Rubbed at the streaky tears there. "I'm just…I mean I was…but I'm fine now."

"Is that why you asked how much I could remove?"

She nodded, not directly meeting his gaze. "I felt...I suppose I simply…" But she shook her head. Retracted. "Just do it." She closed her eyes.

Lines cut his face. Mirren watched him closely. Again, his hand steadied her temple. He raised his wand. The witch's lips - red from her travels and teeth - trembled. "Damn." He stood suddenly. Dropped the wand on the roll. He palmed his own face, down his jaw.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I didn't mean to -"

"Come on." He stretched a hand to her. She took it. She would follow him without question. There was a pulse in the memory, as if this moment was a particularly strong one. Mirren could see quite well, but she could only guess as to the emotions of her patients at this time.

Up a slender staircase bare witch feet made not a sound. Snape's bedroom was like him: dark and sparse. A bed between two windows. A chiffarobe. A chair. A small desk. A lamp that would remain unlit. Only the moon - peeking through rain and curtain - would witness this event.

And now - Mirren.

So she was to be voyeur. Well, Severus had warned her. She leaned against his wall as Narcissa closed the door behind them. Mirren was an invisible presence in a long lost moment.

Pragmatically, the pair began undressing. Snape stepped out of his boots. Unbuttoned his trouser placket. He was hard for the witch and she took note. Her hand wrapped the length of him as he worked the fastening back of her dress. "Mm," he grunted when she stroked.

"Shhh." She tilted her head. There was a slight pause - a vulnerable pause - before he kissed her. But the kiss opened a floodgate of kiss. He held her head in the largeness of one hand, pushing her frock over her hips with the other.

Narcissa whimpered when his hand finally fell against bare skin. She dressed traditionally. Garters. Stockings. A bustier. She was fastened into lingerie like she was fastened into misery. Severus sat on the edge of his bed and pulled her between his legs. He flicked open her garters, explored her feminine with curious fingers.

"Ah!" She clambered into the touch. Pushed his shirt down his back. His mouth hungrily tasted her stomach as he freed her from brassiere. There was some minor awkwardness; her heel caught on her knickers. They left the stockings. When he pulled her onto his lap, Mirren looked away.

She heard them kissing. Heard the rustle of bedclothes. The creaking complaints of springs unaccustomed to this sort of activity. When she finally peeked back at the lovers, they were unexpectedly beautiful. The moonlight chromed them to silver silhouettes. They were ethereal. And the quick, compulsory coupling she'd imagined dissipated.

Severus moved down the witch's body. She caressed him, curled fingers in his hair and clutched, arched into pleasure. She moaned softly, whispered, "Severus."

Nor was it any fast affair. Snape spared no time tasting his lover, demanding her surrender. Her release. She gave it with a hand clamped over her own mouth, snuffling wetly against her palm. The headboard shuddered with her body.

She wasn't shy in kissing him after, in tasting her own essence glistening on his face. He let her take control. She braced herself over him with a hand wrapped round his headboard. Sank onto his cock slowly, hissing, while Severus enjoyed her body.

If Mirren hadn't known better - if she hadn't witnessed this from its inception - she would have suspected the couple were longtime lovers. The way he sat up, wrapped her in his arms; the way they moved slowly together as one; the way they spoke in each other's ears - words she couldn't hear… These were gestures of love, not desperation.

He lasted for the witch. Either he was a man of great stamina or a wizard determined to extract every possible moment of pleasure from one experience. More likely he was both. He took her several ways, wrapping her arms and legs about him, pressing her into pillows, hooking her knees over his elbows. They gave into their inner animals at one point and rutted, her knees creasing the mattress.

Mirren felt it had been hours before they shared an eventual mutual seizing; a sweat-drenched finale of back-scratching and shoulder-biting growls. Again, the doctor looked away, affording her patients something akin to privacy. She stared at a blurry edge of wardrobe until she heard their whispers.

"Thank you." Narcissa curled in his arm, fingers caressing his sticky chest.

"For a thing I shall remove forever from your memory?" His voice was gruff, hoarsened.

"For warming me. For...reminding me I'm still human. For a perfect moment."

"Don't cry." She must have been softly weeping. Mirren couldn't hear it. "I can't bear when women cry after sex with me."

Her sniffling turned to chuckling. She swatted him playfully. His smile was silver and surprising. She sobered too quickly. "How do you bear it, Severus? This...duplicity."

He was stroking her shoulder, reluctant to lose contact with her skin. "Sometimes. I feel as though my soul is in a fire. I burn with no promise of salvation." The naked confession pierced Mirren's chest and she gasped in the memory-space, unheard. "But tonight…"

"Tonight?"

In the moonlight's gracious discretion, he kissed her softly. "Tonight the flames feel doused."

"I'm glad." They made no move to leave his bed. But Mirren could feel even in a memory the heaviness of regret, of dread. "A part of me wishes I could remember," Narcissa admitted.

Severus sighed heavily. "Perhaps...someday...if this war ends in our favour…"

Her mussed hair hid their faces as she kissed him again. "Then perhaps we can make new memories?"

Mirren shook her head. "Enough," she said aloud. Her consciousness and her intent combined with her magic and she pulled from the memory. Emerged from the pensieve on a fresh air gasp. "Gods!"

Snape was still seated in the wingback, looking as close to sheepish as he could. She stared at him. Sat in her own chair, grateful for the desk between them. She touched at some moisture on her face. Not tears at all. "Well." He nodded to her. "I think this explains a great deal."

"I agree." He spoke quietly.

"And you could have warned me about the aerobics."

"I told you it was intimate."

"You didn't tell me I needed an adult." She flicked at a random stack of papers, still thinking. "Certainly explains the connections between you two."

"I suppose it does."

She steepled her fingers and leaned forward. "Some muggle scientists believe in a theory of cellular memory. Wherein events, actions, sensations and the like can actually be physically stored in our very cells, even if our minds are completely amnesiatic."

"Intriguing," Severus replied wryly.

Mirren tisked. "But this is probably all magic." She sighed. Tapped at her desk. "You didn't destroy the memories."

"Obviously."

"Why not?"

"I don't know."

"I think you do."

"You also think cells have memories."

"Dammit, Snape!" She massaged her temples. "And Narcissa's memory? Were you able to restore it?"

He frowned. "No. It was beyond repair."

"Will you show her this one?"

He fussed at the arm of her chair, picked at a loose rivet. "Should I?"

"There's nothing in it that could possibly endanger her." Mirren conceded. "And I think she might appreciate the explanation. And...quite simply...she deserves to know. Like you said earlier."

"I did say that."

"You did." She pushed the pensieve toward him. He stood after a moment, took the shiny silver basin. "But Snape?"

"What?"

"Of all the concessions I've made...I'm afraid I can't allow patients to have sex on the ward."

He scowled as he turned to go. "Why must you set forth rules to be broken, Dr. Mirren?"

He closed her door and she prayed for patience. She was exhausted by the memory. Moved by its contents. The emptiness of two people, the desperation, the love. She felt tears again and rubbed frustratedly at her eyes. Suddenly, she longed for Jane's arms more than ever.

AN: Speak, Memory - the title of this chapter - is also the title of writer Vladomir Nabokov's autobiography. If you've read much Nabokov, you may notice I often emulate his style. I assure you it is an homage.